Photo Source: Adam Gardiner
Set in what are termed "medieval times," Simpson's story has the divine Melinda, hostess for the Castle Club, the top "night spot for fops," aghast when she discovers that the evil owner, a suburban "breeder" known as Mr. Grimm, has replaced her cadre of drag queens with go-go dancers as the club's entertainment. In cahoots with her demure personal assistant, the glamour-challenged Hildegarde, Melinda plots to get the dancers to wear codpieces made of a supposedly magic fabric that only fools and trolls can't see. The goal: to get the dancers fired for lewd exposure and then bring back the drag queens.
Simpson's central problem is that she provides no gloss on Andersen's famous moral about overweening ego. The fabric here is nothing more than a device. As a result, Simpson's self-sacrificing ending plays with a whimper; we're not even sure the show's over until the cast comes out for a curtain call.
The downtown aesthetic of Steven Hammel's cardboard set and Becky Hubbert's cartoon costumes is fun, though a bit out of place in the bland, antiseptic space. Director Tim Cusack, artistic director of the admirable Theatre Askew, smartly keeps things moving along. Buenaventura Rodriguez plays the hunky straight-boy Emperor, the top dancer at the club, with proper gay-for-pay attitude and even manages a nice moment of genuine emotion when Emperor suggests to Melissa that the two of them start their own club. Nicholas Gorham employs his choirboy good looks and sunny disposition to fine effect as the initially innocent Camelot, a younger dancer who donates all his earnings to the seminary where he is studying to be a priest. Michelle Ojeda is a sexy and animated Guinevere, the club's newest dancer, who may or may not be on the level. A comic highlight is the go-go routine the three deliver when excessively stoned.
Simpson is a dry and imperious Melinda, and she knows what to do with a one-liner, but she has perhaps undermined herself a bit by writing the best part for Hildegarde. Patrick Johnson is an absolute delight in the role, at first shy, subdued, and self-effacing but gradually metamorphosing into a driven diva determined to usurp her mistress' place. Johnson's frumpy Hildegarde—who is a dead ringer for the second-place finisher in the Salzburg music festival in the film of "The Sound of Music," the one who can't stop bowing—is played at a perfectly stylized level with impressive discipline. Johnson even handled what seemed to be an unplanned encounter with the scenery firmly in character, being rewarded with one of the evening's biggest laughs.
Simpson's artistic community was out in full force to support her (I spotted Justin "Kiki" Bond and John "Lypsinka" Epperson, just to name two), providing a warm if perhaps a bit insular reception. Certainly there were jokes I didn't get, not being in on them. But you needn't be an aficionado to appreciate the show's humor. Now, if Simpson can just pull her structural strings together, she might have something.
Presented by Linda Simpson at the Laurie Beechman Theatre, 407 W. 42nd St., NYC. June 10–July 15. Fri., 10 p.m. (212) 352-3101, (866) 811-4111, www.theatermania.com, or www.spincyclenyc.com.