Review: A Look Back at the Best of 2024; Thank God for Local Theatre

2024 turned out to be a difficult year, especially for Floridians.  Not only did we have to deal with statewide and nationwide political maelstroms, but mother nature was at her angriest this past year, sending out two hurricanes that devastated so many in our area.  That’s why theatre was so important to us.  It turned into an escape, a tonic, for a particularly hard year to swallow.

Appropriately enough, the first show I saw in 2024 was Asolo Rep’s timeless and timely INHERIT THE WIND. 

When I first heard that the prestigious Asolo was tackling this particular play and tackling it this year and in this state, I thought: Should we consider it an act of bravery on the Asolo’s part that they’re putting on a classic about education under fire by rabid evangelicals, in Florida, where an unnecessary war on education seems to be stronger than ever these days?

While watching the play, where a Tennessee school teacher is put on trial for teaching evolution in 1925, I--also a teacher--thought back to the past few years in our beloved “Sunshine State." With the “Don’t Say Gay” bill, the banning of books, the barring of the teaching of CRT (Critical Race Theory), and the government purge of New College (which incidentally is not far from the Asolo), public education seems to always be on trial. The Asolo’s wondrous production of INHERIT THE WIND didn’t offer an escape; it was a mirror…one that we’re still, quite sadly, gazing into. 

(The last time I viewed INHERIT THE WIND was almost a decade ago at Stageworks, with Richard Coppinger in the role of Drummond; he received my award for Best Actor of the Year for his work in it.  Sadly, the great Mr. Coppinger died recently, which is a major blow to our tight theatre community.)

And then, not long after that, there’s the production of CABARET that became way too pertinent in our present times.   But this wasn’t just any CABARET; this production was being performed in the Villages, the famous community for the elderly in Sumter County. 

Nightmarish thoughts suddenly filled my head before the show.  Will the Emcee be played by an AARP member who’s had a hip and knee replacement?  Will Sally Bowles perform “Don’t Tell Mama” with the help of a walker?  What’s next? A group of seventy-year-old balding T-Birds performing Grease, or the Red Hat Society tackling Annie? 

Driving through the Villages for the very first time on the way to the theatre, I realized that this modern-day Pleasantville must be the Golf Cart Capital of the World.  The vehicles were everywhere, more prevalent than regular automobiles, the denizens of the Villages looking so relaxed as they zipped around on them with the glee of a child’s first visit to the Magic Kingdom.  The houses and lawns that I sped by looked immaculate, maybe too immaculate like The Stepford Wives meets The Sunshine Boys.  “In here,” I thought, quoting a famous line uttered by the Emcee in CABARET, “life is beautiful.” 

When I finally arrived at the Studio Theatre Sierra Del Sol and walked into their establishment to watch CABARET, I took a deep sigh of relief.  I immediately understood that all of my fears of a production peppered with the likes of elderly blue-haired Kit Kat Club dancers in wheelchairs proved unfounded.  This particular production would turn out to be a vital, robust CABARET, as sexy, thrilling, and terrifying as the show must be. The audience may have featured many octogenarians (I was one of the youngest ones there, at 61), but the production burst with youthful verve.  It was rightfully dangerous, exceedingly entertaining and, to quote the iconic Sally Bowles, “perfectly marvelous.” And it stung and pierced me the way CABARET always should.  No escape from the outside world here.

Not long after that, I watched the very moving THE CHINESE LADY at American Stage. 

Before this show, I had never heard of the name Afong Moy, allegedly the first Chinese woman to set foot on American soil.  I never knew that Moy, just fourteen years old in 1834, had been put on public display, headlined as “The Chinese Lady,” where she would perform for white audiences, at first for edification purposes but later as a P.T. Barnum freak show curiosity.   I didn’t know that the curious would goggle not just at her eating with chopsticks or what exotic clothes she would don, but they would literally gawk as she showed off her walking skills with horrifyingly bound feet, a Chinese custom later banned.  Sadly, I didn’t know; this history, part of the fabric of our nation, was denied to me in various history classes.  It was obviously denied to most of us. 

But the power of the show was overshadowed by politics weeks later when the lead performer was let go from the production for their protestation during an actual performance (they wore a keffiyeh during it).  Some people disagreed with the firing, saying the company was heavy-handed in their dealing with this crisis, while others applauded the decision. But we couldn’t find a refuge from politics, not even during what was actually a political show (just with a different subject matter).  It became a snapshot of where we stood in the world--that the horrors of the past were being eclipsed by current affairs.

Months later, FALSETTOS at Stageworks broke my heart, with such a phenomenal cast: Jonathan Van Dyke, Troy Ochoa-Rowland, Sam Sobel, Jaime Giangrande-Holcom, Abby Daner, Ricky Cona and Heather Krueger.

I saw the show at the end of Pride Month, the same month where the Florida governor wouldn’t allow any colors that weren’t red, white, and blue to light the state’s bridges in an obvious attempt to snuff out any Pride-themed lighted rainbows. Also, an Axios article released on the first day of Pride month pointed to Florida as “the  least gay-friendly state.”  And on a more personal note, an acquaintance of mine actually posted a picture of an American flag on one of their social media posts, with a caption that read: “My PRIDE flag.”

I just wish the governor and my acquaintance and anyone else who may share their sensibilities would have ventured to Stageworks to see that stunning production of FALSETTOS.  Maybe they would have changed their minds, or in regards to my acquaintance, removed their social media post. They didn’t, but as FALSETTOS taught us, you must always have hope. 

That same summer, I attended the Fringe festival and had the time of my life.  I experienced a delightful musical presentation filled with love; a drama about a school shooting; a cool dance troupe that creatively used paint with their choreography; and a one-woman show about a 15th century soothsayer starring the amazing Bridget Bean.

But weeks later everything changed.  Once again politics got in the way when our governor nixed all arts funding in the state.  Even most right-wingers disagreed with him on this, or at least I hope they did. 

News of his veto was obviously bad for all arts communities--children’s museums, performing arts groups, youth programs, dance troupes. But then came the distasteful cherry on top, the reasoning why such severe action took place.  We were informed that the cutting of all government arts funding actually had a target: The Fringe Festivals, both Orlando (the largest in the country) and its beloved little sister, the Tampa Fringe. 

According to the governor,  the Fringe is “like a sexual festival where they’re doing all this stuff.  When I see money being spent that way, I have to be the one to stand up for taxpayers and say: ‘You know what, that is an inappropriate use of taxpayer dollars.’”  It was ridiculous scapegoatism. At least he didn’t label this “sexual stuff” with the same words that the Germans used in the 1930s that banned art that they didn’t like or agree with: “degenerate art.”

“This is a gross mischaracterization of what the Tampa International Fringe Festival is, and what Fringe Festivals all over the world do,” Trish Parry, producer of the Tampa Fringe Festival, wrote in a statement.

For all of us who had attended the Fringe festivals in the past (and I have reviewed them for several years), it was clear that the governor had never stepped foot in the festival, either in Orlando or Tampa. The show that was singled out by the state's communications director via Twitter for this decision--the sold-out performance of “CAPTAIN HAVOC & THE BIG-TITTY BOG WITCHES,” set in the aforementioned Villages and performed at the Tampa Fringe--was a surprise to those who had actually seen it.  According to Ms. Parry, the show in question was “a satire that employed naughty language but was otherwise just a regular comedy play. This show was labeled as 18+ and entrance was restricted, because we are committed to ensuring that we follow all laws and that shows are age appropriate.”

But it was a sad summer to be a Floridia artist. 

I attended the press conference where the Fringe selflessly pleaded with the governor to give back the funding to all of the other affected arts organizations while still keeping it away from their own—his bull’s eye of blame.  Interestingly, while the Fringe leaders read an open letter inside the lobby of the Orlando Family Stage, I could hear the golden voices of children singing in the distance, echoing from a nearby theater.  These youths were practicing for ERA’S TOUR: TAYLOR’S VERSION, a one week summer camp for grades 6th thru 10th. Hearing these children sing while listening to the letter being read created a striking contrast.  But it also brought home a frightening thought: Since the governor’s veto was not ultimately overturned or overridden, will those same children be singing in 2025?   Or will his act have sadly silenced an entire generation, just another casualty in this unnecessary culture war?

Two days later, I experienced the Holocaust drama, IRENA’S VOW, starring the incomparable Roxanne Fay. 

After watching the Powerstories show at Stageworks that infamous Saturday night (July 13th), I silently walked to my car and wiped away tears from an extraordinarily powerful production. But then I turned on my phone and found myself watching the news of the attempted assassination of one of the Presidential candidates.  

I wrote the following at the end of my IRENA’S VOW review but didn’t include it then: “I bowed my head in sorrow [after hearing the news of the assassination attempt].  We are all human beings and deserve to live in peace, no matter our viewpoints. I was also horrified by some of the posts I read on social media, including one ‘friend’ who beamed as he cheered that it was ‘a great day.’ Some barked that the shooting was all a hoax, a conspiracy, while others blamed the current sitting President.   Where is the humanity? I thought.  I don’t care what side of the political aisle someone is on; violence and hate have no place here.  Haven’t we learned anything?  I wish those people had seen the show I had just witnessed.  I wish they could see what grace and strength and courage in the face of horror really looks like.  IRENA’S VOW explodes with that kind of compassion and humanity.  The actions took place almost eighty years ago, but they still resonate.  And it’s a play that we severely needed in order to remind us of the important things in life, a personification of grace that all of us, wherever we are on the political spectrum, need to embrace.”

And then summer turned into fall and all of a sudden things went from bad to worse in our area. I felt sorry for any Floridians named Helene or Milton that September and October.

I was scheduled to see CHICAGO at the Suncoast Broadway Dinner Theatre the Friday right after Hurricane Helene hit, but I didn’t know if there would be a show or not. 

The hurricane caused devastating storm surges all over the Bay area, and watching the news, I could see locations near US-19 in Hudson were devastated.  Thankfully that wasn’t the case with the Suncoast Broadway Dinner Theatre, which happened to be not far from some of those most sadly impacted by the horrible storm on US-19.  The theatre suffered no damages, and with the cliché that the show must go on being quite true, that Friday night Kander and Ebb’s CHICAGO played to a nearly packed house. I was beyond thankful because if there was ever a time we needed entertainment, especially with a production this solid and fun, it was that night.

I’m just glad there wasn’t a character named Helene in CHICAGO, so for two wonderfully fun hours, we could dive into that cynical city of the past where we didn’t have to think about that damn hurricane and any devastation that it caused.  We could relax, tap our feet to the infectious Kander music, laugh, eat, drink, be merry, and best of all, escape the real world of 2024

But escape didn’t last long, as Hurricane Milton hit our area less than two weeks later, and many theaters had to shut down rehearsals and even performances; the St. Petersburg City Theatre was especially hard hit. 

But the weekend before it struck, I got to see USF’s wonderful production of FUGITIVE SONGS.  This was one tight musical, or song cycle, featuring six incredibly talented young performers and led by a director with a sure hand. 

Watching FUGITIVE SONGS, and hearing those gorgeous songs, I suddenly remembered that the first music I heard from the show years ago was the studio cast recording that featured Gavin Creel, who shockingly passed away that same week at the age of 48.  (The parts seemed to be named for these cast members.)  There’s an obvious sadness in his passing, someone so young and talented who had so much more to share in his young life. But then I thought of the glories of art, where an artist—painter, musician, writer, performer--never truly dies because his or her work is left behind as a reminder that they were here, alive and sharing their gift.  And we connect with them, where our lives and their art merge, the euphoric moments amid life’s struggles.  It’s a sobering thought, but it’s also uplifting, knowing that these artists have moved so many people, even if it’s just in the collective memories of various viewers (as live theatre tends to do), that moveable feast that Hemingway referred to.  I hope the young USF performers know the immense power that they brought to their audiences with FUGITIVE SONGS.  The tears, the joys, the hope.  What it means to be alive and to always be on the run.  They certainly brought it home to me.

A few weeks later, after Milton’s destruction, I got my reprieve at Stageworks with Barry Silber's SOUL PICNIC, about one of my heroes, Laura Nyro, played by Erica Garraffa. SOUL PICNIC ran a brisk ninety minutes, and it featured most of Nyro’s most famous tunes (“And When I Die,” “Stoned Soul Picnic,” “Sweet Blindness,” “Blowing Away,” “Wedding Bell Blues,” “Time and Love,” “Eli’s Comin’” and “Stoney End”).  But I preferred some of the more unheralded numbers, like “Timer,” “Lu,” “When I Was a Freeport and You Were the Main Drag,” and a new favorite of mine, “Sweet Dream Fade.” During her rendition of “Captain Saint Lucifer,”  Ms. Garraffa ended the song with her index finger in the air, and she pointed it to the pianist at the exact moment of the last note, and the moment ran so true, so perfect. 

Hearing her soulful yet angelic vocals, following along with the various stories of Nyro’s peak years, I was in heaven.  Absolute bliss.    

But bliss only lasted a short period of time. 

After the national election in early November, I was so busy I didn’t have time to really understand the gravity of what had happened.  I still don’t.  But a high school show that weekend afterwards saved my soul: The Royal Knight Stage Company’s production of ALL’S WELL: A STEAMPUNK MUSICAL, based on Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well and directed by the legendary David O'Hara.

Even though I wanted more musicality from the show--more songs, more dancing, more of Mr. Ahlin’s gorgeous score--I still enjoyed myself thoroughly. This is one of the most talented groups of young performers you’ll find anywhere, led by an incredible Jace Skinner (who was also so good as Evan Goldman in Centre Stage’s 13: THE MUSICAL that summer).  They performed a show that had been resurrected from the vaults for nearly thirty years and breathed it back to life. In an extremely hard year——they alone had sparked much-needed hope in the audience and in me. 

Other high school shows made me smile as well in 2024, including a strong MAMMA MIA, care of the delightful students of Land O Lakes High School, guided by the great Sabrina Hydes.

Watching the performance by the talented LOLHS cast at the Wesley Chapel Performing Arts Center (a packed house), I worried that everyone around me in the audience would insufferably start crooning along with the various Abba lyrics performed by the actors: “…take a chance, take a chance…knowing me, knowing you, aha….money, money, money…”  Such incidences, when they happen, become  nightmares to a reviewer because now I have to review the audience’s (usually off-key) singing as well (never a good thing, not even with the goofy glories of Abba).  Thankfully, the nightmare never happened.  A much-needed announcement early-on put my mind to rest: “Leave the singing to the actors on the stage.” Whew! After wards I overheard an audience member say, “If they didn’t have that announcement, I would have been singing along with them all night!”  That was a narrow escape. (People would have to experience the movie WICKED to get an idea of how bad it is when audience members sing along with the performers.)

A couple of weeks after the election, I saw THE RESISTIBLE RISE OF ARTURO UI at USF, once again where a show became a mirror of our times. The play balanced on a teeter-totter between two worlds--the funny and the deadly. And director David Valdez beautifully combined these two elements--the laughter and the stings hitting us at the same time.

Funny as much of it was, THE RESISTIBLE RISE OF ARTURO UI became a frightening piece of work, and to me, the key word in the title was “Resistible.” These things can be stopped, but as the director pointedly mentioned in his program notes, they are enabled by a mixture of events--“economic despair, political corruption and pubic apathy.”  That’s the world we live in now.  Antipathy for the economy (no matter how good it is compared to other nations), fear of some sort of otherness out there (immigrants in today’s world), add a dash of a genuflecting press along with a pinch of ignorance and a heaping helping of voter apathy (“Who cares, so what?” as is sung in Cabaret), and you get the events in THE RESISTIBLE RISE OF ARTURO UI as well as the results in our last national election.

That’s why the final words of Brecht’s scathingly funny screed lacerates us so.  We find ourselves in a moment where we must either embrace or fight, kowtow or stand up, stay silent or bark.   But what will we ultimately do because, in the words of the “Twin Peaks” giant, “It is happening again.”  Or as Brecht so brilliantly put it…

“This was the thing that nearly had us mastered;
Don't yet rejoice in his defeat, you men!
Although the world stood up and stopped the bastard,
The bitch that bore him is in heat again.”

I had so many other powerful experiences at the theatre in 2024.  My hero, Stephen Sondheim, was given the star treatment with a wonderful production of SWEENEY TODD at the Eight O’Clock Theatre and SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH GEORGE at the Carrollwood Cultural Center.

SWEENEY TODD’s a show that has everything that your local psychopath might crave: Murder, cannibalism, quasi-incest, star-crossed lovers, insane asylum patients run amok, a beggar woman with a secret, a miracle elixir made from urine, dead birds, sliced throats, and blood.  Lots and lots of blood.  It can gush more blood than any kill-fest by cinema’s Wizard of Gore, Herschell Gordon Lewis.  And yet it’s quite funny.  Rarely do blood and laughs mix together so well. 

As for SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH GEORGE, it was a gorgeous show that needs a cast of gorgeous voices to make it work.. And that’s where the CCC’s production rose, especially with the leads.

Marcus Blake was terrific as Georges Seurat, an artist so driven by his work that he never looks up from his sketch pad or easel. He makes for an intense Georges, with fire in his eyes.  He’s both artist and scientist, and though he’s obsessed with people solely as subjects for his paintings, he cannot connect with the world around him. 

Nobody writes obsessive characters like Sondheim, and watching Mr. Blake in the role, I realized the part is like Sweeney Todd’s artsy brother, except he uses a paint brush instead of a razor and creates immortal works of art rather than slicing up mortals' necks and turning them into meat pies. (Sometimes in this show, the artist seemed so obsessively determined and focused  that you expected to hear, “Attend the tale of Georges Seurat…”)  Mr. Blake captured the perfectionistic nature of the artist while also making him human. 

MAD Theatre came through with several productions, including a joyous 25TH ANNUAL PUTNAM COUNTY SPELLING BEE and URINETOWN. 

With SPELLING BEE, my choice for Best in the Entire Show went to DJ Schuett as Mitch Mahoney, the tattooed ex-con who wears a “Definitely Not on Drugs” t-shirt and helps the kids handle the loss with a hug and a juice box.  Mitch has never been one of my go-to characters, never one of my faves...until now.  His song, “Prayer of the Comfort Counselor,” with a splendid parachute dance with the entire cast, became another highlight, where I wrote the word “Wow!” next to the words “Mitch’s vocals” in my notebook.  And Mr. Schuett, along with Ms. Gilliam’s Rona and Ms. Ray’s Olive, make the hauntingly beautiful “I Love You Song” so moving and lovely, a soul-crushing ode to a girl’s imaginary life with her absent parents. Just glorious.  And yes, that’s my favorite moment of the BEE. 

As for MAD’s URINETOWN, the villains stole the show--Joaquin Bermudez, Christan McLaurine and Luis Rivera. 

Mr. Bermudez is astounding as Officer Lockstock, and as his partner in law and disorder, Officer Barrell, Mr. McLaurine is equally impeccable.  Mr. Bermudez oozes with charisma, and he’s so natural and dives head first into the show’s inanities. And I remember Mr. McLaurine in the NTP’s production of DREAMGIRLS earlier this year where he gave the finest performance of the night; he was just as grand here, bringing out so much comic gold as Officer Barrel, so many little moments, creepy ones, funny ones, a true standout. 

And then there was Luis Rivera.   

As he proved in Think Tank’s Crucible last fall, no one plays a villain as well as Mr. Rivera.  Looking Satanically sinister with his beard and arched eyebrows, his Caldwell B. Cladwell is one for the ages, where every move, every vocal in his stunning songs, every moment, shines.  He drips with villainy.  There’s an instance where he’s trying to get rid of someone and  gives a mere facial expression, sort of something close to nauseous gagging, that had me laughing out loud.  It’s only a second of stage-time, but it’s one of the moments I remember most from the show. 

Another villainous performance stole THE SPONGEBOB MUSICAL at the Carrollwood Cultural Center: Evan Lomba as the salty baddie, Sheldon J. Plankton.  He resembled a Seventies glam rocker; imagine Ursula as played by T. Rex’s Marc Bolan with a gritted Norma Desmond smile. Although he only had one big number, “When the Going Gets Tough,” it easily became the best of the entire show.  You never knew what he was going to do next, including a Vogueing reference where he out-Madonna’d Madonna.  It was a one-man showstopper and, with this song alone, worth the price of a ticket.  

There were several wonderful moments in various theaters throughout the year.  I was able to witness a glorious WONDERFUL TOWN at SPC; a fun BYE BYE BIRDIE far away at the Haines City Theatre; an entertaining SINGIN’ IN THE RAIN with the New Tampa Players; Drew Eberhard in a one man show, NOCTURNE; a ballsy, quality production of HEDWIG AND THE ANGRY INCH at American Stage; Think Tank’s joyous YOU’RE A GOOD MAN, CHARLIE BROWN performed at freeFall; a cute ANNIE at the Carrollwood Players; and Arts in Motion’s sweet BIG FISH and BEAUTY AND THE BEAST at the IPAC.  I also saw a different BEAUTY AND THE BEAST earlier in the year, the American Stage in the Park’s magical production.  And I am happy to report that the sound issues that plagued past park performances had finally been solved this year, so now I won’t get to complain about it ever again.

But three shows stuck out in 2024, and I have saved the best for last.

AUGUST: OSAGE COUNTY will be hard to beat in the Best-Show-I’ve-Ever-Seen-at-the-Carrollwood-Players contest.  Director Marc Sanders guided his talented cast, with not a weak link in the bunch, moving them appropriately, adjusting for the stage size, and sometimes getting out of the way when necessary so that the actors could do their thing.  It was an astounding production, led by someone who thankfully knew what he was doing.  This AUGUST: OSAGE  COUNTY ranks up there with The Normal Heart as one of the two best shows  I’ve ever experienced at the Carrollwood Players. Judging from their enthusiastic reactions, both of shock and awe, the audience surely agreed.

Also tops this year was Tampa Rep’s NEXT TO NORMAL. I have seen various productions of this musical, all with different strengths and weaknesses, but this production at Tampa Rep was hands down the tightest, most effective, and most emotionally galvanizing version I had yet experienced.  Every performance was spot on, taking the work to the next level, and the pace was locomotive (but not too fast that we miss any of the nuances).  When Act 1 ended, I was shocked that an hour had already passed by so quickly; I was so caught up in a storyline (one that I had seen quite often) that at times it was as though I was watching it anew.  I don’t ever recall the show seeming so seamless.  It’s thrilling in the way that only theatre can be; it held a mirror up to some ugly truths--psychological disorders, family dysfunction, medical ethics, and the struggle with grief--and it did so with aplomb and grace.

And then there was my favorite production of 2024, one that helped us get through a tough leap year: Jobsite’s THE ROCKY HORROR SHOW.

As I wrote last summer: “We needed this.  In a summer rocked with a truly unsettling Presidential campaign, the fear of Project 2025, and a Florida governor who ridiculously vetoed all arts funding from the state, we Floridians needed some sort of escape.  And to say that Jobsite Theater’s production of THE ROCKY HORROR SHOW at the Jaeb accomplished this overwhelmingly is indeed an understatement…”

This was one of those productions that they’ll be talking about years from now--like freeFall’s The Wild Party or American Stage’s August Wilson Century Cycle, local shows that are over a decade old and still being excitedly murmured about.  THE ROCKY HORROR SHOW easily fits that bill.  I don’t recall a Jobsite show where I’ve felt this much sheer joy; hell, I don’t know of any recent production anywhere with so much palatable pleasure and energy.

The audience for the Jobsite production came prepared.  Many dressed up in ROCKY attire, and several bought t-shirts that were for sale ($25) and bags of playful goodies (tiny water guns, lollipops with lips, glow sticks, and birthday party hats; $10).  The crowd was a mixed lot, Millenniels and Boomers, together, ready to celebrate at the Altar of Frank-N-Furter. There was a sense of excitement in the air, like Halloween and Christmas had come early.

The entire cast was magnificent, including Noa Friedman, Matthew McGee, Heather Krueger, Ryan Sturm, Spencer Meyers, Colleen Cherry, Mark Wildman, Jayrn McCann, Jen Casler, William Alejandro Barba, Katherine Yacko and Jalyn King. But if there was one reason to see this all-around terrific production of THE ROCKY HORROR SHOW, it was the performance of Clay Christopher as Dr. Frank-N-Furter.  In a word: Wow! Mr. Christopher looked ten feet tall on the stage, like Michelangelo’s David donning fishnet stockings and a string of pearls.  From the moment he entered the stage, you knew you were in the presence of not only a major talent, but of a star.  He reeked of sexuality and commanded the audience like few performers I have seen.  There’s no way anyone can forget Tim Curry’s iconic portrayal of Frank-N-Furter in the film, but if anyone comes close, it’s Mr. Christopher. His  vocals in “Sweet Transvestite” were off the charts, and near the end, his heartbreaking rendition of  “I’m Going Home” earned a sustained ovation where several audience members even stood to applaud.  Mr. Christopher’s  rollicking, courageous, sultry work is the reason we go to the theater.   

I saw THE ROCKY HORROR show half-way through the year, and I needed it then.  Looking back on all of the shows I experienced in 2024, many not mentioned here, it’s the one that stands out.  And I hold onto that joy as we enter 2025, not knowing what to expect.  A lot of people fear dread in the coming years, but I continue to have hope.  That’s why the arts—and theatre in particular—are so important.  They gets us through the tough times, as the rocky road called 2024 so pointedly reminded us, and they gives us hope for the future…and the future productions that I will likely cherish like I do the very best of 2024. 

And with that I wish you all a HAPPY NEW YEAR! 

 

To post a comment, you must register and login.