STAGE REVIEW : ‘El Cuarto Poder’: More Rock Show Than a Play : The world-premiere Spanish-language musical features a Venezuelan group in the reopened Bradley Theatre.

More rock concert than musical or play, “El Cuarto Poder” (The Fourth Estate) reopened the Tom Bradley Theatre at Los Angeles Theatre Center on Friday. A world premiere Spanish-language rock musical written by Jorge Luis Rodriguez, with music and lyrics by Miguel Angel Zozaya, “Poder” features the Venezuelan rock group Zozaya, whose rock sets form the overpowering core of the performance. All else derives its rationale--or lack thereof--from a tenuous relationship to that musical core.

The heart of this musical is not drama or a coherent story line. Those come off as additives, while events are driven by the Zozaya lyrics, presumably written prior to this show’s conception.

Zozaya, the group, delivers an entertaining performance. Most of the songs are traditional rock ‘n’ roll infused with the political sentiments of Latin America’s “Nueva Cancion.” The four Zozaya members (Miguel Angel Zozaya, Gilberto Bocaranda, Fernando Dominguez and Tomas Zozaya) are accomplished musicians who sing about power politics, media power and political ideals.

“Poder” is the story of a rock group in the year 2000. Our temporal proximity to the next millennium is perhaps what makes it appear much like the present. The group’s members have made a commitment to their musical life together and to creation of a better world, through both music and professions outside the musical field. One is a priest, one a journalist, one a politician and another a soccer player.

In the short interludes between rock sets, a sparse plot line emerges in the form of a political campaign between rock star/politician Tomas Zozaya of the Union Democratica (Democratic Union) and the governing Democracia Cristiana (Christian Democrats), who control the media. Although the double life of rock star and political figure may seem far-fetched, the borders between the worlds of art and politics are fluid in Latin America--such as Ruben Blades currently being a candidate for the presidency of Panama.

The production is a rhetorical presence trapped in a political tug-of-war between two power-wielding groups. Only the university-trained upper crust speaks, in the form of the well-intentioned rock band whose songs purport to champion the disenfranchised. Media interests are represented by television sets of all sizes that dominate the stage, and by the anchorpersons who deliver the government’s official line.

The rock sets are staged between two television-capped Doric columns (sketchy sets are by Guillermo Berth) and punctuated by the coming and going of two anchorpersons (Pilar Perez and Manuel Cabral) affiliated with the Noticiero Nacional de Television (National Television Newscast). The broadcasters actively seek to influence campaign results, yet the contours and issues of the campaign itself remain unclear. Protagonist/politician/rock star Tomas Zozaya’s platform is anybody’s guess--an ambiguity that gives the production a (deliberately?) vague and naive quality.

Writer Rodriguez calls the musical “a fantasy about the communications media” while referring to the difficulties that have plagued this production as a “technical cataclysm.” These problems may clear up in time, but for now the show has all the earmarks of a work-in-progress.

Under the direction of Luis Celeiro, interesting ideas and a potentially fascinating but static story line need elaboration. Only briefly do we experience the power of movement, such as when a child makes his entrance with a television set for a head--a silent, eloquent and terrifying image. Also problematic is the representation of women. Here they are mere adornments for the songs of men and acquire only satanic identities in a dance sequence choreographed by Ana Maria Hollenbaugh. The anchorwoman, played with cunning by Perez, is robotic.

Although invoked throughout the musical, “The Fourth Estate” remains invisible. And initially, we catch a glimpse of those silent masses: As white-faced, wordless mimes who carry placards naming their assorted plights--” Soy Homeless” (I’m homeless) or “I have no job. Tengo cinco hijos. Trabajo por comida” (I have five children. Will work for food.)

The finale brings a non sequitur message of hope in the unlikely form of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” prefaced by a statement about “awakening together in a better world” in the coming millennium.

That outburst of optimism and joy, following the assassination of the liberal rock star/journalist, appears frivolous if not absurd. The dissonance created by that “Ode to Joy” is only made keener upon leaving the Los Angeles Theatre Center and beholding homeless men, women and children asleep on the sidewalks.