Hair: The Tribal Love - Rock Musical

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https://www.hairthemusical.com.au/

Date Reviewed: 01/11/2025

HAIR | Written by Gerome Ragni and James Rado, with music by Galt MacDermot | Presented by the Australian Shakespeare Company at the Athenaeum Theatre

Fifty-seven years ago, Broadway audiences saw something they’d never witnessed before: a stage full of naked actors. That same year, halfway across the world, Hair opened at London’s Shaftesbury Theatre — the day after Britain abolished theatrical censorship. It marked not just a revolution in theatre, but in social expression itself.

Meanwhile in Australia, producer Harry M. Miller was defying a conservative government’s 1968 crackdown on “obscenity” in the arts. By 1969, several Victorian actors had already been charged under censorship laws, and as Hair approached its Sydney opening, one question lingered: would it even be allowed to go ahead?

So it felt almost poetic that two 57-year-olds, born in that same year of rebellion, found ourselves watching Hair in its Athenaeum opening. Stirred by the music that once shook the establishment and defined our parents’ generation, we bopped along to the familiar tunes and revelled in the psychedelic spectacle. 

Hair works perfectly well as joyous nostalgia. But peel back the tie-dye and peace signs, and it remains something urgent: a cry for freedom, a rejection of conformity, and the radical (if naïve) belief that love, not war, might just save us.

From the moment the live orchestra struck up behind a circular screen flashing archival footage of civil rights marches, anti-war protests, and flower-power euphoria, we were swept into a kaleidoscope of rebellion. The yin-and-yang stage platform captured both the chaos and colour of a generation determined to change the world. More than a design flourish, it became a physical embodiment of Claude’s dualism, his soul pulled apart as he contemplates his draft papers. The shifting projections are not mere nostalgia but a visual argument for historical recurrence: the same cycles of conflict, protest, and hope forever spiralling through time.

Actors James Rado and Gerome Ragni began writing Hair in 1964, drawing on their friendship and the counterculture movement around them. Rado’s Claude embodied the introspective dreamer; Ragni’s Berger, the free-spirited provocateur. Their volatile chemistry became the show’s soul; a fusion of street poetry, protest, and love. “We knew this group of kids in the East Village who were dropping out and dodging the draft,” Rado once said. “We put the drama between us on stage.”

Canadian-American jazz musician Galt MacDermot, an unlikely hippie himself, composed the score that transformed their vision into the first true rock musical, one that still speaks across generations.

When the cast chanted “Let the Sunshine In,” it was impossible not to think of Gaza, Ukraine, Afghanistan, Sudan,  Syria, or the climate crisis, our own era’s struggles for peace, justice, and survival. The parallels felt almost too neat: different wars, same yearning for light. But in 2025, the rally cries feel more fragmented, the hope tempered by irony. It’s harder to believe that music alone can save the world.

Director Glenn Elston OAM understands that Hair is no museum piece. “We need Hair,” he writes in the program. “It dares us to ask the questions we never thought we were allowed to ask.” Indeed, the themes that ignited the 1960s still smoulder today, though this production doesn’t always dig beneath their surface. The anti-war message remains clear, but other tensions, like race and class, feel softened for palatability.

Leading the tribe, Alex Cooper shines as Claude — the dreamy young man torn between duty and self. His performance captures both innocence and defiance: a boy drafted to war, desperate to resist yet fearful of exile. Maxwell Simon’s Berger is magnetic, anarchic, and irresistibly relaxed, while Elizabeth Brennan brings sincerity and steel to Sheila. The ensemble radiates infectious energy, reminding us why Hair was dubbed “the American Tribal Love-Rock Musical.”

A third of the original Broadway cast was African American, their voices vital in confronting racism head-on through songs like “Colored Spade” and “I’m Black.” In this revival, the Australian cast is notably lighter in tone, dreadlocks standing in for genuine ethnic diversity. This is more than a missed opportunity; it’s a structural silence. When the so-called “Black singing trio” performs “White Boys,” the absence of visible, lived Aphro-black experience renders the number a symbolic gesture rather than an authentic expression of outrage. The result is telling: a show that celebrates revolution and racial justice while retreating from the uncomfortable politics required to truly stage them. In this sense, Hair becomes a mirror of modern complacency — beautifully staged, but curiously safe.

Still, the cast compensates with exuberance, spirit, and tight chemistry. They look like they’re having the time of their lives, and that joy is contagious. The production’s weakness lies not in execution but depth: Hair’s racial commentary is acknowledged but never interrogated, leaving its once-revolutionary grit a little too polished.

Sue-Ellen Shook’s choreography is exuberant and free — flying limbs and joyous chaos capturing the messy energy of the ’60s. Yet in ensemble numbers like “Aquarius,” the symmetry and controlled formations suggest a paradoxical conformity within counterculture itself. This disciplined precision mirrors Claude’s inner turmoil: the desire for freedom constantly battling the structure imposed by the draft.

Colin Snape’s musical direction anchors the exuberance in rich harmonies, a fusion of rock, gospel, jazz, and folk that evokes both civil rights protest music and psychedelic optimism. “Aquarius,” “I Got Life,” and “Good Morning Starshine” retain their power to uplift and unite.

Karla Erenbots’ costumes burst with colour: fringe, suede, and paisley swirling across the stage in a technicolour dreamscape.

And yes, that scene. The infamous nude tableau, tastefully staged beneath a parachute, lands as a moment of vulnerability rather than shock. In 2025, it barely raises an eyebrow; in 1968, it was a revolution, a literal stripping away of hypocrisy.

If you come seeking scandal, you’ll be disappointed. Hair’s provocation lies not in skin but in spirit; in its refusal to accept war, conformity, or silence. Elston wisely resists modernising or moralising; he lets the original work speak. And it still roars, if not quite as loudly as it once did.

Many of Australia’s most beloved performers got their start in Hair John Waters among them, and Marcia Hines, who famously moved from the United States to join the 1969 Sydney production after auditioning for Miller in Boston. This revival honours that lineage with respect, carried by a cast clearly in love with the material.

We left humming “Let the Sunshine In,” the theatre lights still warm, wondering: have we really come that far?

For those of us born in 1968 — a year of assassinations and protests, followed by moon landings — Hair isn’t just a time capsule; it’s a mirror. We, the so-called yuppie generation of the ’80s, were born of resistance but seduced by comfort. Watching Hair again reminded us that rebellion isn’t a phase — it’s a duty.

The dawning of the Age of Aquarius may still be pending, but for two children of ’68, this revival made us believe, if only for a night, that love and music can still change the world.

Highlights

• Vibrant live band and archival video projections transport you straight into the 1960s.
  
• Alex Cooper’s heartfelt Claude and Maxwell Simon’s electric Berger anchor the show with depth and charisma.
  
• Karla Erenbots’ costumes and Sue-Ellen Shook’s choreography turn nostalgia into art.
  
• The psychedelic slow-motion scene — with lighting and bubbles — captures a vivid drug-induced state.
  
• Linden Trescott’s biceps and backflips deserve their own curtain call.
  
• The nude scene remains surprisingly moving, not shocking.
  
• The all-inclusive dancing of actors and audience members in the end. 

Who It’s For

• Fans of classic musicals craving something raw, joyful, and political.
  
• Lovers of ’60s rock, protest art, and vintage rebellion with modern resonance.
  
• Children of the ’60s — and their children — ready to ask again: what happened to peace and love?
  

Note: Due to coarse language and sex scenes, Hair is not suitable for audiences under 16.
Hot tip: Come dressed in kaftans and hippie-era clothes.

Now playing at Melbourne’s Athenaeum Theatre until 22 November 2025.

Reviewed by Mary Sinanidis