OK, so the new musical "Hairspray" doesn't offer a cure for cancer, or the nose-diving Dow for that matter, but if the infectious jubilation currently spritzing from the stage of the Neil Simon Theater were bottled and sold across the country like, say, hairspray, consumer confidence would not be a problem. Certainly this sweet, infinitely spirited, bubblegum-flavored confection won't be lacking for buyers any time soon. Arriving in an aerosol fog of advance hype, it more than lives up to its promise.

The retro R&B score by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman is full of toe-tapping, tongue-in-cheek gems. Relative newcomer Marissa Jaret Winokur and a positively beatific Harvey Fierstein, in drag and very much at home center stage, are perfectly matched as a daughter-and-mother team fighting for the rights of people of color and the dignity of girls of girth. And the production has been lavishly festooned with endearingly goofy touches supplied by virtually everyone involved, from book writers Mark O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan, who have cooked up a deft blend of sweetness and silliness, to director Jack O'Brien and choreographer Jerry Mitchell, who keep pelvises twisting at a peppy pace throughout, to set designer David Rockwell and costume king William Ivey Long, happily camping out on the borderline of kitsch. In short, "Hairspray" should give Broadway just the booster shot it needs as it heads into the fall season after a bummer summer.


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If life were everything it should be — that is, if life were more like the endearing new musical called "Hairspray" that opened last night at the Neil Simon Theater — your every waking thought would be footnoted by a chorus of backup singers of early 60's vintage. You know, the kind who always come up with helpful bons mots like "ow-oot" and "bop-be-ba, ba-ba-ba-ba," whether the lead singer's heart is breaking or quaking.

Consider the effect that such encouragement has on one Tracy Turnblad of Baltimore, as she walks to school through a landscape that includes a frolicsome gutter rat, the flasher who lives next door and that familiar old derelict with his portable bar stool. Those happy backup voices in her head, engraved by endless spinnings of vinyl in her bedroom, guarantee that her view of the streets is more than rosy: it's hot pink and filled with promises of romance, stardom and the righting of social inequalities.

And, oh, by the way, when Tracy (embodied with trustworthy sincerity by Marissa Jaret Winokur) requires some extra assistance, when she needs to help her agoraphobic mom cut loose and live a little, for example, a Supremes-like trio in dazzling red steps out of a poster and onto the sidewalks to deliver the message personally. Among the advice offered: "The future's got a million roads for you to choose/ But you'll walk a little taller in some high-heel shoes."

And there you have the dewy essence of "Hairspray," which is adapted from John Waters's 1988 movie about rock 'n' roll and race relations and features a captivatingly humane Harvey Fierstein (of "Torch Song Trilogy") in the role created by the drag goddess Divine. If you're not at all taken by the fantasy of the Supremes showing up to bestow a little Motown magic on your bedraggled, overworked mother, then you will probably be in the minority of theatergoers who will not find this musical irresistible. Otherwise, you won't need Ecstasy or any other of those fashionable drugs said to generate warm, fuzzy and benevolent feelings. So what if it's more than a little pushy in its social preaching? Stocked with canny, deliriously tuneful songs by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman and directed by Jack O'Brien with a common touch that stops short of vulgarity, "Hairspray" is as sweet as a show can be without promoting tooth decay.

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"Hairspray," based on the 1988 John Waters movie of the same title, is something of a blessed event, the arrival of that rarest of Broadway babies, a thoroughly solid piece of musical theater. With a spunky, infectious score by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman, inventively tacky sets by David Rockwell and a breakout performance by Marissa Jaret Winokur as an overweight teen who shoots to local adolescent stardom, "Hairspray" is yet another vital sign, on the heels of "The Producers" and "The Full Monty," that musical comedy is back in vogue.


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The jolt of energy delivered by ``Hairspray'' will lift you higher than the teased and ratted 'dos sported by the actors onstage.

``Hairspray,'' John Waters' first family-friendly film, has gotten a glorious musical makeover with the help of a creative team so focused on the details that every moment of this musical snaps, crackles and pops.

Waters' quirky 1988 film sagged a bit under the weight of his efforts to be funny. Besides marking the debut of Ricki Lake, the final film performance of drag queen Divine and some goofy cameos by Debbie Harry, Jerry Stiller and the late Sonny Bono, the film lurched about with moments of inspired mayhem.

For the musical, book writers Dean O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan have lifted the best lines from Waters' movie, and then cranked up the comedy to a nearly frantic pace. Meehan most recently teamed with Mel Brooks to write the book for ``The Producers,'' and this show boasts the same nonstop attack of one-liners and visual jokes. (I promise not to give any away.)

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All you can ask of a work of art is that it help you see the world more profoundly when you leave the theater than you did when you came in.

That's what "Hairspray" does.

When I went to see the musical version of the 1988 John Waters movie, I thought the aerosol spray can was merely an ecological no-no. By the time I left, I understood that it made possible the last era of cultural exuberance America has known.

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Hairspray should be - and probably will be - a hit, but not because of the accuracy with which it re-creates 1962 Baltimore. It will be a hit because it doesn't re-create it.

That's not to say that theatergoers from Bawlamer won't recognize what they see. The stage is filled with Formstone rowhouses fronted by lovingly polished marble steps. The girls' hairdos float about their heads like spun cones of cotton candy, and they are dressed in glorious, artificial colors: chlorinated water, maraschino cherry, lime Jell-O.


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``Hairspray,'' riding enough hype to float the QE2, roared into Broadway's Neil Simon Theatre Thursday and promptly confirmed the buzz was right on the beam.

The musical, based on filmmaker John Waters' subversive homage to his youth in early 1960s Baltimore, is a hoot -- a hilarious and affectionate salute to those days when hair styles were high, skirts were tight and teens danced to a rhythm and blues sound that was beginning to shake up mainstream pop music.

Liberation is the theme here: musical, racial and personal. At the center of this fight for freedom is young, more than pleasingly plump Tracy Turnblad. She lives to dance on ``The Corny Collins Show,'' Baltimore's version of ``American Bandstand.'' She also wants to integrate its all-white environs, and, along the way, be accepted for her full-figured self.

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From Frankie and Johnny to Laurey and Curly, Aida and Radames, Mimi and Roger, Amanda and Elyot, and Roger De Bris and Carmen Ghia, Broadway boasts a wide variety of loving couples. But there's none quite like middle-aged husband and wife Wilbur and Edna Turnblad, he the owner of a modest novelty shop but also a visionary inventor, she a housewife who has "wandered beyond the boundaries of the largest McCall's pattern," taking in laundry while harboring dreams of designing clothes for other ample Americans. In the second act of the new musical Hairspray, Edna and Wilbur--in the form of priceless Harvey Fierstein and never-better Dick Latessa--declare their undying affection for each other and pride in their daughter, Tracy, in a number called "Timeless to Me," and they couldn't be more captivating.

The 1988 film Hairspray offered obvious potential for stage musicalization. It's widely acknowledged as cult director John Waters' most mainstream, accessible picture, relating the tale of pleasingly plump teen outsider (and "hair-hopper") Tracy Turnblad in early-'60s Baltimore, fulfilling her dreams of becoming a regular on the local TV dance-party, winning the affections of its resident heartthrob, Link, then leading a movement to integrate the program. It's a bubble-gum confection that has one rooting for its underdog characters and comes complete with a social conscience in its messages of self-acceptance, racial harmony, and inclusiveness. And of course the film devoted a good deal of its 90 minutes to music and dance, further facilitating its theatrical transfer.

Those involved in the musical Hairspray have remained faithful to the outlines of the plot and spirit of the film; they've naturally found any number of jokes and song ideas in Waters' screenplay, and have, of course, retained the notion of a male performer in drag taking the role of Edna. But librettists Mark O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan have provided more structure; Edna and Wilbur aren't the only ones with bigger dreams, and there's more at stake for several of the characters. (Link, now a singer on "The Corny Collins Show," is afraid of jeopardizing his big chance on a national telecast by joining Tracy's cause, so their relationship is momentarily torn asunder; Edna's self-image issues make her reluctant to march with Tracy.)

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There's much to say about the new musical adapted from the 1988 film by John Waters, but it's probably best to begin by pointing out that it has finally arrived at Broadway's Neil Simon Theatre and won't be leaving any time soon. Happily, the unassailable success lying ahead for it has been mostly well earned.

The other good news is that, while Hairspray can easily be compared with a number of other musical comedies of the last couple of seasons, in its own way it leaves each in the dust. Hairspray may not be a transcendent experience and it may not change your life, but it is incredibly entertaining.

Waters provided the foundation for the show (he receives "Consultant" billing in the playbill) on which Mark O'Donnell and Thomas Meehan have constructed a clever and entertaining book. While sharpening the focus would help in a few places, it manages to tell its story with great effectiveness, solid laughs, and heart to spare. The story of the overweight Tracy Turnblad (Marissa Jaret Winokur), who fights for the right to dance on The Corny Collins Show, is as inspiring as it is just plain fun.

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YEP, it's a hit - a great big fat gorgeous hit. For the second time in recent years, a new musical has roared into town and justified its advance glitz, glitter and hype.The first, of course, was "The Producers" - and now, opening last night, there's "Hairspray."
From the moment an imperiously frumpy Harvey Fierstein appears, divine in the hausfrau role that was originally Divine's, you can sit back comfortably, knowing that something bizarrely dazzling is about to unfold.

Broadway has a new star in Marissa Jaret Winokur (never diet, honey) and a new hot composing team, Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman.

John Waters' 1988 sharp, fun movie, set in 1962 Baltimore, told the Cinderella fable of a cute little fat girl who manages to get her man, become a national poster girl for a hairspray and integrate the local TV station. Don't ask why, but it worked.


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The most unlikely, most romantic moment on Broadway comes -- no, it floats -- into legend sometime after intermission at the Neil Simon Theatre.

Edna, who describes herself as a "simple housewife of indeterminate girth,” has the voice of Beelzebub of Brooklyn, bosoms the size of her bouffant and a bouffant the size of her husband. Wilbur, who owns a small joke store, wears his pants up to his armpits and the sweet smile of failure. But when they dance, ah, when they dance, they are suddenly more Fred and Ginger than Fred and Ethel. She compares him to rare vintage Ripple, he says she's a stinky old cheese, and they celebrate "the fact we ain't dead yet” in a duet that, against all odds, transports us to a blood-pounding sanctuary of deep, lasting love.

In such a moment, "Hairspray,” which opened last night after enough hype to power a nuclear sub, lifts the $10.5-million adaptation of John Waters' bad-taste, good-values, 1988 cult film into the must-see zone of transcendence. In fact, every time Harvey Fierstein's magnificent mountain-mama Edna tosses off a droll aside, admits an insecurity or puffs up with pride over her adoring husband (Dick Latessa) or her spunky, "big-boned” teenage daughter, the level of satire, artistry and humanity rises in the world.

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When you're hot, you're hot, and Hairspray (4 STARS) is absolutely sizzling.

Mind you, it's not that Manhattan needed any help in generating warmth this past week, with temperatures edging toward the triple-digit Fahrenheit mark, and the humidity acting like a muggy airlock that sucked all the oxygen from between the East and Hudson Rivers.

Coming after this summer's stock market meltdown (and combined with anxiety over the anniversary of Sept. 11), the weather had succeeded in draining the last breath from the city, leaving it limp and lifeless.

New York needed hairspray as well as Hairspray.

But nothing makes this city feel as good as a big hit musical, and it woke up Friday morning to discover it had just acquired a brand-new one.

The often-curmudge only critical fraternity put down its scalpels, picked up the pompoms and led a cheering section that sold almost $5 million (U.S.) worth of tickets in three days, bringing its advance sale to $15 million — breaking the $13 million record set by The Producers.

Forget the heat, get with the beat.

And on Saturday night, the crowds were clogging 52nd St., pouring into the Neil Simon Theatre in such numbers that the curtain was delayed for nearly 15 minutes. Even Mayor Michael Bloomberg was there — just another New Yorker looking for a good time.

And that's definitely what you get at Hairspray

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Kerry Butler doesn't have the splashiest role or the showiest 'do in "Hairspray" - the Broadway-musical adaptation of the John Waters film - but she gets the loudest cheers.

The actress plays Penny Pingleton, the spazzy, bedraggled wallflower and best friend of main character Tracy Turnblad.

Butler's career-making moment in the play, which opens Thursday, comes in the second act, when Penny asserts herself and goes from mousy to mighty. Her transformation is punctuated with a diva-like fingersnap (Butler suggested it to the director) and a memorable lyric (to share it would spoil the moment) courtesy of songwriters Scott Wittman and Marc Shaiman.

The scene is an audience favorite - and it tickles the cast, too.

"I want to sing that line," says Marissa Jaret Winokur, 29, the show's leading lady. "It always gets the biggest laugh."

"Hairspray" offers Butler her first chance to originate a Broadway character. Ironically, the Penny part was nearly written out of the musical.

"Some dumb producer came up with that idea," explains lead producer Margo Lion, who conceived the show. "We were trying to simplify the plot. But [when we lost Penny], we lost something special." So they wrote the part back in.

"I thought I was doing this tiny part and no one was going to even notice," Butler says. "But now movie and TV producers are calling my agent."

Make no mistake: Butler isn't an overnight sensation. The twentysomething's ("I'm playing a 16-year-old so I don't want to give my age") résumé includes such Broadway credits as Belle in "Beauty and the Beast," Eponine in "Les Miserables" and Ms. Jones in "Blood Brothers," as well as parts in TV movies and soaps.

Butler has also appeared in several Off-Broadway productions. Among them: the musical comedy "Bat Boy," in which she played the showy part of Shelley, an ingenue who develops a taste for blood.

"Kerry comes in with a store of ideas," says Scott Schwartz, her director in "Bat Boy." "She isn't afraid to make bold choices. She was willing to dive off the high board and see what happens."

Butler has been making these bold decisions ever since she waded in the kiddie pool.

Born in Bensonhurst, she began her commercial career at age 3. "My first [ad] was for Dixie Cups," she remembers. "I fed a dog a hot dog."

Community theater work soon followed. "I have a videotape of [myself] when I was doing 'Annie,' says Butler of her local theater production. "I have this thick Brooklyn accent. Now I try not to [let it out], but it comes back when I chew gum and drink beer."

She keeps that in mind for her voice-over work, which she does frequently. "I love it because it's so easy," says Butler. A week ago she did a spot for the Weather Channel.

If the forecast for Butler's career includes blue skies, past collaborators understand why.

"Kerry has a quirky, offbeat personality that was perfect for Shelley," says Deven May, who played the title role in "Bat Boy." "If you're looking for things to come from the right, she throws you something from the left. You never know where Kerry's coming from, but she always knows where she's going."

For the next year (the length of her "Hairspray" contract), Butler will be going to the Neil Simon Theater. "The show gives me so much energy," she says. "It's like nothing I've ever felt before. By the end I'm shaking. It's like a drug."