Is the stage version of “Aladdin” magical?
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“A Whole New World” might be the most beloved Disney song of all time. This isn’t a scientific claim but a personal takeaway from two decades of road-trip singalongs, karaoke nights and staying up late at night watching YouTube musicians cover the song.
The touring production of “Aladdin” the musical — at the Hobby Center through July 14 — was a great excuse to not only hear that song live but to be reminded of what it felt like watching the 1992 film for the first time.
No surprise, then, that several children gasped in excitement when Clinton Greenspan, as Aladdin, reached out his arm to Kaenaonalani Kekoa, as Jasmine, and said, “Do you trust me?” The stage darkens, then lights up in a swirl of lights, like fireflies bursting from a whirlpool. The magic carpet flies, and it twists and turns as our charming street rat asks of his date, “Tell me, princess, now when did you last let your heart decide?”
Do I sound nostalgic enough yet? The word “nostalgia” is a compound of the Greek words for homecoming (nostos) and ache (algos), a unique emotion that is warm, wistful and sad, like an old friend hugging you for the last time.
Which is why “Aladdin” the musical, despite all its splendor and flash, also never feels like canon to the Disney fan. Disney hasn’t avoided the suspicion that creating this musical was first and foremost a business decision. Bubbling underneath the expensive robots, the flying props and the dazzling sequins of “Aladdin” is a sense that this is nothing more than a theme park.
Greenspan and Kekoa sing “A Whole New World” like they’re a little bored with it, choosing to syncopate and under-sell the melody during moments when the music should feel the most magical. Wry popculture references, anachronistic costumes and oversize scenery abound. Legs fly into the air during a chorus-line number. Dancers parade around in a carnival of vaguely Middle Eastern choreography and music.
Aladdin and Jasmine still fly. The night sky still explodes with balls of space fire as the budding attraction between an urchin and a monarch blossoms into a love that transcends class and birthright. But the sweet center, the part that speaks to a child’s imagination,
an adolescent’s belief in adventure and an adult’s commitment to finding long-lasting romance — the qualities within us that the 1990s-era Disney brought alive — isn’t there. Disney the bedtime storyteller feels more like Disney the conglomerate.