In The Legend of Georgia McBride, receiving its world premiere from the Denver Center Theatre Company (now through February 23 at the Ricketson Theatre), a down-on-his-luck Elvis impersonator accidentally finds work as a lip-syncing drag queen with the stage name Georgia McBride, and in the process discovers his true artistic talent and a way to support his young bride and their growing family.
Yes, that smoke you smell is Western civilization going up in flames.
My readers in the queer community (of whom I am sure there are many) may be forgiven for thinking my low opinion of this show was, to coin a phrase, predestined by the fact I am a reactionary old-school presbyterian curmudgeon. However, my criticisms were only reinforced by those of my more alternate lifestyle-friendly Theatre Companion, and generally had to do with a weak script and awkward performances.
First, however, a note of praise for the DCTC's production department, which throughout this season has showcased each play with admirable staging choices. The Ricketson is a traditional proscenium-arch stage: for this show, set pieces were moved into the foreground of an otherwise bare stage with a full view of a mildly-cluttered backstage. Scene and costume changes, accordingly, took place in full view of the audience. (The open backstage design is, of course, something of a conceit; actors went off into the wings for changes into different characters.) This understated design suggests appearance and is extremely malleable and introduces identity as a theme in the play.
Unfortunately, the script fails to live up to the set design. The dialogue is often realistic and occasionally amusing, and the characters, by and large, believably human. None of what they go through, however, is sufficiently compelling to be put up on a stage. Casey, our young hero, discovers he's pretty good at lip-syncing while wearing a dress. While some may find this kind of act amusing, it's certainly not art, and so the play fails at its ambition to explore the nature of artistic striving and triumph.
The first scene of the second act features a faux Rosa Parks moment in which a gay drag queen chastises Casey for dressing up as a woman onstage while being straight in real life. This might have been an interesting development had the unusual dichotomy of a straight drag queen exploiting the queer community for personal gain and ambition been explored, but instead the theme was dropped immediately. In fact, the play eventually devolved into litte more than a stage version of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Fun for those looking for that sort of thing, but really: worthy of a professional production in the capital of the Rocky Mountain Empire?
The performances were extremely uneven. Matt McGrath, who proved remarkably good at tap-dancing in heels, struggled with his lines as drag queen Miss Tracy Mills (although he did much better as Casey's older brother Beau). A week into the production, and still not off book? I wondered if he was at fault when late in the second act Jamie Ann Romero flubbed some lines as well; perhaps the script was still being worked on. Not sure if that's better, at least from the audience's perspective: isn't that what previews are for?
Leaving the Denver Center for the Performing Arts complex, I noticed playbills for one of those "women-only" productions which present songs and skits designed specifically for the estrogen class. Were I a woman, I would be offended by such attempts to pander to my gender, treating me as a mere representative of a class and not a person with a unique experience and narrative. I think The Legend of Georgia McBride might be similarly offensive: a lazy effort at play-writing confident it will find ticket-buyers among a small minority thrilled simply to see drag queens on a real stage in a real theater.
Apparently, I need to coin a drag equivalent for "blaxploitation."
First, however, a note of praise for the DCTC's production department, which throughout this season has showcased each play with admirable staging choices. The Ricketson is a traditional proscenium-arch stage: for this show, set pieces were moved into the foreground of an otherwise bare stage with a full view of a mildly-cluttered backstage. Scene and costume changes, accordingly, took place in full view of the audience. (The open backstage design is, of course, something of a conceit; actors went off into the wings for changes into different characters.) This understated design suggests appearance and is extremely malleable and introduces identity as a theme in the play.
Unfortunately, the script fails to live up to the set design. The dialogue is often realistic and occasionally amusing, and the characters, by and large, believably human. None of what they go through, however, is sufficiently compelling to be put up on a stage. Casey, our young hero, discovers he's pretty good at lip-syncing while wearing a dress. While some may find this kind of act amusing, it's certainly not art, and so the play fails at its ambition to explore the nature of artistic striving and triumph.
The first scene of the second act features a faux Rosa Parks moment in which a gay drag queen chastises Casey for dressing up as a woman onstage while being straight in real life. This might have been an interesting development had the unusual dichotomy of a straight drag queen exploiting the queer community for personal gain and ambition been explored, but instead the theme was dropped immediately. In fact, the play eventually devolved into litte more than a stage version of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. Fun for those looking for that sort of thing, but really: worthy of a professional production in the capital of the Rocky Mountain Empire?
The performances were extremely uneven. Matt McGrath, who proved remarkably good at tap-dancing in heels, struggled with his lines as drag queen Miss Tracy Mills (although he did much better as Casey's older brother Beau). A week into the production, and still not off book? I wondered if he was at fault when late in the second act Jamie Ann Romero flubbed some lines as well; perhaps the script was still being worked on. Not sure if that's better, at least from the audience's perspective: isn't that what previews are for?
Leaving the Denver Center for the Performing Arts complex, I noticed playbills for one of those "women-only" productions which present songs and skits designed specifically for the estrogen class. Were I a woman, I would be offended by such attempts to pander to my gender, treating me as a mere representative of a class and not a person with a unique experience and narrative. I think The Legend of Georgia McBride might be similarly offensive: a lazy effort at play-writing confident it will find ticket-buyers among a small minority thrilled simply to see drag queens on a real stage in a real theater.
Apparently, I need to coin a drag equivalent for "blaxploitation."
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