Mining a rich vein

Early in “Fire on the Mountain,” which opened this weekend at the San Diego Repertory Theatre, life as a coal miner -- particularly in the first half of the last century -- is described as an existence where “danger is double and pleasures are few.” For nearly 90 minutes of song and intermittent narration, “Fire” explains those many dangers and pitifully few pleasures, backed by projections of historic photos of miners, their families and the Appalachian Mountains where they lived, worked and died, often in squalor.

Written by Randal Myler and Dan Wheetman -- co-authors of the 1999 Tony-nominated musical “It Ain’t Nothing But the Blues” -- and directed by Myler, “Fire” revisits an American workplace that was dirty, dangerous and exploitative and yet inspired some of the nation’s more enduring folk music.

Veteran actor Mike Regan is superb as the narrator, a third-generation coal miner who explains life in the mines with great sadness but also with great pride. Even as it is doing its didactic best to demonize the mine owners, “Fire” concedes that the miners often loved their work even if they hated the mines and their bosses.

Molly Andrews, the only woman in the ensemble, is a standout, particularly with her anthem for wives burdened by too many children, too little money and too much work: “Lord, I wish I was a single girl again.” And “Mississippi” Charles Bevel is excellent as he combines singing and dancing and explains that the misery of the mines cut across racial lines.

For anyone unfamiliar with this part of American history and how it gave rise to labor unions and government safety and health standards, “Fire” is a must. High schools and colleges would do well to buy blocs of tickets. Maybe an asterisk could be added to the program -- “and the steel mills, textile factories and farms weren’t much better.”

And yet for all its high-mindedness and fine parts, “Fire” is never wholly successful.

A lecture, even dressed up with songs and pictures, is still a lecture, not a drama. Ninety minutes can be a long time when, for most people, the thesis is beyond dispute and most of the facts are not new. “Fire” is so politically correct, it plays like a public television fund-raiser.

The journalistic axiom of “show us, don’t tell us” might have helped here. Would that we could have seen an entire family, with some dialogue, not just a lone narrator. A child or two and more than just Andrews as everywoman might have helped.

The tendency to portray the miners as working-class heroes is counterproductive. Black lung isn’t the only condition bred by life in the mines. Alcoholism and family violence weren’t far behind. The real horror of economic serfdom is how it crushes the spirit as well as the body.

A mini-lecture on the environmental damage done by modern strip mining seemed tacked on -- although it did carry one of the evening’s better lines as pictures were shown of rivers of mud flowing to the sea: “There’s a lot of eastern Kentucky in the Gulf of Mexico.” In the end, it’s not the mud that matters but the people, and the people in “Fire” are living a life where “troubles are coming by threes and twos.” Those troubles deserve our attention even in this flawed production.

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‘Fire on the Mountain’

Where: San Diego Repertory Theatre, 79 Horton Plaza, San Diego

When: Tuesday, 7 p.m.; Wednesday-Saturday., 8 p.m.; Sunday, 2 and 7 p.m.;

Ends: June 8

Price: $23-$40

Contact: (619) 544-1000

Running time: 1 hour, 30 minutes