"Jesus Christ Superstar"

Andrew Lloyd Webber's much-mocked rock opera is actually a classic work of '70s spiritual exploration -- and besides, Our Lord is hot.

By Julene Snyder

Mar 19, 2002 | I arrived late and had to stumble in darkness past the sprawled legs of a few other midweek moviegoers. At last I got popcorn-situated and settled into my seat, just as the music began to swell. On the screen, a cluster of bodies stepped back and the camera froze. My heart stood still. It was His face, unmistakable, huge, looking right at me.

"Oh. My God." My whisper echoed through the theater, prompting shushes from disapproving adults around me. I didn't care. All I knew was that Jesus Christ Our Lord was a total fox. I snuggled down for the next two hours, an instant convert, mesmerized by the story, moved by the music, nursing a crush the size of Montana for the Lamb of God. I felt a not unfamiliar twinge, down there. I was most certainly going to burn in hell.

It was 1973. I was 12. While those two facts would seem enough to explain my initial fascination with Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice's rock opera, my love for it has only grown through the years. It's not hyperbole to state that "Jesus Christ Superstar" has had far greater impact on my own religious beliefs than any other single event in my life. Certainly it's affected me more profoundly than my sporadic Sundays in church ever did. I can assure you I've thought a great deal more about the deeper meaning of "Everything's Alright" than I ever did about a single one of those Bible stories for children.

Seeking spirituality with a pop-culture twist was a popular pastime in the '70s. Hordes were looking for a brand of redemption that didn't involve fire and brimstone: Hell, you couldn't turn around without running into acoustic guitars and "folk masses" at your local Catholic church, Hare Krishnas dancing in suburban malls, groovy Jesus freaks and sold-out est conference rooms. "Jesus Christ Superstar" set my own adolescent quest for meaning into overdrive. After that fateful day at the movies, I was driven to actually read the gospels, digging out the old "Good News for Modern Man" (American Bible Society, 1967) that a born-again playmate had pressed on me way back in third grade.

God help me, I ended up getting baptized four times in those heady times. Just, you know, covering the bases.

That sort of reaction wasn't as extreme as you'd think. Even today, more than 30 years since it was released, a multitude of like-minded souls have put up Web sites in homage to various permutations of "Jesus Christ Superstar." They trade gossip and tidbits about the various actors who have portrayed this passion play's principals over the years and share stories of how the rock opera has changed their lives. Hey, just saying, I'm not the only one.

"Jesus Christ Superstar" has been staged countless times over the past several decades, but for aficionados there are really just three significant artifacts. There's the first album, released in October 1970, which purists insist is the most excellent. This is the version that features then-obscure rocker Ian Gillan (of Deep Purple) as Jesus Christ, and it comes with a handy booklet of lyrics for those who'd like to follow along at home. The LP sold more than 3 million copies before the Broadway opening, and the U.K. production went on to be the longest-running musical in British theater history.

(Somewhat less immortal is the initial 1971 Broadway show, which featured one-time Black Sabbath session singer turned born-again Christian Jeffrey Fenholt as Jesus and Ben Vereen as Judas. Time magazine described the latter's singing style as "Sammy Davis Jr. imitating Chuck Berry." Other reviews were less kind.)

Then there's the movie that first bewitched me, the hippie-dippy one directed by Norman Jewison that came out in 1973, sandwiched, in terms of Jewison's career, smack in between "Fiddler on the Roof" and "Rollerball." This version was made into an album as well. (For those keeping track, it's the one with a silhouette of the crucifixion on the cover.) Both those slices of rock history feature the anguished Carl Anderson as Judas and Ted Neeley in the title role, that same foxy savior who first loomed over me in the dark. While he doesn't have anything near the vocal range of Gillan, Neeley certainly looks the part of hapless messiah. He's scrawny, more than a little scruffy, not necessarily the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but he burns, baby, he burns.

Next Page: Is everything "alright," as Mary Magdalene insists? No, actually, it isn't

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