Evidence suggests that few Broadway producers over the past 20 years have gone broke catering to baby-boomer nostalgia. So what better way for an enterprising, multi-tasking artist like Rick Miller to ring in a new decade than with the New York premiere—off-Broadway, in this case—of a one-man show that does so unabashedly, starting with its title, BOOM—all letters in caps, lest you miss the reference.
BOOM has already enjoyed success in Miller’s native Canada (and in cities elsewhere, including the U.S.), where its star, creator and director is known as an actor, writer, musician and impressionist. That last skill proves especially handy in this piece, in which he traces 25 years of history—from 1945 to 1969—by giving voice to more than 100 men and women, from Harry Truman to the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. to Miller’s mom, Maddie. Though Miller ostensibly narrates as well, it’s Maddie whose experiences truly guide our journey, as is only fitting: Miller, born in 1970, actually belongs to Generation X. (He’s already crafted a sequel, called BOOM X—and has BOOM YZ on tap for 2021.)
Maddie is one of three boomers close to Miller who inform and help shape BOOM as its reels through the years. There’s also Laurence, an African-American musician, and Rudi, a German-born artist, both prominent in Maddie’s life—though to describe their connections in more detail would spoil some of the twists that make BOOM‘s second act more entertaining and moving than its first. Indeed, Miller seems a bit overeager in launching the show, which incorporates elements of a concert, a documentary and a standup act, not always smoothly. Channeling the good-humored, gravely-voiced Laurence, as a video of the older man plays behind him—we meet Maddie and Rudi the same way, in the opening moments—Miller quips, awkwardly, that he wants “to get a darker story” across. “Sorry! Bad choice of words,” he adds, to his credit.
[Read David Finkle’s ★★★ review here.]
As Miller moves dutifully through the late ’40s and ’50s, we’re reminded of key historical and cultural events, with lighting designer Bruno Matte, projection designer David Leclerc and set, costume and props designer Yannik Larivée doing lean, artful work throughout. Slides and subtitles reference milestones and ominous developments as Miller—sometimes cast in shadow or projected on the screen, as if to suggest another figure looming over his own— emulates a string of high-profile folks, from politicians to pop stars. Inevitably, there is overreaching: There are reasons that Nat King Cole’s peerless baritone is seldom impersonated—and truth be told, Miller doesn’t fare much better with the young Tony Bennett, or even Perry Como.
If Miller’s impressions of John Lennon and Janis Joplin are only marginally better—either technically or, more crucially, in evoking the spirit and soul of the artists—his general presence, and writing, pick up steam as BOOM moves forward into the decade that defined its subjects as a generation. As Maddie matures into adulthood, the U.S sets its sights on the moon and the Vietnam War begins its spiral of destruction, Miller ties personal and world events together through words, music and imagery. If the impact is less than profound—this isn’t exactly new turf, and it’s been covered with greater imagination and depth—BOOM becomes undeniably diverting, as Miller reveals more of an affinity for the subject matter, and his dynamism grows accordingly.
I found myself wishing, in fact, that Miller had stretched BOOM into the ’70s, an equally significant decade in the boomers’ march from flower power to world domination. But I guess we’ll have to wait for the New York premiere of BOOM X to see those years covered, from another perspective.
