In any case, none of it furthers the plot. (These wisps of tune, wanly sung and with lyrics that sound mistranslated from Klingon, are credited to the pop musician Sia and others.) Most of the show’s music is disembodied and ambient, whether live or prerecorded I could not tell. But to the extent kung fu usually provides thrills, and musicals usually tell stories through song, the new genre is a misnomer if not an outright lie.įor one thing, there are only (by my count) three songs, by which I mean words sung by characters in a story. I can report that what the director Chen Shi-Zheng and the “ Kung Fu Panda” writing team of Jonathan Aibel and Glenn Berger have come up with does involve martial arts and tonal sounds. The show’s mismatched creators - apparently assembled by random spins of a Rolodex - call the result a kung fu musical. But the McCourt might as well be a Lululemon as long as it’s housing “Dragon Spring”: a product involving acres of spandex and designed to be internationally inoffensive. “Here” was the McCourt, the spectacular if poorly ventilated new performance space created when the Shed’s 120-foot-tall puckered carapace is rolled eastward from the main building to cover some of the few square feet of Hudson Yards not colonized by commerce. I mean beyond those I scrawled in my notebook during “ Dragon Spring Phoenix Rise,” which opened at the Shed on Thursday: experiences like “Huh?” and feelings like “Get me out of here.” What were the authors trying to accomplish? What experience did they mean to impart, what feelings did they hope to arouse?
Usually when I see an awful show I try to understand what happened.
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