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Thursday, March 23, 2006
‘Jelly’s Last Jam’ @ the Alliance
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
THEATER REVIEW. “Jelly’s Last Jam.” Alliance Theatre. Through April 9.
In “Jelly’s Last Jam,� flashy Jelly Roll Morton is introduced to his next conquest as a “lover of women, inventor of jazz and owner of 27 suits.� Sex, music and beautiful clothes: What else do you need for a Broadway spectacle but a couple of tap-dancing prodigies with spats and smiles?
For starters, you need a sinister leading man who can make a show-stopping entrance — by stepping out of a body bag. An unashamed bigot who claims there’s “no coon stock in this Creoleâ€? and spends the second half of his life on a self-destructing path of hurt and anger turned outward.
As book writer George C. Wolfe insisted in his 1992 Broadway musical, which has been resuscitated in a stunning Alliance Theatre revival, the Morton story isn’t about jazz and dance, and it’s certainly not about last-minute redemption and hallelujah choruses. It’s about race.
As the soul-reaping character known as The Chimney Man (Billy Porter) tells us in the Prologue, Morton (J.D. Goldblatt) resides in the same pantheon as Armstrong and Ellington. But instead of becoming a beloved ambassador of swing, he “denies the black soil from which this rhythm was born,� a fatal mistake that provides the central contradiction of this emotionally devastating, magnificently conceived musical biography.
Perhaps the Hunnies (the three-member female chorus) don’t shimmy quite as much as they should in the splashy opening number, “In My Day.� Maybe the diction’s a little slurry early on and the depiction of the New Orleans underworld a bit tawdry for my taste.
But really now. I can’t say enough good things about director-choreographer Kent Gash’s glorious new production, which has been reorchestrated for a smaller band by musical director Darryl G. Ivey and styled to the nines by set designer Emily Jean Beck and costume artist Austin K. Sanderson. (Byron Easley shares the choreography credits.)
Easily the best Alliance musical since Gash’s “Pacific Overtures,� in 2003, the first major revival of “Jelly’s� is the sort of event that will cause box-office switchboards to crash and put national producers on planes to Atlanta.
For a theater town in need of a spring hit, the Alliance has delivered the season’s most essential musical.
Jelly and his diamond-studded tooth may be the center of this theatrical universe. But it takes an incandescent ensemble to illuminate the dark outer galaxies of his troubled soul, and the Alliance stage is rarely without a strand of shining supporting stars.
So while the excellent, charismatic Goldblatt captures both the gleam and the spleen of the self-infatuated Morton, he’s well matched by Rodrick Covington as Jelly’s fawning, double-crossed friend Jack the Bear; the lovely Karole Foreman as love interest Anita; and LaVon Fisher as the ferocious, mantilla-crowned grandmother, who kicks Morton out of the house for fraternizing with New Orleans lowlife.
His grandmother’s dismissal, and the fact that W.C. Handy usurped his father-of-jazz credentials, are Morton’s twin demons.
Porter’s Chimney Man does the trick, even if he’s a little more flamboyant than necessary. Andre Ward’s big-eyed Buddy Bolden is delightfully intimidating to the Young Jelly, and Eric B. Anthony, bless his heart, has the unthankful task of recreating the part originated by the young Savion Glover (Young Jelly). Except for seeming somewhat stifled by his spatterdashes, Anthony does just fine.
Among the best numbers are “The Creole Way,� about the Morton family’s infatuation with powder, wigs and all things French; Anita’s “Play the Music for Me� (check out her filigreed gown) and the down-and-dirty “Lovin’ Is a Lowdown Blues,� which uses a canopied bed and curtains to conceal what’s happening beneath the sheets, but only partly. (This is probably a good time to advise parents that the show contains adult language and situations.)
Dance wise, Gash and Easley give us more stomping than outright hoofing (a smart choice, given the iconic performances of Glover and the late Gregory Hines as Broadway’s Jelly).
But the show’s most arresting quality may be its eye candy. William H. Grant III’s lighting can be forensically harsh one moment, moon-splashed the next — the perfect accompaniment to Beck’s wrought-iron balustrades, keyboard-framed proscenium and gorgeous carved moldings. If the devil’s in the details, the Alliance’s superb team of stitchers, carpenters, artisans and props meisters outdo themselves down to the last feather and finial.
When it comes to spectacle, the Alliance has no peer in Atlanta. Shows like this are why it’s on par with the nation’s best regional playhouses.
The final word on this wildly ambitious, technically complicated, impeccably scored, emotionally challenging musical: It’s a knockout.
THE 411: 8 p.m. Tuesdays-Saturdays; 2:30 p.m. Saturdays-Sundays. 7:30 p.m. Sundays. Through April 9. $20-$50. Alliance Theatre, 1280 Peachtree St. N.E., Atlanta. 404-875-5663; alliancetheatre.org.
THE VERDICT: Spectacular.
