Review: The Village, A Disco Daydream Takes Us Back to the Lost World of 1979

The late '70s have long been the subject of nostalgia for a certain kind of New Yorker. Sure, the city was broke, the trains were filthy, and crime was rampant — but at least you could afford to rent an apartment. And New York was still a magnet for beautiful and creative young people operating without the benefit of a trust fund. These rugged go-getters had to find other ways to make a living, and in a city of endless opportunity, they could do so without working an 80-hour week. Nora Burns indulges (and gently picks apart) this nostalgia in her joyous new play, The Village, A Disco Daydream, now playing a return engagement at Dixon Place.

It's about Trade (Antony Cherrie). "Yes, it's his real name, as well as his profession," notes the Stage Manager (Glace Chase with the perfect combination of sass and sincerity). Trade lives on Greenwich Avenue with Old George (the hilarious Chuck Blasius), a sugar daddy who tolerates his houseguest's nocturnal activities as the price of vicarious youth. Over the course of one hour, we meet Trade's latest trick (adorably wholesome Jack Bartholet), his "femme-y fag" friend Petey (Eileen Dover), his "hag" Lisa (a manically perky Ashley Chavonne), and the hot new neighbor down the hall (Antwon LeMonte, straight out of a retro porn flick). Only Old George seems to have a day job, so they while away the afternoon in his apartment, with plenty of side commentary from the Stage Manager. It's Our Town with poppers and lamé.

In her gleeful metatheatricality, Burns owes much to Bertolt Brecht and Thornton Wilder, and under the sharp direction of Adam Pivirotto, The Village is a lot more fun to watch than anything those two ever wrote. The indefatigable and effortlessly fabulous Valton Jackson and Richard JMV Schieffer facilitate cinematic scene changes in their role as go-go boys, this play's answer to Kabuki stagehands. The characters (and sometimes the actors) are never shy about jumping out of a scene and speaking directly to us. Paul Alexander costumes them in synthetic fabrics that are both revealing and outrageous (Old George's housecoat is a riot). We're acutely aware that at any moment the lights (by Rob Lariviere) could shift and transform the whole stage into a dance party (simple and sexy choreography by Robin Carrigan). You may have the urge to jump up and join them.

The whole cast contributes to this irresistible revelry, but Cherrie is particularly persuasive in a performance that is simultaneously innocent and naughty. He's Peter Pan with a chest tattoo. Dover provides an excellent foil to Cherrie's manic pixie rent boy energy, serving shade and wit despite suffering through what seems to be a permanent hangover. The most physically impressive performance of the evening comes from the playwright herself in the role of "Junkie Jane," a neighbor less likely to borrow a cup of sugar than a spoon and lighter. Slumped over like a zombie, she hides her face beneath a cascade of blonde hair, even when she holds a set of festive maracas during a musical number.

You might have already clocked several problematic words and plot points in this review, and that is part of what makes The Village feel refreshingly transgressive. For a show that looks wistfully backward, it never takes itself too seriously and always entertains the possibility that it's peddling nonsense. Every generation suspects that their 20s represented a golden age, as Old George sings about his own halcyon days in the 1950s: "Bars with red lights filled with boys who were hung / But was it really that great or was I just young?" But The Village, unbound by the rules and manners of the bourgeois puritans who now dominate New York's cultural scene, convincingly makes the case that when New York's late boomers wax nostalgic, they actually have a point.

It's too late for the millennials among us to recapture that magic in the New York of 2023, recently named by The Economist as the most expensive city on Earth. It will be up to Gen Z to make this once again a haven for misfits and artists. Certainly, Mayor Adams is doing his part to bring back the requisite grime and municipal dysfunction. Until then, theatergoers can enjoy The Village, a carefree hustle down memory lane.