Hair, or a journey to hippieville, is the opening attraction at the New York Shakespeare festival's new Public Theater, a pretty little house seating 299 persons, at 425 Lafyette St.
Hair is a disjointed kind of musical tale about a group of hippies, teenage dropouts and copouts. It pleads their causes and airs their gripes. All the clichés of the generation gap arguments are there. The songs, with few exceptions, are dull. More exciting dancing can be found at any discotheque.
There is little humor in Hair, although there are heavy handed attempts at reaching a lively spirit. In short, the large company of players, handicapped by the show's creative people, seem mentally retarded - and terribly juvenile.
Looking on the brighter side of last evening's view of
Hair we would single out Walker Daniels, Shelley Plimpton and Jill O'Hara
as well above average performers. "Where Do I Go?", "Dead End" and
a ballad listed as "Frank Mills" were songs that were treated well by the
three.
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