Prior to my seeing the production that is the subject of this review, my entire knowledge of Godspell was that there existed a play by this name, maybe with a vague sense that it’s a musical. So despite its having debuted off-Broadway in 1971, to me it might as well have been written last year and be making its world premiere at Long Beach Playhouse. For me, Godspell comes in a post-Hedwig world.
Had that been the case, I’d be telling you that a divine new musical has been born unto the world, and that the Playhouse has done some fine midwifery. As it is, I’m all the more impressed that this was written more than half a century ago, and that the Playhouse has so successfully located it in 21st-century Long Beach.
Godspell has little plot to speak of. It’s mostly just Jesus (Kenny Giles) and his disciples hanging out — they listen to his teachings, they amuse themselves by acting out parables of right belief and behavior (according to Matthew, anyway), and they break into songs in styles ranging from vaudeville and jazz to ballad and pop/rock, many with lyrics adapted from traditional hymns and such. Yes, we get Jesus’s baptism, betrayal, and crucifixion, but even these events aren’t really part of a coherent story.
And we couldn’t care less. Godspell is about two things: 1) Stephen Schwartz’s superfine songcraft, and 2) charm.
Of course, these are two things that a director and cast can screw up royally. And after I sat down to write this review, I realized that in fact I hadn’t been totally unfamiliar with Godspell: I’d seen some of the 1973 film version and found it utterly unwatchable, so full of smarmy slapstick, cutesy little voices, self-satisfied mincing, and shit-eating grins that I wanted to do some very un-Christian things to everybody involved.
But how do I love the Playhouse’s production? Let me count the ways! Start with the music. Traditionally, the Playhouse has had trouble getting the balance right when live music — particularly rock ‘n’ roll orchestration — is involved. Their 2024 production of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, for example, never took flight because the band was simply way, way too quiet despite the fact that they were actually onstage. But Godspell comes pretty close. Under the musical direction of Stephen Olear, the six-piece unit grinds through all of the stylistic shifts with a pleasing garage-band eagerness. Because they are not piped through the house PA, on occasion the music feels shunted into an aural corner.
This might not be so noticeable had director Sonya Randall not done such a diligent job blocking the cast during the musical numbers. Because ultimately most every song involves more or less the whole cast, there are wall-to-wall opportunities in a smallish theater space to create spatially layered vocals, which is exactly what Randall achieves, constantly playing not only with the Mainstage’s extended verticality but also the aisles between and behind the seating sections. Although often this meshes perfectly with the band’s location, on occasion we wish the music were more spread out (something that could have been achieved with castmembers adding percussion here and there).
That small cavil is the show’s biggest failing. From the opening moments — which are in progress as the audience files in, with neo-hippie protestors arguing with riot-geared police — everything (and I mean everything) works. There isn’t a song that isn’t both sonically strong and visually engaging. Randall and Omar Ceja have perfectly dialed their energetic choreography to the cast’s abilities, proving (in a way that I see far too rarely) that you don’t need professional dancers to create great dance numbers. The synergy of this tireless cast impresses both physically and vocally, with polyphonic flourishes that produce chills. At the same time, each actor manages an individuality not just in their solo turns — all of which are good — but as distinct personalities, facets they convey in dress, movement, and constant droll asides to each other and the audience (only some of which you’ll be able to catch, because as a collective they are playing to every corner of the theater).
Because the music is so good, the most obvious place Godspell could founder is the parables. (While the film somehow manages to make even the musical numbers insufferable, it’s the parables that would tempt me to violate the Sixth Commandment.) But here each one is charmingly realized. A standout is one rendered as a bit of Beat poetry, complete with bongos — but they’re all great.
Much as I’m loath to spotlight any individual in a production that is such a triumph of the collective, in Godspell you gotta have a good Jesus. Kenny Giles delivers, playing him/Him with soft-spoken amiability, leading his disciples through fellowship rather than force of personality. And as Judas, Quinn Vann ably communicates his love for his teacher and a fitting ambivalence about his own traitorous fate.
Godspell is so successfully fun and funny through nine-tenths of its duration that you wonder whether it will disappoint when the proceedings take their inevitable turn. Instead, we get what may be this great show’s greatest moment. “On the Willows” is a powerful, haunting song, one of those melodies that brings you (or at least me) to tears regardless of the lyrical content. Vann sings it perfectly; and by setting it to Jesus sharing a wordless, private goodbye with each disciple (individualized by distinct gestures set up early in the play), Randall has created a touching, transcendent theatrical moment.
Historically, musicals have not been Long Beach Playhouse’s strong suit; but history does not delimit what is to come. This is one of the best things they’ve ever done, and you won’t see a better show — musical or otherwise — in Long Beach (at the very least) this year. A true joy. Verily, I say unto thee: see this show.
Godspell at Long Beach Playhouse
Times: Fri–Sat 8pm, Sun 2pm, plus Thursday, July 2 at 8pm
The show runs through August 2 (no show July 4).
Cost: $24 to $36
Details: (562) 494-1014; LBplayhouse.org
Venue: Long Beach Playhouse, 5021 E. Anaheim St., Long Beach