In a world that can sometimes feel painfully divided, The Keeton’s Come From Away arrives as a beautifully timed reminder that when everything else falls away, kindness can still bring us together. While Irene Sankoff and David Hein’s Come From Away score is effective in the moment, it’s not exactly one of those musicals filled with earworms audiences are likely to be singing or rushing out to download on their Broadway playlists. That said, there are moments in musical theatre when a production becomes more than the sum of its songs, characters and choreography. The Keeton’s Come From Away is one of those productions.
Set in the immediate aftermath of September 11, 2001, Come From Away tells the remarkable true story of the 38 planes diverted to Gander, Newfoundland, leaving thousands of passengers unexpectedly stranded in a small community. But rather than focusing on the tragedy itself, the musical turns its attention toward what happened next: strangers opening their homes, sharing what little they had, forming unlikely friendships and discovering that compassion can flourish even in the darkest circumstances.
Under the direction of Susan Walsworth, with musical direction by Trey Lundquist, choreography by Mckenna Driver and set design/tech director courtesy Kevin Driver, The Keeton’s production captures that spirit with an ensemble that understands the show’s greatest strength is its collective heartbeat. Each of these creative, and the cast, come together to present a cohesive piece that presents the technical elements in a minimalist way. Effective, but never overpowering or competing with the strengths of the story and those tasked with bringing it to emotionally charged life.
With an obvious nod to the original Broadway run’s scenic design by Beowulf Boritt, for The Keeton’s production, Kevin Driver and his scenic team (Abby Waddoups, Donna Driver, Aras Alexander, Eric Bradley and Crystal Liles) construct a seemingly simple but successful set. The backdrop, a stripped-down horizontal slat wall that beautifully plays with Jesse Watts’ lighting design. Also reminiscent of the original set design, Keeton’s stage is flanked on either side by tall, thin but sturdy trees that extend out of sight above the action. Driver and company nicely represent the play’s locale with the added touch of downstage rock formations, giving just a hint of a rocky-shored island vibe. No need for elaborate set pieces or projections representing the various scene locations. Throughout the action of the piece, a chair can represent a seat on a plane, a place at a table, a passenger waiting for answers or simply another piece of the constantly shifting landscape. To that end, the choreography by Mckenna Driver works hand-in-hand with that concept, keeping the ensemble in perpetual motion and allowing the story to move with the same speed and urgency as the characters’ rapidly changing circumstances. Here, chairs become airplanes one moment, a bus headed to parts unknown the next, and then a crowded airport filled with weary strangers who somehow become fast friends. If you read my column with any regularity, you know I love a bit of chairography (blame Sweet Charity’s Shirley MacLaine or Janet Jackson if you want) and in Come From Away, chairography—a wonderfully inventive use of the simplest theatrical object to create an entire world—is key.
There may be twelve cast members, but the way Come From Away is presented, each cast member plays at least two roles: those of the displaced passengers and crew of the diverted planes and the townspeople of Gander, Newfoundland. At the center of the ensemble is Melissa Silengo, whose performance as Beverly Bass is nothing short of a powerhouse. Silengo brings an impressive combination of authority, vulnerability and warmth to the role of the pioneering female pilot. Her rendition of “Me and the Sky” is one of the production’s defining moments, taking Beverly from a young girl captivated by the possibility of flight through the challenges of becoming a pilot and ultimately into the extraordinary circumstances that put her leadership to the test. Silengo never plays Beverly simply as a heroic figure; she gives her humanity, making the character’s determination all the more affecting.
As for the passengers, Yolanda Treece’s Hannah, is equally heartbreaking. Her story, particularly as she waits desperately for word about her son, gives the production some of its most emotionally devastating moments. Treece allows Hannah’s grief to unfold with restraint rather than melodrama, making the quiet moments every bit as powerful as the big ones. When the characters gather in prayer, the scene becomes a poignant reminder that despite differences in religion, nationality and circumstance, there are some fears and hopes that belong to all of us.
Then there are the Kevins. Justin Tinker as Kevin J. and Jason Scott as Kevin T. provide some of the production’s most welcome humor while never losing sight of the humanity underneath it. Their relationship gives the audience permission to laugh amid the heavier material, and the chemistry between the two actors makes their banter particularly enjoyable. Their scenes are a reminder that even during extraordinary circumstances, people are still people—and sometimes humor is exactly how we survive the unbearable. Tinker gives Kevin J. a wonderfully complicated edge, while Scott brings Kevin T. an appealing warmth. Together, “the Kevins” are one of the production’s comedic bright spots.
Another unexpected delight is the developing relationship between Ben Gregory’s Nick and Ashlie Welte-Lopez’s Diane. What begins almost as an accidental connection between two people caught in an extraordinary situation gradually becomes something genuinely sweet. Their relationship never feels forced; instead, it grows naturally out of conversation, curiosity and the simple comfort of having someone beside you when you suddenly find yourself very far from home. Gregory and Welte-Lopez find the tenderness in those moments, giving the audience one more reason to smile.
The rest of the ensemble fills Gander with an infectious sense of personality. Brian Best’s Claude, the Mayor of Gander, reveals grace and a bit of befuddlement under pressure (what’s up with those cargo pants though?). Stephanie Jackson’s Beulah is the take charge Gander resident who keeps things moving in a time of crisis, while finding time to slow down and offer friendship, in particular to Treece’s Hanna. Leslie King’s Bonnie shows that empathy extends beyond the people affected by tragedy. Her scene with unseen animals in the cargo holds end up being some of the show’s most emotionally charged moments. Jack Joiner’s Oz, the constable and other minor roles provide more humor and heart. Jayden Murphy’s Bob, a young man who’s uncertain about “collecting bbq grills’ from Gander residents’ yards to help feed the masses provides a bit of humor, but also examines prejudices. Claire Yancey’s Janice, newbie local reporter who’s thrown into the spotlight on her first day on the job, adds another layer of self-doubt were crisis is concerned. Each ensemble member, regardless of their role, contributes distinct—at times humorous and through-provoking pieces—to the community that ultimately becomes the emotional center of the story.
As the story unfolds and the actors switch from townsfolk to displaced temporary Ganderites and back again…multiple times, there comes an unexpected pleasure in watching the ensemble shift from one character to another. One actor may be a passenger in one scene and a Gander resident in the next, with a change of posture, voice, costume piece or simply a new chair position doing the work. It is an enormous theatrical challenge, and this cast embraces it, and carries it out with everything they’ve got.
From the all-in half narrative/half sung-through opening number, “Welcome to The Rock”—to the production’s lighter moments, whether the passengers discovering the peculiarities of Newfoundland life, the infamous “Screech-In”, or the increasingly chaotic attempts to accommodate thousands of unexpected guests, there are genuinely funny moments—without ever making light of the circumstances surrounding them.
And then there are the moments when the laughter suddenly stops. The production’s treatment of the passengers watching the news footage for the first time is devastating precisely because it doesn’t need to overplay the moment. Staged somberly by director Walsworth, the passengers face the audience looking just above them, watching unseen tv screens. The audience doesn’t need to hear audio or see a video loop of the harrowing moments American Airlines Flight 11 and United Airlines 175 crashed into the Twin Towers to know what these characters are seeing. Those of us old enough to remember, know what they don’t yet know. The silence carries the weight and the resulting tears that streamed down my face as I watched this scene during the show’s opening night prove we truly will never forget.
That emotional balance is one of the most difficult things about Come From Away, and The Keeton largely gets it right. The show can move from laughter to tears and back again without feeling manipulative because the characters have been allowed to become real people rather than symbols.
Walsworth’s direction keeps that humanity front and center. Her staging trusts the material, the actors and the audience. Trey Lundquist’s music direction is equally essential, giving the production the vocal drive required by a score that rarely sits still. The music propels the story forward, while the ensemble sound helps create the feeling that this is one giant story being told by many voices.
And ultimately, that is exactly what Come From Away is. It is a story about people. People who were scared. People who were grieving. People who were annoyed, confused, exhausted and occasionally overwhelmed. But also people who opened their doors. People who cooked meals. People who provided beds. People who drove strangers around town. People who listened. People who laughed together. People who, for a brief moment, stopped being strangers.
The Keeton’s Come From Away understands that the show’s greatest spectacle isn’t in constructing a realistic aircraft cabin. It’s not in unnecessarily perfect choreography or even the remarkable feat of telling dozens of stories with a relatively small ensemble. It’s the kindness. In a time when it can be easy to become cynical about humanity, Come From Away offers something refreshingly simple: proof that we still possess the capacity to care for one another.
The Keeton’s Come From Away is an affecting, spirited and beautifully assembled production that takes flight because its talented ensemble never loses sight of the human beings at the heart of this extraordinary story. With Susan Walsworth’s assured direction, Trey Lundquist’s vibrant musical leadership, Mckenna Driver’s understood simple movement and a cast that seamlessly transforms chairs into planes, buses, airports and gathering places as effectively as they bring their characters to life, this is a production that reminds us that even in our darkest moments, there are still reasons to believe in each other. A beautiful reminder that sometimes the most powerful stories aren’t about what happened. They’re about what happened afterward.
The Keeton‘s Come From Away continues thru Sunday, August 30. CLICK HERE for tickets. For Friday and Saturday performances, doors are at 5:45pm with dinner service until 6:45 and show beginning at 7pm. Thursdays are show only with doors at 6:30pm and show at 7pm. For Sunday matinees, doors open at 12:45pm with meal service until 1:45pm and showtime at 2pm.
Next up following Come From Away, The Keeton presents John Patrick‘s wickedly funny mid-century comedy The Curious Savage on stage October 9-25. So you don’t miss out on upcoming shows at The Keeton Dinner Theatre, follow them on Facebook, X and Instagram.
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It seems only fitting that one of the grande dames of Nashville community theatre should portray the grande dame of this troubled estate. Linda Speir is perfectly cast as Mrs. Warwick, carrying herself with the unmistakable air of someone who has spent decades believing everyone else exists merely to disappoint her. Speir expertly mixes aristocratic self-importance with dismissive disdain for nearly everyone she encounters, yet wisely avoids making the character simply cold or cruel. In fleeting moments—a softened glance, a quieter line delivery, the slightest crack in an otherwise rigid exterior—she reveals the forgotten gentler woman buried beneath years of grief, pride and disappointment. Those subtle glimpses make Mrs. Warwick far more interesting than the stereotypical overbearing matriarch she could have easily become.
Rounding out the cast Emma Reinbold is, on the surface, a steady, reassuring presence as the devoted Ms. Bennett, grounding many of the play’s more emotionally charged moments with quiet sincerity. But of course there’s more to her long-tenured devoted presence. Rich Moses lends Julian an affable confidence that keeps audiences guessing exactly where his loyalties lie. Andrea Coleman’s police Sergeant provides some of the nights’ more comical moments. She and her on-stage superior, Rezende’s Inspector, trade eye-rolls and seemingly unscripted, adlibed barbs, giving the Sergeant more range of character than the calm professionalism with which the role is typically presented. Kamron Smith rounds out the ensemble as Angell, offering up the tried and true embodiment of the age-old mystery trope that raises the question, did indeed the butler do it? OK, so Angell isn’t a butler, but he is a male attendant to the murder victim, but you get the gist.
His investigative process becomes theatrical in all the best ways. Whether employing the murder weapon as a visual aid, incorporating a fruit snack into his deductions, or somehow turning a bit of knitting into investigative tool, Rezende constantly finds inventive bits of business that not only earn laughs but reinforce the notion that this Inspector’s mind is always several clues ahead of everyone else. A prime example come in the aforementioned investigation of Speir’s Mrs. Warwick. As the Inspector invites the elder matriarch to join him on the sofa for a little chat, he nonchalantly takes out his knitting needs, and yarn. He nonchalantly tosses the yarn into Mrs. Warwick’s lap, which she quickly and calmly removes from her lap a sets the yarn between them. It’s a simple but effective scene. The Inspector is either trying to equate the humdrum hobby of knitting with the senior suspect, or he’s establishing dominance by assuming she’ll hold the yarn as he coaxes her to weave her tale of the events of the murderous night. Either way, in the hands of Rezende–with an able assist from Speir–it’s one of the most inventive Christie moments you’re likely to encounter on a local stage.
As is the case with most mysteries, there’s that uncomfortable moment when difficult facts are presented. It is in that spirit that the usual suspects of technical issues within Playhouse 615’s production need be addressed. While the majority of the Welsh accents were certainly serviceable, several wandered throughout the evening, occasionally drifting toward a more generic British sound before finding their way back again.
Isiah Rankin, pulling double duty behind the scenes as the show’s music director helps shape a score that feels authentic, alive and wonderfully spontaneous. Performing as Andre, Rankin brings an easygoing best-friend, wing-man energy to nearly every scene he inhabits. Whether leading the slyly playful “T Ain’t Nobody’s Biz-ness If I Do,” joining the delightfully flirtatious “How Ya Baby,” or bringing swagger to “The Viper’s Drag,” he consistently demonstrates both vocal confidence and magnetic stage presence.
Yolanda Treece, performing as Nell, emerges as one of the production’s most engaging personalities. Possessing a remarkable ability to connect with the audience through nothing more than a wink, an eye-roll or a flirtatious grin, Treece makes every moment feel personal. Her spirited rendition of “Cash for Your Trash” earns plenty of laughs, while “Mean to Me” reveals a deeper emotional vulnerability. By evening’s end, it becomes clear she knows exactly how to work a room…and we’re all better for it.
Lisa Graham’s Armelia is powered by boundless energy and a voice capable of effortlessly navigating Waller’s jazz-infused melodies. Her playful “Squeeze Me” is an Act 1 standou, while later numbers such as “Find Out What They Like”, alongside Treece showcase both her comic timing and vocal precision. Graham consistently finds fresh colors within each song, making every appearance memorable.
Raven Buntyn proves herself the show’s most versatile performer. One moment she’s the provocative, self-assured Charlaine commanding attention during “Yacht Club Swing.” The next she’s leaning into a more innocent, delightfully ditzy persona. Buntyn handles every shift seamlessly, while her heartfelt “Keepin’ Out of Mischief Now” offers one of the evening’s loveliest vocal moments.
As Ken, Elliott Robinson demonstrates remarkable ease navigating both sides of Waller’s catalog. He is equally comfortable delivering laugh-out-loud comedic lyrics as he is tackling material with deeper emotional resonance. His charming performance of “Honeysuckle Rose” helps establish the production’s playful tone early on, while “I’m Gonna Sit Right Down and Write Myself a Letter” becomes one of Act Two’s most satisfying highlights.
The decision to position the musicians directly onstage pays immediate dividends.
Founded in 2010 by Drew Dir, Sarah Fornace, Julia Miller, Ben Kauffman, and Kyle Vegter–all five share co-artistic director credits–Manual Cinema has built an international reputation for pushing the boundaries of storytelling. The 4th Witch may be their most ambitious creation yet. Rather than simply retelling Macbeth from the perspective of kings, warriors, or even Shakespeare’s famous trio of witches, the production introduces audiences to a young girl whose life is forever altered by the violence occurring around her. What begins as a story unfolding in the shadows of Shakespeare’s tragedy gradually becomes a deeply human exploration of loss, survival, identity, and the choices we make when confronted with cycles of violence.
Equally deserving of recognition is the magical yet anything but witchy trio of musicians positioned in full view of the audience throughout the performance. Alicia Walter‘s vocals and keyboard work, joined by Lucy Little‘s violin and vocals and Erica Kremer‘s cello and vocals, create a lush, cinematic score that frequently serves as the emotional engine of the story. Their contributions elevate the production beyond a technical marvel into something genuinely moving, underscoring moments of wonder, danger, grief, and hope with remarkable sensitivity.
Leading the charge is Ethan Davenport, who takes on the pivotal role of Elder Price in this engagement. As Elder Price, Davenport embodies the character’s confidence, ambition and occasional arrogance with effortless charm. Blessed with a powerful Broadway tenor and an all-American leading man presence, he delivers “You and Me (But Mostly Me)” and the Act Two anthem “I Believe” with the kind of vocal confidence that anchors the entire production.
Opposite him, Jacob Aune’s Elder Cunningham is everything the role demands—awkward, lovable, wildly inappropriate and impossible not to root for. Cunningham is essentially a walking collection of half-remembered science fiction plots, social anxiety and misguided optimism & a bit of a walking, talking South Park character in human form, and Aune embraces every glorious second of it. 
Yet it’s Craige Franke as Elder McKinley where Franke truly steals scenes. His performance of “Turn It Off” is a masterclass in comic timing, complete with dazzling choreography, impeccable facial expressions and enough jazz hands to illuminate Broadway itself. Heck, the featured ensemble during “Turn It Off” is simply tap-tactic. Having spent years with the company in multiple capacities, Franke understands this material inside and out, and it shows. His cheeky, campy cameo in “Scary Mormon Hell Dream”, helps make it a
As The General, Shafiq Hicks delivers one of the production’s most commanding performances. Possessing a booming stage presence and undeniable authority, Hicks makes an immediate impression from the moment he appears. His performance of “Hasa Diga Eebowai” earns exactly the reaction one hopes for from first-time audiences: gasps, nervous laughter and a collective realization that The Book of Mormon intends to push every button it can find. Yet Hicks doesn’t just play the role as a caricature. Instead, he grounds the character in a reality that gives the surrounding comedy greater impact.
What continues to impress most about The Book of Mormon, however, is how successfully it balances satire with sincerity. 
At the center of the production is Zachary Keller as Jacob Jankowski, the grieving veterinary student who impulsively abandons his former life and jumps aboard the Benzini train. Keller anchors the production with a grounded sincerity and a soaring vocal performance that gives emotional weight to Jacob’s internal struggle between safety and risk, logic and passion. His voice carries a warm ache throughout the evening, particularly in moments when Jacob wrestles with the moral compromises surrounding the circus and his growing connection to Marlena. There are moments within Keller’s performance that the entire audience falls in love with his Jacob. Heck, there are moments his near-perfect pitch vocals fill the venue so melodically that you even wonder if he needs a mic. A true testament to his skills and those of the show’s sound designer Walter Trarbach and the entire technical team.
Opposite Keller (and Tully), Helen Krushinski delivers a luminous performance as Marlena, the circus star trapped inside an increasingly dangerous marriage. Krushinski possesses the kind of voice that cuts cleanly through the orchestrations without ever losing emotional nuance. She brings both fragility and fierce determination to Marlena, avoiding cliché and instead presenting a woman desperately searching for dignity and freedom amid chaos. Like so many of her ensemble cast mates, Krushinski also demonstrates a bit of impressive arial skills, adding a literal and figurative extra layer to her performance.
And yes — the aerial and acrobatic work is extraordinary. This production understands that circus artistry should not simply interrupt the narrative; it should become the narrative. Silks, balancing acts, lifts, and gravity-defying choreography emerge organically from the emotional life of the story. The transitions feel seamless rather than showy for the sake of applause. From the jump, as the circus ‘crew’ is setting up shop at their latest stop, even the pounding of the tent-stakes into the ground and the raising of the tent becomes a cadenced ballet of movement, acrobatics and mind-boggling balance and strength. This elegance of motion and bodily discipline becomes another character throughout.
Particular praise belongs to Yves Artières, whose physical performance as Silver Star, Marlena’s beloved show horse, becomes one of the evening’s unexpected emotional centerpieces. Through movement alone, Artières creates personality, loyalty, exhaustion, and tenderness in a way that feels almost impossibly expressive. In a key scene when Silver Star reaches his untimely end, the visual of his spirit leaving his body, by way of Artières ascending silks hanging from the rafters above the stage, then dramatically unfurling the silks as he descends to return to the earth–simply breathtakingly beautiful. The puppetry/animal work throughout the production is remarkably inventive, but Silver Star’s presence lingers long after curtain call.
The lighting design deserves enormous credit for shaping the show’s emotional landscape. Warm ambers, smoky blues, and stark silhouettes constantly shift the atmosphere from romance to danger to wonder. Combined with a richly textured sound design that captures both the intimacy of whispered confessions and the thunder of circus chaos, the technical package immerses the audience completely without ever feeling excessive.
Opposite him, Grammy nominee Mykal Kilgore delivers a mesmerizing Judas. From the opening notes of “Heaven on Their Minds,” Kilgore refuses to portray Judas as a simple villain. Instead, his Judas feels conflicted, frightened, frustrated, and heartbreakingly human as he watches events spiral beyond anyone’s control. His powerhouse vocals soar effortlessly through the score, but it is the emotional vulnerability beneath the performance that lingers longest.
As Mary Magdalene, powerhouse vocalist Olivia Valli comes by her talents naturally. Granddaughter of The Four Season‘s founding member Fankie Valli, she’s a legacy entertainer. As Mary Magdalene, Valli brings warmth and aching sincerity to the role. Early on During “Everything’s Alright,” Valli’s calming presence provides a needed emotional balance amid the increasingly chaotic atmosphere surrounding Jesus. Soon after, her rendition of “I Don’t Know How to Love Him” avoids unnecessary theatrics in favor of emotional honesty, allowing the heartbreak within the song to quietly unfold. Under Cassidy’s direction, Valli explores the often-avoided attraction between Mary the woman and Jesus the man, once again offering yet another layer to the humanity of the piece.
As Pontius Pilate, Geoffrey Davin offers one of the evening’s smartest tonal shifts . Presented as a gaudy, self-important joke of a man sporting an intentionally terrible hairpiece (kudos to the show’s wig designer Meredith Schieltz for just simply going for it), Davin leans fully into the absurdity of performative power. The portrayal initially earns plenty of laughs, but underneath the comedy lies another sharp reflection of the production’s larger themes—people desperate to appear more important than they truly are. His “Pilate’s Dream” balances nervous humor with growing dread, while sinisterly daunting presence during “Trial Before Pilate/39 Lashes” becomes genuinely unsettling.
W. Scott Stewart’s thunderous bass vocals as Caiaphas roll in like a deep fog, brilliantly setting the stage for the dread and darkness to come. Robert Parker Jenkins‘ Annas perfectly snarky glances peering over those disturbingly small, dark glasses, brings an unspoken self-righteousness to his role as a high priest. As other members of Caiaphas’ doom squad, Garris Wimmer‘s sinister voice and Jennifer Whitcomb-Oliva‘s snide presence all come together perfectly to present a united and terrifying quartet who initiate the plot to end Jesus.
Then there’s the most intriguing of Whitcomb-Oliva’s multiple roles, her dazzlingly, gloriously commanding presence as King Herod. Landing somewhere firmly between Tina Turner’s Auntie Entity from Mad Max: Beyond the Thunderdome and Elton John’s Pinball Wizard from yet another rock opera, Tommy, Whitcomb-Oliva’s Herod is the true definition of the villainous character we know we’re not supposed to love, but we just can’t help ourselves. Combine the stage presence and spectacular wardrobe with Whitcomb-Oliva’s undeniable talents and you’ve got yourself a show-stopping performance and another of Studio Tenn‘s Jesus Christ Superstar‘s truly magical cast members. There is no role this mega-watt talented performer can’t handle and she proves it show after show after show.
Other ensemble members like Bakari King, Garris Wimmer, Maya Antoinette Riley, Matthew Hayes Hunter, Savannah Stein, Lane Adam Williamson, Victoria Griffin, Emma Rose Williamson, Connor Adair, Nikki Berra, Christina Ledbetter and Patrick Jones each contribute to the overall energy, emotion and beauty of the piece. From the full ensemble Act 1 favorite, “What’s the Buzz’ to a shining, glittering all-in late-hour moment, the entire cast brings everything they’ve got, resulting in a feast for the eyes, the mind, the heart and soul. 
Likewise, Joi Ware’s choreography injects continuous movement and urgency into the production. There are moments where subtle Bob Fosse-inspired isolations seem to collide with flashes of Michael Jackson-inspired movement during larger ensemble sequences, creating choreography that feels simultaneously nostalgic and contemporary. Even those ensemble moments reinforce the power-in-numbers juxtaposed to the isolation of one theme found throughout the piece. Coupled with Cassidy’s direction, Ware’s choreography fills the stage with passionate movement, whether the entire company is on stage for a group number, or the action slows for a solitary moment from Pascal, Kilgore or Valli.
Leading this beautifully doomed endeavor is Joshua Mertz as Chris, the director/star/producer/everything-else of the show-within-the-show. Mertz plays Chris with just the right mix of puffed-up authority and slow-burn panic. As The Inspector within the mystery, watching him try to maintain control as things unravel faster than a cheap sweater is half the fun—and when he finally snaps, it’s worth the wait. Mertz, in his sixth show at The Keeton is proving himself to be a valuable asset the the company.
Aaron Gray’s Robert is the kind of community theatre actor who clearly believes he’s performing in Masterpiece Theatre, even as the world collapses around him. The fact that Gray is in or involved with nearly every Keeton production somehow added a if you know you know aspect to his role as Robert. As Thomas Collymoore, his dead-serious commitment in the face of utter nonsense makes every moment land harder, especially as the physical comedy ramps up and refuses to let him off easy. Kudos to his library scene. While the Keeton stage area does limit the intensity of the prospect of the second floor of the set completely collapsing, Gray’s physicality while keeping himself and all the props around his from falling away as the floor beneath him gives way, is gasping, belly-laughing joy to behold.
Keeton newcomer, Connor Boggs is tasked with the key role of Max. Initially cast in another role, Boggs stepped into the role of Max after the original actor had to drop out of the show. As Max and his mystery counterpart, Cecil, he figures out very early on that subtlety is overrated. Within the supposed seriousness of the murder mystery, for Cecil, once he gets a taste of audience laughter, it’s game over. He milks every moment for all it’s worth, turning even the smallest slip into a full-blown bit. That said, dressed in wardrobe that can only be described as a technicolor travesty—yes, the character is typically a bit of a dandy, but not quite so…flamboyant. Usually played as an overly confident community theatre actor with at least an initial modicum of subtlety, Bogg’s Cecil starts at 100mph and never slows down doing everything short of cartwheels from his stage entrance right on through to the final curtain. Under the direction of Bailey, Bogg’s Cecil is amped up and definitely played for laughs so much so that it runs the risk on a SNL skit that just doesn’t know when to
demanding physical comedy without ever dropping character. In one scene in particular, she’s pulled and flopped around by her cast mates as if her joins are made of bendy straws. Her physicality is slapstick at its best.
Wanderson Rezende’s Trevor Watson, stationed at the tech booth, proves that sometimes less is more. His distracted, couldn’t-care-less approach to running the show results in some of the night’s most perfectly timed “mistakes,” and when he’s finally dragged into the action, it’s awkward brilliance. And yes, Denese Rene’ Evans (the show’s costumer) I did indeed appreciate that Trevor is sporting a Duran Duran t-shirt! 
name, by the way), tasked with playing a corpse who…isn’t exactly great at the whole “lying still” thing. Fonville’s physical comedy—mistimed reactions, missed cues, and all—adds an extra layer of delightful absurdity to a role that could just be…well, dead.
Bottom line, if you like your theatre polished, pristine, and predictable…this ain’t it. But if you’re in the mood to laugh until your face hurts while watching a cast absolutely commit to the bit—even as the set tries to take them out—The Play That Goes Wrong at The Keeton is exactly the kind of beautifully disastrous night out you’re looking for. Just don’t expect anything to go right, because…Where’s the fun in that?
One notable change is the role of Sweet Sue, bandleader of the all-girl band that serves as the perfect hiding in plain site destination for our two unintentional leading men, or should I say leading ladies? Little more than a brief appearance in the source material, Ruffin and Lopez wisely fleshed out Sweet Sue and as played by DeQuina Moore, we’re glad they did. Moore’s Sweet Sue doesn’t just open the show—she detonates it. Her “What Are You Thirsty For?” lands with the kind of electrifying force she herself described in our recent 
Leandra Ellis-Gaston’s Sugar Kane arguably comes with the steepest climb. Not because of the technical demands—though those are certainly present—but because Marilyn Monroe’s original Sugar remains so indelibly iconic. Wisely, the creators of the stage adaptation “understood the assignment,” sidestepping imitation entirely. By reimagining Sugar as a strong-willed, career-driven woman of color, the role becomes instantly unshackled from direct comparison—and Ellis-Gaston runs with it. With a speaking voice that lands somewhere between The Color Purple’s Squeak and legendary chanteuse Lena Horne, her Sugar is equal parts vulnerability and resolve. Sweet? Absolutely. But never simple.
As G-man Mulligan, Matt Allen plays the essential “straight man” with surgical precision, anchoring the show’s more outlandish antics while quietly setting up some of its biggest payoffs. As he said in our recent Rapid Fire 20Q, that role is not only necessary but foundational in launching the show’s farcical momentum. And when he finally gets to dip into the madness—particularly in that delightfully ridiculous undercover sequence—it’s a payoff worth the wait.
Minnie, Sweet Sue’s right-hand woman is revealed throughout as a bit of a sticky-fingered gal. One of the show’s running gags is her revelations of accidentally entering the wrong apartments thinking they were Sue’s and taking things that weren’t hers. To that end it makes perfect sense that Devon Hadsell’s Minnie is a scene-stealing delight, leaning fully into the character’s charming chaos and absconding with laughs each time she’s on the stage. There’s a lived-in sense of loyalty and mischief here, making Minnie far more than just comic relief. She’s an essential part of the heartbeat of the band. And that ever-present cigarette dangling from her ruby red lips, the kind of subtle sight gag that again perfectly pays homage to that 1930 prohibition-era Hollywood spirit. Side Note: When that Gregg Oppenheimer I Love Lucy play makes its way to Broadway, Hadsell has my vote for the Vivian Vance/Ethel Mertz role!
And then there’s Edward Juvier’s Osgood, who may just be the show’s most quietly radical reinvention. As he shared in our recent Rapid Fire 20Q, what drew him to the role was Osgood’s ability to lead with curiosity rather than judgment—and that ethos radiates throughout his performance. Where the film played him as the punchline, this version is in on the joke and, more importantly, in on the love. That shift—from caricature to fully realized romantic—becomes one of the production’s most meaningful evolutions.
Then there’s Doc. David Josefsberg’s take on the eccentric inventor is where the show truly locks into place. Wonderfully unhinged in the best way, his Doc balances manic comedy with genuine heart. His early numbers are the turning point where the audience collectively leans in and says, “Okay, I’m in.” Josefsberg doesn’t imitate—he reinvents, while still honoring what makes Doc such an iconic character.
And then there’s Cartreze Tucker as Goldie Wilson (and Marvin Berry), who nearly steals the entire show. From the moment he steps onstage, Tucker commands attention. His big number earns one of the largest audience responses of the night, and for good reason—his vocals are powerhouse-level, and his charisma is off the charts. It’s a star-making turn that injects an extra jolt of electricity into an already high-energy production.
Visually, the production is stunning. The use of projections, layered with practical effects and good old-fashioned stage magic and some mind-blowing state-of-the-art new theatrical tricks, the effects become a character in its own right. Whether it’s the clock tower sequence or the time-travel effects, the technical execution is nothing short of jaw-dropping. It’s the kind of design work that reminds you how thrilling live theatre can be when all the elements are firing.
Act Two does bring one of the more head-scratching moments in the show—a neon-soaked, new wave-inspired “21st Century” opening number featuring Doc and a troupe of backup dancers. It’s flashy and fun, but also feels a bit unnecessary and tonally out of sync with the rest of the piece. And on opening night in Nashville, it was followed by a rare hiccup: the hoverboard didn’t quite cooperate. Still, the moment was handled with total professionalism, and honestly, it was quickly forgiven given the sheer volume of technical wizardry the show gets right. Because when it works—and it mostly does—it really works.