First things first. I saw “The Book of Mormon” the other night at the Straz Center and was, well, surprised. I liked it. I’ll get back to that in a bit.
I can be finicky about pop culture. My wife would say “dismissive.” That would be too harsh a judgment were it not so often applicable.
For example, I don’t like rap. Call me old-school. Or old. Or white. I prefer that performers actually carry a tune–and carry themselves in a way that doesn’t involve crotch checks. Yes, it’s still there. And while “Whole Lotta Shakin Goin On” and “Tutti Frutti” had to be sanitized for main stream acceptance back in the day, nobody ever thought there were thuggish or misogynistic versions.
I’m also not a fan of movies creatively inspired, as it were, by comic books and video games. And I like my cinematic violence more Hitchcockian than Tarrantinoesque, thank you. Reality shows are oxymoronic. Where there are lights and cameras, there is reality distortion and self-awareness, the compelling presence of Snookie notwithstanding.
I can still remember when media pundits weren’t shill-and-shout, acolyte-recruiting infotainers.
I can also recall when cartoons were childlike, goofy and occasionally dead-on, Cold War parody. Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale were Soviet-era send-ups on “Rocky and His Friends.” No wonder older siblings and parents hovered nearby. This wasn’t “Mighty Mouse” or “Woody the Woodpecker.” But nobody cringed at the dialogue.
Which brings us, however circuitously, to “South Park,” the highly successful, prime time, adult cartoon. I’m not a fan. Not that I miss Bullwinkle so much. I guess I just unfairly write off most sitcoms–animated or not, TV-MA rating or not, 4th-grade characters or not–since “M*A*S*H,” “The Cosby Show,” “Mad About You” and “Seinfeld.” And, frankly, if I want a dose of crude humor and coarse language, I’ll see what HBO’s offering.
This is relevant, of course, because “South Park” creators, Trey Parker and Matt Stone–along with Robert Lopez of “Avenue Q” fame–collaborated on the book, lyrics and music of “The Book of Mormon.”
It all works. Plus, the set designs and choreography are first rate. We are again reminded how fortunate we are in this market to have the Straz–and its ability to lure Tony Award-winning productions.
And the Straz, to be sure, knows it. Tampa isn’t New York, but neither is it New Port Richey. It doesn’t look good if internationally recognized, award-winning fare doesn’t play well in this market with such a world-class facility.
“People have definitely been turning out,” says Paul Bilyeu, the Straz’s senior director of communications. “It’s a terrific show for Tampa to get. And if we didn’t get it, it would be noted.”
Not to worry. A recent Saturday night audience that packed Morsani Hall was more than receptive. Here’s one take on why–beyond the aforementioned production values and the Straz’s proactivity in getting out the word to those not likely to accept sacrilegious in the name of silly.
Thank you, Mormon religion.
We all have door bells. We remember the Romney campaign disclaimers. We get it.
Other religions have, for example, Jesus of Nazareth or Muhammad of Mecca as their deified prophets. The Mormons have Joe Smith of upstate New York. And the hits keep coming from there. From nerdy, teenaged missionaries presuming to explain much of anything to other cultures, especially African ones, to biblical back stories that might as well have Hobbits in the mix.
Plus, I grew up a George Carlin Catholic. I know dogmatic parody material.
And thank you, musical comedy.
Blasphemies set to song don’t seem all that, well, blasphemous. Ask Mel Brooks. Think: Spring Time for Hitler in “The Producers” or even Puttin on the Ritz from “Young Frankenstein.” And in the case of Spring Time, maybe even a device to defuse evil by reducing it to song and dance.
It might not seem fair, but well-done musical comedy might be the perfect vehicle for the otherwise outrageous. And making light of the holocaust, genital mutilation and AIDS–as well as flipping off God–arguably qualifies. But they’re also–wink, nod–plot-advancing devices.
Sure, there were times when sophomoric humor was just that–and we could have done without choreography that included a simulated sex act by Jeffrey Dahmer. Honest, it’s there, but it’s in the diversion-filled, “Spooky Mormon Hell Dream” scene and is easy to miss. Some things “South Parkers” just can’t resist–even when they should.
Probably the loudest laugh of the night was elicited from a line by one of the young missionary “elders,” who was reeling from revelatory life outside the Utah cocoon. “I can’t believe Jesus called me a dick.” Actually, by then, it’s downright believable. Jesus had a case.
To their credit, Mormons have responded in a PR-savvy and good-natured way. They took out multiple, full-page ads in the Straz playbill, including: “The Book Is Always Better.”