Word: off-broadway
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...slickly packaged Broadway version of hippiedom, Hair is now in its third incarnation. It had a limited run last fall at Joseph Papp's off-Broadway Public Theater, later surfaced at the discotheque Cheetah. Compared with this season's crop of moribund Broadway musicals, Hair thrums with vitality. Nonetheless, it is crippled by being a bookless musical and, like a boneless fish, it drifts when it should swim. Director Tom O'Horgan lashes up waves of camouflage, but distraction is no substitute for destination...
...third act (following the single intermission) did pick up a bit, and with it the laughs. This may indicate hope for the future (such as Thursday or Friday night); the play has been a proven quantity off-Broadway and on the screen...
...society, homosexuals have abandoned discretion and invisibility. For better or worse, homosexuality and the gay-life subculture are becoming acceptable as dramatic themes, to be treated with the same frankness as heterosexual relations. Probably the most overt example of this trend is The Boys in the Band, which opened off-Broadway last week. Neither patronizing nor proselytizing, it coolly takes the milieu of the homosexual for granted. It is also a funny, sad and honest play about a set of mixed-up human beings who happen to be deviates...
...remarkable amount of information, polish and tart viewpoint into his reviews. Of the flibbertigibbet comedy import, There's a Girl in My Soup, he observed: "Here we have the sort of English play that prevents the American theater from having a permanent inferiority com plex." Or recently, from off-Broadway If two foul-mouthed mental defectives shouting at each other is your idea of theater, there is The Beard." Of Here's Where I Belong: "As with so many recent musicals, none of the principals can really sing...
...people in love can, and inevitably will, be each other's heaven and hell. So argues Arnold Wesker in his latest play, The Four Seasons, which opened, off-Broadway last week. Love buds in spring rain, blossoms in summer ardor, withers and stales in autumnal tiffs and recriminations, and turns to icy death in a winter of unfeeling. The play is intimate and perceptive, though it lacks dramatic vigor. The language that might have lifted it to poetry is too often absent. Yet the playwright's intent is aspiring and his subject compels attention...