David Thomas Hampson played a cop out of Grease, West Side Story or Hair (take your pick) who thinks the high school Sluts are zits on the face of life.
Joseph Dwyer was most hilarious. When he came out with a rose between his teeth, you couldn't tell if he was playing a Spanish bullfighter or Carmen.
Becque Olson was also wonderful, and brave to let an overweight problem be exploited for laughs. But the actress moved and danced well, and her voice could shatter glass.
Edward M. Sylvia sang about his character's insecurity, but few actors sing or tap with such authority.
Others too numerous to mention: Howard Pomerantz' colorful performance fit his tie-died socks; Stephanie Lubroth did amazing things with bubble gum; when Wendy Leigh Flynn narrowed her eyes, you winced; Al Harp got red in the face, going all out; George Brouillette was an extraordinary nerd; and Ms. McPherson Horle could make a mean drill sergeant.
The one word set (a "Slut" graffito on a flat by Elliot Fox & Jay Kerness) and a lot of black paint hid the backstage sins. But the show expanded the length of the room for audience participation.
The canned but hummable - if not memorable - music got the audience to boogying. The lyrics, meant to be dumb, didn't disappoint. Typical was: "My mom's a slut, by dad's a slut, my dog's a slut, my cat's a slut, so let's all twist."
The choreography by Taro Alexander went from a Rockette routine to a polka ("the root of all evil!"), and just about fit all 11 actors on the tiny stage. But the lighting, with few instruments, was only adequate.
Costumes gathered by Sylvia and Harp were intentionally tacky. The attractive Carla Hall, mastering the ceremonies as "Trixie," wore your basic black tutu with just the requisite number of holes in her fishnet stockings.
This play is about juvenile lovers who say mean things to each other to avoid rejection. About half-way through you may feel you could spend eternity with these entertaining people. But since there are six pairs of lovers (including someone from the audience) caught in similar conflicts, you get to feel you've been here long enough.
Nevertheless, Trixie's pixie sticks spill spangles at the end; and without a single gunshot wound or dirty word, it all works out.
"And everybody better tip the waiter!"
Copyright 1999 Marshall Yaeger