Deaf West revival disappoints in its bluster

There are few things I look forward to more in the theater than a new musical production from Deaf West.

So, when Center Theatre Group announced that they planned to reopen Los Angeles’ Mark Taper Forum with a Deaf West collaboration of a revival of Green Day’s American Idiot, I couldn’t think of a better way to welcome theatergoers back to one of the city’s most important theatrical venues. But the new production, now playing and extended through Nov. 16, is, quite simply, a disappointment.

A muddle of riot and noise, it lacks the precision and subtext of previous productions like Deaf West’s Spring Awakening. Part of that is by design — American Idiot leans into the punk rock ethos of Green Day, essentially turning a concept album into a piece of musical theater. And the book, by Green Day’s Billie Joe Armstrong and Broadway director Michael Mayer, is nearly non-existent.

The story follows three disaffected youth — Johnny (Daniel Durant; voiced by Milo Manheim), Will (Otis Jones IV; voiced by James Olivas); and Tunny (Landen Gonzales; voiced by Brady Fritz) — who struggle with addiction and finding their purpose in life. Johnny turns to the lure of the big city and heroin, while Tunny chooses the red, white, and blue allure of the U.S. Army, and Will descends into alcoholism and depression when forced to stay in the suburbs with his pregnant girlfriend, Heather (Ali Fumiko Whitney).

It’s familiar stuff, and one that’s still rich for mining in a time marked by the rising tide of misogyny and angry young men that has accompanied the MAGA movement. But one of this production’s biggest errors is trying to update the show. It’s unclear just what year this is meant to take place in, but an opening montage that includes footage of Donald Trump, the Black Lives Matter movement, and more suggests it’s sometime between 2016 and now. 

However, the thing about American Idiot is that it’s utterly of its time, a giant middle finger to George W. Bush’s America (that now, honestly, feels quaint in comparison to recent events). Tunny’s choice to pursue military service is impactful in the context of the Iraq War, but it’s muddied when loosed from that setting. What’s more — the entire thing feels a bit petulant in the face of the looming election.

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That’s not to say that a more thoughtful, considered update wouldn’t work — but it feels as if director Snehal Desai was content to throw a video montage into the opening number and call it a day. Indeed, Desai’s direction is the Achilles heel of this production, with everything from acting choices to blocking playing as messy and imprecise. Watching this revival, I couldn’t help but wonder what significantly more rehearsal and dramaturgy might have done for it. Instead, it feels like the production team was enraptured by the notion of a deaf actor and singer bringing the lyrics “My shadow is the only one who walks beside me” to literal life and never pushed much further.

The interplay between the deaf actors and their vocal counterparts has flickers of brilliance, but it never locks into a concept. At times, the vocal actors represent the characters’ inner voice and turmoil; sometimes they’re a friend or companion who seem to be literally in the room with them; and other times, they’re offstage completely. There’s potential here for the connection between the deaf actors and vocal actors to provide a rich subtext about communication and toxic masculinity, young men’s inability to express themselves, and the ways that one can channel rage and hurt into music. But such possibilities are muddled in the myriad of choices on display.

Additionally, the three leads — Durant, Jones, and Gonzales — are lackluster. Durant, who also costarred in Best Picture winner CODA,  was devastating as Moritz in Spring Awakening (what John Gallegher Jr. role will he take on next?). But his Johnny is a sullen layabout, lacking in the punk rock energy that the role requires. He’s more burnout than rebel, and it sands down the spiky edges of the character, while also making him significantly less sympathetic.

Meanwhile, Gonzales only plays Tunny’s war injury at surface level, failing to capture the emotional wounds at play, and Jones leans too heavily into the sleepwalking through life aspect of Will’s depression. This is all particularly noticeable because Manheim, Olivas, and Fritz are such a stark contrast, brimming with rock star energy and live-wire rage. They’re mismatched with their counterparts across the board, which also lessens the sense that they’re an extension of the characters rather than an entirely separate entity. They all deliver enrapturing performances and show off their vocal prowess, but Desai’s direction makes them feel disjointed instead of granting them space for a fluid symbiosis.

Takeshi Kata’s scaffolding set and Karyn D. Lawrence’s lighting design add to the show’s bombardment of the senses, leaving audiences never quite sure where to look or focus their attention. There’s flashing lights here, dancers there, and a guitar player in the corner, creating a dizzying scenic tableau that is punk rock in its erraticism if not cohesive or clear in its staging. Every choice favors mood and style over substance.

Still, amidst all this noise, there are two standouts. Mason Alexander Park (Cowboy Bebop) brings an outre Iggy Pop iconoclasm to the role of St. Jimmy, a drug dealer who is eventually revealed to be a manifestation of Johnny’s inner demons. Their distinctive voice combines with an impish, unsettling energy to create a memorable, insidious villain. Mars Storm Rucker blasts the roof off the place as Whatshername, the girl that Johnny falls in love with in the city. Her solos on “Letterbomb” and “Last Night on Earth” are the show’s most powerful vocal moments.

Choreographer Jennifer Weber and ASL Choreographer Colin Analco lend a frenetic, jagged shape to the show’s movement, and the ensemble executes it all with aplomb. But again, some of it is lost in the expansive and unfocused staging that doesn’t allow us to hone in on any one particular performer or number.

American Idiot the album is still a potent political missive, a reminder of all the ways that art can speak truth to power — and somewhere in the morass of this new revival, there’s a nugget of that. But it will need a lot more polishing to truly shine. Because as it stands the show is something unpredictable, even if, in the end, it’s right. Grade: B–