PITTSFIELD, Mass. – And it came to pass that the faith of the devoted sore was tested in the months of famine, and there was a great famine to believe again. So on a hot night in August, several scores of them, with their lower faces hidden as the times required, gathered in a parking lot in a small town in the lap of the Berkshire Mountains. They were looking for signs of a resurrection.
It just felt like a tent – with socially distant folding chairs set up inside – was gathered behind the Colonial Theater here, just like for a revival meeting. The musical “Godspell” from 1971, reincarnated by the Berkshire Theater Group, is based on parables from the New Testament, and the leading man is called Jesus.
But the belief that was so strangely promoted here, in a mood that might be described as very creative caution, was not so much Christianity as the rebuilt religion of theater, the practice that only disappeared in the time of the Covid-19 pandemic.
The very existence of this version of John-Michael Tebelak and the half-century-old Stephen Schwartz part of elevation of story-theater qualifies as something of a miracle. As a general rule, summer pieces from ‘Godspell’, a favorite of church and school theaters, are as common as crab grass. But this “Godspell” has historical singularity on its side. It is the first professional musical, sanctioned by Actors Equity, to open in this country since the great pandemic lockdowns began.
This means that the show, directed by Alan Filderman and choreographed by Gerry McIntyre, had to follow Talmudic rigor’s rules, in agreement with the Massachusetts State Department of Health, to keep its 10-member cast and its 75-member audience safe for infection. Such dictates have been harsh enough to be enforced in supermarkets.
But in live theater, what relies on communal intimacy? And “Godspell,” which traditionally has sensible young broadcasts cuddling and screaming like a herd of puppies, is one of the most intense musicals ever made.
That’s one of the reasons harder critics tend to “Godspell.” Look at the reviews that have appeared in The New York Times over the years, and you will find descriptions such as “nasty” (Clive Barnes, 1971); “Reminiscent of nothing so much as ‘The Muppet Show'” (Bruce Weber, 2000), and “relentless perky” (Charles Isherwood, 2010).
But historical and social context counts a lot in how a work of art is perceived. If you are standing in the desert with nothing to drink, a communion lime of grape soda can taste like the most beautiful Champagne. After experiencing about 150 days of theater only through computer screens, I was thirsty for any kind of personal encounter with flesh-and-blood practitioners.
I hasten to add here that this “Godspell” is not just better than nothing. And it is as deeply affected as ever, but because of its well-dried material. In reimagining a string of biblical life lessons and folk hymns and gospel songs for the age of the coronavirus, Mr. Filderman and his company speak to contemporary fears fueled by isolation and inactivity.
The production begins with the cast members describing what their lives have been like during lockdown and the Black Lives Matter protests. (The original “Godspell” painted a fighting dialogue of famous philosophers.)
They have all kidnapped their acting careers, and they describe feelings of fear, even mortal fear, and hopelessness. And they worry that the theater they knew and lived through would indeed be a thing of the past.
Dressed not in the cheerful child-naked rags associated with the 1973 “Godspell” movie, but in Hunter Kaczorowski’s innovative variations on denim work and playwear, they do so not only to speak but to to illustrate main show of the show. You know, do it with others, and so on.
The golden rule here takes the form that they almost always keep at least six feet apart. Each time they cross the paths, they have to make sure that their masks (bundles around the neck) are pulled into place. When a choir sings Schwartz’s tuneful white pop gospel – an activity known for flying regrets – it does so behind the transparent panels of Randall Parsons’ beautifully utilitarian set. (Matthew E. Adelson’s pattern lighting makes it look like a doctor’s waiting room.)
Despite being part of a cast of 10, every performer is only up there. They usually dance (even tap dance) on the spot, sometimes sitting. (Highlights: Nicholas Edwards as Jesus and Tim Jones as Judas doing a vaudeville-style duet with sticks instead of sticks, and a lot of hand-sanitizing shtick, and Zach Williams vamping as a killer chorine from “Chicago.”) When the script calls for physical contact – that includes baptism, embracing, slapping one cheek (so that the other can be turned) and, of course, a Judas kiss – action and reaction are delivered in separate, distant places.
As a metaphor for how many of us have been living since March, this form of theatrical communication feels both heartbreaking and worthwhile. We adapt, we make do, even when we long to go back to the age of the handshake and the hug.
This style of performance also has the advantage of scaling up the ancient, exhibitionist quotient of “Godspell.” As in most productions of the last few days, there are interpolated fun contemporary references (they include Dad jokes and the Occupy movement here). But there’s a new sense of reflectivity here, and you actually feel like you’ve put the rules of the show into action.
Of course, telling the parables – the devastated son, the good Samaritan – still takes a lot of stage time, a little embarrassing, with the artists adopting nice accents. It was when the cast members, most of whom imagined a multitude of roles, sang that I found that my obligatory face mask was often wet with tears.
It’s not that everyone has exceptional voices (although Alex Getlin, who does ‘By My Side’, written by Jay Hamburger and Peggy Gordon, has an Orphic folk solo to melt stone). But they sing with clarity, conviction and a radiant gratitude for the opportunity to be there. And neither they nor Andrew Baumer’s musical direction ever pressed too hard for soul-rolling, hand-clapping effect (not even with the show’s breakout hit, ‘Day by Day’, originally sung by Isabel Jordan).
As for the man of the moment – or should I say of eternity? – The open face Jesus of Edwards is no holier than you, preaches prophet. In verse, he projects a beatified ambivalence that transforms mixed feelings into a state of grace. His voice divides from burning mind into a great, blinding brightness that is always emphasized with pain.
When he finishes singing the ballad ‘Beautiful City’, he looks both furiously hopeful and devastated as he tries to imagine a bright future. I never thought I would say this, but I know exactly how Jesus feels.
Godspell
By 4 sept. At the Colonial Theater, Pittsfield, Mass .; 413-997-4444, www.berkshiretheatregroup.org.
