It’s been just over one year since the Tonys gave the Pasadena Playhouse an award for regional theater, and that honor looks more justified than ever now that the venue is presenting a much-needed production of “Jelly’s Last Jam.” It feels like they’re re-earning that brass medallion, rather than coasting on it, with a fresh production of writer-director George C. Wolfe’s early ‘90s hit, a show that that helped changed the course of stage musicals and helped set a course for jazz consciousness on Broadway, yet can barely get a revival to save its life. The Playhouse is doing God’s work here, in the service of a show set in jazz purgatory.
There are some logical explanations for why “Jelly’s Last Jam” still feels like a household name, as indelible titles go, while getting a production mounted is nearly impossible. It feels huge enough to belong in a major Broadway house; in L.A., by rights, it ought to be playing the Ahmanson. But while it demands a casting director dredge up a small army of inordinately talented singers and tap dancers, it also has a Wolfe book concerned with race, ego and self-implosion, which make it more of a natural for the Taper (where, in fact, the show first opened back in 1991, before transferring to Broadway). When you’ve got a show that is meant to feel huge — and pretty much is — but is also better serviced by a fairly intimate space, who you gonna call? Tony knows: It’s the Pasadena Playhouse.
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