To quote from the canonical poesy of Poison, the Mercury Theater’s staging of “Rock of Ages” ain’t nothing but a good time.
The histrionic, backlit, big-haired music that defined the 1980s also defines “Rock of Ages.” This will never be a show known for nuanced characters or intricate plotting. That is not a criticism. The music in this late/mid-1980s-set jukebox banger is plucked from the catalogs of Quarterflash, Pat Benatar and Twisted Sister among other hair-whipping video pioneers. It will melt your face off.
Under the direction of Tommy Novak and the musical direction of Linda Madonia, the Mercury cast — including a bodacious five-piece band perched upstage (Justin Akira Kono conducts) — “Rock of Ages” has amplitude and attitude that does right by the artists it emulates.
For those who recall the decade that saw the birth of MTV and the mass visualization of rock, “Rock of Ages” offers a blast from the past that transcends mullets and mere nostalgia and shows just why inarguably cheesy, three-chord, glam rock ‘n’ roll was (and remains) so ridiculously entertaining.
Bookwriter Chris D’Arienzo captures the excess of the era with a paper-thin plot that is silly and evergreen. This is a fable wherein the scruffy, hard-rocking underdog artists and barflies of Hollywood’s Sunset Strip are pitted against a corrupt government and a developer who wants to raze the indie dives where music flourishes, and instead install a mall. Cue defiant rebel yells of “we built this city on rock and roll.”
The action mostly unfolds in the Bourbon Room, a venue in the vein of the Strip’s legendary Whiskey a Go Go and other long-gone sticky, sweaty venues where the Stones might show up one night, some unknown garage band, the next.
Michael Metcalf stars as Lonny in “Rock of Ages” at Mercury Theater Chicago.
Liz Lauren
Our narrator for the evening is Lonny (Michael Metcalf) who works at the Bourbon alongside owner Dennis (Steve Watts). The former is a puckish imp prone to pandering jokes and puerile sexual innuendo. The latter is a tie-dye loving, scene-stealing (listen for the line about the llama and the rockstar) sage who isn’t above prancing around with Lonnie in his tighty whities, just for the fun of it.
While the developer Hertz (Jeff Diebold) presents an existential threat to the Bourbon, several love/lust stories unfold. The central one involves leading man Drew (David Moreland) who works cleaning up vomit and plunging toilets at the Bourbon but is really a singer/songwriter/aspiring rockstar. He is smitten with newcomer Sherrie (Kayla Marie Shipman), who is determined to become a famous actor. Debauched rock god Stacee Jaxx (a raucously indolent Donovan Hoffer) complicates matters as the young couple follows their dreams.
Finally there’s defiant activist Regina (Veronica Garza), who leads the charge to stop the mall, forging a hilariously evolving relationship with Hertz’s timid, chocolate-loving son Franz (Aaron Davidson).
Drew (David Moreland) (Drew) and Sherrie (Kayla Shipman) can’t fight their romantic feelings anymore in “Rock of Ages” at Mercury Theater Chicago.
Liz Lauren
Moreland’s Drew is the dorkiest of dorks, except when he’s slamming through the likes of “I Wanna Rock.” He’s got a tooth-peeling belt, and the kind of breath control that can stop a show cold with a never-ending money note. Shipman muscles her way through “I Hate Myself for Loving You,” fueled by raw abandon and a gritty, rich alto. Her upper register glistens on “High Enough.”
Then there’s the lighter-waving-worthy ballad “Can’t Fight This Feeling” that Metcalf and Watts deliver with power harmonies, emotion, and a choreographic tribute to “Dirty Dancing,” “Swan Lake” and Michelangelo’s “Creation.” It’s filled with memorable moments from choreographer Laura Savage, whose work throughout is a masterclass in the moves of the era and storytelling without words.
Garza brings a no-nonsense, can-do power to the fearless Regina and imbues her with an open-heartedness that’s delightful. And keep your ears open for the soulful riches unleashed by Sharriese Hamilton as the owner of a “gentleman’s club” and maternal protector of the women who work there.
The show looks great, thanks in large part to costume designer Bob Kuhn’s credibly ‘80s costumes, which range from vivid-yellow powersuits to bedazzled, ab-baring bell-bottoms and leather vests dripping with stones and sequins.
The hair isn’t quite right sometimes. A few of the wigs are more Louis XIV than mid/late 1980s. Drew’s floppy shag is a little too David Cassidy. Those are quibbles. This is a show that’s pure fun, blasting a sound worthy of turning up to 11.
