Review: A hypnotic new musical adaptation by The Outsiders is worth its weight in gold

It is a testament to the enduring power of The Outsiders, SE Hinton’s classic young adult novel, that my dreams resembled the characters’ nightmarish plight when I began rereading the book. A respectable middle-aged man by day, I found myself on the street by night with my best friend from high school, trying to survive a crisis that grew into an increasingly horrifying disaster.

Hinton’s story has the same dark magic that author Bruno Bettelheim identified in fairy tales. The message of these works, according to Bettelheim, is “that a struggle against serious problems in life is inevitable, an integral part of human existence – but that if one does not shrink back, but is fearless in the face of unexpected and often unjust hardships, master all obstacles and emerge victorious in the end.”

The Outsiders adds a touch of stark realism to this time-tested recipe. Amazingly, Hinton wrote the book while she was in high school. The violence of puberty is fresh for them, the injuries don’t magically heal, and when death comes, it’s a permanent affliction.

Adapting The Outsiders is no small feat, as Francis Ford Coppola found in his languid 1983 film, best remembered as a showcase for future Hollywood megastars like Matt Dillon, Patrick Swayze, Rob Lowe, and Tom Cruise. The film races through the action as if victory lies in crossing the finish line.

But the book’s strength is romantic, that is, it impresses more through reflection than through direct dramatization. The story is interesting, don’t get me wrong. But it’s the protagonist’s meditation on the events that keeps the wrapped story from feeling clunky and salty.

The musical version of The Outsiders, which will premiere at the La Jolla Playhouse, recognizes these dangers. Based on both Hinton’s novel and Coppola’s film, the show features music by Jamestown Revival (Jonathan Clay and Zach Chance) and Justin Levine telling the stories.

The score has a folk rock sound that makes the story feel completely natural without being tied to a specific time period. The songs work best when they express the inner workings of the main characters (although the soul-searching on the periphery may need to be cut down a bit).

The lyrics have a fresh charge, but are sometimes overloaded with too much narrative work. When the music is called upon to kick-start the production, the nightmare that follows doesn’t always feel deserved. But I appreciated the creative boldness of the songwriting.

Directed by Danya Taymor, the production is impressively original, if lumpy in places and disjointed in others. I was concerned that a commercial Broadway formula would be used, but I’m excited about taking artistic risks. The show is a thrilling mess.

The book is by Adam Rapp, a prolific playwright with a scathing, whimsical style. (I’m still waiting for someone in LA to belt out their good tune “The Sound Inside”). Rapp takes small but noticeable liberties with the novel, adding human dimensions to some of the characters to be less schematic. He’s not as tough as Hinton. A bit of mush creeps in, but the narrative outline is rendered effectively.

Ponyboy Curtis, the 14-year-old protagonist and narrator who is raised by his two older brothers after the death of his parents in a car accident, is still at the center of the story. But this coming-of-age story takes on the qualities of an unstoppable dream amid the enmity of rival gangs.

The street war between the working class bastards and the wealthy SOCs escalates into brutality in a surreal setting (designed by Amp with Tatiana Kahvegian) that enchants every setting from the rubble of an abandoned lot. An apartment building, drive-in movie theater, dirt park, and hospital room are delineated by rearranging old tires, cinder blocks, and scrap wood.

The violence becomes real, if stylized, in the kinetic fight scene in Act Two. Rick and Jeff Kuperman’s choreography becomes flamboyantly more muscular as bodies are tossed about in a storm that is both literal and unashamedly metaphorical.

The musical knows how to stand with one foot in Tulsa from 1967 and one foot in a neutral contemporary reality. The logic may have a few gaps in it, but I was able to suppress my disbelief – something I struggled with watching the easier movie.

The Greasers, the side Ponyboy was born into, are now multiracial. Sensitive and intelligent, he refuses to internalize the “Tulsa trash” label thrown at him. But bad luck limited his options. He survives through the protection of his fellow Greasers, his surrogate family.

In a standout performance, Brody Grant fills the role of the pony boy with a moody rock star vibe. Vocally, he soars when he communicates his character’s desire in the song. Inspired by the Charles Dickens novel Ponyboy is reading, the touching early song Great Expectations seems to come from the depths of his soul.

Johnny, who lovingly follows Ponyboy around town, is traumatized by his violent upbringing in an alcoholic household and by the recent beatings he received from the Socs, which have scarred his face and damaged his sense of security. Sky Lakota-Lynch, peering out from behind his character’s wounds, fills Johnny with an aching, tender silence.

When Johnny and Ponyboy go free after a member of the Socs is killed, they almost merge into one. They don’t need many words to understand each other, but they provide companionship and comfort in songs.

Da’Von T. Moody plays Dallas, an armed, tire-munching troublemaker who becomes one of the musical’s tragic heroes. His more offensive qualities have been toned down and his caring, empathetic spirit has expanded. He treats Ponyboy and Johnny like little brothers to defend. It’s a softer approach to the character, but Moody makes sure we never lose sight of Dallas’ deadly brutality.

Darrel, Ponyboy’s eldest brother, who sacrificed his own future to keep a roof over his little brother’s head, is now a more paternal character. Less fascinated by his own muscles and less belligerent, he’s a scumbag in name only. Ryan Vasquez emphasizes the seriousness of this reformed characterization, but unleashes a tornado of emotions when released as a song.

The Socs are portrayed as preppy, privileged savages. Bob (Kevin William Paul) dresses like a college student and acts like a sociopath. His girlfriend, Cherry (Piper Patterson), who is portrayed as more generous than in the novel, knows how dangerous he can be after a few drinks. She looked past his dark side without approving. Over time, she begins to realize that the Greasers are more than greasy hair and mean ways.

The musical doesn’t stop there, but the evil is mostly on the surface – at least for the Greasers. Sodapop (Jason Schmidt), the handsome middle brother of the Curtis family, has a bedtime cuddle with Ponyboy when his younger brother seems particularly anxious. Johnny and Ponyboy are also unusually demonstrative physically. At one point I wondered if they were about to kiss.

Apparently, these gang members live in a male utopia in which no boy ever has to fear a homophobic insult. It’s an attractive vision, even if it adds another touch of sentimentality to the show.

But The Outsiders strives to find redemptive value in characters society writes off. Ponyboy is haunted by Robert Frost’s poem Nothing Gold Can Stay. Johnny encourages him to “stay gold”, and his words become one of the production’s most important numbers in Act Two.

Even in this somewhat shaky preliminary stage, the musical retains the gold of Hinton’s novel, transforming it imperfectly but boldly into hypnotic theater.