Just when the hippies begin to look like a tribe of vanishing Americans, the New York stage has gotten hip to them. Peopled with anarchic flower children, a musical called Hair spills out a pornocopia of copulative verbs and scatological nouns, plus a now-celebrated nude scene in which several men and women face the dimmest of footlights au naturel.
At the moment, Hair is doing hit business. Who attends? Not the young. They think the theater is for the dodo birds, and besides, they prefer to do their nude watching elsewhere. Moreover, the $11 orchestra tab virtually ensures an audience...
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