In 1984, director Trevor Nunn was doing press for Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Starlight Express when he offered the perfect maxim for a Webber fan: “Here is my money. Hit me with the experience.”
Arguably none of Webber’s shows have hit harder than his 1971 rock-opera, Jesus Christ Superstar, which arrives at Melbourne’s Princess Theatre after a much-lauded run in Sydney. First revived at London’s Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre in 2016 for the show’s fiftieth anniversary, it’s been restaged in Australia by director Timothy Sheader. Sheader favours a ‘more is more’ approach, leaning into every ‘Webber-ism’ that made the show a success in the first place: rock'n'roll maximalism, near-inhuman vocal lines, emotional spectacle. No crucifix is too glittery or top note too loud. Megawatt vocals and an electric ensemble cast make it a cut above the other Webber revivals we’ve seen in the last couple years. Yet its heavy-handed approach also exposes the limits of spectacle for spectacle’s sake, even when it comes to Webber. It’s a dazzling experience, but ultimately soulless.
The curtain rises on a disassembled rock concert: amps, concert speaker boxes and microphone stands peppered around a set of towering balustrades, exposed steel beams and grating that hide the band. Set and costume Designer Tom Scutt puts us somewhere between Rent’s gritty urbanism and the steampunk simplicity of Hadestown. Meanwhile, lighting designer Lee Curran adds a splash of Mad Max to things by throwing dirty yellows and dark oranges across the steel crucifix centre stage until it resembles a sunburnt oil rig. It’s the kind of grunge dystopian pastiche that Jesus Christ Superstar has always courted. And even if the cast’s costumes represent this style at its worst – drop-crotch pants, pockmarked singlets and cardigans in different shades of Millennial grey like a homage to 2010 Kanye West – you forgive the production for leaning into its stadium-tour dystopia vibe. Jesus Christ Superstar began as a concept-album loosely stitched together to tell the story of Jesus Christ’s last days, after all. Some of the best rock stars have been drawn to it for that reason: from Marcia Hines in 1972, John Farnham and Kate Ceberano in 1992, and Alice Cooper in 2018.
Vocally, there’s not a weak link among this cast. But impressive musicianship is often prioritised over characterisation. Tim Rice’s lyrics can be silly, but they take every character’s problems with a Biblical seriousness. Bombastic orchestrations and endless high notes are larger-than-life in the score to match the drama of every existential reflection from Jesus (Michael Paynter), theological rant from Judas (Javon King) or soul-searching monologue from Mary (Mahalia Barnes). Poor sound mixing and a tendency among the cast to oversing erases these depths. By prioritising dynamics over clarity, the show bombards you with the score’s excess without letting you hear the lyrics that justify it. One ear-splitting belt after the other insists you feel something until each number feels like senseless headbanging at a concert: thrilling, but dizzying.
As Jesus Christ, singer-songwriter Michael Paynter has a clean-cut boyishness that can be endearing. Mahalia Barnes, another with rock'n'roll pedigree, is similarly likeable as Mary. But both leads seem uncomfortable on stage. When they’re not wandering idly or offering wooden gestures, their faces seem stuck in the mawkish ‘furrowed brow’ expression that Les Misérables made cliché. Of course, their divine vocals are still divine. But no riff or soaring high note felt believable as expressions of something real. As Paynter sings out ‘Why should I die?’ for show highlight, ‘Gethsemane’ (‘I Only Want to Say’), you’re in awe of his divine vocal range. It was certainly enough to bring me to my feet (in one of two well-earned standing ovations on opening night). But I stood out of admiration, not feeling.
Thankfully, what is lacking in the show’s leads is more than made up for by its ensemble and supporting cast. Darcey Eagle is a standout as the leader of the ensemble mob, bursting with energy and delivering Drew McOnie’s gestural choreography with an eye-catching conviction that never lets up over a 110-minute runtime. This cast of accomplished dancers certainly help smooth the edges of the show’s fragmented pacing with their passion and commitment. But what their impressionistic movements are meant to signify is unclear. Meanwhile, increasingly odd choices – four dancers pouring gold glitter on themselves out of hollow crucifixes, or throwing glitter on Paynter for every one of Jesus’s 39 lashes – only confirm that productions need to stop using ‘camp’ as an excuse for ill-thought-out maximalism.
As Judas, Javon King is the perfect example of maximalism done right. Every riff, opt-up or flip into head voice felt like an acting choice, rather than merely a showcase for musicianship. Tana Laga’aia uses the opposite approach when he lands one of the most affecting emotional beats in the show as Peter during ‘Could We Start Again, Please?’ with just the subtle strumming of a guitar. Other highlights include Graeme Isaako’s joyous Simon; John O’Hara’s menacing high priest Annas; and, of course, Reuben Kaye in his show-stopping turn as Herod. Kaye’s rendition of ‘King Herod’s Song’ showed off every skill in his wheelhouse as a vocalist – from baritone growl to operatic falsetto – while still lending a much-needed gravitas to his character’s villainy.
There’s a lot to enjoy in this revival. Like any Webber show, it’s often propelled by the sheer confidence of its own conviction. But ultimately, it left me wondering if asking more from Webber is just a matter of asking for more. More gold glitter? More neon crucifixes? More decibels? Or perhaps it’s just about accepting less.
Jesus Christ Superstar is running at the Princess Theatre until June 22. Find out more and get tickets here.
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