Hell's Kitchen Travels Back in Time to Deliver a Smart, Sleek Coming-of-Age Story

Maya Drake as Ali and Roz White as Miss Liza Jane in the North American Tour of Alicia Keys' Hell's Kitchen. Photo by Marc J. Franklin.

Being seventeen isn’t easy. It’s a time when you yearn for freedom, when you’re restless and full of emotion. It’s also a time when you feel ready to embrace the world and take on its adventures. And, if you’re Ali (Maya Drake), the central character in Hell’s Kitchen, onstage now at the Durham Performing Arts Center (DPAC), there’s only one thing standing in your way: your mother.

Ali’s poignant, true-to-life story of coming of age in the 90s is loosely inspired by musician Alicia Keys’ own upbringing. Featuring a book by Pulitzer Prize finalist Kristoffer Diaz and music and lyrics by the Grammy-winning Keys, this musical offers a relatable, nostalgic glance back in time, but without any rose-colored clouds. It faces the past and some of its more troubling issues head-on, subtly hinting at how the past affects the present and reminding us of both our progress and how far we still have to go.

Ali’s bygone world opens up for us from the very first musical notes, with Diaz’s book plopping viewers right in the action. Ali shows us around her bustling Hell’s Kitchen neighborhood, introducing her friends, the artists in her building, and her eagle-eyed mother, Jersey (Kennedy Caughell). As Ali sings, the neighborhood bursts to life around her in an explosive opening number. Pounding music, eye-popping dances, and a general sense of energy and calamity set the stage and the tone. And then, only moments later, there’s something much softer—Ali, all alone, lamenting her lack of freedom and expressing her longing for a life that feels like her own.

In this tender number, “The River,” Drake showcases her impressive vocal range. Her soulful voice expresses the all-too-familiar desires of youth, aligning viewers with her character and inviting them along on this wistful journey. 

Drake’s changing, versatile tones are perfectly complemented by Michael Greif’s sweeping direction and Camille A. Brown’s dynamic choreography. The story regularly and easily switches between the busy, loud world of the city and the quieter spaces of Ali’s building and her inner life. Similarly, songs are often set to huge, impressive dance numbers . . . and then to subdued-but-beautiful solo or duet dances. The result is an ever-flowing, ever-changing ride that transcends boundaries and mirrors life itself.

In one of the “in-between” moments, viewers look on as Ali playfully conspires with her best friends, Jessica (Marley Soleil) and Tiny (Sydney Townsend), to win the attention of Knuck (JonAvery Worrell), a neighborhood boy with a penchant for drumming on paint buckets.  As they sing “You Don’t Know My Name,” they create a cute, girl-group-inspired harmony that’s a lot of fun to watch. And, when Ali finally does catch Knuck’s reluctant eye, he reveals there’s much more to him than what’s on the surface. Worrell delivers a painfully honest and haunting rendering of “Gramercy Park,” a song in which Knuck longs to be seen for who he truly is and a perfect example of the show’s complex, multi-layered writing and thorough character development. 

As Ali’s relationship with Knuck evolves, her relationship with her mother deteriorates even further. Fortunately, the indomitable Miss Liza Jane, portrayed with power by Roz White, is there to pick up the pieces. Ali begins learning piano from this older, wiser neighbor, who won’t take “no” for an answer and who passes on her wisdom with a grace and straightforward simplicity that make her instantly endearing. The character, who signifies Ali’s longing for cultural connection, serves as a guiding, lovable figure, and White’s booming voice and emotionally-charged characterization steal every scene. White’s most unforgettable moment is also one of the production’s standout features. The song, “Perfect Way to Die,” which marks the end of the first act, serves as a chilling, intense connection between past and present and reminds us that, in some coming-of-age stories, there are bigger stakes at play.

Ali’s many connections and her boundary-testing interactions with the world around her drive the plot forward in a way that feels natural and honest. And, while there are no pat endings here, there is a sense of hope that rises up from the story. While Ali’s mother is far from perfect, Caughell’s nuanced interpretation keeps her from becoming a caricatured villain. It also doesn’t hurt that Caughell’s powerhouse vocals repeatedly bring down the house. Likewise, Ali’s father, Davis (Desmond Sean Ellington), has plenty of faults of his own, including a propensity to disappear for long intervals, but Ellington paints him with so much charm and underlying love that he feels more incompetent than malicious.

Ali’s world and family may be flawed, but Drake imbues her character with such strength and precocity that you just know she’s going to be okay. This young performer juggles all of Ali’s conflicting qualities—her naïveté and wisdom, her bravery and fear—with a level of skill that allows all the brilliance of the writing and lyrics to shine through. 

Each moment is backed by flawless visual and sound effects, expansive scenic design (Robert Brill), authentic streetwear fashion (Dede Ayite), and live (sometimes visible) musicians, all working together to bring alive not just Ali’s world, but an entire era. The result is like traveling back in time with the benefit of a modern lens.

Hell’s Kitchen is rich in nuance, but never heavy-handed. It is the perfect blending of light and dark, of youth and wisdom. It stands as a fun, thought-provoking, and completely unforgettable theatrical experience, one that elevates the jukebox musical into something fresh, inventive, and wonderfully unexpected.

-Susie Potter