Theater: Seeking Salvation for the Capeman

On a hot July afternoon, Paul Simon was fiddling with dials on a control panel in a cramped recording studio in midtown Manhattan. With most of his hair gone and his plump face inching toward jowly, the pop troubadour, 56, has reached unmistakable middle age. But the mellow, yearning voice coming through the sound system has changed little: "I was born in Puerto Rico/ Came here when I was a child..." Simon was preparing the mix for a song from The Capeman, his new musical that recounts a bloody tabloid crime from the 1950s, explores questions of guilt and redemption and introduces a rich dose of Latin rhythms and doo-wop music to Broadway. One riff from the electric keyboard caused him to make a face. "It's too synthy, too 'woo-woo.'" he said. "Have you got some nice strings?" Another muddy spot he wanted rerecorded: "The piano's too busy. You lose the lyrics." Putting the finishing touches on the album Songs from The Capeman, being readied for release in advance of the show's opening, Simon seemed cool, confident and completely in his element.

It was when he ventured out into the rough, unfamiliar seas of Broadway that he encountered troubled waters. The Capeman--Simon's first Broadway musical, seven years in the works, opening this week--has weathered one of the most heavily publicized and problem-plagued births of any show in years. Reports that Simon, a legendary perfectionist, has not taken well to the demands of theatrical collaboration have been the buzz of Broadway for months. The show's opening, originally scheduled for Jan. 8, was postponed three weeks when a new director--the show's fourth--was brought in to do some last-minute retooling. Even the preshow CD, Simon's first album of new music since The Rhythm of the Saints in 1990, was a serious commercial disappointment, dropping off the Billboard Top 100 after only six weeks.

There were problems onstage too, which became apparent when the show started preview performances in early December. Its story of Salvador Agron--a Puerto Rican teenager convicted of killing two white youths in a Hell's Kitchen playground in 1959--was confused and uninvolving; the staging lacked energy; and there was surprisingly little dancing for a show directed by an acclaimed choreographer, Mark Morris. Last month the producers enticed veteran director Jerry Zaks (the Tony Award-winning revival of Guys and Dolls) to take over as show doctor. He in turn brought in a new choreographer, Joey McKneely. That left Morris (though still the director of record) the odd man out. Show publicists claim Morris remains in close touch with the production and is offering input, but he described his role to TIME late last week as a "visiting dignitary" who stopped attending rehearsals once Zaks came in. His reaction to the usurpation? "In some ways relief," says Morris, "in some ways embarrassment. But I want Paul to be happy with the show."

It may still happen. Zaks has cut several numbers, restaged others and made the story tighter and more coherent. Reaction from audiences is improving. Stranger things have happened on Broadway: for all its troubles, The Capeman may win redemption yet.