‘We are the children of the ’60s!’ exclaim the terminally perky women of Shout! The Mod Musical as the finale comes rolling around. At which point my partner, who happens to be a bonafide child of the 1960s, visibly cringed. ‘Jeezus. They reduced the entire decade to a cliché,’ fumed Partner. A longtime political activist whose radical rabble-rouser credentials include a multi-year stint as student government president of the flaming, fomenting hotbed of political unrest, radical thought and free love that was University of Wisconsin during the Age of Aquarius, he would know. I’m not quite old enough to verify his sentiments by dint of real-life experiences. But based solely on the 90 minutes of insipid inanity that comprises Shout!, I’m inclined to agree._______________________
Playwright: created by Philip George and David Lowenstein, book by Philip George and Peter Charles Morris. At: Broadway in Chicago at the Drury Lane, Water Tower Place, 175 E. Chestnut. Phone: 312-902-1400; $45, $55.Runs through: June 22. Photo by Michael Brosilow_______________________
Call me an elitist, humorless feminist if you will; I don’t find the sight of a young woman humping a hot pink shag staircase, ass in the air and green panties in the spotlight, particularly amusing or provocative. Pumping away in a micro-mini about two sizes too small, the Green Girl is the self-proclaimed ‘slut’ of Shout’s over-mic’d, out-of-tune rainbow coalition. The Blue Girl is the lesbian, the Yellow Girl is the Beatles fanatic, the Orange Girl is the alcoholic housewife and the Red Girl is the Ugly Bettyesque geek. Together, they whip through a Pepsodent-fresh, Up-with-People peppy review of roughly two dozen ’60s songs, every one of them leached of soul, context and, in many cases, any hint of tunefulness.
As for the title song, did one not know better, one would think it was surely a parody. It’s a dubiously sanitized, egregiously off-pitch insult to the gritty, ground-breaking rock of the Isley Brothers.
You can’t lay the blame on the hard-working cast for the bland song arrangements, Partridge Family choreography or the D-list skits and jokes —make that ‘mod musings and groovy gab’—penned by Charles Morris and Phillip George. Representative of the would-be ‘Laugh–In’ laugh riot: a bit wherein the Yellow Girl enters, covered with garbage and shrieking in shrill, near orgasmic glee because she’s acquired some of ‘Paul McCartney’s dandruff.’ Are you laughing yet?
What makes Shout! particularly annoying is the comparatively copious amounts of money that went into the show. The budget for the Day-Glo garish set (think Barbie’s LSD Dreamhouse) could probably power your average off-Loop store front for an entire season. The waste is overpowering, from the abundance of wigs (each about as convincing as Donald Trump’s toupee) to the so-tight-they’re-practically-on-inside-out Mary Quant knockoffs to the drag-queen heavy make-up.
Roughly five minutes into the 90-minute revue, Shout! makes you wanna get the heck out.