Much has changed since “The Wiz” first stormed Broadway in 1975 with all its showtune soul and sass, simplistically reflecting and exaggerating an American era of emerging black pride. Now, tackling three decades worth of politically correct, multicultural mumbo jumbo, artistic director Des McAnuff has snagged original “Wiz” orchestrator Harold Wheeler, along with one hell of a special effects crew, to attempt a 21st-century modernization of the original fairy tale’s darker sister. The venue itself is a work of art, with dizzying lights and screens, on-stage seating and a yellow brick road that curves through rows seven and eight.
David Allen Grier, of television fame, plays a Wiz updated with drug-lord wig and high-tech control station. Disappointingly, the notorious projected head never makes an appearance.
As did its predecessor, and most musical theater for that matter, the two-and-a-half hour production often teeters onto the cheesy side, this time with stabs at urban culture about a decade late in comedic relevance. Good Witch Addaperle (Heather Lee) clears out Claire’s Accessories, donning every-color-over-the-rainbow hair extensions and everything sparkly; the scarecrow comes alive with an excruciatingly elementary-school “Wasssuuup?”; and worst of all, Dorothy’s fleshed-out little dog (dancer Albert Cattafi), sporting roller-heel sneakers and Busta Rhymes dread-spikes, breakdances as encircling Emerald citizens shout, “Go Toto! It’s your birthday!” (Thankfully, master choreographer Surgio Trujillo left out the accompanying fist rounds.)
Mixed in with this middle-aged white man’s rendition of hip are frequent strokes of stylistic genius. The Tin Man wears a full-body suit of junk-yard treasures, ranging from computer chips and graphing calculators to silver-sprayed shinguards, while an androgynous street-strugglin’ Lion makes his mane from unraveled braid-end fuzz.
The star of the show is without doubt the Wicked Witch of the West — formally Evillene, but also called WWW (haha, the Internet) or simply double-yuh (haha, the president). Actress E. Faye Butler is a vision in scuddy raingear as she directs an army of tumor victims in gas masks, playing off both the original witch’s fear of deadly water and the nuclear woes of today. Wildly original grunts and gurgles are dearly missed after Butler’s short stay center stage — though she does make many a cameo beforehand, belting furious inaudibles from beside, above and below so as not to underuse those magnificent chops of hers.
The loudest critical whine about La Jolla’s latest little prodigy is that it doesn’t have a heart. But considering the banality of the original novel’s message — “There’s no place like home,” in case you somehow forgot — how much soul searching do we really need from its umpteenth revisit? The musical’s best aspects are in its rich 3D spectacles of new (i.e. sitar-swaying cleavage poppies), with the dullest moments occurring when dumbed down to adhere to the age-old plot. A little ’90s roll-eye is tolerable — just don’t make us listen to another duet about following the heart.
“The Wiz” plays through Nov. 26 in the Mandell Weiss Theater. Tickets start at $25.
