Hairspray

Hairspray

Marc Shaiman (Music); Scott Wittman & Marc Shaiman (Lyrics);

Mark O’Donnell & Thomas Meehan (Book)

San Francisco Playhouse

It is only fair to open this review of San Francisco Playhouse’s Hairspray with a warning:  From the opening “Good Morning Baltimore” to the finale “You Can’t Stop the Beat,” multiple worms will be implanted deep within your being that will ring forth in your ears for days to come.  Be further cautioned that for at least a week or more, you will likely out of the blue begin cutting the rug with some too-cool, ‘60s dance moves — no matter where you are or who is watching.  

 

These are the necessary hazards of having one helluva good time at the Playhouse’s Hairspray that is Broadway-plus in every rock-n-roll, rollicking respect.  But even more important to note:  You will be moved by a production that also reminds us what it means to be the despised, ridiculed ‘other’ in a majority, prejudiced society — whether the difference is of skin color, economic class, size of body, gender identity, or physical/mental special needs.  And finally, as you leave wanting to burst into song with your heart pounding like a drum, you will be inspired having witnessed what it looks like for those disenfranchised by the majority to stand up, take charge, and make change happen — an important inspiration in 2026 America as much or more as in 1962 Baltimore.

What more could one ask from one momentous, good-time evening of live theatre that is sure to be this summer’s biggest ‘must-see’ in San Francisco.

Tracy Turnblad is a high schooler – bigger in body and boldness than most of her classmates — whose fondest dream is to be selected as one of the dancers on the local TV, teen dance program, The Corny Collins Show.  That a girl who constantly suffers the brunt of cruel, hallway bullying by Corny’s blondest and supposedly prettiest dancer and Tracy’s classmate, Amber Von Tussle, does not phase Tracy at all.  After all, this is a girl who greets one and all on her way to school with the widest of smiles singing “Good Morning Baltimore” with an optimistic outlook that broadcasts her sheer joy of life — saluting total strangers bustling to work, kids from the ‘other side of the tracks,’ a homeless drunk, and even the daily, friendly flasher.

Proudly sporting a mountain-shaped crown of hair that is ratted and sprayed to the hilt, Ella Ruth Francis is a Tracy who exudes confidence, zeal, and determination to the max in her walk, her personality, and her very presence.  Not only does she demonstrate time and again an ability to belt exuberantly the 1960’s-era songs written by Marc Shaiman (music and lyrics) and Scott Wittman (lyrics), this Tracy can dance up a storm in every style from the Freddie to the Frug, from Shimmy to Swim, from Twist to Watusi.  And like every teen who has her moments of being dramatic, Tracy never fails to fawn and fall over the heartthrob of her life — Corny Collins and Elvis-wanna-be star, Link Larkin.  Every time she sees him, her reactions are like she was in the middle of an earthquake in their intensity, just begging for a camera’s close-up on the black-and-white screen of a TV’s 15-inches.

Trevor March plays the ever-suave, perfect-hair and totally debonair Link, who in fact does have the hip moves and sounds of The King himself as demonstrated when he grooves out in “It Takes Two,” a number where Tracy joins him after winning a surprise spot on Corny’s Kids Council.  As the weekly dance program is showing live, Tracy is drawn to Link as if magnetized, with their eyes locked and their bodies grooving in sync.  Soon the two are singing in electrifying harmony an ending that is topped with an exclamatory kiss that surprises both of them.  That smacker sends shockwaves through all of Baltimore as this over-sized girl not only makes it big-time on a show usually starring only those much more petite, but she makes out with the hunky star himself for all the world to see!  

Even though Link has been the boyfriend of the self-centered, bad-mannered, proudly prejudiced Amber (a deliciously obnoxious brat played by Mackenzie Macdonald), Link begins to find much more beauty in Tracy.  He even is warming up to the idea that Tracy’s best friends include the Black kids in their school that Amber and her friends avoid like the plague.  These friends are the ones that Tracy believes should not be confined to a once-a-month “Negro Day” program on Corny’s show, but instead has caused a city-wide upheaval declaring in an interview, “I’d make every day Negro Day” on TV.

Tracy’s genuine regard for everyone as equal no matter what the rest of the world says comes largely from parents who have taught her by their everyday life to disregard the meanness and mocking of others.  Tracy’s slim-bodied dad, Wilbur Turnblad (Ken Brill), is the good-hearted, always upbeat owner of the Har-De-Har Hut, an outlet for novelties, whose inventions include a still-to-be-perfected whoopee cushion.  Her mom is the plus-plus-sized Edna, played with spectacular moxie and pluck by Jonathan Chisolm, who stands all day at her ironing board as the owner of “Edna’s Occidental Laundry” and who delivers time and again with spark and spunk some of the best comic lines of Mark O’Donnell and Thomas Meehan’s book (e.g., “You just can’t stop my knife and fork when I see a Christmas ham”). 

The differently sized couple from the very blue-collar part of town are a Romeo and Juliet who can barely keep their hands off each other.  They bring down the house when Wilbur croons with his Perry Como smoothness “You’re Timeless to Me” and the two dance in a number that is a hilarious and heart-warming mixture of Vaudeville and 1950’s TV-variety shows (with a touch of Ginger and Roger thrown in for good measure). 

Tracy’s being chosen to be a regular on the Corny Collins Show – hosted by a flashy, fair-minded, and fine-voiced knock-off of Dick Clark played by Jeffrey Brian Adams – is the worst nightmare of the show’s producer, Amber’s mom, Velma Von Tussle.  That is especially true when suddenly the big-girl, big-hair Tracy becomes an overnight sensation and is leading Amber in the audience voting for “Miss Teenage Hairspray, 1962.”  Velma is even more incensed that Tracy wants to integrate her lily-white show, with Alison Ewing releasing enough venom in her portrayal of Velma to vie as a wicked witch as vile than any Disney ever conceived.  But when her Velma lets loose in “Velma’s Revenge,” there is no doubt but that this this is a witch who can also sing up a storm. 

Tracy’s best friend, Penny Pingleton — a delightful red-headed Samantha Rich –also has to endure the pointed jabs of other kids that has led her to be shy and soft-spoken.  Her lack of boldness changes when all of a sudden she and a Black kid, Seeweed J. Stubbs (the dynamic and ridiculously talented Jordon Covington) meet and fall gaga for each other.  Both Penny and Seeweed fortunately have several chances each to wow us with voices that zing and dance moves that are sharp and snazzy.  Together, they are just sultry enough to horrify Penny’s highly bigoted, prissy mom, appropriately named Prudy (Rebecca Pingree whose ‘whiteness’ is also blazingly in the spotlight as a gym teacher and a prison matron).

This outrageously talented cast of thirty-two includes too many to recognize all, but a few more must be mentioned.  Young Saniya Johnson is a big-voiced giant of an actor as she commands the stage every time her Little Inez rings out in song and/or dance.  (She alternates the role with Suleika Onia Patton.)  Kaila Dyson, Anese Jade, and Cai Rodis raise the roof as “The Dynamites,” a Motown-like, sassy trio who take an already contagiously toe-tapping song with Tracy, Edna and others – “Welcome to the 60’s” – and send it soaring even higher.  Finally, David Boyll reigns supreme playing a number of quirky roles, including the fabulously funny owner of the Hefty Hideaway clothes store, Mr. Pinky; the evil school principal who relishes with lip-smacking spite sending Tracy to detention; and the creepy sponsor of Corny’s hit show, Harriman F. Spritzer, who lives and dies on the money he makes selling Ultra Clutch Hair Spray.

Production number after number somehow just gets better and bigger, thanks to the choreography of Phoenyx Rose coupled with a host of inspired directorial choices by Bill English.  Three sets of moms and daughters – different as they can be on the surface – share three, interlocking spotlights in a big-sounding “Mama, I’m a Big Girl Now” in a riotous round of rotating dressing tables where Tracy, Penny, and Amber try to convince their protesting moms – all belting “Stop! Don’t! No! Please!” – that they are ready to be independent.  Funny is just not adequate to describe the crazy, stop-and-start action and dance scenes of “I Can Hear the Bells” where Tracy imagines an eventual trip down the aisle with Link.  And these are just two of many, full-stage, eye-popping numbers that each deserve its own Standing O.

Heather Kenyon employs four, arched, colorful, stage frames with hints of the neighborhoods of Baltimore embedded throughout in a set design whose elements quickly convert to a cramped, dingy apartment; a snazzy TV stage; a jail full of angry women, and more.  Michael Oesch’s bursts and spots of lighting also often in the bright colors of the early sixties along with the fabulously filled back stage of cartoon-like and neon-hued videos designed by Erik Scanlon complete a stage always on fire with excitement in its design (not to mention the oft-hilarious properties designed by Amy Benjamin).  And the crowning touch is the array of costumes designed by Bethany Deal that visually contrast the whites hanging onto the conservative looks and views of the ’50s and the ‘delinquent’ whites like Tracy and all her Black friends who have discovered the liberating patterns, colors, and fabrics of the ’60s.

Finally, not to be overlooked but instead to be the one who comes close to stealing the show, Jeannine Anderson is yet another of the production’s big and beautiful women, Motormouth Maybelle, the big-hearted, fearless mother of Seeweed; the African-American owner of a local record store; and a TV stage performer in her own right.  She leads forth in a swinging, swirling, and sexy “Big, Blonde and Beautiful,” trumpeting her mighty voice as a full stage joins her in bringing Act One to a close.  Later, Jeannine Anderson will bring cheers and tears to us all as she sings “I Know Where I’ve Been,” describing in her deep, smoky voice a past life’s many pains followed by breath-taking, powerhouse vocals that rise in evangelical testimony of hopes for a future of true equality.  As she and all the Black members of the cast sing and move to the stage’s edge along with Tracy and Link, it is clear that she and they — the members of the Black community — are the ones that deserve the real credit for victories like the final integration in 1962 of this rather silly but altogether important, TV dance show in Baltimore.

And it is that victory as celebrated in the stage-filling, theatre-rocking “You Can’t Stop the Beat” that brings the audience to its feet for good, joining with this matchless and marvelous San Francisco Playhouse cast in rejoicing one hard-earned moment among thousands in the road toward black-white equality.  But as we clap with them in satisfied triumph, how can we not realize that almost sixty-five years later in 2026 America, that road still stretches too far out in front of us to an endpoint where there is no longer the ‘other’ in this country.

Rating: 5-E, MUST-SEE

A Theatre Eddys Best Bet Production

Hairspray continues through September 12, 2026, in a two-hour, twenty-minute (plus intermission) production at San Francisco Playhouse,  450 Post Street, San Francisco.  Tickets are available online at www.sfplayhouse.org or by phone at 415-677-9596. 

Photo Credits: Jessica Palopoli