Review: In Messy White Gays, You Better Love Jean Smart—or Else

“Did you see Messy White Gays?” If you’re a gay man in New York, you’re probably going to hear that question at brunches and happy hours in the coming months. That’s because Messy White Gays is the must-see gay comedy of the season and one of the funniest shows of the year. It’s outlandish, it’s campy, and honey, it just might be about you.

For years Drew Droege has chronicled the male homosexual species in plays like Bright Colors and Bold Patterns by shining a glaring overhead light on the sticky underbelly of gay culture. But his razor-edge writing has never been quite this sharp, and with the blade in director Mike Donahue’s swift hand, it draws blood before you know you’ve been cut. Better grab a cocktail for this one.

The play begins just as Brecken (James Cusati-Moyer) and Caden (Aaron Jackson) have finished murdering Monty, the “third” in their throuple (“He said he only liked Jean Smart,” says Brecken). They’re grotesquely wealthy—Brecken works for a gay sex app, but Caden is a filthy-rich scion of the Smucker family—and now they’re in a … jam. Monty (played by a limp mannequin) is lying dead in the middle of their posh, high-rise Manhattan apartment.

It’s a fabulous flat, with panorama windows, oodles of chairs and sofas for entertaining, and cheeky knickknacks, like pillows with pill-capsule patterns and a fun pink skull. Call it memento-mori kitsch. There’s also a silver Jonathan Adler credenza that maybe doesn’t quite go, but behind it, the view of Central Park and uptown is breathtaking (Alexander Dodge designed the set), and it’s a gorgeous morning with abundant sunshine flooding the space (lighting design by Jen Schriever).

But back to the murder. What are they going to do with Monty before guests arrive for brunch? No sooner have they stuffed his body into the credenza than pink-panted pussyboy Thacker (Pete Zias, a scream from start to finish) bolts in looking like a big bump of 2C and starts asking questions about Monty’s whereabouts. Then enters beefcake Addison (Derek Chadwick), biceps bulging, and he starts asking questions when he smells something a little off. What could possibly go wrong?

This 80-minute romp of carnage, cocaine, and Kylie Minogue (sound designer Sinan Refik Zafar gives us a little “Padam Padam”) is a bit like watching animals in a zoo as they talk about Hell’s Kitchen bars and brunch spots, fling verbal excrement at each other, and dish on sexy delivery boys. “Thacker’s probably fucked them all,” says Brecken. “No lies detected,” replies Thacker, sucking white zinfandel through a straw.

Droege and Donahue poke serious fun at the ugly superficiality of wealthy, social-media-obsessed gay men like these whose biggest problem is having too much choice. And then of course there’s the casual racism. “Black lives matter,” says Thacker. “Black trans live matter,” corrects Caden. “Sure,” says Thacker, “but what about us?” Gurl, bye.

The characters are despicable, but the cast is to die for. Droege is hilarious in the role of nosy downstairs neighbor Karl, the Lady Bracknell of this ridiculous menagerie who spouts Dorian Corey-like wisdom to a younger generation that doesn’t give a damn what he thinks. Jackson is marvelous as elitist trust-fund baby Caden, a true social justice warrior who equates virtue-signaling with “doing the work.” Cusati-Moyer, like an escapee from a Ryan Murphy streamer about Luigi Mangione, makes us love-hate the sociopathic Brecken, wearing black cargo shorts (costumes by James + AC) that show off his sexy calves while he’s kicking a corpse.

Not quite so mean but more manipulative is Chadwick’s muscly Addison, who makes us wonder if he’s smarter than he seems. But Zias, wearing a horsy wig that looks like it came off the floor of Bruce Vilanch’s closet, gives the most side-splittingly funny performance as coke-snorting Thacker. “This shit hits me harder than Will Smith,” he shouts. The audience roars, and you can sense the cast fighting back smiles.

So what about the body in the credenza? Does anyone face the music? Relax, this isn’t Crime and Punishment. Then again, you may feel a little queasy heading out of the theater, especially if this is a play that makes you feel seen. But don’t worry, sweetie, it’ll pass. It’s probably just the booze.