One More For Keith

KEITH MOON is still dead. But then so is Jim Jones. Currier House's production of Tommy may prove to be a fitting memorial to both.

yes, Tommy. This is the work that turns the crime of passion into an art form. This is the story of a young boy's lapse into a blind, deaf and dumb state, induced by witnessing his father's murder. This is the story of a boy who suffers repeated assault to emerge as pinball champion, guru, and finally, a victim of his own followers' violence. This is the show that almost appeared in Dudley House. However, a Master's wrath (piqued by an oversize stage) forced a sudden relocation to the Currier fishbowl.

And it might have seemed a week and a half ago that this show would be destined for the ash-heap of Harvard theater. Not only did the cast and crew have to accomodate themselves to a significantly smaller set than the dismantled Dudley House version, but the show itself is incredibly difficult to stage in any theater. It is, after all, not a musical, or even a rock "opera;" it most closely approximates an oratorio. The Who's lyrics barely outline plot and characters; the music gives them their force.

Fittingly enough then, the band is the star of this show. You'll like them if you liked The Who, a band I like very much. Tommy is the closest thing around to rock's Messiah, and it is as sacreligious to rape the "Acid Queen" as it would be to rearrange the Hallelujah chorus. The band is tight, clean, and faithful to the original.

This is not to disparage the band as a set of Who-parrots. They displayed coolness and professionalism throughout the performance, surviving broken guitar strings early in the show and a series of minor technical mishaps, possibly induced by the alien setting.

Ben Rosenberg, on guitars and as the narrator, played his first solo directly after his A string snapped. His stint as narrator, singing "Captain Walker," "Amazing Journey" and "Sally Simpson" were all acceptable, if not spectacular. John Arimand, on electric and slide guitar played a solid lead throughout the show. As the pinball wizard he overlaid his own lead with a rendition of "Wizard" that was, fortunately the Daltry, not the Elton John interpretation. Chad Balch, on drums, had perhaps the hardest act to follow. After all, Keith Moon will stay dead an awfully long time. He, and the rest of the band, Al Halliday on keyboards and Ross Albert, all turned in performances that make this show worth seeing. If all else fails, (which it didn't), you can always close your eyes and listen.

Unfortunately, though marked by several strong individual performances, the visual, the dramatic side of Tommy did not fare quite as well as the music. Given the material, the director must strike a fine balance between the innovative staging needed to connect the fragmentary images produced by the song lyrics and the use of conventional techniques to give the songs dramatic power. The Currier House production falls when the director, Steve Drury, fails in that task.

SOME OF Drury's staging is quite effective. The set, a bare stage and a series of simple backdrops, is perfectly adequate as a frame for the Who's work. Some of the tableaux used by Drury early in the show are starkly evocative of the emotions of Tommy's early life. But the static presentation at the beginning of the show becomes boring. After more characters appear on stage, the drama becomes complicated enough to demand some movement on stage beyond that of a chorus wheeling in straight lines, or squatting, then standing, in unison.

Similarly, the special effects, designed by Richard Green, seem promising, but ultimately become distractions and reduce the impact of some find performances. A film of abstract shapes, depicting the thoughts of the deaf, dumb, and blind Tommy ends up frying your eyeballs while conveying no impression of mental activity by any actor on stage at the time. The electronic music heralding Tommy's return to awareness competes with a band more than capable of communicating the power of the moment.

The individual performers, however, generally succeed in their primary task: singing the songs. Patty Woo as Nora, Tommy's mother, is especially strong in the classic, "Tommy Can You Hear Me/Smash the Mirro." She precisely evokes a bizarre combination of tender motherly concern and guilt-inspired anger. And as an extra bonus, Woo develops her character without overacting in the moments when she is not singing: a job the other actors find difficult to do. Bob Cunningham, as Nora's lover/accomplice Frank, sings adequately. Once away from the mike however, he presents either exaggerated venom or a sense of being out of place. Lowell McKelvey, as the young Tommy, is supposed to look like an ingenuous child. Sure enough, he looks like one. He even speaks acceptably.

In minor roles, Macaire Henderson and Ellen Brenner as the Doctor and her assistant stand out in their duet "Go to the Mirror." Steve Harrison as Cousin Kevin is chilling as he produces an amazing picture of sadism and feral, sexual hunger while viciously torturing his helpless cousin. The dancers, led by choreographer Ann Dressler and Beth Seidel, are extremely competent.

On the other side of the coin, Amiel Sternberg's Uncle Ernie, a doddering bugger who assaults Tommy while singing "Fiddle About," is certainly a horny old bastard but is played too much as a drooling victim of uncontrollable sexual urges. The innocent relish of Daltry's original has disappeared and the desperate emotion that takes its place is unconvincing. Who would even ask the question "Do you think it's all right--(to leave the boy with Uncle Ernie)" if they were leaving him behind with such a creature.

Judy Bass as the Acid Queen suffers from an overdose of Tina Turner. Turner's Queen was full throated and nasty: she enjoyed her work and took no pains to hide that fact. Bass lacks the stage presence to carry it off, and in striving after open evil loses the chance to convey the more understated evil of Daltry's Queen. She never manages to portray a character that can convincingly sing "I'll show him what he could be now/just give me one night/I'm the gypsy, the Acid Queen/Pay before we start." Finally the chorus, though it can sing, never displays much passion or dynamic range as actors until the final scene of the show.

BUT ABOVE and beyond the rest of the cast loomed Richard Westelman's Tommy. Throughout the first half of the show, when he is physically and sexually assaulted, Westelman retains catatonic self-control. In the second half he is the driving force of the show. "I'm Free" is a triumphant cry of joy. With that song too, Westelman begins the most difficult task before any actor in the show. Within ten minutes he jumps from total isolation to cult leadership. Without injecting more than the songs will bear, Westelman manages to convey Tommy's simple message: follow me and achieve the perfect high. His sincerity is painful.

And that sincerity is of course met by followers who cannot face the discipline required on the road to truth and beauty by way of pinball and multiple handicaps. The denoument is the most powerful moment of the show. The chorus finally breaks from its orderly line and rises to destroy Tommy, singing, "We're Not Going to Take It." And Westelman, alone, singing the most famous line of them all, "See me, feel me, touch me, heal me," gives the show its final, genuine power.

There is perhaps a message in this piece of music, some of which the Currier production certainly conveys. Strong individual work and extraordinarily tight musicianship by the band more than overcome lacklustre direction and any logistical crises in presenting a fit memorial for Keith.

And the final crash, the mob violence unleashed on a cult hero hints at others to be remembered. Maybe the Guru Maharah Ji's rock band will fail. Maybe Werner Erhard will marry Linda Renstadt. And maybe, thinking back on absent friends, "Dad" could have blown it. Jonestown could have gone the other way.