More recently, a new "Jesus Christ Superstar" was launched in the U.K. and wound up making it to Broadway for a revival in 2000. This production's staging, by Gale Edwards, was captured on film for PBS' "Great Performances" in 2001. For this updated foray, Christ was played by the overly perfect Glenn Carter, whose crinkled locks and buff physique made him seem like the Lord as interpreted by Calvin Klein.

But the real star of the show here, as always, was the great betrayer, Judas Iscariot. Much as Carl Anderson's rendition of the disciple-gone-wrong stole the show in Jewison's movie, balding Frenchman Jérôme Pradon emotes his doomed ass off in the new version. Brooding anti-Jesus Pradon is thin and dark where Carter is sculpted and golden, and the hints of homoeroticism in Judas' jealousy over Christ's friendship with Mary Magdalene add a contemporary queer-studies twist. Truth to tell, by the end of the video, I had a new crush object, edging Jesus to one side for the first time in years.

While Webber and Rice's story wouldn't seem to need much explaining -- being, you know, a loose chronicle of the last seven days of Jesus -- for those poor souls who managed to miss the "Jesus Christ Superstar" train as it's chuffed through every station in the country over the past 30 years, a brief synopsis might be in order.

The eerie overture kicks off with a wailing guitar lick that builds with ominous intensity, a frantic mélange of sounds presaging the score's major numbers. It's an anxious layering of riffs and fragments, blending orchestral flourishes with hard rock's escalating tension, until the rhythm finally melds together into a lavish celebration of the familiar chorus to the title track, which is immediately cut short by faint wailing voices and discordant notes. Five minutes in, the listener is already exhausted and exhilarated.

No time to rest: As the story opens, Judas is freaking out, big-time. His pondering quickly escalates to wailing doubts about Jesus' exploding popularity, the cluelessness of His followers and the inevitability of conflict with the authorities ("We are occupied, have you forgotten how put-down we are?"). Cut to the apostles, a bunch of useless slackers forever milling about and asking: "What's the buzz, tell me what's happening."

There's a hint of the old nudge-nudge, wink-wink when Mary Magdalene steps in to soothe Jesus, punctuated by Judas' sneering take on how all this female attention is just another troubling symptom of the direction Jesus is heading. In the first great exchange between the pair, Judas sneers that the former prostitute "doesn't fit in well with what you teach and say." Mary attempts to defuse the situation with the placating ditty "Everything's Alright," but Judas blows a gasket. While the two men keep ragging on each other, Mary continues to insist that all is copacetic. It's not.

Meanwhile, the high Jewish priests are discussing the Jesus problem. An insinuating bass line keeps their conversation building with ominous foreshadowing for the carpenter from Nazareth. In the end, it's decided: "This Jesus Must Die." Uh-oh. With unfortunate timing, Jesus and His supporters pick that moment to hosanna their way past the priests' council. Inside, the priests strategize the best way to deal with resistance: "His half-witted fans will get out of control." Oblivious, the crowd continues to sing and prance about like mindless twits.

Horns sound as the parade swells to Lollapalooza-like numbers, and an infectious piano line kicks into a groovy sing-along: "Christ, you know I love you, did you see I waved?" Jesus' follower Simon Zealotes slyly advises Him to "keep them yelling their devotion, but add a touch of hate of Rome." Like the rest of the apostles, Simon wants a revolution. He wants a Jewish homeland. He wants the "filth from Rome who rape our country" to get their comeuppance. Bad move, Simon. Jesus is a lover, not a fighter.

Cut to Monday morning. Pontius Pilate sings a soft lament about his premonition that bad shit's about to go down. The tempo kicks into high gear when Jesus enters the temple, where decadence and depravity abound. A driving riff plays off the line, "Roll on up, for my price is down." Jesus pitches a fit and smashes everything all to hell. He muses sadly about how the end is coming, then is promptly hit with pleas from beggars who reprise the temple riff ("See my eyes, I can hardly see"). Overwhelmed, Jesus ends up telling them -- with an anguished rock 'n' roll howl -- to heal themselves.

Mary Magdalene's sweet love song diffuses the tension. She's conflicted over her love for Jesus. He's just a man. She knows all about men. Nonetheless, she doesn't know how to love this one.

Come morning, Judas has decided to turn traitor, almost in spite of himself. Relentless rhythms punctuate his rationalizations that he really didn't come of his own accord. Whatever, shrug the priests, who toss him some coins and tell him it's not blood money, just a fee. When Judas takes the money and tells them where to find Jesus, a mournful chorus intones, "Well done, Judas. Good old Judas."

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