If you need a joybomb to propel you through the grim, lastish half of winter, look no further than the Marriott Lincolnshire Theatre, where “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” is shining brighter than a rainbow.
Directed and choreographed by Amber Mak and running through March 30, the 1968 musical from composer Andrew Lloyd Webber and lyricist/book writer Tim Rice feels like a blast of serotonin, sounds heavenly and looks like a million bucks.
Inspired by chapters 37-50 in the Book of Genesis, “Joseph” has long found favor hereabouts. It ran in the Loop for years — yes, years — in the 1990s as a star vehicle for Donny Osmond. It regularly pops up on the regional circuit. Mak has found a novel way to infuse new perspective into a story that’s literally thousands of years old. The ending is no secret. “We’ve read the book,” Joseph is assured in a repeated refrain, “And you come out on top.”
The plot is a picaresque fever dream orchestrated by a narrator (Kaitlyn Davis). As she explains in song, Joseph (Devin DeSantis) is one of 12 brothers, all the children of Jacob (George Keating), the biblical patriarch/founder of Israel. Joseph, who has a penchant for interpreting dreams, is Jacob’s favorite. This gets the brothers’ collective goats (and prompts them to slay an actual goat). When Jacob gives Joseph a fabulous new coat, the brothers have had enough and sell Joseph to Ishmaelites.
From the Ishmaelites (a clutch of hairy, hookah-huffing Timothy Leary types in Mak’s staging). Jacob runs afoul of the wealthier-than-God Potiphar (Keating again) and is banished to prison. He’s eventually summoned to interpret the dreams of Pharaoh (Lorenzo Rush Jr.), a skill that saves Egypt from famine. In the end, there’s a family reunion and a finale that tells the story all over again in the course of one spectacular, ultra-high-octane, all-hands-on-deck production number.
Mak puts a modern-day family at the center of “Joseph,” framing the plot as a bedtime story told by a mom (Davis) and Dad (DeSantis) to their daughter (a polished Avelyn Lena Choi, who alternates in the role with Lena Soszyinski). As the show’s opener “Any Dream Will Do” unspools, the daughter’s starry bedroom gives way to the larger world of the story as the parents become the characters they’ve been reading about.
The cast is a dream. DeSantis plays up Joseph’s occasional insufferability to great comic effect, his clueless self-importance (“I look handsome/I look smart/I am a walking work of art”) unmistakable and hilarious. The real test for any Joseph comes with “Close Every Door.” The song moves from hushed resignation to chest-thumping, bellowing anthem within the space of a few verses. DeSantis absolutely nails it with rockstar rawness and perfectly calibrated modulation. It’s magnificent.
As the Narrator, Davis radiates warmth and power, going from tired-Mom-in-a-bathrobe to red-carpet-ready sequins as the story progresses, eventually unleashing a belt toward the end of “Pharaoh’s Story” that could span the sun.
Rush’s Pharaoh is larger than life. Mak has Pharaoh emerging from the mists of a golden sarcophagus, which feels correct for a character so royally embodied. Pharaoh’s similarities to Elvis are built into the script and the score. Rush Jr. is no Elvis impersonator, although if you believe in reincarnation, it’s clear that Pharaoh is clearly the prototype for Presley’s swagger. In the rollicking “Song of the King,” Rush is part Elvis, part Little Richard, part Barry White, part preacher at a whooped-up revival meeting and wholly his own creation. Rush’s hip-swiveling moves and rich baritone stop the show in its tracks. Twice.
Then there’s Keating’s Potiphor, who struts and glides like the love child of Gatsby and Cleopatra, utterly flummoxed that vast wealth and power can’t make his wife faithful. Keating has long known how to make a supporting role zing with comedy, and he doesn’t disappoint here.
Mak’s choreography shines throughout. “Potiphor” has the cast doing a rich man’s frug. A sinewy, contentious tango is threaded through the faux French chanson “Those Canaan Days.” Crates turn into a moving stairway during “Jacob and Sons.” The first act finale, “Go, Go, Go Joseph,” is like a pep rally at a rave. Webber’s score doesn’t have a dud in it, and Mak gets maximum mileage of all of it.
Throughout, the ensemble moves through the score’s divergent styles — from calypso to burlesque to ballad to hoedown — with verve and confidence, creating a show that’s rich in both substance and sparkle.