Theatre in Review: A Night with Janis Joplin (Lyceum Theatre)

	Mary Bridget Davies. Photo: Joan Marcus

What with jukebox musicals like Mamma Mia! and Rock of Ages; bio musicals like Jersey Boys, Motown, and the upcoming Beautiful (about Carole King); and tribute shows, like the recently departed Let It Be and last season's The Rascals: Once Upon a Dream, Broadway is looking more and more like the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Individually harmless, they collectively take up an alarming portion of Times Square real estate, crowding out shows with such exotic amenities as real librettos and original scores. The latest entry in this series of living waxworks series is A Night with Janis Joplin, and it's perfectly fine, as long as you know what you're getting into.

And what you're getting into is a concert starring Mary Bridget Davies, an extremely adept Joplin imitator. (Note: She is spelled a couple of times a week by Kacee Clanton.) Davies captures the feral growl and unstoppable energy that informed Joplin's voice; her galvanic delivery of such Joplin classics as "Piece of My Heart," "Try (Just a Little Bit Harder)," and "Stay with Me" rouses the audience to a revivalist fury. For the largely older audience that filled the theatre at the performance I attended, this is as close as they will ever get to the psychedelic glory days of their youth. (One grey-haired couple in front of me swayed back and forth, waving the peace sign. When was the last time you saw that?)

If, like me, you never were a Joplin fan, there is little reason for a visit to the Lyceum. Joplin's life was tumultuous, to say the least, but you'll find precious little about it here. We are offered a few mild anecdotes about growing up in Port Arthur, Texas, but not much more; left undiscussed are her painful outsider adolescence, her growing dependence on liquor and heroin, and the parade of lovers -- male and female -- with whom she sought comfort. Instead, we get a Music Appreciation 101 lecture about Joplin's influences, allowing a quartet of ladies -- playing Bessie Smith, Nina Simone, Odetta, Aretha Franklin, and Etta James -- to sing the blues. This is author/director Randy Johnson's plan to spell Davies, saving her from screaming her head off all night long and blowing out her voice, and it's okay as far as it goes; for example, De'Adre Aziza is an imposing presence as both Simone and Odetta. But sometimes these artful bits of padding seem merely silly; I draw the line at having Bessie Smith belt Bob Dylan's "I Shall Be Released," for example.

For that matter, no attempt is made to locate Joplin in contemporary rock history or in the burgeoning San Francisco music scene, nor is there anything about her fabled appearances at Monterey and Woodstock. The fact that she came on the scene just as American pop culture was splitting in two -- with Lawrence Welk on one side and Jefferson Airplane on the other -- is ignored, as is the background of racial unrest and social upheaval that made Joplin's voice seem like a significant commentary on the times. This Janis Joplin is sanitized, glamorized, and all but given a good conduct medal. She's a hot mama with a big voice and a shiny demeanor -- precision-tooled for Broadway audiences who want to hoot and holler without having to think too much about the complexities of the 1960s. You'd never know that they found Joplin dead in a motel room at the age of 27.

Anyway, Davies is a genuine star presence, the other ladies are accomplished, and the band that backs them up is first-rate. Justin Townsend's scenic and lighting design allows for plenty of visual thrills. He surrounds the proscenium with LED tubes that send shock waves of color in every direction. The upstage walls consist of frosted panels that, when backlit, create all sorts of kinetic color effects; they also serve as a surface for Darrel Maloney's projections, which range from abstract patterns to Joplin family photographs to images of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, who are particular heroes of Joplin's. And his cueing keeps up with the music, adding excitement without running amok. Amy Clark's costumes are much more expansive than you might think at first, since she must provide period-appropriate gowns for Smith, Simone, James, and the other singers. She does very well by them and, for the finale, captures the feather-boa-headdress look that was Joplin's signature style. It goes without saying that Carl Casella's sound design is too loud; if you go, earplugs are in order. Believe me, you'll still hear plenty.

There is certainly nothing wrong with mounting a show that is professionally executed and gives pleasure to many. But I worry that people will confuse it with real, purpose-built musical theatre. How long can we continue to borrow from yesteryear's pop hits without having this most American of art forms shrivel up, like a muscle that hasn't been sufficiently used? Broadway is more than capable of making its own kind of music, as long as somebody will let it happen.--David Barbour