Theatre in Review: Holler If Ya Hear Me (Palace Theatre)

	Photo: Joan Marcus

If nothing else, Holler If Ya Hear Me provides a case study in the problems and perils of the jukebox musical. Built around the catalog of the late rapper Tupac Shakur, it aims to be a powerful drama about the destructive effects of gang violence in an inner-city community. Such ambitions are more than welcome in a Broadway climate where few are willing to take any risks. But, thanks to the presence of too many hands lacking musical theatre experience, the results are ungainly, to say the least.

The problems begin with Todd Kreidler's libretto, which suffers from both structural problems and a maddening vagueness that is all the more surprising given the subject matter. John, the protagonist, is an ex-con, returning home after six years in jail. The location of home is never specified; as the program states, "The Time is NOW on MY BLOCK, a Midwestern industrial city,"which is about as detailed as Holler If Ya Hear Me ever gets. Whatever his crimes -- they are never explained -- John, who cut himself off from his family and loved ones during his time in prison, is now a changed man, interested only in finding a job and living a quiet life. Fat chance: In the first few minutes, his old friend, Benny, is killed by a gang from a nearby neighborhood, and the pressure mounts on John to lead the young men of the neighborhood in retaliation.

Chief among those looking for trouble is Vertus, Benny's brother, who is apparently some kind of drug dealer, although we never catch him in the act, and the script's references to Vertus' being "in the game" don't give one much to go on. You might think that a story based on a looming street war would be filled with tension and suspense -- it wasn't so long ago that we sat in this theatre, seeing a perfectly good revival of West Side Story -- but not in this case; for most of its running time, Holler If Ya Hear Me consists of so much milling around, with everyone talking about fighting without ever actually doing it. Between these static, talky scenes are dullish interludes with Kamilah, John's ex-girlfriend, who, having been denied any contact with him -- he refused to see or correspond with her -- has understandably moved on. John eventually agrees to avenge Benny's death, but the plan is abruptly called off when he and most of the others decide that violence isn't the solution. This sets the stage for a tragic climax that feels as arbitrary and unearned as everything else in Holler If Ya Hear Me.

And, as is so often the case in this sort of musical, the job of moving the story along and filling out the characters falls to a set of songs that were never intended for such purposes. Shakur's lyrics are typical examples of hip-hop style -- which means, among other things, the use of intricate interior rhymes combined with plenty of false rhymes at the end of most lines -- but there's no question that they are products of a writer with a strong point of view and a way with words. In this context, however, they mostly consist of generic statements about the pains and sorrows of ghetto life. Furthermore, each song is constructed along similar lines, with run-on lyrics and melody lines that, however catchy, don't really build; most of them come to a sudden full stop, leaving the audience unsure if applause is warranted or not. And most of them fit awkwardly into the story: The furious title number, which provides the first-act finale, comes out of nowhere, the product of a totally manufactured dispute between John and his new employer about a relatively trivial matter. It has nothing to do with the gang war storyline that is supposed to be driving the show, and it comes off as a wholly inappropriate response to the situation into which it has been placed.

A more dynamic staging would certainly have helped, but Kenny Leon, a gifted director of straight plays, seems out of his element here. The action plods from scene to scene, and Wayne Cilento's choreography consists all too often of the company crossing the stage in various patterns. It isn't until the last fifteen minutes that there is anything like a production number, and it is unfortunate that its song, "California Love," built around an enormous lavender vintage Cadillac, comes off as a hip-hop version of "Greased Lightning."

As John, Saul Williams is gifted with a commanding stage presence, but the character is far too passive and fuzzily conceived to be of much interest. Christopher Jackson fares better as Vertus, although, once again, some character-specific details would have really helped. Saycon Sengbloh does what she can with the role of Corinne, who mostly stands around looking pained. Ben Thompson is appealing as the white operator of an auto-wrecking firm who employs and befriends John. John Earl Jelks is convincing as Street Preacher, who is like one of those holy fools in August Wilson's plays, wandering the streets making portentous statements. Joshua Boone and Dyllon Burnside are solid as gang war recruits. And, in a role she could probably do backwards and in her sleep, Tonya Pinkins dominates in her scenes as Jackson's tower-of-strength mother.

The set design, by Edward Pierce, based on David Gallo's original concepts, is a suitably gritty arrangement of platforms and panels on which Zachary Borovay projects chalk drawings of city streetscapes and forced-perspective urban skylines. The most impressive detail is a unit that flies in, representing John's prison cell and, later, his apartment. Reggie Ray's costumes have a thoroughly authentic feel. Mike Baldassari's lighting capably carves out one grim tableau after another and also goes a long way toward adding some pace and drama to the musical numbers. Except for the title number, which is more or less incomprehensible, the sound design, by John Shivers and David Patridge, is admirably clear and crisp.

But, as is so often the case with jukebox musicals, Holler If Ya Hear Me offers a barely sketched-in story that isn't supported by the songs that are supposed to be the point of the entire evening. Intended as an act of homage to an influential artist, it ends up doing him no favors whatsoever.--David Barbour