He was a sex machine and a polygamist. He was a political instigator and presidential candidate. He was a performer of charismatic swagger who fused the musical idioms of his time into a ground-leveling, body-shimming mix of brass, drums and electric guitar.
He was Fela Anikulapo Kuti (1938-1997), the voice of the ’60s-and-’70s sound called Afrobeat and the subject of the Broadway spectacle that is shattering the walls of the Atlanta Civic Center through Sunday. Directed and choreographed by Bill T. Jones and starring former Atlantan Sahr Ngaujah, “Fela!” resists conventions of musical comedy to imagine an out-of-control dance party at Kuti’s famous Lagos club, the African Shrine, and a Yoruban séance that puts him in touch with the spirit of his mother.
“Fela!” is a jukebox pastiche showcasing the work of a masterful songwriter with whom the American public is probably not all that familiar. But even if you don't sing along to the music of Fela, you won't be able to resist jumping to your feet when this megawatt star with the erotic grind of Elvis and the social consciousness of Bob Marley commands you to do so.
Truth be told, the book of “Fela!” (by Jim Lewis and Jones) feels a little upside down and murky. And because the trucks carrying the touring show from its previous engagement reportedly were slow arriving at the Civic Center, Tuesday’s performance started nearly an hour late, a situation that didn’t do much to calm the spirits of impatient patrons. There was also a bit of annoying echo in the sound system at the top of Act Two. And yet nothing could stop the force of nature and mind-blowing energy that is “Fela!”
If it weren’t for the wildly talented corps of dancers that tears up the Shrine with their groovy moves and musculature, you could almost say it’s a one-man show. But Fela, in his tight pastel-colored outfits and matching shoes, would be nothing without his exciting band and his cadre of fabulous movers. Their love, their gorgeous bodies, their sexy ’70s costumes and African headdresses cushion him in a cloud of joy. Designing both sets and costumes, Marina Draghici contributes a memorable approximation of a tacky Lagos dance hall, and her fashion is gloriously detailed. The women, in particular, are living works of art in costumes that show off their lusty struts and, in the second act, queenly demeanor.
Fela, you see, is trying to communicate with his late mother (Melanie Marshall), who in real life was thrown out of a window when the army invaded his Lagos compound in 1978; the show’s confusing structure seems to go in reverse, to this dark hour of death and degradation at the hands of the Nigerian military. All that said, Jones and his company use the magic and the mayhem to evince a full-out spectacle of fantastic costumes and Yoruban ceremony and ritual.
Downer though the ending may be, everything that leads up to it is delicious. Ngaujah owns his character, and describes Fela’s physical magnetism and constant exasperation (with life, with politics, with the crowd that won’t give back what he’s giving) with virtuosic detail and showmanship. This actor, who trained with the Freddie Hendricks Youth Ensemble of Atlanta, has killer comedic timing, superb body language and propulsive athletic ability. He has legs like rockets, a rippled torso and a posture of unalloyed control. He's the real deal.
This show has played Broadway. It's toured the globe. And now it's in the hometown of the actor who created the indelible personality and energy that is Fela. It's like nothing else in theater today, and it would be a shame to miss it.
Theater review
“Fela!”
Grade: B+
8 p.m. Thursday-Saturday. 3 p.m. Saturday and Sunday. 7:30 p.m. Sunday. Through Sunday. $28-$68. Atlanta Civic Center, 395 Piedmont Ave. N.E., Atlanta. 800-745-3000; ticketmaster.com
Bottom line: Extraordinary theater.
