Purlie

Under the astute and buoyant direction of Sheldon Epps, The Goodman Theatre production of Purlie — co-produced with the Pasadena Playhouse, where Epps is artistic director — is a high-energy, high-kicking showcase for an exceptionally talented and appealing cast. But Epps and his company cannot eliminate or even disguise the sticky wickets of the show’s story and construction that have limited the success of previous revival attempts.

Adapted from the 1961 social comedy Purlie Victorious by the late Ossie Davis — the musical’s book is credited to Davis, lyricist Peter Udell, and Philip Rose, the show’s original producer — Purlie tracks preacher Purlie Victorious Judson in rural Georgia as he attempts to restore an old church and bring mid-20th Century emancipation to the workers on old Cap’n Cotchipee’s cotton plantation. The show is set in an era in which the Civil Rights movement still was gathering force, most Jim Crow laws remained firmly in place, and plantation employees were legally free but caught in a web of economic exploitation that kept them perpetually in debt to the plantation owners.

Davis, who also played the title role in Purlie Victorious, was skillful enough to wrap his political message in raucous comedy, much of it derived from the tried-and-true comic methods of burlesque and vaudeville. Characters were exaggerated and broadly played with a wink and nod, stereotypes were accentuated to the point where they became ridiculous, and social preaching was wrapped in the American flag. Although certainly entertaining, the original play was strong stuff for 1961, suitable for liberal Broadway but definitely not for a national audience By 1970, the country had changed enough that the above elements were kept intact when the play was turned into a big-time Broadway musical.

The principal roles all are showcases, and the Goodman production is particularly fortunate to have dazzling Jacques C. Smith as Purlie. Trim and lithe, he moves with athletic precision and grace, sports a big voice, and has first-rate comedic skills coupled with a manly presence. Playing opposite Smith as the wide-eyed adolescent Lutiebelle, Paulette Ivory is every bit his equal; she’s a perky, spirited package of gamine energy. Her comic turn here is quite a switch from her recent work in the title role of Elton John’s Aida and an apt demonstration of her range. Chicago favorite E. Faye Butler shines as Purlie’s sister-in-law, Missy. No one sings bigger than Butler — something Chicago audiences have known for years — or steals comic scenes with more ease. She commands the stage in the duets “Down Home” (with Smith) and “He Can Do It” (with Ivory).

These three are surrounded by a half-dozen gifted artists in key supporting roles, each of whom gets his or her moment in the musical spotlight. It’s an exceptionally well-balanced and ingratiating company without a weak link. Musical director Ronald Coleman leads a sharp seven-piece band and keeps the mostly uptempo score percolating. Indeed, everyone involved has a sure grasp of the various musical styles of Gary Geld’s classic pastiche Broadway score, which borrows freely from R&B, gospel, and standard Broadway song-and-dance modes.

But Purlie is longish by today’s standards, with several book scenes that go on forever. Clearly, Davis resisted paring away the play’s script to make a tightly structured musical and didn’t trust the songs to carry the story. Moreover, as tuneful and toe-tapping as the score is, about half the songs seems superficial and a few production numbers are clearly shoe-horned into the plot. The high-leaping choreography is by Kenneth Lee Roberson, the softly curving Southern glen sets are by James Leonard Joy, the lighting is by Allen Lee Hughes, and the costumes — pleasantly reminiscent of a slightly earlier time — are by Paul Tazewell.

The show is enticing as long as the comedy keeps coming, but when the jokes suddenly stop in the climactic scenes of Act II, a curious and palpable pall falls over the audience. The denouement of the story is a let-down, and not just in the comedic sense. Purlie and his kin get their church back but not as a result of any actions of their own, although they’ve spent the show trying. Instead, Cap’n Cotchipee’s son Charlie, a young liberal representative of the New South, betrays his father and signs over the deed of the church to Purlie. Ultimately, the members of the African-American community — although morally right and spiritually strong — are not able to achieve their goal on their own but only through the charity and sympathy of a Good White Man. That conclusion is simply unacceptable in 2005, no matter how joyful the company that presents it may be.