Oh, what a strange feeling it is to sit in the spotless new seats of an immaculate new theater nestled in the gleaming new offices of a leading local corporation and watch a show about a self-destructive 60s rock icon.
Maybe this is all that’s left of the 60s. We put on our jackets and ties, our pearls and high heels, and come to a safe environment to vicariously experience a decade remembered for its music, and its own unique brand of chaos.

Yes, the Wednesday night performance of “Love, Janis” the inaugural production in Kansas City Repertory Theatre’s impressive 320 seat play-house, Copaken Stage, was in many ways a study in contrasts. The show was preceded by a handful of speeches and a ribbon-cutting ceremony in the lobby of the performing space in the northeast corner of H&R Block headquarters.

Then some of the most generous arts supporters in town eagerly took their seats and in short order were blasted by music loud enough to rattle their sternums.

The show, conceived, written and directed by Randal Myler, is an effective piece of theater that draws most of its power from the raucous music recorded by Janis Joplin during her blazing four-year career. This is a good faith effort to capture the reality of Joplin – the vulnerable human being dwelling behind the Southern Comfort—chugging public persona—and to put her death by drug overdose in a humane context.
Myler’s script is derived in part from letters Joplin wrote to her family in Port Arthur, Texas, during her rise to fame during San Francisco’s explosion of musical creativity in the late 60s. They reveal someone who reads books, expressed herself eloquently, questioned the nature of fame, struggled with alcohol and drugs, and was uncompromising in her pursuit of artistic excellence.
To accomplish this, Myler employed an interesting device. Janis is portrayed by two performers – one non-singing actress and a singer who can capture Joplin’s throaty vocal quality. It’s a risky idea that could easily have collapsed under its own weight, but Myler keeps things in balance and has placed his faith in some very good performers.

Lena Kaminsky plays the “acting” Janis with range, subtlety and conviction. She manages to give us a strong sense of Joplin’s journey from a hard partying college dropout to someone who was remarkably humble behind her show-boating performances. Ultimately Kaminsky gives us a picture of Joplin as social misfit who never would have found her place in the world had she not migrated to Frisco and joined Big Brother and the Holding Company.

Then we have the “singing” Janis, who bowls us over repeatedly with her explosive vocal performances. On Wednesday the role was filled by the volatile Mary Bridget Davies (who in the interest of protecting vocal cords, alternates in part with Kacee Clanton).

Backed by an excellent band of local musicians, Davies nails Joplin’s sound, delivery and body language and in so doing demonstrates her own formidable singing chops. One of the shows sweet ironies is that the music sounds better than most of the original recordings. The guitarists are in tune, and Davies possesses a finesse that Joplin never had.

Many of Kaminsky’s lines are in response to questions posed by the disembodied voice of an unseen interviewer (the overly empathetic Dean Vivian), a device that may have worked two decades ago in “A Chorus Line” but seems pretty tired in the 21st century.

Still, this is an infectious piece of work. We may not be getting an absolutely accurate picture of Joplin, but the show pushes us to see her in a different light. In that respect, it’s a resounding success.