Stompin' at the Wilbur

Ask some people why they refuse to see Stomp, and they will paint a picture of a bored four-year-old running around, banging pots on a rainy day. That perception hardly does justice to the performance. Sure, it doesn't take a genius to enjoy the show. It takes, rather, a genius--or in this case two geniuses--to turn the simplicity of sound and dance into a spectacular evening of entertainment. In 1991, creators Luke Cresswell and Steve McNicholas realized the simple joy that a four-year-old can take in banging pots, and brought that happiness to a universal audience. Everyone loves rhythm and motion, though they may not readily admit it.

Using anything you can imagine and objects you would never dream of, the performers bring a simple toe-tapping, knee-slapping pleasure to the show. From brooms to newspapers to matchboxes to Zippos, the percussionists take the show to new levels of creativity. A rustled trash bag morphs into an extraordinary orchestra of sound. A routine sweeping becomes a rhythmic blast. Set in a hubcap-adorned industrial-metallic garage, the three female and five male cast members turn the beat-heavy sound into something more than just a tribute to the powers of rhythm.

The show is a chaotic mix of fun and frenzy. Expertly choreographed, the dancers-cum-percussionists put on an astounding display of physical dexterity and mental ingenuity. The rapid manipulation of the most basic objects into instruments is as much fun to watch as it is to hear. Perhaps "rapid" is an understatement. It is nearly impossible to follow the movements of the cast members as they smash their way along. One minute they are harnessed to a vertical wall of musical hubcaps, the next smashing broomsticks in a ritualistic dance. It was dance, drama, action and comedy rolled into a ball. And not a word was spoken.

Through body language and sound, the players vented their frustrations, joys and feelings to one other and the audience. They emerge from a cocoon of joyful noise as characters and personalities--the joker, the bully, the runt--whose only means of expression is the fervent beat of a drum. Each member was as good an actor and dancer as percussionist. As a result, it is difficult to name the "star" of the show. The physically intimidating Shaka Opare bullies the meeker--but hilarious--Taro Alexander, while tough John Sawicki challenges Opare in a series of beat-battle-royales. The intense competition between the performers is guaranteed to whip the crowd into a happy enthusiasm. "Stomp" was specifically desgined to bring the fun to the audience, and it succeeds in the most literal way.

For a fleeting two hours the audience gets a treat. The performers expect the audience to enjoy themselves. The response of the crowd resembles that at a concert--screaming, yelling and whistling are encouraged. If you're looking for a solemn play then see something else. If you're looking for a rocking good time and entertainment at its best, Stomp caters to your needs. The experience begins when Shaka Opare leads the audience into the world of Stomp. With only a stare of approval or reproach, he periodically incorporates the clapping audience into the performance itself. In fact, the entire encore focuses on audience involvement. And you never know what's going to happen next. The players respond directly to the audience, so you may end up with an impromptu player running into the audience or splashing water on you.

The show is all about the audience, and eventually the audience becomes part of the show. After all, what fun is listening to a bunch of overgrown four-year-olds bang on pots when you can't join in the fun?