On Tap -- Jelly's Last Jam' Rocks The Paramount To Its Renovated Rafters With Song And Dance

Theater review "Jelly's Last Jam." Book and direction by George C. Wolfe. Music by Jelly Roll Morton and Luther Henderson. Lyrics by Susan Birkenhead. Tuesday-Sunday through June 18. At Paramount Theatre, 911 Pine St. 292-ARTS.

No Broadway musical about a famous entertainer has ever been as rough on its subject as "Jelly's Last Jam."

Writer-director George C. Wolfe depicts the great early jazzman Jelly Roll Morton with warts galore. Though acknowledged as a musical pioneer, Morton also comes across as a braggart, a cad, and, worse, as a racist who denies the African part of his Creole heritage.

Yet the miracle of this sensuous, definitely adult-oriented show is how much pleasure it gives in the process of raking Morton over for his sins, and engineering his repentance.

The joy generator revs up immediately in the zesty Broadway tour of "Jelly's Last Jam," starring the ebullient Maurice Hines. The show nearly shook the chandeliers of the refurbished Paramount Theatre off their moorings in last night's all-out opening.

In an early number drenched in Jules Fisher's potent light washes of purple, indigo and fuchsia, a sultry, high-kicking chorus surrounds the newly dead Jelly (Hines) and welcomes him into purgatory.

Then the ominous tour guide Chimney Man (Mel Johnson Jr.) announces it's "this is your life" time - a hackneyed device in theory, but one Wolfe shrewdly re-invigorates.

Jelly's life (at least, the semi-fictional version Wolfe prefers) is a series of vibrant production numbers that celebrate African-American roots music and culture, while highlighting Jelly's alleged betrayal of them. The staging utilizes minimal scenery (by Robin Wagner), relying more on imaginative arrangements of people, lighting effects, and Toni-Leslie James' snazzy costumes for atmospherics.

Thunder-voiced Cleo King tears it up belting the protest blues "Michigan Water" in a rowdy brothel segment. The adult Jelly (Hines) taps out a thrilling challenge dance with his younger self (brilliant young tapper Savion Glover), on a New Orleans street corner.

Sweet Anita (magnetic Nora Cole), the singer Jelly wins and loses, pours her libido into "Play the Music For Me," while pop singer Freda Payne as a disapproving aunt wails "Get Away" with gospel fervency.

Wolfe's most ironic and perversely effective commentary on racism has Hines and a line of white-lipped, red-jacketed black minstrels buck and wing their way through "Dr. Jazz." You can't help enjoying this high-octane number, while feeling ashamed you do.

Most of the 20-some tunes heard are Morton's, as refashioned and made brassy by composer-orchestrator Luther Henderson, with intelligent new lyrics by Susan Birkenhead. The Paramount sound system is, dismayingly, so erratic a good many words get lost.

Hope Clarke devised the spirited ensemble choreography. And Hines reshaped the tap numbers to suit his personal dance style - which, in contrast with brother Gregory Hines (Jelly on Broadway), is more arms and legs, jazzier, Las Vegas-meets-Broadway.

Hines displays a more extroverted stage demeanor too, with a crowd-pleasing showmanship that ignites the show's first half. He's less convincing as Jelly turns brooding and nasty, when entertaining should give way to acting.

As a song-and-dance man, though, Hines is quite irresistible. And so is "Jelly's Last Jam" - warts and all.