Sitting in the theatre as the house lights dimmed and the pre-show announcements rolled, I will admit that I took a breath and steeled myself for 2.5 hours of a show I wasn’t particularly excited to see. I had no doubt that the performances I was about to witness would be fun and entertaining (they were), that Candy Dungca and Emily Lane’s costumes would dazzle (they did), and that Dawn Oshima’s scenic and lighting design would delight (also very much did), but I wasn’t sure how much my misgivings about the show itself would affect my overall enjoyment of the evening. But as I left the theatre, I was pleasantly surprised by the relatively low level of ick retained. This cast surprised me with their commitment to the absurdity baked into the show, and did impressive service to the clever wordplay and comedic beats that are typical of a David Yazbeck joint. In short, sheer talent won out over content.
While leading lad Reyn Halford does an admirable job as Michael Dorsey/Dorothy Michaels, and leading lady Chandler Converse was a strong and compelling actress, it is the supporting cast that absolutely steals the show. I nearly didn’t bother to publish a review of the show at all, but their performances in particular were so stellar that not celebrating them publicly seemed criminal.
I nearly blew my voice out cheering for Moku Durant at curtain call, as he was by far my favorite performance of the night. Even changing the lyrics of his solo at the top of Act 2 from R- to PG-rated didn’t detract from his incredible performance. He played every beat with utter sincerity and groundedness, which was vital to the fact that his character, Michael’s roommate Jeff, is the sole voice of reason in the entire show. His dry, deadpan delivery of “if God is a woman, you’re going to hell”, had me absolutely rolling, and his scene with fellow phenom Aiko Schick had me wheezing for breath.
Speaking of Ms. Schick, her performance as the neurotic actress ex-girlfriend Sandy was one for the books. She doesn’t so much chew the scenery as feasts upon it, with the audience in the palm of her hand for every second of it. Her grasp of both physical comedy and musical interpretation is incomparable, and nearly every one of her exits was heralded with applause and laughter. I’d say she’s a star, but really she’s more of a galaxy unto herself. Which made it difficult to suspend disbelief as she laments that Michael’s reading of Sandy’s audition sides is proof that he is “a better woman than I am!” when nothing could be further from the truth. Ms. Schick’s performance was absolutely bonkers yet completely endearing at the same time. I’d pay money to watch her star in “Tootsie 2: Sandy’s Revenge”, no question.
On the other end of the chaos spectrum was Andrew Simmons as the morally bereft and egotistical director Ron Carlisle. Every woman who’s ever used a dating app will recognize Ron as an amalgam of every Tinder date made horribly real, but even his villainy was absolutely hysterical. Mr. Simmons’s sense of timing was immaculate, and I am now cursed to have his voice shouting “brain freeeeze” and “where’s the bunny?” in my head for a while.
Finally, I have to commend Sam Budd as Max Van Horn for being the semi-wholesome himbo I didn’t know I needed in my life. His delivery of “You are a strong woman I like it” absolutely broke me, and every time Max gratuitously rips off his shirt was sheer comedy gold. Mr. Budd managed to play up Max’s dim wit while never punching down and playing him as a complete dolt. Every moment was sincere and focused, and I couldn’t get enough!
Ultimately, setting the excellent performances and exciting costume designs aside, it was still difficult to fully overlook the elephant in the room: why choose this show in particular to run during Pride month? No theatre is beholden to produce queer-friendly shows in June, but to specifically produce a show that was not only widely criticized by the LGBTQ+ community when it debuted on Broadway in 2019, but is also called out for being offensive to women in general and trans women specifically in the show itself seems a baffling decision at best and tone-deaf bordering on painful at worst. To the best of my recollection, the show doesn’t even pass the Bechdel Test, as Michael masquerading as a woman doesn’t exactly qualify for “two named female characters discussing something other than a man”.I have high hopes that next June’s production of Man of La Mancha will leave less of a sour taste in the mouth in this regard—not that it doesn’t have its own issues, but at least it’s not as directly insulting to the queer community during Pride month. In the meantime, I look forward to the rest of DHT’s upcoming season, which I hope will feature even more unstoppable performances.
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