Hair the 1967 musical arrives at The Old Globe

When Hair hit New York for a limited run in 1967, the Vietnam War draft was in high gear as was the onset of the age of white guilt and black rage, both of which destroyed the civil rights movement, teenagers didn’t know who they were, and fractured social mores and family breakdown were ascendant.

Hair returned in 1968 shortly after the murder of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and continued its coarse, harsh, insular trajectory into national consciousness (or, as Dick Gregory famously said, “Raise your consciousness”).

The Old Globe’s production has excellent lighting (Amanda Zieve), period costumes (David Reynoso uses enough macramé to weave a hawser for the Titanic), direction (James Vasquez, who tries to avoid sounding dated), hints of the tribal home base (Tim Mackabee’s cushions on the floor), and a talented, multicultural cast of singers, who occasionally dance.

In the pivotal role of Claude, Tyler Hardwick is in fine voice with a good grasp of the young man, who knows not who he is and suffers between his own moral center, the sloppy sanctimony of the tribe, and his fear of dying in Vietnam. The writers even have him break into speeches from Hamlet (“I have lost all my mirth” and “What a piece of work is man”) in an effort to give gravitas to the drug-drenched proceedings.

The cast’s strong voices start to sound alike due to over-modulating; ditto, the whopping 42 songs, half of which aren’t needed in this plotless quasi-story. The show is bookended by the two famous anthems, “Age of Aquarius” and “Let the Sunshine in,” both prompting cheers, hoots and tears from a packed house.

Act One, lumbering on for 90 minutes, sags two-thirds of the way through and even the audience seemed stifled. A needless, interminable 15-minute start involving interactions between the wandering cast and the audience drags down the whole act and hints that the Globe is trying to make hashish, homelessness and haplessness somehow homey.

But one can go only so far with teeny bopper angst and vulgarity. Though, unlike the original New York show, which threw caution to the winds and let nudity rule, the Globe’s version limits disrobing to pants removal by one character and endless faux fornication by others. Were it not for the tragedy of Vietnam, which gave youngsters a bonafide beef, this show would succumb to juvenile self-indulgence masquerading as significance.

But Act One ends on a powerful note as Claude sings, “Where do I go?” Exactly.

Act Two is devoted to a drug-induced hallucinogenic nightmare against a Vietnam backdrop of gunships, palm trees and blood-red curtains. Claude burns his draft card along with the others, but “they got me,” meaning he’s now in combat gear and destined to ship out.

Nothing is sacred in Hair. Catholicism, of course, is trashed at least twice. Presidents Washington and Grant are mocked, and, in a bizarre misreading of history by the authors, Abraham Lincoln, the president who was murdered in the service of civil rights, gets his at the hands of an unfortunate black actress in an immense, stovepipe hat.

Needless to say, the U. S. flag is torn in half and other state flags similarly mistreated.

Parents, or any adult, are presented as overweight, ignorant caricatures eager to see their sons sign on for Vietnam. In fact, the nation was torn apart by the war and many parents went to the barricades, or to Canada, to protect their children.

The beating heart of this show is America and its seemingly limitless tolerance for stupidity, disgraceful behavior, and steep learning curves. For this reason, The Globe could be commended for trying to make a tired old musical relevant in the wake of 18 months of pandemic lockdown.

Hair is held outdoors in the Lowell Davies Theater, where a largely unmasked and apparently unquestioning audience enjoyed itself to the hilt. Runs through Sept. 26.