Review: Bullying Turns to Romance in the New Musical Beau

When dealing with a relentless bully, what’s a young boy to do? In Douglas Lyons’s new musical, Beau, now running at Theatre 154, sixth-grader Ace Baker (33-year-old Matt Rodin credibly portraying a teen) manages to placate his tormentor, Ferris (Cory Jeacoma), with a daily tribute: a single cigarette pinched from his mother’s purse. The offering buys a respite from a routine of gut punches and anti-gay slurs. Then one day, Ferris’s assault style abruptly shifts, turning into a quick but unmistakable kiss.

Thus begins a three-year down-low relationship that endures into high-school, when Ferris—having scored a mean girl (Andrea Goss) as arm candy—breaks their bond with a dismissal so cutting, it’ll resonate with anyone who has ever been on the receiving end of a callous kiss-off. “Dude,” Ferris tells Ace, “we’re just two boys gettin’ each other off til we can find chicks dumb enough to do it for us.”

It’s a turning point in Douglas Lyons’s immensely empathetic script, adroitly channeled by director and choreographer Josh Rhodes. Ace’s coming-of-age story unspools as a pair of decades-apart timelines made possible by Daniel Allen’s adaptable, finely detailed set, a convincing simulacrum of a Nashville roadhouse. Lighting designer Adam Honoré lays on the smoky amber ambiance, pierced at times by a wall of upstage spots that render the band in dramatic outline. Between songs, the eight band members assume specific roles, as portions of the stage reveal domestic and school settings.

Rodin has a rich, powerful voice, which he let loose here, to thrilling effect. Several of the ensemble players stand out in their own right. Ace has a staunch and funny ally in pal Daphney (fiddle whiz Miyuki Miyagi). As Raven, Ace’s hot-to-trot mom, Amelia Cormack nails “You Little Shit!,” the cri de coeur of a fed-up single parent coping with a teenage ingrate. Raven’s boyfriend, the dweeby Larry (a hilarious Matt Wolpe), sports Steve Allen glasses and professes a fondness for soft jazz (“It tingles my chest hairs and calms my senses”). But it’s Ace’s long-estranged grandfather Beau—Chris Blisset, every inch the diehard country rocker—who claims center stage alongside Ace. If Beau’s get-up summons Willie Nelson (costume designer Devario D. Simmons gives him a beat-up leather jacket and red bandanna), it’s surely not by accident. While paying homage, Blisset brings his own warmth and charisma.

The show kicks in with a celebratory anthem, one of a dozen songs (Ethan D. Pakchar gets co-credit for music) serving as a throughline. With “Pop Pop Beau,” the adult Ace pays tribute to the forebear who surfaced long enough during his formative years to help him navigate a rocky adolescence. A secondary narrative concerns Beau’s midlife exploration of his own bi-curiosity, which led to the implosion of his marriage and rift with Raven. Whatever happened in the past, Beau’s not talking: “You can ask me anything under the sun,” he tells Ace. “But that don’t mean I’ll answer it.”

Crusty on the surface, Beau proves to be an excellent, thoughtful listener. His refusal to claim the spotlight—except in flashbacks to his rock heyday—spares us after-school-special homilies. But Beau’s counsel, when Ace descends into shame and self-hatred, is something every adolescent needs to hear—adults, too. The musical’s underlying message comes across vividly, and it couldn’t be more timely.