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The Dude Abides

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Progressive Christian

Last updated on: February 22, 2008 at 1:46 pm by Cathleen Falsani

2008-02-22T13:46:00-07:00 Cathleen Falsani

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GODSTUFF

THIS ‘JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR’ IS A SUPER DUD

For the first time in more than 30 years of theatergoing, this week I walked out of a show at intermission and didn’t go back.

It was production of “Jesus Christ Superstar.”

More like “Jesus Christ, Super Bad.”

No one was more surprised by my reaction than I was, as the 1970 Andrew Lloyd Webber musical based on the last days of Jesus’ life had long been one of my favorites. And this production — a five-day run at Chicago’s Cadillac Palace Theatre — featured an interesting twist: Ted Neeley, who portrayed Jesus in the screen adaptation of “Jesus Christ Superstar” in 1973, was reprising his role.

I’m all for experimental casting, so the idea of a 64-year-old actor playing a 33-year-old Jesus was intriguing. Perhaps it would bring a new kind of resonance to the role, a different facet of the personality of Christ.

Sadly, instead of an aging superstar — think Springsteen or Redford — what we got was a hybrid of Willie Nelson and Tom Cruise (in “Born on the Fourth of July.”)

Neeley’s geriatric Jesus had none of the appeal of either the Jesus of the Gospels or the supernova character he portrayed on-screen in 1973. “You were supposed to want to fall in love with him,” whined a colleague who saw the show a night earlier. “You didn’t want to follow him anywhere. He wasn’t sexy. He was creepy.”

People were drawn to Jesus, the Bible tells us. Not because he was good-looking but because he had a charisma, an ethereal-yet-visceral allure. Instead, Neeley’s Jesus sleepwalked through the scenes with his disciples, staring inexplicably into the middle distance and having unintelligible conversations with the sky (presumably with his Father in Heaven) a la Carlos Zambrano between wild pitches.

There was no connection between Jesus and the Apostles. If you didn’t know the biblical story, you’d be hard-pressed to figure out why they were so gaga over him, dancing around like the cast of “Zoom!” in religious ecstasy. Or something. Jesus floated above them, more like Yoda than God-made-flesh and sent to dwell among them.

The disconnect between Jesus and his disciples, and, frankly, among the disciples themselves, coupled with a daft, piped-in musical arrangement of the stellar score that sounded as if it had been performed by a church-basement synthesizer — my kingdom for a live electric guitar! — meant that, by the time Judas betrayed Jesus, the best friend and I were ready to climb under our seats and hide.

The best friend (a classically trained actor by trade) and I met when we were members of our college theater company. We’ve seen many plays and productions together over the years, and as a rule she doesn’t offer critiques during the show. By intermission, she couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I’d rather just go somewhere with you and talk about Jesus than suffer through the second act,” she said. So we walked down the street to Petterino’s and reached for some mental floss to get rid of the “Superstar” aftertaste.

Almost everything was wrong with the production, we surmised, but the worst part was the injustice done to the story itself. Our college theater director impressed on us that everything we do — especially artistic expression, which is a spiritual gift — is a form of worship.

When a rehearsal or production was not going as well as he would have liked, the theater director sometimes would blast us with bad notes and, before storming out of the cast’s green room, shout: “You’re offering shit to God!”

Decompressing at Petterino’s after escaping spooky Jesus and his spacey disciples, we couldn’t help but think of his words.

When I got home, I watched the 1973 film, starring a not-yet-30-year-old Neeley, which I hadn’t seen in more than 20 years. In the film, Neeley’s Jesus was intense and electric — a young tormented rabbi who lived and breathed and struggled in much the same way as his disciples.

Then, I popped in my DVD of another 1973 Jesus film: “Godspell,” with Victor (“Alias”) Garber as the Superman-T-shirt-and-rainbow-striped-pants-wearing Christ.

I prefer the joyous, loving, sometimes silly Jesus and his ragtag band of moppet disciples skipping through Central Park and dancing on the top of the World Trade Center to the brooding Superstar.

A “Godspell” revival is planned for Broadway this summer. Let’s pray a national tour follows and stops in Chicago.

“We beseech thee! Hear us!”

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