All we see is Tina Turner’s back, silhouetted in the glare. Overwhelmed by visions of her turbulent past, she sinks to her knees and comforts herself with the otherworldly sound of a Buddhist chant. She’s facing away from us toward the literal next stage of a life filled with challenges: a set of stairs ascending to a sea of distant flashbulbs representing 180,000 screaming fans.
Then, she experiences that abuse firsthand at the feet of her husband Ike Turner, the man who discovered her, claimed her and even renamed her while keeping a stranglehold on her life and career. The second act marks her struggle and comeback after bravely striking out on her own. Her songs are well-placed within the narrative. Unless required as part of her career trajectory, they don’t follow a strict chronology, instead inserted where they make the most thematic or emotional sense.
Her long legs dazzle in flashy choreography with the hard-working Ikettes, and she sparkles in Mark Thompson’s glorious costumes from Mackie mini to eighties extravaganza, performing quick changes that symbolize transformational moments. With the clever costuming and subtle changes in body language, she believably ages from a coltish 17-year-old to a more deliberate woman in her 40s.