Review: In Alicia Keys’s Hell’s Kitchen, the Concrete Jungle Teems with Life

I never thought I would choke up at the mention of sandwiches. But there I was, near the end of Hell’s Kitchen, utterly verklempt as heroine Ali informs her mother that she made sandwiches, just in case dad, who was responsible for bringing dinner, doesn’t show — which he doesn’t. Rather than living with her hunger and disappointment, Ali came up with a contingency plan, something all of us must learn to do in a city full of charming flakes. This is the moment she grows up.

It seems like such a small moment to highlight in this spectacularly mammoth new Broadway musical featuring the songs of Alicia Keys, which just transferred to the Shubert Theatre following a sold-out run downtown at the Public. But the spotlighting of small things amid the noise and chaos of one of the biggest, loudest, flashiest cities in the world is what makes Hell’s Kitchen such a delight. It invites you into Ali’s head and makes you remember what it was like to be a teenager eagerly stepping into a world of potential, but also pitfalls. Book writer Kristoffer Diaz should get a huge amount of credit for giving this towering musical such a solid foundation.

Rather than penning a sprawling and dubious career retrospective, as so many jukebox musicals are, Diaz gives us a significant chapter in the life of Ali (Maleah Joi Moon in a must-see Broadway debut), a 17-year-old New Yorker whose life only loosely resembles that of Alicia Keys. She lives with her mother, referred to only as Jersey Girl (Shoshana Bean), in a small apartment on the 42^nd floor of the subsidized housing complex Manhattan Plaza. Her jazz pianist father, Davis (Brandon Victor Dixon), is mostly absent, so mom must work two jobs while shepherding Ali to a pregnancy-free adulthood — something her own mother failed to do. And when Ali starts hanging out with a handsome amateur percussionist named Knuck (an alluringly demure Chris Lee), Jersey worries that history will repeat itself.

Much like Ponyboy, Ali is our narrator looking back at the events of the play with bracing candor and self-awareness. When Knuck accuses her of only being attracted to him because it will scandalize her mother, she retorts, “That’s not what I think,” before turning to us and admitting, “It’s a little what I think.”

Moon is a star, instantly winning us over with her matter-of-fact line deliveries and subtly shady facial expressions. She’s a moody teen, but out of her downturned lips emanates the most beautiful and joyous voice, with Moon delivering concert-ready renditions of “The River,” “Kaleidoscope,” and “Work On It.” It is a remarkably mature performance for such a young actor, and she absolutely keeps up with the seasoned pros around her.

Bean brings her signature vocal pyrotechnics to the party, stopping the show with “Pawn It All.” She has real chemistry with Dixon, who seduces everyone onstage and in the audience with his interpretations of “Not Even the King” and “If I Ain’t Got You.” We know exactly why Jersey fell in love with Davis, even if he loves his career more and is willing to break her heart again and again to prove it. We cannot control our feelings, but we can control how we respond to them.

“Listen to that pain. Do something with it,” Miss Liza Jane commands Ali as she gestures toward the piano bench. Kecia Lewis gives a stunning performance as Ali’s wise and stern piano teacher, who keeps playing through her own pain and is determined to pass on her knowledge before it is too late. Listening to her performance of “Perfect Way to Die” is like hearing the alto voice of God.

Keys’s music has never sounded better, with top-notch vocalists in the principal and supporting cast. I was particularly wowed by Jackie Leon, who radiates pure joy as she belts out “Girl on Fire.”

Everything about Michael Greif’s production has been supersized for the trip uptown. Robert Brill’s moving scaffold set is taller, conveying both the vertical sprawl of the city and allowing Greif to have actors hanging out on balconies and fire escapes. Ali is just one of millions, living and loving in the city that never sleeps. It all seems to go on forever in Peter Nigrini’s skyline projections, which are so sharp during “Empire State of Mind” you feel like you’re in a helicopter flying over Manhattan.

Costume designer Dede Ayite has collaborated closely with Nigrini and lighting designer Natasha Katz so that every stage picture erupts with color and specificity: autumnal for a flashback to Tompkins Square Park, an intimate teal for the Ellington room at Manhattan Plaza, an explosion of jewel tones during “Kaleidoscope.” It all comes together to create a fairytale version of New York in the 90s, in which music videos spontaneously materialize on the street.

The orchestrations (by Tom Kitt and Adam Blackstone) incorporate onstage bucket drums with the band (heroically led by Lily Ling), amazingly without screwing up the sound balance. I suspect that sound designer Gareth Owen might be a wizard. Several times a wave of bass passed through the audience, and I swear I felt my hair woosh back.

Camille A. Brown’s energetic, genre-defying choreography explodes off the stage, with dancers regularly appearing as avatars of Ali’s emotions, expressing her feelings better than any words could. All of it comes together to tell the story of a restless city teeming with unfulfilled dreams, a place that will keep moving with or without her but is happy for her to join the dance.

We never lose sight of Ali and her small story — which is, again, a testament to Diaz’s storytelling abilities. Yes, Hell’s Kitchen is a love letter to New York City. But more importantly, it’s one city kid’s journey to a decent adulthood. It’s not happily ever after, but a promising beginning.