American Mythmakers, Revisited: Hunter S. Thompson

 

 

 

By Rhoda Feng

Two shows on stages just outside Washington, “The Untitled Unauthorized Hunter S. Thompson Musical” and “John Wilkes Booth: One Night Only!,” create a diptych of American mythmaking: One character sees the country crumbling and aims to shake it awake, the other sees it in betrayal of its founding principles and tries to burn it down.

The writer Hunter S. Thompson had little regard for professional deadlines, but in “The Untitled Unauthorized Hunter S. Thompson Musical,” running through July 13 at the Signature Theater in Arlington, Va., he faces one he can’t ignore. With a bottle of Wild Turkey in one hand and a .45 in the other, the bathrobe-clad gonzo journalist — staring at a typewriter that has just landed with a thud onto the stage — neutrally informs the audience: “It’s February 20th, 2005. The day I die.” Then the self-proclaimed “major figure in American history,” played with feral charisma by Eric William Morris, manically attempts to commit his life, and the life of these disunited states, to the page.

Created by Joe Iconis (music, lyrics, book) and Gregory S. Moss (book), and directed with anarchic propulsion by Christopher Ashley, the show is a frenzied, frothing act of theatrical resurrection. Morris is accompanied by a nine-member ensemble that functions as a Greek chorus of demons, muses and collaborators, ferrying us from Thompson’s Louisville boyhood to his professional dust-ups with the Hells Angels and drug-fueled detours through the underside of the American dream. His Colorado home, Owl Farm, serves as both writing bunker and memory palace. Crammed with gewgaws, it looks like the kind of place that would make people rethink their ideas about souvenirs.

Subtlety was never Thompson’s forte, and this bio-musical wisely avoids making it an organizing principle. Iconis’s propulsive score is peppered with protest anthems, beat-poet swagger and a recurring rock ’n’ roll hymn to outsiders and misfits. “All hail Hunter S. Thompson,” the ensemble chants. “Hail to the freak.” Too much exposition? Too little? That depends on your familiarity with Thompson, a philandering husband and neglectful father who ran for sheriff of Aspen, Colo., cherished his constitutional right to own guns and nursed a near-cellular antipathy toward Nixon (played here by a reptilian George Abud).

Though the show splendidly commits to unfiltered, maximalist expression, quieter moments also resonate, including when a young Hunter (Giovanny Diaz De Leon) reads a copy of “The Great Gatsby” and resolves to one day write into existence a more democratic country.

NEW YORK TIMES