Not that anyone would call Edna a pretty woman. For one thing, she’s played by a man–a large man with a buzz-saw voice named Harvey Fierstein. It’s one of the joys of “Hairspray” that Fierstein, who became famous as a drag queen in “Torch Song Trilogy,” is absolutely convincing as a plus-size housewife in 1962 Baltimore. Buying Harvey as Edna is also at the heart of the show itself. Like the John Waters movie on which it’s based, “Hairspray” is very much about showing that someone who isn’t thin, pretty or even feminine can still be fabulous. “Hairspray” actually revolves around Edna’s teenage daughter, Tracy (Marissa Jaret Winokur), who shares her mother’s girth. Tracy desperately wants to win a spot on the local TV dance show, though she has to get past blond bombshell Amber Von Tussle (Laura Bell Bundy) to do it. But Tracy doesn’t stop there. She not only sets her heart on Amber’s hunky boyfriend (Matthew Morrison), she decides to integrate Baltimore television. “I wish every day was Negro day,” she tells her black friend, Seaweed. To which Seaweed (Corey Reynolds) responds, “At our house, it is.”
Since it started performances in Seattle in June, the buzz on “Hairspray” has been so big, it’s easy to expect too much. Despite the Day-Glo colors and the broad humor, this is not a splashy musical. In fact, much like Tracy herself, “Hairspray” has big bones but a small, sweet soul. David Rockwell’s sets are clever–he has a wonderful way of hiding the cast in the scenery–but they never try to steal a scene. Jerry Mitchell’s choreography stays true to the innocence of a ’60s sock hop. Even Paul Huntley’s all-important wigs–the show’s called “Hairspray,” after all–hold back on the full topiary effect until the big finish. There are times when “Hairspray” goes too far. In the second act, the show overdoes the self-referential humor in ways that feel like “The Producers,” “Thoroughly Modern Millie” and “Urinetown.” (Will anyone ever write a noncampy Broadway musical again?) But why quibble with a show constructed so carefully and cleverly? After all, there aren’t many musicals these days brave enough to tackle the topic of racism without ever losing their sense of humor.
There are two strands of “Hairspray” that do stand out like a well-lacquered bouffant. One is Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman’s score. Shaiman, the movie composer behind the wicked and wonderful music to “South Park,” pulls together blues, pop, doo-wop and even a lover’s duet that works in Fierstein’s thin and scratchy range. This is the most ambitious new Broadway score in years, and it’s more infectious than the West Nile virus. Fortunately for Shaiman and Wittman, someone had the good sense to cast Winokur as Tracy. Plucky, adorable and warmer than an August day in New York, she takes the part played in the movie by Ricki Lake and makes her utterly winning. Best of all, Winokur, Shaiman and Wittman have never headlined on Broadway before. They’re outsiders who fought their way to the big show and won. Tracy Turnblad would be so proud.
