Review: 7 reasons why ‘Jesus Christ Superstar’ is a must-see

Yowza.

If the crucifixion is Christianity’s most galvanizing spectacle, the folks at the Ordway Center are responding with a resounding, “Heck, yeah, let’s rock and roll!”

The 90-minute, no-intermission production of “Jesus Christ Superstar” — the groundbreaking 1971 rock opera by lyricist Tim Rice and composer Andrew Lloyd Webber — is both electric and electrifying.

That’s true even if “Superstar” is a weird choice for the Christmas season, a time when believers usually recount the birth of Jesus, not his death (that’s left for Easter).

Still, here are seven reasons why this “Superstar” is a must-see show.

At 54, “Superstar” is knocking on the door of AARP membership, which explains why it’s sometimes treated as a has-been. Yet in its time, it was nothing short of revolutionary — deploying rock music to tell the central story of a faith, and portraying Jesus, Mary, and especially Judas as unmistakably human.

British director Timothy Sheader infuses new power into his Olivier Award–winning 2017 revival, now reanimated exclusively for Minnesota audiences in the production’s only North American outing. His high-voltage staging doesn’t just flow; it erupts.

And yeah, like all of us, that baby’s got an expiration date. But why not take the journey at full throttle — scorching guitar solos, vocals that bleed and soar, devotional choreography and intensity that grabs you by the throat? It’s life (and show) lived at full tilt.

Hats off to Sheader and music director Mark Binns, who give us “Superstar” in a tight, driving one-act that’s more fulfilling than anything at a drive-through.

Jack Hopewell’s Jesus is part golden-throated rock god (think Robert Plant with a dash of Axl) with a guitar slung over his shoulder, and part fragile, holy vessel. Crowds bow before him in ritualistic self-flagellation (Drew McOnie choreographs the fever-dream movements). Even as the mob thrills at his demise, he resists nothing. He steps straight into destiny, practically daring us to watch: “See how I die!”

The show belongs as much to Judas as Jesus, and Elvie Ellis rides that arc like it’s a soul-shaking odyssey — from intimations of guilt (“Damned For All Time/Blood Money”) to whispery, taunting falsetto (“I Don’t Know How to Love Him”) to becoming, strangely, tragically, the story’s most wounded figure, even with hands stained with the betraying powder from 30 pieces of silver.

Ellis delivers his role with cracked, aching conviction: “God! I’ll never ever know why you chose me for your crime — your foul bloody crime — you have murdered me!” Cue the choir’s icy Gregorian “Poor old Judas.” OK then. Poor old Judas.

Isaac Ryckeghem’s sunglasses-sporting Caiaphas unleashes a bass-baritone so deep it sounds piped in from the underworld (“This Jesus Must Die”). Deliciously menacing. Erich Schleck’s Herod, all Joker grin and chalk-pale swagger, mocks Jesus with a cabaret-tilt sneer: “Prove to me that you’re divine — change my water into wine.” Jesus declines the party trick. Instead, he submits to a rock-and-ruin finale that becomes its own roaring revelation.

Tom Scutt’s set looks like the archaeological ruins of a sacred apartment block, dotted with jutting crosses and portals where performers appear like echoes from history and rock lore alike. The lighting turns the stage into a gallery of biblical iconography — and the final tableau is pure visual poetry: Jesus silhouetted on the cross, fog rising, light blasting through his departing spirit. It’s a mic-drop ending for an already volcanic show.

When: 7:30 p.m. Tue.-Fri., 2 & 7:30 p.m. Sat., 1:30 & 7 p.m. Sun., ends Dec. 28.

Where: Ordway Center, 345 Washington St., St. Paul.