Photo: Courtesy Laguna Playhouse
Photo: Courtesy Laguna Playhouse

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MotorCity Magic

 

Reviewed by Bob Verini
Laguna Playhouse
Through August 24

 

RECOMMENDED:

 

In the wake of the phenomenal success of the jukebox musical, in which some sort of flimsy plot is strung onto a particular song catalogue, it was only a matter of time before enterprising producers junked the musical and just mounted the jukebox. Enter MotorCity Magic, a 90-minute salute to Berry Gordy’s legendary Motown hit machine as performed by four guys and a gal and a six-man combo. Back in the day such an event would’ve been called a “concert,” but presenting it on a legit stage like the Laguna Playhouse serves to elevate its status, I suppose.

 

Interestingly, the show as conceived and directed by Michael Yorkell has changed its name from Magic of Motown, presumably to avoid confusion with Gordy’s current Broadway book show Motown the Musical, which imports many of the same tunes into a panorama of the birth and growth of the Detroit-based empire. When that blockbuster reaches the Pantages as scheduled next April, there’ll be time enough to report on its weaving together of fact, fiction, and song. For now, I’ll content myself with averring, I personally like my nostalgia straight up without a twist, and that’s what they’re serving up until August 24 at Laguna.

 

The proscenium is plastered with posters and photos and names, names, names – Martha and the Vandellas! Marvin Gaye! The Four Tops! – like a construction wall with a “Post No Bills” everybody wantonly ignores. There are occasional slides and video footage projected onto the back curtain, evidently taken from the archives of “Bandstand” and “Shindig.” And occasionally there is the slightest, the very slightest hint of historical context. (Here’s how the show explains the complex change in musical styles from the ‘60s to the ‘70s: “There was a movement…and then the sound got really psychedelic. Whoooooooooo!”) Other than all that, the performers reach no deeper into American sociology than “Hey, what a great crowd! Any Aretha fans here?….Any Supremes fans here?…I said, any Supremes fans here???” (At the Sunday matinee, it was a little tough to get the retiree crowd to “put your hands together,” let alone get up and go dancin’ in the street.) The heads are bobbing, you may be sure, and a familiar vamp welling up provides all the information necessary to rock out and rock on.

 

The emphasis is on attractions that featured a pretty girl and/or four middle-aged guys in lamé jackets, because that’s their troupe. So Gladys Knight and the Pips are well represented, but there’s no MJ on the program and only one Stevie Wonder tune. A healthy serving of Temptations hits includes the #1’s “My Girl,” “Just My Imagination,” and “Papa Was a Rolling Stone,” as well as “Cloud Nine” and show opener “Get Ready.” (Great gestures on “Ain’t Too Proud to Beg,” guys.) The lovely Evelyn Dillion does a serviceable “R-E-S-P-E-C-T” and “Stop in the Name of Love,” while lacking Aretha’s smoky rage or Diana’s otherworldly allure. But she totally nails Martha Reeves and “Dancing in the Street,” and her “Heat Wave” is enough to start one. Most memorable of all, maybe, is Denny Mendes’s rendition of what could be the sexiest song ever written, “Me and Mrs. Jones,” accompanied by Rodney Caron on soulful sax.

 

All of these baby boomer magical mystery tours come down to a battle between one’s unquenchable spirit and time-wearied flesh. You hear just a hint of the pulsing bass line introducing “You Can’t Hurry Love,” and you’re immediately back at your Junior Prom or in the front seat of your ’67 Chevy. But when it comes to things like snappy patter or making out lyrics, the old ears aren’t what they used to be, and ecstasy takes a back seat to the workaday.

 

When the men returned, having changed their yellow glitter jackets to firehouse red, a dear in the 10th row shouted out a request. Putting on his best Barry White basso profundo, frontman Don McCall leered, “I didn’t hear what she said but it sure sounded sexy.” He missed her words, but I didn’t. What she yelled was, “Come to my house and paint my door that color.”

 

Laguna Playhouse, 606 N. Laguna Canyon Road, Laguna Beach; Wed.-Sat., 7:30 p.m.; Thurs., 2 p.m.; Sat., 2 p.m.; Sun., 1 p.m.; through Aug. 24. (949) 497-2787, lagunaplayhouse.org

 

 

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