Number 28: Summer, 2002

by Carl F. Gauze

Another one bites the dust. The always-innovative Impacte!

Theatre hangs it up after two years of artistic success and financial

struggle. They did have excellent air conditioning and a satanic

restroom, but that wasn’t enough to survive. There always seems to be a

dedicated but marginal space in town, previously we had PSO, and now the

Cherry Street theater opens, so the amount of space is constant, but the

identities change. How theatrical!<p>

Boy Gets Girl

By Rebecca Gilman

Directed by Mark Edward Smith

Starring John Minbiole, Maria Flores, Paul Wegman

Theater Downtown, Orlando Fla</b><p>

Blind dates are always a bit awkward, even for psycho stalker types like Tony (Minbiole) who comes armed with an encyclopedia knowledge of microbrews. Conversation is a bit stilted, and at least WE get the idea Theresa (Flores) is blowing him off, but he deluges her with flowers and phone calls and eventually even driving the audience nuts with his unrequited persistence. Romantic, or just creepy? It’s a fine line, but after hearing “no” for the umpteenth time, the calls get weirder and more frequented until Theresa has to flee her apartment and identity just to ditch this guy. She’s sort of alone in life, and has only her coworkers Howard (Joe Smith) and Mercer (Billy Marshall) to turn to. They are supportive and offer good advice, but ultimately do her no good. Tony eventually breaks into her apartment, desecrates every object she owns, and leaves her so distraught she moves to Denver to become a sports writer under a different name. Creeee-py.

When Tony is on stage, he never seems that menacing – just a lonely guy looking for a date, a guy who only creates tension when his actions are reported third hand. Theresa has the opposite problem – she’s not interested in any sort of personal relation, only seeing Tony at the request of a friend, and emits anti-sex rays strong enough to singe people in the third row. But what makes this play interesting is the character of Les Kennkat (Wegman) as a Fred Olen Ray – style filmmaker. He’s the mirror of Tony – obsessed with breasts, obsessed with women, but completely transparent about the whole process. He has no intention of following a woman unless she puts out immediately. Then, he films her boobs in Panavision with a loving tracking shot, and dumps her when the next tartlet appears. Tony needs to be locked up, and Les needs an MTV special.

While the first act is a sprightly combination of dark humor and growing menace, the second act becomes intensely self reflective and not nearly as much fun. Long pontifications consider the objectification of women and whether it’s really fair for a guy to get his first impression from the curve of a woman’s butt. Thoughtful, but more suited for The Econimist than the stage. It’s Wegman’s charter that carries this.<p>

The Lexicon Of Love

Musical Direction by John deHaas

With Heather Alexander, Trudie Petersen, Andrew Ragone

Winter Park Playhouse, Winter Park, Fla</b><p>

Ever so often, Cabaret appears on the Orlando Entertainment drop down menu. We’re still not to the point of having smoky basement dive bars with flickering neon signs, but now there’s a small space in Winter Park with Baptist chairs and weak sight lines and a crew that can belt out Broadway show tunes with the best of them. Musical Director deHaas writes and arranges and plays piano, and the trio of Alexander, Petersen and Ragone put on an effortless and casual concert for the people lucky enough to stumble on the Winter Park Players. Tonight’s material loosely hangs on the theme of The Big “L”, a topic that can’t miss. There is a presumption of audience familiarity with recent movies and musicals, some a bit obscure if you rarely venture north of Hartsfield International. This in no way diminished the entertainment value, but with no program and no back announce, the song titles are just my best guess.<p>

We opened with a deHaas number “Who knows what Tomorrow will bring?” which gave a pleasant introduction to the vocal skills of the cast. Later, he reprised his skills as an arranger with “Raining”, a duet between Heather and Trudie that cleverly mixed a broad spectrum of pop song ranging from “Rainy Days and Mondays” to Melissa Manchester. The show drew on numbers from “Infinite Joy” and “Last 5 Years” and “Tick Tick Boom” and a spectrum of other sources. Eventually, everybody sang a nice mix of solos, duets and ensemble pieces, and the on-stage banter gave the evening an intimate feel without attempting actual joke telling. Some songs stuck with me in particular, like Heather’s “Joshua Novak Kissed Me”, Trudie’s “Give Me a Chance to Sing Melody,” and Andrew belting out ‘What Am I Doing Out of My Mind?”<p>

With an enthusiastic audience and a well stocked bar, one can over look the technical problems of an overly loud and distorted sound system and the difficulty of seeing the stage from the back rows. There are plans to improve the facilities over the next few months, which should move this cabaret from the Obscure to the Must See category. If you go know, you DO get bragging rights.<p>

De Profundis

By Oscar Wilde

Adapted by Davis A McElroy

Directed by Scott Isert

Cherry Street Theater, Winter Park Fla</b><p>

Oscar Wilde rotted in Reading Goal for two years for the twin crimes of vanity and pederasty, a dangerous mix in Victorian society. After abandonment by his lover and Achilles heel Lord Alfred Douglas, he wrote a long, rambling, and deeply moving letter known as “De Profundis.” If your Latin or Parochial education is week, that’s “Out of the Depths,” a reference to the 129th Psalm. In this staged reading, adaptor McElroy takes this work and gives it a more contextual setting. It’s almost a one-man show; with just a few off-stage voices backing him up, but it accurately captures the despair and brutality of Wilde’s confinement. While raving and muttering to himself, Wilde does seem to achieve a level of regret, if not repentance, for his sins that is truly touching. While simultaneously denying and confessing his accusations, the text of the story puts some interesting meat on the bones of his last great work.

While the story wanders around in search of a matching problem and conclusion, it is vastly entertaining. The best part is a conversation between Wilde and a frustrated priest – frustrated because unlike the other prisoners, Wilde has a highly developed sense of logic, which coupled with his cultural background, provides a word chase the poor Father only observes from the leash of his dogma. At the end of the allotted 10 minute, they both agree on something, but I suspect neither knows what it is – the padre is mystified and entertained, and Wilde has a precious chance to actully converse with someone who isn’t threatening to beat his head in.

While this is still a work in progress, it presents a coherency derived from a strongly defined protagonist described with precise dialog. McElroy’s presentation is superb, and one should expect this piece to only improve with further refinement.<p>

For more information on Playwright’s Round Table events, please visit <a href= www.playwrightsroundtable.org > www.playwrightsroundtable.org </a>

Bones
By Robert Florence

Directed by Ken Conner

Starring Richard Paul, Carlos Jackson, Kevin McGuire, Lou Hiliare

Mad Cow Theatre, Orlando, Fla</b><p>

Another day, another dog. That’s work of the Royal Wedding Pet Resting Place, final home to dogs and monkeys of all persuasion. Owner Raj (Paul) goes slightly nuts when a series of mysterious ritual disinterments breaks the peace of his little pet cemetery. If word leaks out business will completely die off, and the competition just down the road might just put the final nail in Raj’s coffin. Each act of vandalism seems associated with one of the employees or customers – A botched voodoo ceremony implies Haitian gravedigger Gerard (Jackson). An Egyptian themed brain extraction points toward amateur Egyptologist Jeff (Kevin McGuire). Could it be animal activist Willa (Emily Nanette), who discovers a pelt painted in red “Fur is murder”? A strange accusation – after all, this place only takes animals after they died from other causes, and certainly doesn’t sell the leftovers. Whacked out ‘Nam vet Drew (Lou Hillare) feels a memorial to dogs who fought in the war would help business, but Raj is a bit overwhelmed and under financed to pursue that scheme. Even a new state-of-the art crematorium can’t keep the place from turning into a strip mall. If only the weirdness would stop. Perhaps a little fake burial will flush out the evildoer!<p>

“Bones” is a comedy, a mystery, and a sermon wrapped up into one. The comedy is brilliant and perfectly cast. Gravediggers Jeff and Gerard get the best lines and have a sense of comedic timing that never fails. Harried businessman Raj has the Indian shtick down perfectly, gently skirting the issue of ethnic stereotype while propelling the comedy to hypersonic levels. Customers Claire (Meredith Miniat) and Delores (Melanie Graham) tell monkey jokes as they work on the smarmiest epitaph possible for their ex-pets, and assistant Gary (Dominick Vicchiullo) gets in some good bits as the burnt out Veterinary Assistant romancing Willa. Too bad the preaching keeps getting in the way of the laughs. Just like commercials can break the flow of a good made for TV movie, the random speeches on genetics and puppy mills and the evils of AKC interbreeding bring the humor to a dead standstill every few scenes. The mystery aspect of the story is not too bad, although he motivation of the perpetrator is muddied and seems misdirected when aimed toward Raj. Some minor adjusting of exposition would help, and there’s a bit of incoherent dialog that could stand rewrite, but, all in all, this is a hysterical show, brilliantly cast, dogged down with a heavy-handed message.<p>

For more information on Playwright’s Round Table events, please visit <a href= www.playwrightsroundtable.org > www.playwrightsroundtable.org </a>

Summer Shorts

5th Annual Short Play Festival

Sponsored by Playwright’s Roundtable

Valencia Community College Black Box Theatre

Orlando, Fla</b><p>

It’s 6 short plays and an intermission to hawk some bottled water, and it’s good for you. Start with “My Navigator” by Terry McMurray, directed by Stephen French. A young couple heads to somewhere else in car, and she’d (Nikki Darden) like some help with driving directions. He (Ward Ferguson) would rather read. She’s like instructions in small doses. He’s like to do one big data dump. I’d like to shoot her. So would the rest of the audience. More a character study that a drama, the strong woman beats the whipped man into some sort of submission. He won’t put the seat down, mind you, but he WILL feel mighty guilty about it. It’s that sort of drive – and they’re only on vacation.

Next up is “I D L V R” by Michael Kula, directed by Davis McElroy. An Obstetric Doctor (Gary Norris) parks his Porsche in a tow away zone while picking up his kid’s birthday cake. Parking Agent Mark March is out to defend the law, keeping Townville safe from parking scofflaws. If you start letting people park where they will, next thing you’ll have corporate executive making loans to one another that never get paid back. The line between anarchy and civilization is so fine that only the bulwark of metermaiddom keeps us from eating each other’s pets. Raw. Since the stakes are so low, the tensions run high and there is no way that the good doctor will get out of this fix. You’ve met this guy yourself, and you know how he feels. It’s a low level power trip, and you’re on the receiving end.

“Valerie-tines Day” quickly follows, written by the prolific Jack McGrath and directed by Joel Bicknell. An older gentleman (Key Howard) spends his days discussing the past with imaginary daughter Amy Brackel. She was actully stillborn years ago, and now with the rest of his family moved away, she’s his only real friend. Suitably wraithlike in a white dress and bare feet, she’d like him to wander away into the February woods with her, which is a reasonable alternative to the distant and distracted life his other daughter Sara Benz Phillips offers. Sara cares, but he can’t move in with her until they move to Baltimore and settle into a new house. Old guys need whatever friends they can get – senility, anyone? <p>

Intermission. Good water. I got raisins. Very healthy. Now, back to work.

We all secretly want to visit a nude beach, right? That would be “Clothes Encounter” by Davis Almeida and Stephen Miller, directed by Marylin McGinnis. BBW Nicole Carson went swimming on an impulse one summer day with what God gave her, and met the adorable Mark March. Since they were both pretty vulnerable, a date seemed in order, and coffee at a big box bookstore seems safe. Now both are dressed in the wardrobe of respectably. She’s got a black skirt and a sensible blue blouse, and he’s wearing a conservative purple-fringed toreador outfit with green Gilligan’s island pants. He’s sweet, charming, and possibly straight, but she’s not buying it. There’s enough hassle in her life that she may well reject the opportunity he represents. Of course, he seems to have a problem with women’s cell phones going off half way through first dates, so maybe he needs to pick up on some subtle clues himself. I loved it.

Now for the deeply mystical and religious piece, “A Night To Remember” by Dave Womble and directed by Danor Gerald. It’s a slow night for Lucifer (Lou Hillaire), and he’s hanging in a mortal bar. Geeky Aaron Tanzer wanders in, lustfully aware that his favorite waitress Jennifer Jacobson is on duty. Lucifer controls minds very well, and keeps a cloak of invisibility on, so Jennifer isn’t clear about why she keeps bringing bourbon over here. It’s also a bit to her fuzzy why Aaron keeps saying the most amazing things, the sort of things that well justify her calling of a bouncer. It’s not about souls tonight; Lucifer is just screwing with people’s minds. He makes a deal – Aaron can have one wish, gratis. And, like all supernatural bargains, wording really matters, so a wild night of sex with Jennifer ends up like spider’ date. Of course he tastes like chicken don’t we all?<p>

Wrap up time, and we close with the very funny “Silly Mary Chop Chop” by John Goring and directed by Rocky Hopson. The French revolution has come to a head, and now the whoosh and splat of the aristocracy fills the air. But, noblese oblige, one must look good before the guillotine, and Chris Gibson and Mike Lane are poofy hairdressers speaking high school French and kitty bitch slapping each other over a handkerchief and misplaced boyfriend. Next in their line (remember, walk in’s are welcome!) is Marie Lauralea Oliver. She looks a bit frayed, and wants her hair off her neck. Well, it’s clip-clip, comb-comb and a minor political harangue while she’s in the chair, but you can see the boy’s hearts aren’t into it – they have bigger things to discuss than cake and state finance. Like not letting a silly Marquis get in their way of their friendship.<p>

It’s half a dozen well done little vignettes, most of which seem expandable to larger pieces, or suitable for decoration of longer stories. And they have very healthy snacks – the evening is good for your mind, and good for your body.

For more information on Playwright’s Round Table events, please visit <a href= www.playwrightsroundtable.org > www.playwrightsroundtable.org </a>

Joe’s NYC Bar

Directed by Christian Kelty

Temenos Ensemble Theater

Orlando, Fla</B><p>

It’s another night of warm Budweiser in the place where everyone guesses your name, sometimes correctly. Over and under the sounds of a real musician (Amy Steinberg) Joe’s regulars show up. Tonight’s a bit special – long drinking Leonard (Chris Pruitt) has a date – it’s not exactly blind, but he has set himself up for the embarrassment of straight man for a reality TV show. The producer (Tony Lopez) of “Opposites Attract” hooked him somehow, and now he’s put on a clean shirt and hangs out on the temperance wagon long enough to meet the wrong woman. Newly widowed Madolyn (Jeanette Coleman) pops in for a quickie (a DRINK, this is a family bar) and the two have a moment of mistaken identity that doesn’t inspire Leonard’s confidence. When the correct and pulchritudinous Lilly (Lynda Wilkerson) walks in Leonard blows her off. Can the semi-creepy Ernest (Aaron Weiderspahn) reunite them? Or will it take the dedicated FBI profiler Cunningham (Ellen Flint) to clearly explain to them where they were this week and s where they will end up tonight? Neither, it seems – Ivan (John Connon) the barback leaps across the varnished wood and plants a juicy one on her lips, and next thing you know Ernest goes psycho and come at himself with a 45 wrapped in tinfoil, presumably to keep it fresh on these humid nights. Yeah, it’s a bit incoherent, but eventually things pull together, and despite having to jump around to avoid the cameraman, it’s a fun and dramatic little evening.

The concept of shooting reality TV in premise seems perfectly reasonable, and the character of Leonard continues to develop from episode to episode. Tonight we learn more about his background in Jesuit theology and botany, but his drinking and how he stays Velcroed to the seat at the end of the bar are still a bit mysterious. There’s a new bouncer, the heavily tattooed Roger (Shawn Ull) who actully got to keep a few non-paying customers out, and most of the rest of the cast from earlier shows didn’t make it in tonight. Most missed was the central scrutinizer of Joe’s, owner Gabriel (Kelty) who decides to go on a quest to Greece. Airfares are cheap, and I hear the place is nice, but he does miss his plane just in time to come back and kick us all out on the street for one of Joe’s signature early closing. It takes a while for a drinking establishment to get, well, established, but there seems to be a consensus building – the beer could be colder, but the action remains hot, and some of the cast member’s actully do know your name.<p>

For more information on Joes, please visit <a href=www.joesnycbar.com> www.joesnycbar.com </a>

Anton in Show Business

By Jane Martin

Directed by Alan Bruun

Mad Cow Theater, Orlando Fla</b><p>

Well, imagine that! You CAN be preciously self-referential AND bitingly satirical! We all know there’s not much lower than doing Chekov at gate 23 in at San Antonio International, but to star struck Lisabette (Mindy Anders) that’s no concern – she’s getting her first acting job, costarring with hottie TV star Holly Seabay (Lisa Hallstead). They’ve got a pretentiousness enhancement gig, adding depth and resonance to Holly’s small screen resume. To expand your oeuvre beyond copschlock and soft-core porn, one must do Chekov and Shakespeare. Along with vaguely cancerous Casey (Robin Olson), these girls must bond to survive the fleabag theater scene in EBF, Texas. It’s full of the usual villains – overwrought producer Kate (Marty Stonerock), evil corporate money funding the arts controlled by tobacco exec Don (Trenell Mooring), and a string of psychotically funny directors. What, a funny director? There’s the Eurofag Ralph (Sara Matthews) who auditions with the Tiddypoo/Tiddlypee method, black radical feminist Andwyneth (Trenell Mooring) who doesn’t need any white folk’s script, and best of all, minimalist Russky Wickenwich (Matthews) who keeps his life in a small suitcase. The play’s the thing, of course, until Holly gets The Call. Screw Community Theater, she’s on the next plane to the land of real sex and real drugs and real implants.

Will anyone remember any of this in three months? Well, the actors will, because they had this glimmer that satirizing an extinct Russian middle class might change the world. The audience will keep the SUV and a vague memory of the evening as they recede into the mists from whence they came. The critics will have a crumpled clipping and a politely brittle email pointing out a misspelled name. Did any real critics attend this show? Well, um, yeah, I was there, and the tall woman from the real paper, and maybe one of those mysterious people from the free paper. Plus, there was a house critic, Joby (Jamie Middleton), who stood up and said what we all thinking – take it easy on the symbolism, watch it the sappiness building in the second act, and why do you people on stage think theater has any relevance to America today, much less satire of theater? The characters hated her. She said actual things I almost wrote. She was a neo-deconstuctionist with a notepad. Thank God she didn’t wear a Hawaiian shirt!

While it helps being a bit of a theater buff to really appreciate this show, it’s no requirement. Every aspect of the business is skewered mercilessly, including stuff you probably forgot occurs. Everyone knows actors are shallow egotists with poor self esteem, sex substitutes for paychecks, the audience is a bunch pointy headed elitists, and Chekov is full of unpronounceable people from unpronounceable towns having astonishly bad times. There’s even funding humor. It’s a killer cast with a killer script AND comfortable chairs. Anton is the funniest play outside a play currently running above an art galley anywhere in downtown Orlando this week. I feel safe stating this in the third paragraph of a review, since no one in the theater reads this stuff. Except, you of course – you’re not afraid of an honest appraisal of your work, right? I though so. <p>

For more informatin on Mad Cow, please vist <a href=www.madcowtheatre.com> www.madcowtheatre.com </a>

Bleacher Bums

By Joe Mantegna and The Organic Theater Company

Directed by Frank Hilgenburg

Theater Downtown, Orlando Fla</b>

It’s amazing how seriously people take sports. Personally, I’d rather

have a root canal than attend a professional sporting event, but

tonight’s cast in firmly in the other camp. Take Marvin (Harold Longway)

• he’s a semi-professional bookie, and making bets with the rubes is

sure-fire cash. King of the Rubes is Zig (Don Fowler) – he’ll give even

money on a given batter making it to first, even though the odds are

really 1 to 3 or 4. And when his wife Rose (Laura Rohner) shows up, the

pickings are even better. Then there’s a businessman, Decker (Paul

Castaneda), playing hooky from work and a little smarter on the betting,

but not much. Add hot babe Melody (Julianna Mooring), who wanders

into this male bonding department for reasons unknown but meets that

nice blind guy Greg (Seth Dobey), while fending off the sticky geek

Ritchie (Brice Chaffin). Even sadder is the real Get-A-Life type who is

reduced to the name “Cheerleader” (Scott Lindauer). He’s devoted his

life to baiting the outfielders on the opposing team and making them

climb the ivy. I guess it all beats working.

So what actually happens on stage? Mostly, it’s a ball game, complete

with fans, compressed into an hour and a half, which is mercifully

shorter than a real game. Yeah, the lead changes from time to time, and

there’s the mandatory exciting end, but the heart of Bleacher Bums is

the interacting character studies. Each person on stage is clearly

defined in terms of the others and their mutual relation to The Game.

Why does a blind guy come to sit in the stands? Why is Melody even

there? What happens to The Kid (Patrick Bell), who hangs out on stage

until the real actors arrive and pay him to go away? Has Marvin

gravitated to the 368-yard section because of the easy pickings, or does

he move around as the opportunities change? Should we open all plays

with the audience singing the national anthem? Funny and light-hearted,

Bleacher Bums is at least as good as having a real professional team in

O-town without the parking hassles, and Hilgenburg isn’t going to ask us

to build a new theater with better sky boxes. Heck, if all sporting

events where this much fun, I might even go to one.

For more information, please visit<a href

=”http://www.theatredowntown.net”>

www.theatredowntown.net</a></i>

Everything Must Go

By Tod Kimbro

Impacte Theater, Orlando Fla</b>

Certainly, one of a Florida writer’s strongest weapons is the blank

absurdity of the culture we live in. For example, locally produced late

night TV ads walk a fine line between annoyance and tabloid

entertainment. Take Walter Everything (Peter Hurtgen), of Everything

Must Go Appliance Warehouse. You’ve been to it; it’s somewhere between

Zellwood and Yehaw and on all the excess Channel 18 time slots. His

brain is swelling from encephalitis, but that hasn’t slowed down his

advertising campaign, Why, even number 2 son Wade (Jeff Forte) gets out

of the slammer long enough to shoot a quickie ad before Walt kicks off.

As usual, it stars the well-endowed America Avery Everything (Meghan

Drewett) in a skimpy nurse’s uniform, and heck, nothing sells

dishwashers like cleavage. America Avery is a bit lost between her

non-abusive, yet strangely alcoholic husband, her conniving mother-in-law Wanda (Beth Marshall) and the memory of her girlhood friend Shi

(Christine Morales), who she met in Japan when daddy was a missionary.

As Walters becomes aware of his imminent demise, he decides to change his will and

leave the store to America and his older son, the mysterious William

Everything (Scott Borish). When the will is read, the local rednecks

revolt – Wanda poisons America with toxic puffer fish and William drinks

deadly nightshade as recompense for his first two wives’ exotic deaths.

The pair meets in the afterlife, which I guess makes it happily ever

after. How did Wanda get a puffer fish? America just kept one around,

that’s how. We live in central Florida, anything like that can happen.

“Everything Must Go” is the swan song of the always-innovative Impacte

Theater, and projects both strength and weakness. The strengths are

manifold – this is some of Kimbro’s best writing in terms of storyline

and characterization. Many complex elements enter into the story, and

all of them have a place and function and not much is introduced that

doesn’t go anywhere. The charters all seem more complex and believable

than some of his early work, and this is aided by excellent

performances, particularly by Marshal and Hurtgen. I hate to typecast

Beth Marshall, but she is still one of the best vindictive white

trash mamas on stage anywhere in the area, and Hurtgen seems to find his

muse somewhere between Appliance Direct and Family Dollar Used Cars. On

the weaker side, Everything never seems to reach a strong dramatic

climax – things sort of roll along, with events occurring that are all

motivated, but you never get to the edge of your seat, which is odd

considering the Shakespearian level of death on stage. Also, Hurtgen

comes out on stage and explains away a potentially embarrassing relation

with America, which seems forced and doesn’t make the story any clearer.

While not a comedy in any sense, “Everything Must Go” is a decent and

provocative drama from one of Florida’s most promising writers. Plus,

the entire set is for sale, so go early to get the good bargains. I’ve

got my eye set on that painting of the scared looking guy. It speaks to

me.

Hedwig and The Angry Inch

Directed by Kenny Howard

Starring David Lee, Becky Fisher

Fall River Productions at Footlights Theater, Orlando, Fla.</b>

Destined for well-deserved obscurity – that’s the fate of so many rock

and rollers. Low entry costs, minimal skills required, but the potential

payoff is huge. Plus, you get all the sex and drugs and bad hotel rooms

you can eat. Hedwig (Lee) has seen it all as an Internationally Ignored

Pop Star, raised in that nostalgic East Berlin lost to history. As

mother raised him, he sought the missing half of a personality somehow

split off ages before he was born. Communist gummi bears paled next to

the sweeter western ones Sgt. Luther Johnson offered, but it would take

an Ossi sex change operation to get their wedding approved. When Hedwig

left, he had to leave a little of himself behind and take on Kansas with

only a few little centimeters of manhood. That never bothered his next

paramour, soon to be legendary rock star Tommy Gnosis, a boy smart

enough to take the good stuff and leave behind the stump. Was Hedwig

bitter? Does the Pope say grace?

But it’s only rock and roll. The story Hedwig relates, as filler between

kick ass rock tunes, is funny and charming, full of double entendres that

every member of the audience caught square in the eye. Hedwig’s

‘husband’ Yitzak (Fisher) gave a subtly venomous perfomance, and the

backup band lead by most excellent Todd Thane Wolfe made the smoky and

cramped theater feel like the sort of clubs I used to hang out in until

my hearing went away. Behind the action is a screen with a perverted

Power Point presentation of animations about Hedwig, some enigmatic,

some acidly comedic and all moving the story along like a mime at Bike

Week. Hedwig’s ambiguous sexuality resolves itself as he is absorbed by

the Tommy Gnosis he always wanted to be, and Yitzak loses the burnt

5-o’cork shadow transforming into a red-skirted femme fatal. A lively

and hysterical show, this Hedwig is many times better than the film

version that floated around town a while ago. Stick some cigarette

filters in your ears and sneak some lukewarm Budweisers in your cargo

pants – you’ll enjoy the show more with a cheap beer buzz.