Memo to Andrew Lloyd Webber: Come quickly. Come bearing hosannas in the highest. Come at once to rejoice in "Jesus Christ Superstar Gospel," the Alliance Theatre's immaculately conceived gospel telling of your 1971 rock opera about the last days of Christ.
Wondrously re-envisioned by arranger Louis St. Louis and directed with graceful precision by Susan V. Booth, the show is an epochal event in the theater's 40-year history — virtually guaranteed to be the smash hit of the Atlanta season.
Boasting a 27-voice choir, six lovely dancers, an ensemble that's like a who's who of Atlanta theater and a clutch of break-out performances by its principals — oh, yes, and a 10-piece band — "Jesus Christ Superstar Gospel" manages to capture the drum beat of the contemporary moment.
On a gleaming white-marble monument, a charismatic young man challenges a corrupt old order with revelations of change. The genius of this treatment is to strip the story of its stereotypical biblical garb, refine the dated score and sharpen the characters' trajectory.
Michael Yeargan's set is a pure, sacred space of marmoreal splendor. Paul Tazewell's mostly all-white costumes are both hip and timeless. (The bad guys wear red and purple.) And Robert Wierzel's lighting bathes the tragic tale in sacrificial reds and ethereal whites.
Though the piece looks somber, the enormous Greek chorus-cum-gospel choir cushions us in surround-sound warmth, and choreographer Hope Clarke's sinuous dancers turn up the sizzle factor.
This stylish affair sports a vote-for-Christ campaign replete with posters and pamphlets, a temple of bling, a Last Supper tableau of inebriates and a fascist goon squad in red berets.
In a smartly calibrated performance, Broadway star Darius de Haas' Christ projects the introspective quality of a man observing the drama around him. But later, his Christ becomes an angry, angst-driven rock star ("Gethsemane"). As Judas, Darryl Jovan Williams (who also arranged the gospel vocals) is smarmy and street-smart, with a vocal range that alternates between edgy and angelic.
But the real star turn here comes from newcomer Nicole Long, who delivers a soul-quickening, career-making performance as Mary Magdalene. The actress' body language may be a little stiff at times. But her take on the signature song, "I Don't Know How to Love Him," is a tour-de-force.
This ain't no gospel hootenanny, but a sensitively conceived and wholly modern update, as innovative as it is familiar-sounding.
Some Broadway producer really ought to snap it up.
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