High Fidelity is an energetic finally-growing-up-when-you're-30-something story complete with stupid decisions made for no apparent reason, an eclectic group of aimless friends, a handful of bad break-ups and, at some points, strikingly honest internal monologues. For audiences who liked Avenue Q and Rent, this is another tribute to being young(ish) and foolish that will have you humming a tune as you walk out. (My favorite song in the show, for the record, is "9% Chance".) In High Fidelity, traditional ideas of on-stage Broadway behavior are tossed out to make room for more expletives than a 50 Cent song and a narrative that is every bit as edgy and fun and nostalgic as it was meant to be when Nick Hornsby first wrote the novel.
Before I go on, I must confess: I fully expected to hate this show. I wanted to hate it as soon as I heard the title. High Fidelity set to show tunes? It seemed absurd. I was sure there was no way to take an indy rock, 90’s, anti-establishment John Cusack vehicle / Hornsby novel and make it a compelling stage musical. Much to my surprise, 10 minutes into the first act I was laughing hysterically and having a great time despite my desperate effort to be miserable and un-entertained. Where I predicted I might laugh at the stupid song lyrics or cartoonish characters, I instead found myself laughing with them because, well, they got to it first. Where a line like "you paved the way for romance / when you kept him out of your pants" under other circumstances would make me cringe and roll my eyes, here it makes me and every other messenger bag-toting, jeans-wearing 20-something in the audience double over with laughter. That's the inarguable charm infused into every second of this show -- it's delightfully self-aware.
In the opening scene, Rob (Will Chase) sets the tone by describing his love for classic vinyl records and cassette tapes, especially of the hand-picked "mix tape" variety. What follows is a simple story of breaking up and making up chopped into fun little musical vignettes. The soundtrack adds up to the kind of mix tape that you listened to on a road trip to some spring break destination in 1995. From start to finish, Will Chase as Rob exudes a kind of inescapable all-American charm that will ensure him and long and successful career as an actor. It also ensures that he is not upstaged by the even more lovable Dick (Christian Anderson) who can easily coexist on the stage because of his very different variety of sweet, pathetic, pat-on-the-top-of-the-head huggable charisma which is literally show-stopping on more than one occasion. In particular, the first incarnation of "No Problem" halts spoken dialogue for a full spotlight on Dick (and yes, his name is bandied about as a cheap punchline more than once), who demonstrates his social ineptitude with an endearing and ridiculous response to a simple question. Rob's patience with this, in turn, endears him to us a little more.
In comparison, Barry (Jay Klaitz) feels a bit flat. As an insecure, judgemental music snob who wants to be a rockstar but doesn't play any instruments, Barry isn't as adorable as Dick or as charming as Rob. He's the innocuous kind of friend you'd only hang out with in a group. But then again... maybe there's a reason everybody has a friend or two like that. He doesn't offer a lot, but if he wasn't there, you'd miss him. Barry's big moment in the closing scene is fun but nothing to write home about. Neither is leading lady Jenn Colella's Laura. To be fair, this story isn't really about Laura so she doesn't have a lot of room to grow. In "#5 With a Bullet" her imaginary alter ego is 10 times more entertaining that the real Laura.
Rounding out the cast are an adequate Jeb Brown as the archetypal New Age ponytailed hippie Ian and a woefully underutilized Rachel Stern as Rob's gal pal Liz. In "She Goes", Liz belts out a soulful condemnation of Rob's immature relationship history complete with finger pointing and foot stomping. The choreography for this number is right on the line between terrible and exactly right for the genre, but it doesn't matter much since the audience is frozen in awe of Stern's powerful voice. Altogether, the High Fidelity cast is Broadway-caliber but Chase and Anderson are the only memorable talents. The good news is that it's pretty much a one-man story so the supporting cast doesn't have to do any heavy lifting for the overall product to feel intimate and real.
In fact, the entire script works very hard to eliminate reality in favor of Rob's internal monologue. That fantasy world, in turn, gives us such an honest glimpse into the character of Rob that we feel a legitimate connection. The best scene in the entire production is a series of fantasies played out by Rob et al. according to various musical genres. When Laura's new boyfriend comes into Rob's record store to "talk", we see the inhabitants of Championship Vinyl attack and kill (more Roadrunner/Coyote than Hannibal) the offending intruder first as Guns n' Roses, then as the Beastie Boys, then as whatever hip-hop artist is popular this week. Each time, Ian is resurrected and we hear the sound of a casette rewinding while the characters reset themselves. This is pastiche at its best, and it's a pity they don't continue on beyond 3 iterations. Like a dumb joke when you're really drunk, it doesn't stop being funny even when it's repeated a dozen times.
It's important to note here that the film version of High Fidelity was inaccurately labeled a romantic comedy, for lack of a better category. I mean sure, there is a romantic relationship as the central plot focus, but on the whole High Fidelity isn't really romantic at all. There's no real feeling that Rob and Laura are meant to be together and the question of whether they reunite is only mildly compelling. In fact, I wouldn't bet on a happily ever after for the two of them. The real drama here is in Rob's one small step toward personal growth, but even that's a stretch. Ultimately, there is no great allegory here or classic theme to explore. The art and the beauty of High Fidelity -- and it is artful and beautiful -- is that it is a perfect snapshot of that subset of my generation who chose music as their cathartic channel and fit into a crowd by being outsiders together. If you fondly recall life before Ipods and mp3s, if you secretly still keep a handful of your favorite albums on cassette in a box in your attic, or you ripped holes in brand new jeans before you wore them to school with a flannel shirt, this musical has the inside joke, warm, fuzzy feeling of paging through a college yearbook with those four freshman-year friends you still keep in touch with.
If you liked the movie, you'll like the show. If you don't know any Bruce Springsteen songs and you've never heard of Lyle Lovett, the show will feel hollow to you, like a sitcom episode. If you insist on analyzing the plot dynamics of the story and will force your friends to discuss whether the music is derivative or original, you'll be disappointed. There are electric guitars in the orchestra and Conductor Adam Ben-David is a young muscular guy wearing a black t-shirt.
Here's the bottom line: if you're a straight guy between 20 and 35, this musical is for you. I know you'd rather die than allocate 2.5 hours of your evening and some portion of your budget to, *gasp*, musical theater, but please try to overcome that. Because for you especially, this show feels like home.
