New York City
Things would be so much better if life was a musical, said no one ever — no one sane anyway. Even Stacey (Marla Mindelle) knows that life sucks in the cuddly dystopia of classic American musicals like The Music Man or Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, and she was crazy enough to get a bachelor’s degree in musical theater.
But a fantasy musical life is exactly what she gets in The Big Gay Jamboree, now making its world premiere off-Broadway at the Orpheum Theatre. A laugh-out-loud satire of the American musical wrapped in a surprisingly clever plot about life choices and change, it’s a sparkling example of what intrepid theatermakers can achieve off-Broadway.
We shouldn’t be surprised. The Big Gay Jamboree is Mindelle’s latest musical, following the off-Broadway smash hit Titaníque, which she co-created. This project exudes the same brand of naughty metatheatrical irreverence that makes Titaníque such a hoot, but its target is much broader — not just one movie from the ’90s, but the entire musical-theater canon.
Stacey wakes up in the idyllic town of Bareback, Idaho, on what she is told is her wedding day. She has no idea how she got here … or why everyone is singing and dancing. The last thing she remembers is partying with her gays. Her rich tech bro boyfriend (Alex Moffat) flew them all to Miami for what seemed like a destination marriage proposal, only to present her with tickets to a Reneé Rapp concert.
Trapped in a musical fever dream, she hatches a plan to escape that involves traveling to an enchanted castle with a portal back to our dimension. Along the way, she assembles a band of misfit fellow travelers including Clarence (Paris Nix), the town’s only Black man, forced to give regular gospel performances. There’s also Flora (Natalie Walker), the town mattress back. And there’s Bert (Constantine Rousouli), a loner living in the woods who everyone assumes is a serial killer (but is really just a flaming homosexual). Together, they will journey to a place where their talents and predilections are appreciated: modern-day New York City. It’s a little bit Schmigadoon! and a whole lot The Wizard of Oz — but even gayer.
Mindelle’s outrageous book (written with Jonathan Parks-Ramage) and toe-tapping score (written with Philip Drennen) send up musical theater tropes and the dark realities of the industry with laser-targeted precision. Stacey’s “I want” song is all about her backup plan to get on a Real Housewives show. “Stacey, that music you were singing. We’ve never heard that style before,” says a denizen of Bareback in response. “It’s called contemporary musical theatre,” Stacey responds proudly, to which another townsperson says, “It’s so … ugly.”
Mindelle establishes an immediate rapport with the audience, bringing us in as accomplices. Occasionally, she even invites us to sing along, blurring the line between off-Broadway musical and piano bar in a way only an author could (but rarely ever does). It’s a connection with the crowd and a sense of ownership over the material that I haven’t experienced since seeing John Cameron Mitchell in Hedwig and the Angry Inch.
She’s in good company and uses the specific talents of the cast particularly well, with her three traveling companions each getting showstopping moments. Nix fits gospel runs into places one wouldn’t expect, radiating the sex appeal of a leading man. Walker is channeling Marilyn Monroe with her theatrically ditsy line-readings and irresistible stage presence. And Rousouli has shrewdly intuited the intoxicating combination of Nasty Pig jean shorts and a mid-Atlantic dialect. You’ll be howling by the end of every number.
Director and choreographer Connor Gallagher squeezes a lot of classic showmanship onto the snug stage of the Orpheum, with flashy production numbers and memorable dance solos. It all seems to burst out into the intimate theater.
The set (by dots) facilitates the zippy pace of this 100-minute charmer by indulging in a few Broadway clichés itself, including a rotating stage. Sarah Cubbage’s vibrant tearaway costumes, Brian Tovar’s caffeinated lighting, Justin Stasiw’s well-balanced sound, and Aaron Rhyne’s wily projections work seamlessly to create a musical dreamland that threatens at every turn to curdle into a Schmackary’s-induced nightmare. It’s a cohesive vision that could only come from a team of dedicated professionals who have love-hate relationships with the theater.
But even if you’re not a walking encyclopedia of Broadway, you can still appreciate Mindelle’s sly commentary on the rat race of a prestige industry, the compromises one must make to stay in the game, and the off-ramps one considers when it’s time to bow out. Of course, as a wise musical nun once said, “When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window.” We’re so lucky that Mindelle has opted to sneak in that way.