Continued from F1

"Tommy" is so undemanding that it could be put on the season's schedule with "South Pacific" and "Oklahoma!" at a local dinner theater—and not cause a patron a moment's pause during dessert. If the production leads to a film, expect Tom Cruise in the title role. This is a show that aims to please at all costs.

The first thing wrong with the Playhouse's "Tommy II" is the music, which is quite an obstacle considering this is a musical. The problem for anyone familiar with the original work is not the songs, but the muted performance of them.

The original rock opera was one of the most appealing and accomplished pieces in rock: an examination of, among other things, the torments of growing up and the public's obsession with creating and then destroying superheroes.

As much as the story, however, the power of "Tommy" initially was its ambition. Frustrated by the narrow boundaries of rock at the time, Townshend set out to write an extended piece that wove a variety of themes into a single, liberating work.

The plot—with its undercurrents of spiritual awakening and inner peace—was elusive in places, but the intensity of the Who's own performance on record and stage turned that elusiveness into a strength because the visceral power of the music inspired you to search for meanings and conclusions.

Released in the year of Woodstock, the album served as a tender salute to the innocence and idealism of a generation that felt it was ushering in a new social order, while acknowledging that the dream was really over.

Rather than the intensity and individuality that the Who brought to the music, the eight musicians in the orchestra pit Thursday played "Tommy" in even, colorless tones. For the most part, the singers seemed equally strait-jacketed.

Without a strong sense of musical character, the Playhouse production had to rely almost exclusively on the story itself to bring the musical message to life.

Where Ken Russell in the disastrous 1975 film version of "Tommy" at least had his own strong point of view, this stage adaptation—credited to Townshend and McAnuff—is as toothless as the musical performance.

There is an eye toward creative staging—including such delightful moments as military parachutists dropping through the stage floor—but there is only timidity when it comes to grappling with the questions raised by "Tommy."

It's good that the Playhouse team didn't use "Tommy" as an excuse to try to tell us something about the '60s, but they didn't tell us anything about the '90s either.

To make things more contemporary, the story has been moved up—post-World War II rather than post-World War I. To make sure no one gets lost along the way, some brief connecting dialogue and a few new lyrics have been added, and the song order changed. Little of it helps. Instead of using the elusiveness to provoke audiences in new ways, "Tommy II" simply eliminates the darkness, tension and mystery of the original work.

The childhood scenes of the "deaf, dumb and blind" boy's initial retreat from society and his "miracle cure" are distressingly routine, while his eventual rise and fall as a cultural symbol becomes awash in clichéd scenes about underhanded associates and swarming packs of media whores. His plight—including his recovery—doesn't touch you because you don't really feel the agony or isolation.

The puzzling thing is Townshend's involvement. Was this all he had in mind with "Tommy" or is he trying to make the Who's masterwork conform to the crowd-winning demands of a different medium? In the end, "Tommy II" entertains, but fails to touch us.

Given the band's fondness over the years for album title puns (all the way back to "Who's Next,"), whoever figured they would leave themselves open at the end of "Tommy II" to a chorus of: "Who Cares?"