Author: Coco June

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Theater Theater Feature

The Mousetrap at Theatre Memphis

Photo: Carla McDonald

Longtime Memphis thespian Bruce Huffman saw his directorial debut last weekend with the opening of Agatha Christie’s The Mousetrap at Theatre Memphis. Anyone familiar with Christie’s work will understand why this play is a fitting choice for October. Macabre and suspenseful, The Mousetrap is a multi-faceted character study with an array of roles any actor would die for — which is apt, as this play is also, of course, a good old-fashioned whodunit murder mystery. 

The Mousetrap opens as so many of Christie’s great works do, with establishing a setting where a group of eccentric strangers are inevitably thrown together with no escape in sight. In this case, the story takes place in the out-of-the-way Monkswell Manor, just opened by newlyweds Mollie and Giles Ralston, played by Taylor Ragan and Kinon Keplinger, respectively. The manor’s grand opening is thrown off by several unexpected arrivals, first of a snowstorm, and then of a man who embodies the very definition of “eccentric,” one Mr. Paravacini, played by Tony Isbell. The other guests come in one by one, and as the audience is introduced to the colorful cast, it quickly becomes evident that every one of them has something to hide. 

It is revealed that a murder has taken place, that of one unfortunate Maureen Lyon, and as the play goes on, we realize the mysterious Ms. Lyon was connected to several of Monkswell Manor’s guests. Almost immediately it becomes clear that the audience shouldn’t just be trying to puzzle out who the murderer is — we’re also meant to figure out who the next victims are. Theatrical history buffs may know that Christie was always rather annoyed with theater critics who revealed the endings of her plays; therefore, in honor of her memory I will attempt to not give too much away. This play is one that, in typical Christie fashion, turns the mystery inside out and on its head before the curtain falls. 

Whether it’s too easy to figure out or not isn’t really the point; the fun of this show is in watching the cast flesh out the campy, over-the-top characters. After all, if a dramatic period-piece murder mystery isn’t the place for outrageously hyperbolic caricatures, then what is? Franklin Koch’s performance as the outlandish, free-spirited Christopher Wren feels as comfortably threadbare as a favorite T-shirt. Koch obviously knows this character through and through, and you’ll feel like you do, too. Meanwhile, Susan Brindley’s depiction of Mrs. Boyle is just as familiar, but as a character we all love to hate. Anyone in the audience who’s worked in any kind of service industry will enjoy watching multiple characters clap back at this 1950s version of a “Karen.” The entire company seems to be working together with the precision of a well-oiled machine. 

Snow is mentioned often enough to almost be considered another character altogether, and as is common in many suspense stories, it acts not only as a tangible way of keeping the players isolated, but also as a metaphor — they’re hemmed in, physically and mentally. The cold also implies a certain stasis. Many of these characters are frozen in mindset, kept in place by horrors of the past or by their inability, deliberate or not, to grow up. My one issue with this play is the somewhat dated use of mental illness as a scapegoat. The societal embrace of both true crime and mental health in recent years has, I think, made modern audiences more aware of the fact that millions of people suffer complex trauma or have mental health issues and don’t commit any crimes as a result, let alone murder. I’m aware I might be unfairly evaluating this 20th century work through a 21st century lens, but it would feel disingenuous not to at least point out such antiquated thinking.

Despite that, the play is undeniably entertaining. The Mousetrap has been staged almost uninterruptedly since the ’50s for a reason — it’s a classic. Whether you’re the type who enjoys trying to tease out twist endings as you watch or whether you’d rather be kept guessing, this murder mystery is filled with such quality performances as to keep anyone entertained. 

The Mousetrap runs at Theatre Memphis through October 27th. 

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Theater Theater Feature

Coconut Cake at Hattiloo Theater

These retirees meet to spill the tea. (Photo: Marlinda Shorter | Unspeakable Joy Photography)

Ten years ago, my ex-husband and I lived with his grandfather, a 92-year-old patriarch of the family. He was routine-oriented, and for many years he made a habit of meeting up with friends once a week for coffee and breakfast at a local fast food joint, usually Hardee’s or McDonald’s. The setting of Hattiloo Theatre’s production of Coconut Cake couldn’t be more relatable, as it portrays a glimpse into the day-to-day lives of four retirees who meet every Monday at McDonald’s. Here’s the thing, though, these characters aren’t just meeting up to drink coffee — they’re here to spill the tea. 

Coconut Cake is a (mostly) quiet, intimate look at the lives of three Black friends, plus the somewhat out-of-place white brother-in-law named Hank but nick-named “Republican,” played by Bart Mallard. The characters — all men — slowly reveal they are each going through hardships that end up driving them apart, despite the fact that their individual struggles could bring them closer. The event that throws their lives into disarray is the arrival in town of a mysterious woman, who, because of her beauty and sophistication, becomes the subject of fascination for the quartet. The other wild card in Coconut Cake is the unhoused man dubbed “Gotdamnit” because of his penchant for repeating the word. Played by Jesse L. Dunlap, Gotdamnit is the type of character who whirls in and steals the show. He is a source of comic relief, though there are moments of emotion and a struggle with mental health that are poignantly delivered. 

While the characters may at first seem like stock characters, a theme becomes apparent as the show progresses: All people contain hidden depths. Mallard has been acting since high school and speaks to the process of the characterization of Hank: “My character is hiding some truths about himself from even those closest to him. So I am asking myself deeply and honestly, what do I keep hidden away … is there a truth that I have not allowed to be seen … is there a truth in my heart, soul, and gut that I need to or could benefit from shining a bright light onto?” 

One notable aspect of the play is that, though it is comprised of an entirely male cast, the playwright Melda Beaty is a woman. Watching a play that is about the male experience, but depicted by a woman, was a fascinating experience. I’ve grown up inundated by female characters who are poorly and unrealistically dreamed up by men. The internet is full with memes criticizing how women are rendered by male writers, so I found it refreshing to see a play that flipped the script — pun intended. Beaty’s frank and honest portrayal of these men is what makes the play so gripping. Here is a place where they are allowed to be vulnerable, and it’s obvious how meaningful that refuge is. Symbolism is rife in Coconut Cake, from the sanctuary represented by the innocuous setting of McDonald’s, to the game of life portrayed in a chess board. 

Though on the surface Coconut Cake is a simple dialogue-driven play, it is a piece of theater that should not be looked over. Accurately cutting out a slice of life that remains deeply entertaining without ever compromising its realism is no mean feat, but Beaty has managed to do so with success. This play comes with a message that audiences will be hard-pressed to miss, as Mallard puts it, “The deepest intention is to shine some light on the truth that the act of openly, truthfully, and patiently walking your path will allow for you to find your own truth and light and then to honestly stand in it … to take the stage.” 

Coconut Cake runs at Hattiloo Theatre through September 8th. 

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Theater Theater Feature

Coco Queens

Christin Webb as Gloria Carmichael (Photo: Joe Perry)

I feel somewhat apprehensive writing about the world premiere of LaDarrion Williams’ new play Coco Queens at TheatreWorks@TheSquare, if only because this review seems like the last thing anyone needs right now: a white woman’s commentary about Black sisterhood. Perhaps I would be best served by simply sharing my perspective of gratitude for having the opportunity to see this story being brought to the stage.

Winner of the 2023 NewWorks@TheWorks playwriting competition, Coco Queens takes place in the 1970s, which is apparent by the cozy, lived-in set designed by Lex van Blommestein. The entirety of the play is staged in the living room/at-home hair salon of Gloria Carmichael, played by Christin Webb, who the audience was told before curtain is a recent addition to the cast, so much so that the actor isn’t quite off book yet. This detail could be a distraction to most audiences, but I found Webb’s characterization of Gloria so compelling that it took me a few minutes to realize she was the actor that had been referred to, despite the rather obvious fact that she carried a modern binder with her during much of the show. 

Gloria sports an Afro hairstyle, another nod to the time frame of the show, and the play’s program includes an insert titled “The Role of Hair in the Identity of Black Women.” It’s a nice touch, given that many of the thematic elements are woven into the setting of a hair salon. Gloria serves as a matriarch to the other three characters, having raised each of them together as pseudo-sisters in their childhood. Chanel and Tammie remain in the same small town they grew up in, and once the last character Dawn is introduced, we see that she and Chanel harbor a feud that has spanned eight years. In their youth the three were part of a musical group together and were poised on the edge of their big break when Dawn suddenly broke off and started a solo career. Dawn, who recently returned home from her seemingly glamorous life as a solo artist, wants to reconcile. Chanel, who feels Dawn is living the life she was meant to have, does not. Tammie is stuck in the middle, unable to bridge the gap between the two.

Over the course of the play, we see each character struggling not only to mend the rift in their friendship but also against the different ways the world has forced them to move through their lives. The playwright exemplifies this theme with the line that being a Black woman is akin to “existing, not even living in this world.” Gloria and Tammie urge Chanel and Dawn to assert control in their lives by putting their differences behind them, but actor Donita Johnson makes it clear that Chanel’s palpable anger is stemming from a deep wound. 

Playwright Williams said in a release, “I am not a Black woman, but I guess I really associate with Chanel a lot of times because of the anger and hurt caused by some folks closest to you, and learning to heal from that pain.” 

Forgiveness is something hard-won, even or perhaps especially for the person giving it. Each character faces a battle with discrimination and how its effects on Black women permeate their lives, and each character in their own way comes to a point when they must decide who in their lives deserves forgiveness. In each of their coinciding stories, what’s clear is how much stronger the ties that bind them become when they choose to fight for and invest in their own strength. By choosing to embrace and support one another, they become stronger individuals. This lesson is brought home when their matriarch reminds them that she, too, has faced persecution in ways they never have, and that the time comes for everyone to invest in taking care of themselves first, even if their aim is to serve others. 

Coco Queens is a heartfelt look at the everyday lives of 1970s Black women in the South, with themes that seem all too relevant in 2024. 

Coco Queens runs at TheatreWorks on the Square through July 28th.

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Theater Theater Feature

Katori Hall’s The Hot Wing King at Circuit Playhouse

The play opens in the kitchen and stays there for almost the entirety of the show. (Photos: Sean Moore)

It’s difficult to imagine a more Memphis-centric theater outing than the opening night of The Circuit Playhouse’s production of The Hot Wing King — written by Memphis native Katori Hall, performed by a cast of six Memphis residents, set in Memphis, and attended by none other than the mayor of Memphis.

If the audience’s response is anything to go by, this show’s success could be described not by a traditional two thumbs-up, but rather by a rapid-fire volley of finger snaps. The Hot Wing King serves up not only an often-hilarious look at the bonds and squabbles of a found family, but also a refreshing, unapologetic depiction of gay Black men comfortably presenting a full range of everything non-toxic masculinity can be.

This play has a bit of a sitcom-like feel to it, right down to Andrew Mannion’s scene design of a slightly upscale lived-in Memphis house. The play opens in the kitchen and we stay there for almost the entirety of the show, but you’ll find no complaints here as the set dressing was beautifully homey.

The Hot Wing King follows Cordell, a St. Louis native who recently relocated to Memphis to move in with his boyfriend, Dwayne. Their cohabitation seems like it’s off to a rocky start despite their obvious affection and deep feeling for one another. Cordell, who is currently looking for a job, seems to be rubbed the wrong way by the idea of being supported by another person. Thus, he pours himself obsessively into his hobby, trying to win the annual Memphis “Hot Wang Festival.” Much of the play’s two-and-a-half-hour runtime is taken up with the intricacies of the cooking, prepping, marinating, etc. of the wings by the couple and their two close friends, but the real meat in this production lies in the struggle of the characters’ internal battles of guilt and accountability, and of the external conflicts that subsequently stem from within.

One such major conflict arises when Dwayne’s nephew EJ and EJ’s father TJ make unexpected appearances in the middle of the festival prep. Sixteen-year-old EJ is in need of a place to stay, and as his mother, Dwayne’s sister, died after being restrained by police (police that Dwayne had called for a welfare check) almost exactly two years ago, it’s understandable why Dwayne wants to take EJ in. At least, it’s understandable to the audience. Cordell, on the other hand, is still struggling with his discordant relationship with his own adult children, who don’t know that he divorced their mother in order to pursue a relationship with Dwayne.

The situation is messy, yet it has an air of familiarity to it that most audience members will probably be able to relate to. Anyone who has been through great loss will understand that though everyday events and emotions are a necessity for navigating daily life, the pain is never too far away. While the dialogue occasionally drifts into somewhat unrealistically poetic expressions of this sort of grief and pain, the cast carries it off well. The jump between comedic hijinks and somber self-reflection doesn’t feel quite as stark as it could, when the actors are performing with such open honesty.

What makes this play truly special and important is the matter-of-fact presentation of queer Black men who are completely at ease with their sexuality. As a straight white woman, I can only imagine what it would mean to see that kind of representation onstage to a person struggling with their own sexual identity. What I especially appreciated was Katori Hall’s method of revealing the characters’ struggles after we had been introduced to their confidence. Again, I have only imagination and empathy to go off of here, but I think seeing these characters being their full authentic selves would be inspiring to young queer people; to see that they, too, overcame struggles to get to that point could only be incredibly validating.

When it comes to serving up quality theater, The Hot Wing King has everything to offer: heart, saucy exchanges, slapstick comedy, and even redemption.

The Hot Wing King runs at The Circuit Playhouse through June 2nd.

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Theater Theater Feature

Wicked at the Orpheum

National Touring Company of Wicked (Photo: Joan Marcus)

In my junior year of high school, our revamped theater program found its feet with the production of a traditional spring musical, The Wizard of Oz. It was 2008, and three years previously, the smash hit Broadway musical Wicked had begun its national tour, one that would break every house record in every city it played in. As a 17-year-old voracious reader, I knew of Wicked the novel, not the show, but that changed when, for the first time I could ever remember, a Broadway musical became a common topic of conversation in the hallways of a small-town high school. At the time, I was confused about what the big deal was. Wicked the book was a strange and almost unpalatable read, and I could barely understand how it had been translated to the stage in the first place. It took over 15 years, but I finally have seen what all the hubbub was about.

Wicked has become a global phenomenon and a household name, just as much as its origin story, The Wizard of Oz. I can’t bring to mind another example of a spin-off gaining as much traction and coexisting so long alongside the original. The Orpheum Theatre was a packed house last Thursday, with the audience hanging on every word and madly cheering after every number. The merch table in the lobby was nearly overrun, and all this after 20 years of the show being on stage.

Olivia Valli as Elphaba (Photo: Joan Marcus)

On the drive home, my friend Meagan Kitterlin asked me how I already knew some of the songs when I hadn’t actually seen the play before. “Doesn’t everyone know ‘Defying Gravity’?” I answered. I couldn’t tell you the first time I heard that song, or “Popular,” but they are both nearly as familiar to me now as “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” The wild success of this musical is staggering, and seeing it in person, I understand why musical-lovers go crazy for this show.

The grandeur of Memphis’ Orpheum Theatre lends itself to the opulence of Wicked’s presentation. A giant clockwork dragon adorns the proscenium arch, looking like some sort of steampunk nightmare come to life. Wicked reimagines the early life of the Wicked Witch of the West, painting her as a complicated, misunderstood figure. The musical centers not only on the Wicked Witch — whose name is Elphaba, after The Wonderful Wizard of Oz author, L. Frank Baum — but also largely on Glinda, nee Galinda, the Good Witch. Celia Hottenstein, who plays Glinda, says, “For both characters, you’re observing how society and the public views these women. Glinda the Good and Elphaba, this person who is other, different, but you, through the show, see who they really are as people.” Glinda and Elphaba are college roommates, and from their first meeting, immediately at odds. Elphaba has obviously lived a life of hardship, constantly judged for her green skin, while Glinda has obviously lived a life of privilege, being granted her every desire almost before she can even wish for it. The two inexplicably become friends, and their friendship becomes the backbone of the entire musical.

Olivia Valli’s portrayal of Elphaba is surprising. I expected a bitter, passionate introvert, but Valli plays Elphaba as almost spunky. She’s hopeful, she seems like kind of a nerd, and she’s got moxie. It’s not at all what I was expecting, but it works. Valli and Hottenstein have undeniable chemistry onstage, and watching Elphaba and Glinda interact is where the true magic of Wicked lies. The musical is all about people’s perspectives, especially around what is considered “good” and what is considered “wicked.” As Hottenstein points out, “I think this show really delves into what it means to ‘do good’ and to ‘be good.’ It’s not as easy as you think.” This show’s message resonates with so many people, and Hottenstein is no exception. “To have compassion for people is the message that really has stuck with me. To always have compassion and always have empathy for others because everybody has their own struggles. And everybody is trying to be a good person, I think, for the most part.”

With show-stopping vocal performances, a set that might as well be another character it has so much personality, and a message all audiences can relate to, it’s no wonder Wicked is so justifiably good.

Wicked runs at The Orpheum Theatre through April 21st.

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Theater Theater Feature

The Sound Inside

Kim Justis and Taylor Roberts as professor and student (Photo: Tony Isbell)

The phrase “the magic of theater” most likely brings to mind a musical. Grandeur, spectacle, something larger than life. Certainly that is often true, but there are some instances where “the magic of theater” refers to the exact opposite: the small vagaries of everyday life quietly rendered to the stage. These sorts of plays can make audiences feel as though they’re pressed against a living room window, peering through a gap in the drapes to eavesdrop on the characters’ lives. When it comes to Quark Theatre’s production of The Sound Inside, audiences might receive a shock. The metaphorical front door opens, and we aren’t just acknowledged — we are invited directly in.

The Sound Inside is a one-act play with a cast of only two characters. Kim Justis plays Bella Baird, a creative writing professor at Yale who has just been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Taylor Roberts plays Christopher Dunn, her student. Over the course of the play, the two become inadvertently close, and the line between professor and student becomes increasingly blurred.

Director Tony Isbell describes the play as an “existential mystery.” It is narrated throughout by Baird, and eventually in parts by Dunn as well. Isbell says, “The show certainly portrays the versatility of theater. It moves back and forth from direct address, where the characters talk directly to the audience, into traditional scenes between the two of them and even into meta-theatrical territory, or at least one of them acknowledges the fact that she is in a play talking to an audience. It has scenes of great pathos and emotion as well as some very funny bits, including one of the funniest monologues I’ve ever seen.”

I think I can guess which monologue Isbell is referencing, and I have to agree. Justis is superb in her delivery, so much so that my friend, local nursing student Quinlan Culver, leaned over after the monologue, gestured to her arms, and said, “I have chills.” There are ample moments that might elicit such a response from audience members, as it becomes less and less apparent just how much of what we’re watching is actually true. The concept of an unreliable narrator is familiar, but one aspect of The Sound Inside that is so fascinating is that our narrator, Bella Baird, comes across as completely, even frankly, honest. It’s Christopher Dunn who creates unsure footing for the audience. Roberts convincingly plays Dunn as a bit off somehow, in a way that’s hard to put your finger on. Dunn’s cadence of speech is strange, his mannerisms are slightly awkward, which is a stark contrast to Bella Baird’s comfortable self-assurance. The juxtaposition makes the slow crescendo of Bella’s insecurity even more compelling to watch.

This play is one that intentionally leaves many questions unanswered and up to the viewer’s interpretation. Playwright Adam Rapp seems to be drawing our attention to this by including a story within the play that ends in a similarly ambiguous way. The disparity in age between the characters leaves me wondering, “Is this simply a friendship in which age doesn’t have much importance? Is the ‘friendship’ between Dunn and Baird perpetually teetering on the edge of sexual tension?” It certainly seems the latter is true, and the actors manage to sustain that tension throughout every one of their shared scenes. The moment when Dunn begins to narrate is one that was beautifully executed by the two actors. It feels almost sweet, but at the same time, the shift in the power dynamic is almost tangible. Baird, whether she realizes it or not, has lost control, a metaphor for the entire play condensed neatly into one fleeting moment.

For Quark Theatre, Isbell says, “Our motto is ‘small plays about big ideas.’” The Sound Inside fits the bill as an intimate show that manages to explore, in its 90-minute or so run, power, feminism, truth, trust, illness, bravery, existentialism, and much more. In a simple, dressed-down black box set, Quark Theatre has managed to capture just as much allure as any big-budget musical.

Quark Theatre’s The Sound Inside runs at TheatreSouth at First Congo through March 17th.

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Intermission Impossible Theater Theater Feature

A World of Pure Imagination

Playhouse’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is sweet, uplifting, and, most importantly, fun. (Photo: Sean Moore)

Having read Roald Dahl’s Charlie and the Chocolate Factory many times growing up and having seen both the 1971 and 2005 movie adaptations, I thought I knew exactly what to expect walking into Playhouse on the Square’s opening night of the stage musical. However, I’m happy to say that I was entirely mistaken. The production, directed by Dave Landis, told a familiar story in a way I had never seen before, and the entire show was — appropriately — a sublime display of eye candy.

Though the onstage version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory shares quite a few similarities with the 1971 film Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory, such as several of the same musical numbers, there are also a few differences. For one thing, this play takes place in a contemporary setting, with many references of modern relevance — Violet Beauregarde’s Instagram following, as one example. These nods to a present-day timeline help make the humor in the musical more accessible to a 2024 audience, and much of that humor is surprisingly dark, though in my opinion all the more funny for it.

The story of this musical is the same one most people have grown up knowing: Plucky daydreamer Charlie Bucket, played on opening night by McCager Carver, wins one of five golden tickets to gain entry to the Wonka Chocolate factory, a place that’s been operating behind mysteriously closed gates for decades by the reclusive genius Willy Wonka. Carver, in his Playhouse debut, absolutely shone as young Charlie Bucket, bringing a mischievous and carefree energy to the character while maintaining what the audience must know about Charlie from the get-go and never question: He is good.

Photo: Sean Moore

As in the ’70s film version, Mr. Bucket is deceased, meaning Mrs. Bucket is a single mother working alone to maintain a household of five dependents, if we’re including the four immobilized grandparents. Amy Polumbo Nabors’ interpretation of the character was slightly different from what I’ve come to expect from the onscreen versions of Mrs. Bucket, less overtly nurturing and more anxious, which makes perfect sense given her circumstances. Still, one moment that I thought was extremely touching took place once the optimistic Charlie starts to lose hope after failing to find a golden ticket in his annual birthday chocolate bar. It’s his seemingly more cynical mother who makes a wish for his dream to come true — a wish that of course comes to fruition. A mother’s love isn’t really of thematic importance in this show, yet it’s nonetheless a hidden linchpin to the plot if you’re paying attention.

Without question, my favorite section of this musical was the introduction of the golden ticket winners. Each one came with their own musical number, and each one was somehow even funnier than the last. A surprising standout was Brooke Papritz as Mrs. Teavee, which would never have been a character I would have thought warranted much attention. Papritz, however, managed to make Mike Teavee’s introduction just as entertaining with an almost entirely solo performance as the other kids’ intros were with all the glitz and glamor an onstage musical has to offer.

The character of Willy Wonka has a duality in this musical, as he disguises himself as a mere chocolate shop owner during the first half of the show. Jimmy Rustenhaven’s Wonka in act one is somewhat quiet and unassuming, though by act two we are introduced to someone who doesn’t seem particularly bothered by occasionally straying over the line that separates eccentric, creative genius from rich, outlandish asshole. Watching that transformation take place was a highlight of the show.

For a musical about chocolate and candy, I expected the production to be visually decadent, an expectation that was met and surpassed. Lindsay Schmeling’s costume design was spectacular to look at, with a variety of textures, colors, sequins, and accessories constantly on display. The reporter Cherry Sundae? Style icon. The choreography of the ensemble was also highly entertaining, at times like watching a delightfully riotous fever dream (I’m thinking particularly of the squirrel ballet that delivers Veruca Salt’s comeuppance).

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory has much to offer to Memphis audiences: It’s sweet, uplifting, and, more than anything, fun.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory runs at Playhouse on the Square through February 18th.

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Theater Theater Feature

Hattiloo Theatre’s Take the Soul Train to Christmas

Hattiloo’s production transports audiences to different eras. (Photo: Andrea Zucker)

There are those who are wildly passionate about theater as art simply because it can encompass almost every other art form within its presentation. When executed successfully, theater can seamlessly blend storytelling, dance, music, and of course the high-stakes thrill of live performance. Hattiloo Theatre’s Take the Soul Train to Christmas feels like everything theater is supposed to be. It’s a show that incorporates not only different forms of performance and art, but also different styles within those forms, and it manages to pull off an effect that is cohesive rather than chaotic. Written by Hattiloo Theatre’s founder Ekundayo Bandele, Take the Soul Train to Christmas is a unique opportunity for Memphians to see local artists coming together to create something that can’t be seen anywhere else.

The story is presented through three voices. There are the narrators commenting on the play throughout, the main characters who are experiencing the story, and the ensemble performing vignettes through time. The concept of the play is simple: Three children struggling to write their assigned school paper on how the Black celebration of Christmas has changed throughout history get help in the magical form of a train that can move through time, operated by Grandad, who acts as their guide. Commenting on the show’s structure, P.A. Bomani, who plays Grandad, says, “I love the different storytelling elements we use. The singing tells the story and sets the mood. The narrators speed up the journey. The eras covered encompass a large part of the African-American experience.”

Grandad leads the children through hundreds of years of history, making stops in the Harlem Renaissance, the Civil Rights Movement, and the era of funk in the 1970s, just to name a few. One of the major successes of this musical is how it combines the frivolity and joy of the Christmas setting without ever compromising the seriousness of the subject matter. “Christmas has never stopped injustice” is a line that stood out in particular. This play balances both grief and hope on a knife edge. During the a cappella number “We Shall Overcome,” I was immediately moved to tears, while just a few minutes later, I was cheering along with the rest of the audience as we were encouraged — almost demanded — to participate in judging an onstage breakdance battle. Somehow this jump in mood did not feel in any way incongruous. The play evokes a full range of emotion from its viewers, and as my friend Rhett Ortego put it as we left the theater, “A show that can make you laugh, cry, and sing along is always the best.”

Take the Soul Train to Christmas is performed “in the round,” although, in this case, “in the rectangular” would be a more apt description. In any case, the stage, a center platform bordered on two sides by the audience, provides a space in which performers are constantly in motion. It is a dynamic viewing experience, accentuated by the times throughout the performance when the fourth wall is broken and the audience is encouraged to participate. It is a credit to the strength of the actors that the space was utilized to its fullest extent. Indeed, the cast of this show is called upon to switch between styles of movement, music, dance, and elocution many times throughout the play, a challenge that the ensemble collectively rose to with seeming ease.

I found Take the Soul Train to Christmas to be a culmination of everything I love about theater. Here are local artists at all ages working in harmony to bring together different styles of art, from ballet to poetry to breakdance. “The joy in telling this story is amazing,” says Bomani. “Through entertainment we preserve important elements of our collective story.”

Take the Soul Train to Christmas was entertainment at its finest, and I left feeling grateful to have been able to watch it.

Take the Soul Train to Christmas runs at Hattiloo Theatre through December 17th.

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Theater Theater Feature

Theatre Memphis’ Blithe Spirit

Martha Jones as Madame Arcati (Photo: Carla McDonald)

During the opening scene of Theatre Memphis’ production of Blithe Spirit, I was worried. Noël Coward’s arguably most successful play starts out with a quiet moment between husband and wife, the exposition leisurely woven into the mundane, everyday sort of conversation that occurs between spouses. What made me anxious was the possibility that I would have to work to give my full concentration to this show — I’m currently going through the sort of personal crisis that makes distracting my mind difficult.

Fortunately, my worries proved fruitless. Once the action got going, I experienced one of the purest joys of entertainment: I forgot everything else. Blithe Spirit is funny in the way that I like best: There are plenty of big laughs, but much of the humor is hidden in the dialogue-heavy play; blink and you’ll miss it. Luckily, the cast makes you want to pay attention.

Blithe Spirit is a black comedy, one that is perfect for October as it is rife with both death and the arcane. Upper-crust author Charles Condomine and his second wife, Ruth, are planning a dinner party/seance in order to covertly observe their town’s local medium, Madame Arcati. Charles wants to see the “ticks of the trade” in action as research for his next literary project. Charles, Ruth, and their two friends are all decided skeptics, but it turns out that Madame Arcati is the real deal. During the seance she inadvertently summons the spirit of Charles’ first wife, Elvira, though Charles is the only person who can see or hear her. Crises ensue.

I always enjoy plays with unsympathetic protagonists. Characters who are inherently flawed are the most interesting and realistic, but in watching this play, I am fully on Ruth’s side, all imperfections notwithstanding. A woman making every effort to remain level-headed while attempting to rationally explain something to a (predictably obtuse) man is something I gleefully identify with, all the more so because of Lena Wallace Black’s energetic performance. I’ve observed Wallace Black in other productions, but seeing her embody Ruth Condomine I realized she possesses a rare gift, one that pertains to the physicality of acting. Simply put, her movements look natural, which may sound easy but is actually one of the most difficult things to achieve onstage.

Each member of this relatively small cast brings their own panache to the humor of the script, but one thing that stood out was the way Martha Jones approached the somewhat odd (if we’re being polite), downright weird (if we’re not) character of Madame Arcati. This is a role that could very easily fall into an archetype pitfall of being boring to watch, as audiences know what to expect from a batty fortune teller. Jones, however, brings a sincerity to the character that makes her antics that much more humorous; it’s obvious she’s having fun playing this character, which in turn makes it fun to witness.

There’s not really a weak link in this cast, as even the character I was least interested in — Charles Condomine — shifts at the last minute and becomes much more intriguing. The ending of this play is one that had me scratching my head, but not in a bad way. Adam Remsen plays Charles Condomine as a kind of weak-sauce, limp-fish-handshake man who is ruled not only by the women in his life but also by his own selfishness. In short, a pretty familiar male cliche. That is, until the final scene, when the hitherto boring Mr. Condomine becomes something else. Remsen does a delightful job in showing Condomine’s true colors, leaning into the snide, boorish cad that has been hiding under the surface all along.

What I’m curious about, in contemplating the close of this play, is this: Is Charles Condomine acting like such a selfish prick in order to drive away the spirits of his wives (yep, by this time they’re both dead) for their sakes, or is he truly just another asshole finding his stride? The latter seems far more likely, but it is an added layer of entertainment to wonder.

Blithe Spirit runs through October 29th at Theatre Memphis.

Categories
Theater Theater Feature

The Prom at POTS

Playhouse’s production of The Prom overcomes a lackluster script. (Photo: Sean Moore)

At the end of the soliloquy in act 2 scene 2 of Hamlet, the audience is offered the line, “The play’s the thing,” a phrase with layered meaning according to most Shakespeare devotees. In examining Playhouse on the Square’s production of the musical The Prom, I need to make a clear distinction between the play, which I mostly didn’t care for, and the performance, which I mostly enjoyed.

The Prom takes place for the most part in the small town of Edgewater, Indiana, where high school student Emma Nolan is banned from bringing her girlfriend to prom. The musical opens on four Broadway stars lamenting their bad press — they are (correctly) lambasted for being narcissists — and deciding their only possible recourse to regain some good PR is to find a cause to champion and become activists. They stumble upon Nolan’s story online, hitch a ride on a touring Godspell cast bus, and make their way to Edgewater. In their misguided attempt to leech onto Nolan’s hardship, the four actors end up finding their long-latent humanity. 

I can’t say I entirely disliked the show, as there were some moments, such as the PTA scene in act 1 and the song “Barry Is Going to Prom” in act 2, that were scripted and executed incredibly well. My number one complaint with this musical is that, thematically, I feel it missed the mark. The conflict of The Prom centers around intolerance, which is such a deep, pervasive problem in our society that overcoming it with a song or simple conversation, as happens in The Prom, seems like a slap in the face. The stakes are too low. 

If the world portrayed in the musical was meant to be a rich idealistic universe in which singing to a group of teenagers actually could change minds and reverse years of indoctrinated hate, then maybe I wouldn’t have been so irked. But it’s obviously meant to take place in our real, actual world. It’s as if the playwrights are saying, “If only you would do this simple thing, the world will be changed! Hooray!” It came off as preachy, which is ironic given that the script pulls no punches in criticizing small-town religious culture. I’m not suggesting that the play’s central theme of fighting against intolerance is distasteful; if anything, I’m disappointed to see intolerance portrayed as something so easily overcome. Watching a play that celebrates the LGBTQ community so unabashedly was a joy — until the play suggested, more than once, that people can and will change their minds if we can just sing a song heartfelt enough. 

While I had qualms with the source material, the cast made the show worth watching. Annie Freres in particular was a monumental presence on the stage as Dee Dee Allen, the biggest diva of the Broadway stars in The Prom. Her powerhouse vocals could bring the house down in any musical, and she certainly knows how to wield them. Whitney Branan’s lithe, sensual materialization of Angie Dickinson was also a standout of the production. 

Most of The Prom’s appeal lies in the over-the-top classic big Broadway musical numbers — “Barry is Going to Prom” being my favorite — but there were a few intimate moments that brought the show back down to Earth. Arielle Mitchell’s rendition of “Alyssa Greene” came across as raw and utterly genuine, saving that character from being mishandled by the playwrights as simply a caricature of a typical popular high schooler. Jonathan Christian as Barry Glickman and Katy Cotten as Emma Nolan also achieved a real intimacy not often seen onstage, as it was one not of romantic overtones, but of found family and friendship transcending age and circumstance. Their makeover scene together was the moment in the production that seemed the most real to me, Christian and Cotten having succeeded in creating a personal bond between their characters. 

Though The Prom suffered from a starry-eyed vision of the redemptive power of a musical number, Playhouse’s production of it overcame the hurdles of the script itself. There’s something hopeful in the realization that — to paraphrase Shakespeare for a second time in this column — if all the world’s a stage, the players can sometimes rise above a lackluster script. 

The Prom runs at Playhouse on the Square through September 17th.