A&E

It’s hard to imagine a moment in theater as exhilarating as the opening stanzas of “The Flesh Failures,” the show-stopping finale of the revival of “Hair,” currently finishing its run at the Delacorte Theater as part of “Shakespeare in the Park”’s summer season.

However, “revival” isn’t quite the right word. Director Diane Paulus has not merely revived the somewhat dated musical about hippies protesting the Vietnam War and experimenting with drugs, sex and rock and roll. Re-invented perhaps, for unlike the typical revival of shows from the era, the musical feels fresh and injected with life by an enthusiastic young cast and its new location, amidst the picturesque outdoor Central Park Theater.

“Hair,” which was originally produced forty years ago as part of the Public Theaters’ opening season, was a sensation.  However, certain elements of the controversial original production—audience participation, nudity, a general lack of cohesion—are now old news.  The new “Hair” no longer relies on intrigue to reach its audiences. However, this version, which plays out during the tumults of an unjust war, does more than protest the times, but questions the value of protest itself. “Hair” remains so relevant, because rather than drawing on the obvious juxtapositions between Vietnam and Iraq, the show contrasts the youth of today with the youth of the sixties. This is because we, in contrast to the protest generations that came before us, seem lost and without a cause.

The play’s loose structure is centered on Claude— a Converse-clad native of Flushing, and the members of his Tribe —a collection of Hippies wandering around Central Park in search of money, food and mind-altering substances.  Claude seems less caught up in the movement than his fiery and sometimes angry compatriots—hesitating as his peers burn and throw their draft notices into a garbage can (the only prop used throughout the musical).  What follows is a bad trip, as Claude envisions his future in the war.  Like most of today’s youth, Claude doesn’t possess the passion of the protestors who surround him, and the concepts of right and wrong aren’t always clear, as evidenced in his song “Where do I go?”  In his eyes, the “cause” doesn’t seem like a cause at all, but merely an excuse to party.

Indeed, as the youngsters engage in their stage antics, shedding their clothes and sticking it to the man, they seem like little more than a pack of kids.  Why are they so intent on not cutting their hair anyway?  In truth, the characters seem without direction or unity despite the fact that they share a common cause.

Paulus’s staging is simple, almost primitive.  She has a careful understanding of both the limitations and the benefits of the space, and uses the Delacorte’s thrust stage and setting amidst the trees to great effect, but gives the audience very little to look at otherwise. There is very little choreography—for most of the songs, the actors stand in a line.  However, the effect is more anthem-like than anything else. “Hair”’s only flaw is that it gives the audience very little to cling to besides the music—there is no cohesive plot or set, and the characters are almost anonymous.  However, unlike much of sixties theater, “Hair” is enlivened by a message–that youth could affect social change. Though the message is slightly different, this new revival is not without purpose.

Sitting in the audience watching “Hair,” and looking around during some of the show’s most memorable songs, you can see more than a fair share of aged hippies mouthing (not singing) along.  It seems that “Hair” is merely catering to their nostalgia.  However, in the show’s final moments when the bouncers step aside and throngs of young people crowd the stage to sing and dance with the cast, it becomes clear that “Hair” has found a new audience.  A new audience and a new voice.