"Passing Strange" Theater Review - Eric Shapiro originally appeared in "Teen Reviewer" 4 /2008
“Your Average Blockbuster in Disguise”
One should not sit down to view Passing Strange and expect a memorable plot or a barrage of
catchy songs that will have him or her humming for many weeks to come, as it is certainly no
Grease or Hairspray in terms of catchiness or quality. What they will get is a quirky 2-hour
blockbuster packed with moderately funny pop-rock culminating in one of the strangest (no
pun intended) endings this critic has come across in his not-so-extensive portfolio of Broadway
shows.
The play starts off in the home city of its run-of-the-mill angst-ridden protagonist. A series of
racial quips from mother to lazy son show intamite knowledge of Black culture in the same
vain as Woody Allen talking about his stereotypical Jewish mother practically conjures the
smell of latkas sizzling on the stove. Over the course of the narrative, the boy travels to
Amsterdam and a punk-rock infused Germany. Unfortunately, rather than ending with a sense
of resolution as is (and should be) par the course for this type of production, Passing Strange
descends into a series of pseudo-meaningful rants about familial responsibility and selfishness
under the guise of soul-searching.
Ultimately, this serves to underline the shallow nature of the whole thing. With so many great
plays out off-Broadway for much less money, it is hard to recommend Passing Strange to
anyone without an interest in the subject matter.
One should not sit down to view Passing Strange and expect a memorable plot or a barrage of
catchy songs that will have him or her humming for many weeks to come, as it is certainly no
Grease or Hairspray in terms of catchiness or quality. What they will get is a quirky 2-hour
blockbuster packed with moderately funny pop-rock culminating in one of the strangest (no
pun intended) endings this critic has come across in his not-so-extensive portfolio of Broadway
shows.
The play starts off in the home city of its run-of-the-mill angst-ridden protagonist. A series of
racial quips from mother to lazy son show intamite knowledge of Black culture in the same
vain as Woody Allen talking about his stereotypical Jewish mother practically conjures the
smell of latkas sizzling on the stove. Over the course of the narrative, the boy travels to
Amsterdam and a punk-rock infused Germany. Unfortunately, rather than ending with a sense
of resolution as is (and should be) par the course for this type of production, Passing Strange
descends into a series of pseudo-meaningful rants about familial responsibility and selfishness
under the guise of soul-searching.
Ultimately, this serves to underline the shallow nature of the whole thing. With so many great
plays out off-Broadway for much less money, it is hard to recommend Passing Strange to
anyone without an interest in the subject matter.