I’m a bit obsessed with Jesus Christ Superstar, especially the movie version. Carl Anderson is just too brilliant. The whole thing is brilliant.
A co-worker referenced this rock opera today, resulting in a revival of my one-woman “highlights of JC Superstar” production. Previous runs of the show have been panned by my husband and cat, but that never stops me from performing it every few months.
So I was happy to find this old Salon.com article written by another fan, who articulates the brilliance better than I can and concludes:
Lord knows there’s no credibility to be had in proclaiming one’s love for “Jesus Christ Superstar.” In most quasi-sophisticated circles, finding JCS anything but pure drivel makes a person suspect, not just as a critic but as a music lover and perhaps as a human being as well. Witness all the terrible reviews the work has gotten over the years: “Bombastic kitsch that [doesn’t] rock,” said Rolling Stone. “The lyrics are pedestrian and often absurd,” harrumphed the Nation. “Flat, pallid, actually pointless,” sniffed the New York Post. Infidels, every one.