Stupidity, prejudice, and religious fervor are all running amok in Hope Falls, West Virginia, where even a brief sojourn will convince you of the horrors of inbreeding. You’d think the local yokels would feel a kinship toward a naked mutant child with pointy ears and oversized incisors found in a nearby cave. Townspeople even reject the enterprising idea of turning the cavedwelling man-rodent into a tourist attraction.
Keythe Farley and Brian Fleming had far better sense. They took the sensational discovery, chronicled on the front pages of Weekly World News, and turned it into the story and book of Bat Boy: The Musical. The current Actor’s Theatre of Charlotte production, directed and choreographed by Billy Ensley at the company’s funky new home on Stonewall Street, hilariously demonstrates why Bat Boy quickly soared to cult status, snapping up multiple awards as Off-Broadway’s best musical of the 2000-01 season.
The backwoods boorishness of the Taylor children who find the Bat Boy is nearly matched by the dysfunction of the Parker family who raise him. Ruthie Taylor is bitten by the creature in the opening scene, never to recover. Her mouth-breathing sibs, Rick and Ron, thirst for vengeance, egged on by their bovine mamaw. But the Hope Falls sheriff, facing re-election, prefers to pass the decision on euthanizing the caged rodent to Dr. Thomas Parker, the besotted town vet.
Dr. P would instantly put down the new family pet were he not deterred by the maternal instincts of his missus, Meredith. She tames the beast with kindness and teaches it to speak. But no good deed goes unpunished as their daughter, Shelley, befriends and falls in love with the bat — after naming him Edgar.
Like Pinocchio, our Edgar aspires to be fully accepted as human once he’s acquired a proper accent via BBC language tapes. All this tabloid absurdity climaxes in Act 2 as Edgar crashes a revival meeting pleading for acceptance and redemption. Fate doesn’t favor his wishes, so Edgar and Shelley flee to the woods.
The revival scene features Corey Mitchell as Rev. Hightower under a colossal James Brown bouffant, conjuring and step-dancing with fevered gospel righteousness. Even more bizarre is Patrick Ratchford’s hirsute turn as Pan leading the woodland animals’ welcome to the fugitive couple. The cuddly creatures look like Bambi extras but behave like heifers in heat.
If Mitchell and Ratchford have the most outre antics, Johanna Jowett’s lightning costume changes from Mayor Maggie to Ron Taylor — behind a cheap-o lectern — are the cheesiest. Ensley and music director Craig Spradley treat the melodrama with a flamboyance that veers from Vegas to vaudeville. Together they perfectly frame the spectacular debuts of Bob Walker and Ashley Dove as the romantic leads.
Dove could be a smidge dopier as Shelley — or more adolescent — but impresses with her big voice and vitality. Walker gives one of the most amazing performances of the season as Bat Boy, aided by the makeup artistry of Michael Simmons. His metamorphosis from rabid bat to caged pet to loudly dressed boy is both fascinating and captivating. Dennis Delamar and Liz Hyde maintain a delicious tension as the Parker parents. Extra kudos to Annie-Laurie Wheat for all the outrageous costuming.
The book and Laurence O’Keefe’s clever music and lyrics cut a wide swath of ridicule, echoing and mowing down a multitude of screen and stage cliches. You won’t catch all the darts or all the silliness in one sitting. But you’ll have a rollicking time.
After misunderstandings and jealousies nearly as powerful as Othello or Lear, Shakespeare took a bold and innovative tack in The Winter’s Tale. Instead of dispatching his innocent and deluded nobles to bloody death after their cruel sufferings and painful recognitions, the Bard expanded his canvas and lengthened his resolution from a few swift months to a leisurely 16 years. He didn’t work out the storytelling and the enchantment quite as elegantly as in The Tempest, but he solved the same problems by shuttling between grim Sicilia and fun-loving Bohemia.
In the current Chickspeare production, the contrast between the two realms is even more radical. Exile is equated with Gilligan’s Island under Glen Griffin’s direction, and rusticity is redefined by The Beverly Hillbillies. After King Leontes has chewed on the scenery ruling Sicilia — imprisoning his wife, casting away his daughter, and cloistering himself in bitter penitence — the leap to the boob tube jingles of Bohemia is truly a jolt.
Griffin’s concept runs most smartly when Andrea King and Tanya McClellan supply the fuel. King struts, connives, and spouts ribaldry as the rogue Autolycus when she isn’t chanting “The Banana Boat Song” or tossing other anachronistic ditties our way. In an inspired example of colorblind casting, McClellan turns up as the son of the doddering Old Shepherd who scoops up Leontes’ castoff, Perdita, and raises her as his own.
Problem is, King and McClellan are ultimately peripheral in the main storyline. At the core of this all-woman presentation, quality and experience are hit-and-miss. I like Kristen Jones’ sincerity as Florizel, the Bohemian prince who adores Perdita. Back in Sicilia, Meg Wood is improving as a Chickspearean, fitfully achieving real stature as the bipolar King Leontes while struggling with her lines. Lolly Foy has the right stuff as Paulina, the grieving conscience of the kingdom.
The Chix bring new glitter to that most infamous stage direction, “Exit, pursued by a bear,” bringing in a new guest nightly to portray the beast. It will be impossible for them to improve upon the opening night performance given by my wife, Sue Tannenbaum. That’s my verdict and I’m sticking with it.
Last week’s revival of Oliver! at Ovens Auditorium restored a couple of the effective original songs that were axed from the beloved 1968 film adaptation of Lionel Bart’s musical. But there were odd alterations — and not-so-discreet deletions — in the Cameron Mackintosh touring version that, on balance, clip about a half hour from the work. Including much of its Dickensian soul.
Without our rascally Fagin reuniting with Artful Dodger, the ending falls woefully flat — particularly with the charisma-challenged Mark McCracken as Fagin. More damaging was the note-perfect work of buxom Renata Wilson as Nancy. Teamed with the orphans, Oliver, or Bill Sikes, she didn’t deliver one heartfelt moment all evening.
The lifeblood of the show was better served by Shane Tanner as the ruthless Sikes, Ken Clement as the craven Mr. Bumble, and young Andrew Blau as the Dodger. While the sound system wasn’t close to flawless, amplification turned the pure voice of Justin Pereira as Oliver Twist to finely spun gold.
This article appears in Jan 21-27, 2004.
