On a Rainy Day, 'Hair' Lets the Sun Shine in Central Park

NEW YORK -- "Welcome back, all you beautiful, wet hippies!" an actress called out to us from the grassy stage of Central Park's Delacorte Theater, where "Hair," the seminal protest musical, is making an invigorating New York return. The greeting was occasioned by the passing of a thunderstorm that interrupted the first act of this open-air revival, a production that had put the audience in such good spirits that it would have seemed apt for the throng to shout the remark right back.

It's an indication of the potent mix of exhilaration and nostalgia engendered by director Diane Paulus's endearingly faithful, seriocomic treatment that after a half-hour rain delay, almost no one went home. Tickets to the Public Theater show are free, and this is jaded Manhattan, after all. So it would not have been surprising if the crowd had thinned appreciably.

But experiencing the self-described "American tribal love-rock musical" on a summer's eve in the New York of 2008 turns out to be something you'll want to weather, even if it can never again be the type of seismic event it was back in the days of rage. "Hair" is certainly and centrally concerned with the Age of Aquarius, the era of let-it-all-hang-out, a theme reflected in the show's notorious, headline-grabbing mass nude scene, which is also being lovingly reprised.

In hindsight, however, the swiftness with which that age came and went reinforces another more poignant idea implicit in the show: the fleetingness of youth itself.

At 40 musical numbers, "Hair" has a whole lot on its mind about the matters in 1968 that preoccupied those who thought young: sundry things such as the draft and pollution and bell bottoms and astral projection and race and sex and drugs and flowers and love and freedom and peace and happiness.

Inevitably, it will be pointed out that the nation is now, like then, mired in an unpopular war. Yet "Hair" endures outside its role as agitprop. That it packages its agenda in such a jubilant vaudeville -- "Aquarius," "I Got Life," "Walking in Space," "Frank Mills," "Three-Five-Zero-Zero," "Easy to be Hard" are just a few of the melodic highlights -- testifies to "Hair's" rightful claim as more than psychedelic artifact.

Sure, some of its act is a bit tired, especially in the conjuring of an acid trip stretching over four numbers. Still, in the score by Galt MacDermot, James Rado and Gerome Ragni, there remain the electric tunes of a Broadway classic, of a style that has been emulated in productions down the years, from "Godspell" to "Rent."

Paulus is a director, recently appointed to head the American Repertory Theatre in Cambridge, Mass., who likes to wrap music around theater in exciting ways; her terrific off-Broadway "Donkey Show" married "A Midsummer Night's Dream" to disco, and "Eli's Comin' " turned Laura Nyro's songbook into a cerebral pop revue. With "Hair," her assignment had to do with rescue as much as revival: Milos Forman's shambles of a movie version in 1979 seriously damaged the show's reputation, making it seem as if "Hair" had been some type of shabby monument to anarchy.

What she restores is the sense of mischief as well as innocence, particularly in the sterling performances of the two male leads: the uber-hippie Berger (Will Swenson) and the divided-against-himself Claude (Jonathan Groff), the latter torn between his desires and those of his flag-waving parents. Swenson confers roguish swagger on Berger, who seems equal parts flower child and caveman. And Groff, fresh from his star turn in the Tony-winning "Spring Awakening," imbues Claude with the integrity of one who is engaged in a serious examination of responsibility and duty.

The plot's linchpin has to do with whether Claude will follow the lead of Berger and burn his draft card. (Kids: Ask your parents.) One of the big questions "Hair" seems to be asking is whether this act is more self-serving than sacrificial, for in the end, everything in life can't just be about doing your own thing. "This is the time we rediscover sensation," the flower children sing naively in "Walking in Space," a paean to the wonders of LSD-prompted hallucination.

The director fills the stage -- which is covered in artificial turf so realistic-looking it has bald spots -- with an exuberant ensemble sporting the requisite line of love beads and denim hippiewear; the musicians sit under a tie-dyed band shell. It's choreographer Karole Armitage who most evocatively shapes the landscape with her sensual deployments of actors' bodies. Generally, the songs are vividly staged, from the soulful female trios of "Black Boys" and "White Boys" to the rocking "I Got Life," which in Groff's delivery exudes exactly that.

The women's roles aren't as multidimensional -- with the exception of the activist Sheila (Caren Lyn Manuel), they're little more than groupies -- so the actresses' performances tend to fade a bit, too. As a vocalist, however, Patina Renea Miller has several fine moments, especially in the lyrical opening number that heralds an age of harmony and understanding.

Miller also sings a third of the biting anti-pollution number, "Air," that took on unanticipated significance on a recent stormy night. As Miller and her two colleagues, Kacie Sheik and Allison Case, began to sing, the winds kicked up just before the clouds opened. Around them the gusts swirled -- and the lyrics told us, in effect, to scatter. "The air, the air," they sang, "is everywhere."

Hair, music by Galt MacDermot, book and lyrics by Gerome Ragni and James Rado. Directed by Diane Paulus. Set, Scott Pask; costumes, Michael McDonald; lighting, Michael Chybowski; sound, Acme Sound Partners; psychedelic art, the Joshua Light Show; music director, Nadia DiGiallonardo. With Bryce Ryness, Darius Nichols, Megan Lawrence, Andrew Kober. About 2 1/2 hours. Through Aug. 31 at Delacorte Theater, Central Park. Tickets are free and available, two per person, at the theater on the day of performance beginning at 1 p.m. or at noon on the day of performance at http://www.publictheater.org.