There are numerous terms commonly used in the rhetoric about Detroit that are equally nebulous when habitually employed.  One term in particular beckons our attention: community. I am an ardent listener of WDET’s Craig Fahle Show and noticed that the term “the community” has become a particular favorite of Craig’s and guests’ alike when talking about matters in Detroit. What Craig Fahle, his guests and Detroiters for the most part know and acknowledge is that this notion of a locally unified community is an imagined group of people that is made up of numerous racial and religious groups, political constituencies, and subcultures that often have little to do with one another.  If we look at demographic models of segregation across the United States, Detroit ranks as one of the most racially and economically segregated cities in the nation.  Yet, this idea of Detroit as a singular community has gained exceeding popularity over the past two years as discourse of Detroit revitalization has burgeoned onto the national stage.  The city has become an entity unto itself in both local and national media, a singular voice that boasts that the Detroit community “hustles harder.”

Community is often assumed to be a positive word with positive connotations.  In fact, it is incredibly rare to hear this word used in a negative context.  It lures us in; it seduces us into believing that we are a part of something larger that is, in many ways, just like us, an entity that sees the world as we see the world.  It is for adults’ what a pretty rainbow-swirled lollipop is for kids: that sweet piece of satisfaction, sumptuous though not gustatory and as every bit as enticing.  It holds promises of a better world, one as equally tempting and ephemeral as a child’s piece of candy.

Yet, it is not just media outlets that have become infatuated with this notion of a financially destitute city pulling itself from the ashes through inspiring entrepreneurial and artistic activity; this also seems to be the mantra for recently arrived youth of a particular socio-economic background who have found opportunity in Detroit’s de-industrialized, informal economy by engaging in public or community based art projects in Detroit.  It is often all to easy to point to this young, often white, demographic and see how they have invested in Detroit’s communities and revitalization in a genuine, but opportunistic manner.  Many young artists are placing their cache in public or community based art in hopes of stabilizing Detroit neighborhoods, drawing attention to blighted houses, or simply to take advantage of large vacant spaces.  It is primarily these young artists, not black artists, who create “community building” art projects out of dilapidated homes.

Under the umbrella of monolithic communal terminology, Detroiters become a collective entity in this story of a city that is perpetually rising from the ashes, defending itself from an onslaught of national criticism. Detroiters assume a collective history and a shared struggle in it, silencing the numerous, and dissimilar, lived histories of Detroit’s ethnic neighborhoods.  For young Detroiters of who many, including myself, moved back to the city after our parents and grandparents left the city for lives in the suburbs, Detroit is an unfamiliar urban center with a history often only vaguely or textually understood.  I have often wondered how frequently young artists and entrepreneurs in Detroit reflect on their position and relationship to Detroit’s histories, how often they think of the freedom and prospects they have been afforded in this city oftentimes due to a blighted history of discrimination, oppression, and segregation against Detroit black and immigrant communities.  Unfortunately, we frequently forget that while we identify with the city of Detroit, we cannot claim to be a part of or understand all of Detroit’s disparate histories.

Nonetheless, Detroiters are portrayed, and portraying themselves, as a unified group at a national level, while heated debates of who is a native vs. a transplant rage within young affluent circles.  For many recently returned privileged youth, who is and is not a native is not a given.  Many young Detroiters who have made a name for themselves in the city often feel beholden to a city which has afforded them unconventional opportunities and, in some cases, status and local fame.   Unlike larger cities in which there are often numerous institutions with similar vocations, employment with one of Detroit’s up and coming institutions may provide a unique and rare platform from which to work, providing individuals lucky enough to receive these jobs with influence and status.   It seems as if this aspect of Detroit work life has created a sense of entitlement about positions of authority in the city.  I cannot count how many conversations I have had in the past two years in which people have imparted their opinion about how an outsider is “going about things all wrong.”  Detroiters are exceptionally particular about how people interact with “their” city.

To be an outsider or a transplant implies that one is disconnected with local Detroit issues and history, and may be naïve or, worse yet, messianic in their ambitions to help the city of Detroit “turn around.”  On the contrary, to be an insider or native is to lay claim or ownership to the city of Detroit, a status that garners a seal of authentic experience and knowledge about the city, or in other words, a position of authority.  This debate often overlooks, and erroneously conflates, numerous issues: one being the question of authenticity itself; the second regarding what is really at stake in these discussions: the displacement of privilege in order to feel a part of the greater Detroit struggle.  The reality is white Detroiters who are often returning to Detroit after generations of flight have reason to fear the outsider label if being able to claim native status is rooted in generational occupancy or the number of years one has lived in the city.  Indeed, recently arrived Detroiters cannot claim to be a part of a historical Detroit struggle or hustle.  Yet, should the number of years one has lived in Detroit validate one’s right to speak on behalf of the city?  Again, Detroiters are not part of a monolithic community with one shared history.  Does one’s race give a person the right to speak on behalf of the city? Status? Privilege? Education? I think it is pertinent for us all to stop and question the grounds upon which we individually justify our own Detroit expertise.  Clearly, at this point in time, one’s experience (regardless of color) seems to trump all; yet, my understanding is that this issue of insiderism and outsiderism is not as important within Detroit’s black communities.  These types of conversations circulate amongst Detroit’s white communities, particularly the white communities that have received ample national attention for their revitalization efforts in Detroit.  I find it ironic that it is frequently white Detroiters who are critical of other white people coming to the city to do artistic or other work.

In many ways, guilt seems to weave in and out of debates regarding insiderism and outsiderism, referencing the affluence of our parents and our grandparents who fled the city, taking most of the cities capital with them.  Only amongst white Detroiters have I heard such heated debates regarding who should and should not be doing X project in Detroit, and, implicitly, who has the right to work, create, develop, and speak on behalf of the city.

Referring to Detroit as one monolithic community assumes that all Detroiters operate from an equal playing field.  It masks who often benefits from Detroit’s reputation as a broken city, as a land of opportunity where one can make a name for themselves and find purpose in the city’s spacious boundaries, while it simultaneously silences those for whom urban plight, abandonment and destitution has been an on-going detriment.  In other words, it enables us to overlook what privileges we may have been afforded in life and, in turn, imbues us with righteous purpose and certitude about what we know is best for this city.  We have lived the day in and day out struggles of Detroit and therefore we can lay claim to knowing something intimate about her.  Yet clearly we have not all experienced Detroit in the same manner; we cannot all claim the same histories of Detroit struggle.

The point is not to dwell on the past or to feel guilty for the privileges we’ve been afforded in life, but to cultivate an awareness that our life experiences inform our understanding of basic, and often assumptive, ways of being.  It is from this recognition that we move forward with a respect for difference.  Our life experiences shape the manner in which we experience and relate to the city of Detroit.  It is up to us to own and acknowledge what we have been afforded in life and recognize when others’ viewpoints come from life experiences we may never fully understand, much less, experience.   However, this beckons the questions: if we are fully aware of our respective privileges in life, how will that shape our day-to-day actions and how should it?  What do we expect to glean from reflecting on a history riddled with racism, hate and discrimination?  What knowledge comes from pondering our socio-economic disparities?

Two weeks after experiencing The Hinterlands amazing performance, Manifest Destiny, I can still hear Calamity Jane’s prophetic words echoing in my ears: “Detroit is the new frontier!”  I think it is worth contemplating the notable similarities between frontiers of the past, particularly the “Wild West,” and new frontiers of today (Detroit) as the settling of these frontiers is never an a-political process.  The West was seen as a blank canvas, ripe for the taking by new settlers.  At the end of the hour and forty-minute performance, after leading the audience through the dry deserts of the Wild West to the brothels of consolation and debauchery, Manifest Destiny led us in a toast to the New World shaped by man.  We sipped from our cups of salty water and only then began to satisfy our thirst.  Here’s to hoping for the recognition of our positions before the water turns to salt.

Rachel Yezbick
Cultural Anthropologist

For more on her work, see Arab Detroit 9/11: Life in the Terror Decade to be released this fall on 9/11/11.

La Vie Bohème!

Oops, wrong version.

Mark Stryker of the Detroit Free Press said of La Bohème that “there is no better starter opera for newcomers,” referencing the “across-the-board” appeal of Puccini’s emotionally nuanced compositions and the overall timelessness and universal accessibility of the opera’s core love story.  Both of these things are true, but I think we need to consider a few other more contemporary factors as well.

La Bohème is also a great “starter opera” because of its pop-cultural familiarity, and not just in its depiction of the shared human experience of love and loss.  Perhaps you’ve heard of a little stage play called Rent?  Or maybe (to a slightly lesser extent) Baz Luhrmann’s 2001 romantic musical Moulin Rouge!?  RENT-heads will find much of La Bohème more than a little familiar, from the self-possessed bawdiness of the Musetta/Maureen character to the duet sung by Mimi and Rodolfo/Roger as she asks him to light her candle and they fall hopelessly in love.  Moulin Rouge! also borrows many of the same plot elements and themes (bohemian subculture in 19th-century Paris, the dying love interest), so anyone new to the opera and/or new to THIS opera will find a lot with which they are already familiar.

This predisposed familiarity will inevitably make audiences more receptive to this Italian opera (with English subtitles).  It also helps that the opera is broken down into four short acts (versus the two long acts most are written as), making it easy to digest without getting sleepy or distracted.  Yes, as a beginner’s opera, La Bohème — the second most-performed opera in the United States — makes for good training wheels.

But it is also, quite simply, a great story, full of love, humor and raw emotion (anger, jealousy, grief).  There is also something impossibly romantic about bohemian Paris (despite the poverty and disease) that lends La Bohème endless intrigue.  The story focuses on the relationship between Mimi and Rodolfo, a seamstress and a writer who live in the same tenement building.  Other characters include Rodolfo’s roommate, the painter Marcello, and Marcello’s torrid relationship with the fun-loving (yet well-intended) free spirit Musetta, as well as more of their bohemian friends.  The heavy-heartedess of the doomed love story is offset by playful interactions amongst the characters, from mostly harmless trickstering to friendly jabbing and horseplay.

The Michigan Opera Theatre’s production of La Bohème at the Detroit Opera House does not miss a beat in balancing the humor with the tragedy.  (After all, life is a little of both, is it not?)  The cast assembled for this production are not only tremendous vocal talents, but also tremendous actors, able to convey playful wit and powerful emotion not only with their refined voices but also in their body language and physical interaction.  A viewer doesn’t need to watch the projected subtitles to still have a good sense of what is happening onstage, once again making it a bit more accessible for opera “n00bs.”  Kelly Kaduce — who plays Mimi on 11/13, 11/17, & 11/20 and who was also the saving grace of the MOT’s Don Giovanni earlier this year — sings with such delicate intonation it makes the emotional expression in her voice seem almost intuitive; she is once again the prize jewel of the production (I wonder how much it will be affected when the role of Mimi is played by soprano Grazia Doronzio on 11/19 & 11/21?).  Kimwana Doner as Musetta is a riot and a diva and a wonder.  The four male bohemian friends — Rodolfo (Francesco Demuro), Marcello (Marian Pop), Colline (Andrew Gray) and Schaunard (Lee Gregory) — were all while males with similarly-coiffed shaggy brown hair of comparable length and all of only slightly varying height and weight which made distinguishing them from each other a bit of a challenge, though this may simply be my own experience having left my glasses at home.

The sets are also impressive, structures made to look like paintings made to look like structures.  Particularly the set for Act 3, which is made to look like a snowy winter night, in which the backdrop looks like the night sky reflecting the light from the moon, the stars, the snow … I swear I could almost see the northern lights.

On opening night the orchestra overpowered the singers’ voices a little, though that seemed to be corrected by the second act.

This was overall a great production with wide audience appeal, though admittedly I left there with “Seasons of Love” and “La Vie Boheme” ringing through my head.  Whether you’re new to the opera or a longtime supporter, La Bohème at the Opera House is a fine production with which to cross this integral piece off of your cultural bucket list.

7:30 p.m. Saturday, Wednesday and Nov. 19-20; 2:30 p.m. Nov. 21. Detroit Opera House, 1526 Broadway, Detroit. 313-237-7464. michiganopera.org. $29-$121.

For the launch event of the 2010-2011 season of the Detroit Passport to the Arts, 400 passport holders were welcomed into the Detroit Opera House for the penultimate performance of Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado. I was warned prior to the performance that it was comedic, even campy. Reading through the cast of characters – names like Nanki-Poo and Yum-Yum – I found myself wondering just what kind of cheesy musical theatre had I committed myself to for the night?

The result was a wacky, delightful opera experience, certainly unlike anything I had ever seen before. Gilbert and Sullivan were known for their bracingly political works satirizing 19th-century British government and aristocracy (ironically what would have been the same audience who attended their shows). The Mikado, set in the fictional “exotic” location of Titipu, Japan – the “exoticness” of which is commented on very directly within the show itself, making a mockery even of what (and why) an audience might believe a place in the ORIENT, the FAR EAST would be “exotic;” in other words, further cutting commentary on the arrogance of the audience that likely went largely unnoticed in Gilbert and Sullivan’s day.

Much of the satirical humor would be lost on modern audiences, or perhaps more accurately would not be appreciated as the biting social commentary it once was. Right from the opening number “If you want to know who we are” sung by the male chorus, court life is described and duly mocked;

“If you think we are worked by strings,
Like a Japanese marionette,
You don’t understand these things:
It is simply Court etiquette.”

Then there is the discussion in the beginning of Act II between Yum-Yum and her handmaids, commenting on how beautiful she is and how much MORE beautiful she is than anyone else in the world: the arrogance of the aristocracy is flayed at every opportunity from the safe removal of being set in such a far-flung foreign land. Characters are bestowed with multiple titles of authority (the Brits did love their lords and chancellors). Witty ridicule becomes outright ridiculousness when considering the entire premise of the story is based on people trying to avoid execution for outlandish reasons — clearly Gilbert and Sullivan were not fond of British imperial law. Death here — specifically unjust execution — is treated lightly, as if it could be so commonplace. The laws are absolutely absurd — flirtation is punishable by death — and the story follows minstrel Nanki-Poo (secretly the Mikado’s son) and Yum-Yum as they try to circumvent the laws requiring both of their executions so they can be together.

The fact that the opera itself is in English and there are also spoken parts make it much more accessible to a wider audience. And what really made this production exceptional was the way in which it was modernized for a contemporary audience and further targeted specifically for this Detroit audience. When Lord High Executioner Ko-Ko (Yum-Yum’s warder and fiance played by Michael Wanko who is hilariously reminiscent of Vizzini in the Princess Bride) performs his “List Aria” in Act I and the Mikado sings “A more humane Mikado” in Act II the lyrics are changed to reflect modern absurdities, everything from “the ladies from The View” to Kwame’s text scandal. At first the audience seemed hesitant to laugh, not really sure if they really just heard the contemporary jokes correctly, but as Ko-Ko continued rattling off his list of modern-day cultural, social, and political offenders (“They’ll none of ‘em be missed!”) the audience broke out in raucous laughter, drowning out half of the remaining jokes. The wink-wink tone and mannerisms Wanko used ensured that the audience knew that ALL of us, cast included, were in on the joke. From that moment on the audience seemed to relax and embrace this irreverent (yet still relevant) production, like opera by way of Monty Python.

The set was very simple, comprised primarily of large ornately-painted “oriental” screens that could be easily rolled across the stage.  The costumes were elegant yet also simple.  The actors were all talented (though I simply couldn’t help but notice that feudal Japan was certainly rather multi-cultural) without a single disappointing or lacking performance in the group, though the real standouts were Wanko and Melissa Parks as Katisha, Nanki-Poo’s mistakenly betrothed.  Parks was a comedic gale force with an equally powerful voice, demanding laughs from the audience as she commands the cast to “BOW!” in “Mi-ya Sa-ma” as easily as she demands tears in her mournful aria “Alone, and yet alive.”  It would also be easy to assume that Arthur Sullivan’s score would take a backseat to the sharp wit of W.S. Gilbert’s lyrics, but the music is also quite beautiful, and despite its satirical undertones, The Mikado is still an earnest love story with a refreshingly happy ending.

In other words, this is not, by ANY stretch of the term, a typical night at the opera.

PS, every time I hear “Three little maids from school are we” I think of the Simpsons; I can’t help it.

Afterwards the DP2A afterparty on the second floor of the Opera House featured sushi and chicken satay as well as Asahi beer, sake and live music from traditional Japanese instrumentalists.  I missed the boat on the sushi unfortunately, but space was packed and I was able to meet some of the other passport holders and chat with DP2A organizers and Opera House staff.  The entire evening was fun and light-hearted, an all-around great way to kick off a new season of arts.

My only complaint?  That it appears the overpaid and overprivileged (yes I said it and I will again: overpaid and overprivileged) DSO musicians will not have their wage disputes resolved in time for DP2A Destination #2 at Orchestral Hall, which was to include a performance of Dvorak’s Symphony No. 9 “From the New World.”  I’m sure an equally great performance will be rescheduled in its place for passport holders, but despite the fact that I’ve seen the DSO perform this piece before I’m still disappointed.  All I can say is that they BETTER get this settled by the end of November because if I don’t see Robert Schumann’s ONLY Violin Concerto performed I WILL cut a bitch.

The accomplishment is impressive, considering that the story for CATS is culled entirely from the poems of T.S. Eliot whose work, in terms of mainstream accessibility, tends to be a bit obtuse. Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats (1939) provided the majority of content, and most of the poems were set to music in their original published form. Others had an occasional tweak to tense or pronoun, eight lines were added to “The Song of the Jellicles,” some lyrics were taken from unpublished works, and “Memory” (probably the most famous and recognizable song from a musical ever) was taken from and inspired by “Rhapsody on a Windy Night.”

Enter the world of the Jellicle cats, where each cat has three different names and their “true” names are things like Jennyanydots, Old Deuteronomy, Bombalurina, and Munkustrap. (The cast is huge and they’re all dressed like cats—it can be hard to keep them straight but, luckily, it’s not all that necessary to do so.)

There really isn’t a storyline, per se…the performance more or less runs as a series of vignettes (separated into songs) that add up to an overall image. What HAPPENS is the cats get together for their annual ball and await the arrival of their patriarch to choose which among them gets to be “reborn” into another cat life (I think I’m already stating the obvious when I say that it is the tattered and taunted Grizabella, she who sings the infamous “Memory,” who receives this honor). The rest is just a lot of singing and acrobatics.

Part of it feels like a fantastical romp through a land of childhood make-believe; another part of it feels like a big gay disco rock opera, with all the spandex and fur and feathered hair and pelvic thrusts (particularly from the Rum Tum Tugger, who looks like one of the Bee Gees as seen through an acid trip). But for the most part, it’s fun and frivolous, and however incomprehensible the plot and lyrics might be it more than makes up for in stellar performances by an extremely talented touring cast.

This cast of cats is full of seasoned vets, many of them having been with the CATS National Touring Company (the only production in North America sanctioned by Andrew Lloyd Webber) for several years. They prowl amongst the audience, crawl across the stage, and sing with great gusto while performing feats of physical prowess. What makes CATS so popular is not its inaccessible literary references, but in its visual spectacle. The staging is set full of platforms and cubbies for the cats to curl up in and disappear inside; they leap and backflip and cartwheel across the stage. The actors display all the energy of cats at play, and that’s what makes it so very fun.

But the true moment of grandeur, the one the audience waits for with anxious anticipation, is when the grisled Grizabella (here played by Anastasia Lange) sings her mournful rendition of “Memory” solo, belting out the final chords with power and triumph, her voice without hesitation. Love it or hate it, there is no denying that this song packs quite an emotional wallop…even if you’re not fully sure why.

Never underestimate the power of blonde ambition. The charming Elle Woods from the 2001 cinematic confection Legally Blonde is back in her own imperturbably perky musical, fresh from a successful Tony Award-winning Broadway run and an unprecedented partnership with MTV (which aired the musical uncut last October to 12.5 million viewers as well as a reality show talent search to cast a new Elle) to tackle a national tour.

Elle Woods is a Delta Nu sorority sister most interested in party planning and her boyfriend Warner. Her ambitions of a future life as Warner’s wife are shattered when he dumps her on the night she thought he was going to propose, so in order to become the “serious” girlfriend Warner seeks she hits the books and gets admitted to Harvard Law. She must overcome a great deal of adversity along the way, much of it coming from people who assume that because she’s blonde and bubbly she must also be an idiot. The ultimate message is the classic “To thine own self be true,” and despite the far-fetched plotline it’s hard not to fall for this unflappable go-getter by the end.

I loved the film Legally Blonde. Reese Witherspoon as Elle Woods had an innocent and infectious charm, and while the film certainly didn’t break any new dramaturgical ground, its message was positive and though frivolous, it was also fun. This was also the film that really first allowed Witherspoon’s high energy leading lady capabilities shine, catapulting her career into the mega-watt star she is today.

Becky Gulsvig captures much of the infectious charm and undeterred energy that Witherspoon gave to the role, even bearing a striking resemblance (particularly in the slightly scrunched face) and a freakishly similar voice. At times her facial expressions seemed a bit too wooden and her dancing too robotic, but her voice was strong and she was able to carry off the bubble gum pop princess role in a way that was sweet without being sickly.

The production celebrates all the camp that made the film so great in the first place: Elle’s bubble-headed Delta Nu sisters with bottle-blonde brains but sincere intentions, the over-the-top PINKNESS of the stage and Elle’s various ensembles (LOVE the boots she first enters Harvard with, btw). The stage often looks like a candy shoppe (that’s with an extra “p” and “e”) decked out for Breast Cancer Awareness month (which just so happens to be the month of October), but it suits the production well. The sets are not elaborate but change quickly and rather seamlessly from glossy California locales to stately Massachusetts courthouses and classrooms, and they all work quite well, save for the backdrop of a generic sky at sunset that is sometimes used when the characters are supposed to be indoors.

While it would be easy to attribute some of the notable hiccups to opening night jitters, this cast has been touring on this production for over a year and that hardly seems a fair assessment. The choreography leaves something to be desired, which is probably for the best anyway since a majority of the dancers didn’t seem very sure-footed. The singers vary in talent, though Megan Lewis as Vivienne Kensington proves to be the show’s sleeper when she belts out in a powerful voice that eclipses all the others towards the end.

The first act fumbles along with musical numbers that run minutes past the point they should have ended if they knew what was best for them and jokes that fall horribly, embarrassingly flat. The signature line from the film, when Warner asks Elle (his voice full of disbelief) “You got into Harvard Law?” and Elle replies with a cheerfully snappy, “What, like it’s hard?” doesn’t garner so much as a giggle from the audience. “Daughter of Delta Nu” and “What You Want”—which act as the replacement for the film’s montage of Elle studying and finally being accepted into the school—is a mess; chaotic, disorderly, and ultimately distracting. Particularly when the reason for her finally being accepted is “for love,” as opposed to for her merit as in the film which gave the story more integrity. Paulette’s romantic diversion “Ireland” goes on WAAAAAAY too long, and honestly could probably be cut out entirely. And the addition of Elle’s gaggle of sorority sisters as a “Greek Chorus” is wholly unnecessary and confusing.

But thankfully the production really comes into its own in the second act. The musical numbers are tighter, the jokes funnier, and the addition of a few key scene-stealing characters (Brooke Wyndham, as played by Courtney Wolfson; Nikos Argitakos the poolboy, as played by Constantine Rousouli; and Kyle the UPS delivery man, as played hysterically by Ven Daniel) completes what was missing from the first act. This is when the production finally plays up the savvy side of the story’s campiness, and injects some much-needed gay appeal. The number “There! Right There!” in which the cast questions “Is he gay or is he European?” injects smart cultural humor into the show and immediately becomes a raucous good time. From there it is all smiles for the “Legally Blonde Remix” and “Ohmigod You Guys” (Reprise), which had everyone cheering by the end. Ultimately it is fun, frivolous, and heart-warming, much like the film.

Oh, and I should probably also note: Elle’s chiuahua Bruiser and Paulette’s English bulldog Rufus, both trained by animal trainer to the stars William Berloni, will just simply melt your little hearts.

For fans of the film, some liberties are taken with the plot but most is plucked straight from the script. The spirit and message of the film is very much the same, though presented a bit differently. One adjustment I found particularly enjoyable was the deeper development of the relationship between Elle and Emmett, which is drawn out longer and includes more of them spending time together and falling in love. Though I think the biggest downfall of this musical is that it takes a 90-minute movie and turns it into a two and a half hour piece of musical theatre…damn near as long as Les Miserables. A tighter script and shortened (or outright deleted) musical numbers would serve this play very, very, like omigod totally well.

Legally Blonde the Musical can’t hold itself against severe critiquing but as a simple pink powder puff of musical theatre, it works just fine. It had me singing “Ohmigod, ohmigod you guys” for hours afterwards, and as they say in showbiz, that’s entertainment!

Legally Blonde the Musical plays at Detroit’s historic Fisher Theatre through November 1, 2009. Performances are Tuesday-Sunday at 8:00PM, Saturday matinee 2:00PM, Sunday matinee 1:00PM, with one Thursday matinee October 29 at 1:00PM and Sunday evening October 25 at 6:30PM. Tickets are $30-80 and are available at the Fisher Theatre box office or online at www.broadwayindetroit.com. Find out more about this national touring production at http://tour.legallyblondethemusical.com.

One of its longest and most popular runs was the 10-year engagement at Toronto’s Canon (then Pantages) Theatre, where the stage was constructed specifically to host The Phantom. This is where I saw it the first time, a decade ago in its final year at the Pantages, and I certainly never thought any other production would be as elaborate, as extensive as this, where all the construction was done specifically with The Phantom in mind.

I was curious to see how the Detroit Opera House would handle such an extravagant production (and more so what adjustments would be made to accommodate the stage), and was absolutely blown away.

The Phantom of the Opera at the Detroit Opera House is an accomplished production, a visual and aural feast, a well-oiled machine in which every cog performs its function to perfection, from the performers to the production design team.

The story of The Phantom is a haunting love story—a tale of passion, longing, desperation, and fear, and above all else, a tale of love. Overwhelming, obsessive, destructive love.

Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux and adapted for the stage by the crown prince and patron saint of musical theatre, Andrew Lloyd Webber, The Phantom of the Opera is set inside a Parisian opera house and tells the story of the tragically disfigured “Phantom” (a majestic Tim Martin Gleason) and his love for Swedish ingénue Christine Daaé (an ethereal Trista Moldovan). The Phantom, who both inspires and terrifies the opera house’s performers and management, aids Christine in developing her voice and places her in a position above the resident opera diva (played with slapstick aplomb by Kim Stengel), until he is driven mad(-der) by his jealousy over the budding romance between Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny (a solid performance from Sean MacLaughlin), and his beloved Christine.

As it is set in an opulent Parisian opera house and features a number of microperformances within the musical itself (bits of operas and ballets performed on this Opera House’s “stage,” all with their own music, choreography, and stage sets), The Phantom is an ambitious undertaking for any stage. As I’ve already noted, I wasn’t sure what to expect of this traveling production. But when the Phantom and Christine descend into the catacombs in Scene 4 of Act One, I was simply awestruck. The mechanized ramps high over the stage with the use of body doubles to create the illusion of descent, followed by the boat carrying the Phantom and Christine “gliding” over the lake, where hundreds of candles magically rise up from the stage, covered by fog, only to vanish entirely seconds later—the effect is pure enchantment.

This is why audiences all over world have fallen in love with this musical for decades: it is the tragic tale of unrequited love (that perhaps we can all relate to) and the sympathy we feel for the Phantom; it is the renewed hope we feel in the burgeoning love between Raoul and Christine; it is in the magic orchestrated by the Phantom, a masterful musician and magician whose power is reflected in the enormous set pieces that appear and vanish like so much air, and in the way each scene takes on so much life of its own. Audience members are transported to these different places: the rooftop of the Opera House bathed in the light of the moon; the labyrinthine catacombs where the Phantom makes his home; the seats of the Opera House’s own audience, viewing the Phantom’s destruction onstage as the Parisian audience would.

This production of The Phantom is impossibly grand in scale, a monumental achievement which woos audiences with its stunning visuals and its astounding performances. As Christine, Trista Moldovan’s voice soars like a nightingale. Youthful, demure, feminine, and powerful, her performance of “Angel of Music” and her bewitchment by the Phantom cuts like a knife through the heart. Tim Martin Gleason as the Phantom is strong and somber, a majestic ghost whose voice has a presence and stature that his corporeal form may lack (according to the story, anyway). Kim Stengel as the obnoxious opera diva Carlotta Giudicelli is wonderfully hilarious, showing off her stellar pipes while also poking fun at herself. Other supporting members of the cast were graceful and competent, playing up to the story’s sense of sorrow, hope, devastation, and humor in turn.

There are a number of immense sets utilized throughout the production, each more grand than the one before. The stage is rigged with a complicated system of lavish curtains, moving set pieces (such as the extravagant chandelier and the sculpture over the stage where the Phantom hides from Christine and Raoul), ramps, pulleys, a grand staircase, massive mirrors, and more. The hundreds of costumes and thousands of meters of fabrics used for the curtains are sumptuous, intricately detailed and made of the finest silks and wools. Every element of this production is breath-taking, full of visual splendor.

But even without the curtain dressing (so to speak), it is still the chillingly provocative love story that speaks to the hearts of audiences worldwide, and the haunting music that accompanies it.

This Detroit production continues through September 27th Tuesdays-Sundays. For showtimes and ticket information, visit Broadway in Detroit.

Additional note:
In 2010, Webber’s sequel to The Phantom of the Opera, called The Phantom: Love Never Dies, is set to premiere. The story moves forward several years to New York City, where the Phantom lures Christine (now married with children to Raoul) to sing once again. I will openly admit I have serious misgivings about this sequel, and I suspect a good number of Phantom fans will too. The Phantom of the Opera is a complete story as it is. To explore it once again is unnecessary, and smacks faintly of “cashing in the cow.” As so many sequels (and those who produce them) so thoughtlessly do, preliminary accounts of the plotline appear dismissive of the soul of the original. Where The Phantom of the Opera is after your heart, this new production just seems to be after your wallet. Purists are bound to be disappointed, and this sequel will likely be no more than a pale shadow of the original. The setting on Coney Island may be intriguing, but the Phantom belongs in his catacombs.

The Spirit of Rent: Christine Chemello as Mimi

I hate Rent. Since seeing it performed at the Fox Theatre almost a decade ago, I’ve been pretty outspoken about how over-the-top, hyper-sentimentalized, and over-hyped I thought it was. After all the buzz, I was simply disappointed. I was further perturbed by the fact that this rock opera about bohemian artists grappling with poverty, discrimination, and AIDS in New York’s squatter artist community Alphabet City was in direct and almost hypocritical contrast to the big-budget Broadway production that was attracting crowds from all over the country and legions of die-hard “Rent-heads,” all of whom could afford to purchase the hefty $85 Broadway tickets. To me, the very people that made it the smashing success it had become (one of the most successful musicals of all time) were by socio-economic nature incapable of relating to the characters that the musical was actually about. The irony was simply too thick; coupled with the fact that I related its achievement to the ridiculous Cats—which is and always will be the de facto reference point for all over-produced, excessively cloying, mass-marketed musicals—and the very thought of Rent made me weary, sighing the way only a self-important know-it-all like myself can sigh, especially when other self-important know-it-alls would lecture me on how wrong I was.

After seeing the Who Wants Cake? Theatre’s production of Rent at the Ringwald Theatre in Ferndale…I was wrong. I specifically wanted to see this production because I knew if there were any theatre troupe that could make me like this musical, it would be Who Wants Cake? By the finale, teary-eyed after Angel Dumott Schunard’s return to the stage, it would be impossible for even a cynic like me to not fall in love with this story, these characters, this music.

Rent, written by the late Jonathan Larson, is loosely based on Giacomo Puccini’s opera La bohème. It is set in New York City’s East Village in the late-‘80s, when “Alphabet City” was home to impoverished ethnic families and struggling artists living a bohemian lifestyle. La bohème translates well into late-20th-century America, as Puccini’s opera dealt with struggling artists living a bohemian lifestyle in early-19th-century Paris (and in which one of the main characters is also living with a fatal illness). Rent follows Mark Cohen, a Jewish filmmaker, as he documents the lives of him and his friends over one year. They fall in and out of love and fight to keep their autonomy as free-wheeling artists and their dignity as underprivileged, socially scorned, and (in some cases) terminally ill citizens. The cast is a multicultural cross-section of the pre-gentrified East Village: black, white, Latino/a, Jewish, gay, straight, rich, poor, drug-addicted, sexually uninhibited, with and without AIDS. There is a great deal of complexity built into these characters’ backgrounds and in their interactions; the story tackles issues of prejudice, poverty, illness, discrimination, temptation, and class struggles, but at its very core, it is a love story.

I caught opening night at the Ringwald, which was introduced by a very gracious and sincere Joe Bailey, whom I absolutely adore (seeing him perform in a leading comedic role should be on a list somewhere of Top 100 Things Every Detroiter Must Do). It was almost a full house that evening…which isn’t difficult, considering how tiny the theatre is.

But this is exactly what made this experience of Rent so much more enjoyable: it felt like Rent the way Rent was meant to be seen. Personal, intimate, almost as if the audience was part of the action itself. The stage and props were simple; most of it could probably be found at a yard sale or a junk yard (I speak here specifically of the plastic wrap and wire fencing suspended above the stage, meant to give more of a sense of a squatter’s domain). There was simply nothing inherently over-the-top “Broadway” about this production: this was Rent DIY-style, and it worked.

The actors needed no microphones, as the space itself is probably only about 500 square feet (sometimes their voices project too loudly, but only as a result of such close proximity). They walk amongst the audience and are never more than a few feet away (close enough to see their sweat under those hot lights). The audience thus becomes much more intimately involved in the show—much moreso than they would, say, sitting in the back half of the upper balcony at the Fox…or the Nederlander Theatre in Times Square.

The cast varied from competent to outstanding. It was unfortunate that some members of the ensemble cast were stronger singers than a few of the leads, though by looking at each of the ensemble members there really were no leading roles appropriate for them to play. Ashlee Armstrong had a wonderful voice but a baby’s face; the program states that she is fresh out of college though I suspect she might have been on an accelerated program, one of those child prodigies that have a Bachelor’s degree by the time they’re 17. Others just didn’t quite have the right “look,” like Richard Payton who, God bless him, couldn’t pass for a vicious drug dealer or an angry nightstick-wielding officer for all the Prada shoes in the world. However, the fact that the supporting cast was as strong (if not stronger) than some of the leads is far more desirable than having a hodgepodge of second-rate second-stringers, and because of this the cast is far stronger as a group than they are individually.

Joanne (Shondra Tipler) is magnificent, and it is unfortunate she does not have more opportunity to showcase her stupendous pipes solo. Collins (Dez Walker) starts out a little too understated but soon finds his form as a soulful lead. Leads Mimi (Christine Chemello), Mark (Patrick Kilbourn), and Roger (PJ Vasquez) are all at times shaky, their voices sounding a little unsure. This could easily be attributed to it being opening night, but would also mean certain death on Broadway.

Thank God this isn’t Broadway.

Jitters or no, it was obvious that these actors were not only wholly invested in their roles, but also that they were having a tremendous amount of fun onstage. The ad-libs and witty one-line improvisations uttered by Angel and Mark are brilliantly quirky and fun.  But the moment of absolute joie de vivre came with the full cast’s performance of “La Vie Boheme,” which succeeded in having more spirit, more sass, and more vie than the much poppier, much more polite Broadway version (the interplay between Angel and Maureen is worth seeing repeatedly). The smiles at the end of this wildly energetic performance could not be contained, neither by the actors nor by the audience.

He Just Doesn't Look the Same Without the Make-Up and Heels: Vince Kelley as Angel

Ask any Rent-head and they’ll happily tell you who their favorite characters are and why; odds are pretty good that one will be either Angel or Maureen. Maureen, the character who doesn’t even appear until nearly halfway through the play (though her presence is felt much earlier on with the playful and instantly memorable duet between Joanne and Mark, Tango: Maureen), and Angel, the character who does exactly what the very best stage performers know to do: always leave them wanting more. Inside the Ringwald Theatre, Angel (the silky-voiced Vince Kelley) and Maureen (played as more slapstick and less self-serious by Annie Reinholz) were the unmatched show-stealers. Their voices, their energy, their presence eclipsed the other performers onstage. Kelley and Reinholz were the perfect performers for these larger-than-life roles, transforming these characters into the explosive personalities they are meant to be. There is no denying that Angel is pure magic and Maureen is a powerhouse; it was thrilling to see these two stars shine as brightly as they did.

Rent’s tremendous popularity is due in large part to the fact that it is about regular people with real problems in contemporary society, problems that almost any theatre-goer can relate to, whether it be feeling as if you’re nothing more than an observer of life, feeling a reluctant temptation to “sell out,” or desperately wanting to be loved as you are. The heartbreak, the humor, the honest emotions—this is why Rent is so well able to connect with so many audience members. The folks at Who Wants Cake? nailed it with this production.

The WWC? production is less poppy, more gritty, more rough-around-the-edges, more intimate, more real than its immensely more polished Manhattan counterpart, and it bursts with the kind of frenetic energy that perfectly suits this ragtag group of carpe diem against-the-odds artists. Maybe it’s because that same spirit of hope in the face of despair, of creation over desolation, is still alive here in Detroit, whereas in Alphabet City that spirit was long ago replaced by $774/sq.ft. studio-sized co-ops, while a few subway stops away an older, pre-gentrified version of the area was being presented onstage to 1,200 people nightly who each paid $85+/seat. Somehow, it’s just different. Here in Detroit, in the 85-seat Ringwald Theatre in the bohemian-inspired suburb of Ferndale, Rent takes on a whole new meaning, a whole new energy. And I loved every minute of it.

RENT plays now through Monday, September 28th. Performances times are 8PM Friday, Saturday, and Monday nights with the Sunday matinees beginning at 3PM. Tickets for RENT are $25.00 for Fridays and Saturday performances, $20.00 for Sunday matinees and Mondays are still only $10 a ticket! Reservations may be made by phone at 248-545-5545 or online at www.WhoWantsCakeTheatre.com. The box office opens 30 minutes before performances.

Madness? This is Detroit.

In April the group of performers loosely collectively known as “Theatre Bizarre” (known for their yearly Halloween fete which is probably best likened to a demented 1930s-era Coney Island) put on a show called “Wonderland,” and Disney it ain’t. An adaptation of Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, creators Casey Miller and Jason McCombs are insistent that this production has nothing to do with the tamer Disney tale, and truth be told, this is really the kind of production that could only happen in Detroit.

Imagine: a popular burlesque performer as Alice. A dominatrix doing a striptease as the White Rabbit. Bellydancers as the Queen of Hearts and one half of the Caterpillar (the other half being a suspended trapeze act). And you probably can’t even imagine what that mad Tea Party looked like.

Yes, this is Detroit, the city in which two guys can have an idea for a wildly over-the-top, elaborate, multi-act stage performance and in five months be showing it in one of the countless tucked-away nooks of the 2.2 million square feet of artist salvage space known as the Russell Industrial Center. If they tried to pull this off in New York, there would have been a host of preening celebrities in the audience, the stage actors would have all had an over-inflated sense of self importance and would have been tripping over each other for a chance to speak with media members, tickets would have ranged into the hundreds of dollars and would have been impossible to get (earning bragging rights for those who would snag them), and it would have probably happened in some ultra-stark minimalist hyper-trendy gallery where people with feigned foreign accents would have commented on the brilliance and vision of the directors while sipping champagne and exchanging business cards. And that suspension act would never have flown. (Literally.)

You get where I’m going with this: something like this could happen only in Detroit, where the arts have yet to be tainted by money. There is no great financial gain here: for a show like this, these guys were probably lucky just to cover costs. These artists don’t do it for the money or the fame (and in fact sneer at some of the mainstream media coverage); they do it because they’re true artists. And it is this unwavering DIY mentality that keeps Detroit’s artists’ community thriving, as well as keeping it a community rather than a competition.

Here in Detroit, if you want something done you’ve got to do it yourself. This DIY code extends to all facets of Detroit living, but never is it more apparent than when you see a production like “Wonderland.” Miller and McCombs had an idea sometimes last November to put on an adaptation of the Lewis Carroll story. They decided which characters from the story they wanted to use, then thought of different area performers who might be appropriate for the roles. Some choices were obvious from the start (Satori Circus as the Duchess was one), others they were unsure about but ultimately worked even better than they could have imagined. They approached Drew Bardo of local music act the Questions, who then composed all original music for the show ranging from straightforward rock to hypnotic gypsy dance to hip-hop to Hindustani. Many of these performers are part of the larger group that put on “Theatre Bizarre,” though credit for the creation of the show belongs entirely to Miller and McCombs.

All illustrations, set pieces, stage, lighting, even curtains were all created by this group. The mastermind behind Theatre Bizarre John Dunivant illustrated the various set pieces used, including the many different images projected on the centerpiece “book.” (The curtains were actually Jerry Belanger’s, owner of Detroit’s Park Bar, but hey—sometimes DIY has to include a little bit of borrowing.) Costumes were designed by Hayley Jane Nickerson, who also sang and performed as the voice of Alice.

The resulting show called “Wonderland” is a visual feast: a throwback to the old vaudeville performances and a celebration of Detroit’s very strong underground vaudeville scene. It is a rock-n-roll show, gritty yet sexy, lacking the polish or refinement of Broadway and entirely Rust Belt in its presentation. Imaginative, erotic, and shocking—this is an adaptation of Alice to make Lewis Carroll proud…assuming that there’s truth to the whole mushroom/drug thing and that Carroll would be into burlesque. In either case, it’s best to leave the kiddies at home.

The show opens with a solo performance from Russell Taylor, née Satori Circus. The first piece shows him with a 10-yard-long penis being pulled out of his pants by Hayley Jane. The next features him in a diaper. You should know by now that this is not going to be your average stage show.

When Alice appears, played by Windsor’s own popular burlesque performer Roxi D’Lite, she’s daydreaming while doing the splits. The White Rabbit—played appropriately by dominatrix Jessica Rabbit—goes running by and leads Alice to the rabbit hole, and her descent is done as an aerial performance in a suspended hoop with illustrated walls whizzing by on the screen behind her.

Alice’s giant tears shed at her sudden enormity compliments of the “Eat Me” cake (for sale by the bar) then become a sea for her to swim once she shrinks in size again, which lent itself nicely to an elaborate dance culminating in Alice bursting topless out of a balloon, representing a water bubble.

When Alice stumbles across the giant Caterpillar, Miss Juliana (bottom half) performed a belly dance before breaking away so Warrior Girl (top half) could do an aerial trapeze act.

In the next part of Alice’s adventures, Alice finds the Duchess (Satori Circus) who callously throws her baby around, and meets the marvelous Cheshire Cat (Flec Sybil Mindscape; aka Douglas Michael Schell), whose permanent ear-to-ear grin and wide-open eyes made this character a fast favorite.

No adaptation of Alice would be complete without the Mad Hatter and the March Hare and their everlasting tea party. These characters were played by Pend Suspension, staples of the Dirty Show and the most experienced suspension team in West Michigan. If you’ve never seen a suspension act before, look closely at the pictures. Not for the squeamish, but definitely great for shock value and strangely appropriate for these two characters.

The Dormouse (literally, “sleeping mouse”) crawls out from under the tea table to sing us a song before retiring once again. This adorable little creature with the angelic voice was played by Nichole of Sultry Surfers of the Apocalypse.

At this point Alice finally finds her way to the garden of the Queen of Hearts, where the guards are busy trying to paint the roses red…and break down to some mad beats. Hardcore Detroit breakdance performers are the infamous pack of cards.

The scowling Queen of Hearts and her hopelessly helpless King (bellydancer Shetan Noir and Ringmaster Zeb) take the stage and involve Alice in a ludicrous court proceeding, but first we see the finale of the White Rabbit’s epic striptease (as songstress Hayley Jane pointed out, epic in the true sense of the word), who would scamper across the stage between acts removing only one piece of clothing at a time, resulting in a striptease lasting roughly 90 minutes.

During court, Alice performs one final strip tease of her own (I need to try that next time I fight a speeding ticket), and then wakes up from this wonderfully bizarre dream.

All stage actors pantomime to the words (culled directly from Carroll’s work) spoken offstage by the vocal performers, and there was also a full band playing all of the original music headed up by Bardo and jokingly referred to by Miller as the “10-6” band (a reference to the Mad Hatter’s hat).

“Wonderland” is very much a product of its time and place. A Rust Belt rock and roll vaudeville theatre extravaganza, this could easily become Detroit’s own Rocky Horror Picture Show, complete with people shouting “WHO ARE YOU?” and coming dressed in costume. Even right down to the space in which it was performed—the Motor City Movie House inside the RIC—it is a product of its place. The Russell Industrial Center exists now only as a salvaged art space, and continues to exist only because artists have taken over the space for studios, galleries, and performances (much like what has been done with other spaces such as the CAID and the Bohemian National Home). What would otherwise be a true Midwestern industrial wasteland is now instead a vibrant, thriving creative community, making art out of the decay. Detroit-style DIY. This is a theatre performance wholly unique to Detroit—to Detroit’s artists, to Detroit’s audience, to Detroit’s spaces. And something like this gives me a certain amount of pride knowing that there is nothing happening quite like this anywhere else in the world.

Watching “Wonderland,” I got the feeling that I was experiencing a unique moment in time; something that is fleeting; something impermanent. This was one of those moments I wish I could freeze and return to at will, but in all likelihood, it was a moment that will linger in my memories forever, never to be repeated again. I can only hope that Miller and McCombs will decide to do it all over again next year; I’ll be the first to arrive in costume.

Oh, but one last thing: I would be remiss if I didn’t also mention the toy train, powered by a not-toy tractor, which offered transportation from the freight elevator to the performance space in the form of a topsy-turvy/swervy train ride powered by a mad man. But then again: we’re all mad here, aren’t we?

All photos by Sean McClelland.

The cast of “The Pendergrass Fortune or Liars and Moneygrubbers” duke it out
with their flashlights as they try to decide which one of them will star in the theater’s
one-man show. (From left to right: Ryan Falcheck, Jamie Kolacki, Savannah Lee
and Brett Radke.)

So, the plot is a bit of a no-brainer, but “The Pendergrass Fortune or Liars and Moneygrubbers,” by Travis Walter, is complicated enough by its quirky cast of characters. Think of your favorite movie rife with physical comedy — something with Steve Martin, perhaps — and you will understand the scope of this show. It is a hysterically funny portrayal of all the things that could go awry in a theater, and the greatest injustice of the entire production is that it will only run at Meadow Brook Theatre for two nights.

When the theater begins experiencing financial trouble, the only logical solution management can come up with is to run a low-budget, one-man show within the season. But when four actors show up to play the only role, egotistical chaos ensues. Eventually, they compromise by splitting up the characters and performing the show together. After everyone dons their costumes and the stage is set, the play within this play can finally begin.

Before Mrs. Pendergrass (Ryan Falcheck) can meet with her lawyer Simon Le Deux II (Jamie Kolacki) to rewrite her will, she is found face-down in her garden, beaten to death with a decorative gnome figurine. Simon attempts to help the on-site inspector, aptly named Rather Dim (Ryan Falcheck), solve the case of who killed Mrs. Pendergrass. But this is no easy feat with an ever-evolving cast of red herrings! Complete with the unhappily married son Julius Pendergrass (Brett Radke) and his greedy and domineering wife Melisande (Savannah Lee); the “slow” cousin Charlie (Ryan Falcheck) with a blanket named Mama’s Little Baby; and Simon’s old flame Danielle (Brett Radke), who had a sex change after their breakup and now goes by “Dan,” this show is nothing short of hilarious.

Director Lauren Coleman did a fantastic job with the cast! Their physical comedy was some of the best I’ve seen in theatre in a long time, and the facial expressions these actors made had the audience gasping with laughter. The actors were so funny the laughter was hard to stifle, which occasionally meant some lines were hard to hear. This made the uncomplicated plot a necessity — despite a missed line here or there, the storyline was still easy to follow.

Augmenting the hilarious staging was the lack of scenery. Because this show is rather haphazardly thrown together by four competing actors with no budget, the set is left mostly to the audience’s imagination, except for a few benches, tables and chairs. Therefore, the actors have to work around mimed walls and staircases, which seem convincingly solid, albeit invisible, when the characters constantly run into them. Reid G. Johnson’s lighting also does an incredible job of defining spaces on the stage when the scenery just can’t make the grade. What is supposed to be a technically sparse show to save money, feels far better equipped with its makeshift and imagined effects than it really is.

With its terrible dialects, stunt falls and invisible walls, “The Pendergrass Fortune or Liars and Moneygrubbers” is worth far more than the suggested $5 admission. It will leave you fighting for air and holding your sides — but only if you hurry: Remember, it closes tonight!

“The Pendergrass Fortune or Liars and Moneygrubbers” runs April 6 and 7 at the Meadow Brook Theatre at 2200 N Squirrel Rd. in Rochester on the Oakland University campus. $5 suggested donation.

Killer Joe (Joel Mitchell) looms over timid and innocent
Dottie Smith (Christa Coulter) in the Who Wants Cake?
production of “Killer Joe” at the Ringwald Theatre.

Sitting through “Killer Joe,” by Tracy Letts, is like watching your worst nightmare at gunpoint—except you are holding the gun. This vulgar and uncomfortably well-acted show is just suspenseful enough to keep you in your seat until the end. But you will squirm while you sit. Unlike the other two Who Wants Cake? productions I’ve reviewed, this one is not wacky and over the top; it’s over-the-top creepy.

Chris Smith (Jon Ager) has gotten himself into about $6,000 worth of trouble with a vicious local guy, who is very anxious to have his money back. When Chris’ mother Adele steals and sells the drugs Chris was going to use to pay the guy off, Chris decides she would be worth more dead than alive: Adele has a $50,000 life insurance policy that lists Chris’ malleable little sister Dottie (Christa Coulter) as the sole beneficiary. Conveniently, Chris has also just heard about a detective on the police force, who has a side-job as an assassin and would kill his mother for about half of the policy amount. Even after payment and splitting the remainder four ways — between Chris, Dottie, their father Ansel (Jamie Richards) and their stepmother Sharla (Jamie Warrow) — Chris could pay off his debt and get out of trouble. But Killer Joe (Joel Mitchell) won’t work without advanced payment — unless they can agree upon a suitable retainer. And from there, the spoilers entangle themselves into a plot of indescribable mayhem.

I’m not sure who to hold accountable for the creepiness of “Killer Joe.” Tracy Letts wrote a gruesome script, for which director Joe Plambeck had a cohesively grisly vision, which the actors performed with eerie realism. The gun shots and the smoke I could handle, but a warning that was missing from the pre-show announcements was “uncomfortably awkward sexual moments that will make your skin crawl.” One small, half-consenting step away from rape, the scene that closes the first act could almost make you run back to your car at intermission. But, like the clichéd train wreck you can’t bear to wrench your eyes from, the uncertainty of how this disaster could possibly end, may keep you in your seat — or standing in front of it, stretching the leg muscles you unconsciously tensed all through the first half.

The only unthreatening part of this show is its set, designed by Michelle Becker. Its grungy, kitsch-strewn walls and surfaces and shabby, deteriorating or makeshift furniture made for a convincing, backwoods trailer in the South. Sound effects of snarling dogs and thunder storms provided ominous overtones, understatedly boding the uncomfortable awkwardness to come. Even the lighting helped to set the mood, illuminating even the darkest scenes just enough for us to see more than we could possibly want to. Everything came together artfully to create a consistently disturbing effect. And it worked. Well.

This is not necessarily a show I’d recommend taking your parents to (as I did), but if you and your friends like that antsy feeling that makes you want to run screaming for the characters’ sake, the Ringwald has a winner for you. The cast plays intense, messed up characters so fantastically that, if you can sit through the whole thing, your subsequent nightmares will definitely be realistic.

“Killer Joe” runs April 3 – 27 at the Ringwald Theatre at 22742 Woodward Ave in Ferndale. Tickets range from $10 – $20. Shows are Friday through Monday at various times available on their website: www.whowantscaketheatre.com.