Charles Busch’s Die, Mommie, Die! , currently onstage thru September 13, as co-directed by Diane Bearden and Daniel Vincent, transforms Playhouse 615 into the lavish Beverly Hills home of Angela Arden Sussman (local drag persona Veronika Electronika), a once-famous Hollywood star whose glamorous life has become considerably less glamorous behind closed doors. Her marriage to film producer Sol (Daniel Vincent) is crumbling, her daughter Edith (Christian Swann) is devoted to Daddy while harboring a serious grudge against Mommie, and son Lance (Zach McMasters) is trying to navigate his own peculiar place within the family. Add Angela’s decidedly complicated relationship with her lover Tony Parker (Wanderson Rezende), Bootsie Carp (Deborah Seidel), a suspicious maid and enough secrets to fill a Hollywood gossip column, and Busch has concocted a comic thriller where murder and mayhem are served right alongside the martinis.
I attended opening night, and before the play even began, I was already impressed by what I saw onstage. The set design (courtesy Eric Bradley & Wanderson Rezende) and construction (Bradley, Rezende, McMasters & Abby Waddoups) perfectly convey the expected opulence of a forgotten star’s late-1960s Beverly Hills mansion. It’s a vast improvement over the company’s previous production’s bubbled-up faux wood wallpaper, giving me hope before the lights even dimmed to start the show.
Thankfully, that optimism wasn’t misplaced. While there were a few occasional fumbled lines and a couple of dropped props along the way, opening night jitters are to be expected, and the cast generally recovered without disrupting the momentum. More importantly, everyone seemed to understand precisely what kind of theatrical playground Busch has created—and they were more than willing to play in it.
Electronika, who, in recent years has appeared in pretty much every drag-related production at Playhouse 615, proves effective as Angela Arden Sussman. Having been a fan favorite amongst Nashville’s drag community for nearly a quarter of a century (she knows I love her, it just reads cattier that way) whether she’s reading to kiddies at drag story hour–literacy…it’s SO controversial–hosting a charity event, lobbying for LGBTQIA+ rights, performing a drag show or appearing in a theatrical production, you know you’re gonna get a bit of the diva that is Veronika Electronika, especially if that’s how she’s credited in the playbill. Such is the case with Veronika as Angela. She’s larger than life, self-indulging, wickedly self-important, and thanks to Veronika’s own wardrobe doubling for Angela’s, dressed to the mother-fuckin’ nines–or at least sixes, because that’s how many wardrobe changes I counted, not including at least two outer layer discardings revealing more fashion underneath–while chewing on every inch of that decadent scenery. Yes, per Busch’s script you’ll find aspects of many a great diva including, but not limited to Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, and even Mama Rose, but make no mistake about it, it’s Music City diva Veronika Electronika who’s most present in this portrayal of Angela Arden Sussman.
It’s difficult to imagine anyone more naturally suited to play a faded screen siren who has absolutely no intention of surrendering her place at center stage. Veronika understands Angela’s theatricality instinctively, but there’s enough calculation beneath the glamour to keep her from becoming merely a caricature. Her exchanges with Daniel Vincent’s Sol crackle with marital venom, while her scenes with Wanderson Rezende bring an entirely different kind of heat.
While Veronika Electronika’s Angela Arden Sussman is the assumed, and self-proclaimed star of the show, she’s got some tough competition for that honor, most notably Wanderson Rezende’s Tony Parker is literally and figuratively Veronica’s stiffest scene-stealing competition. From his hilariously overly-dramatic ‘soap opera stare’ after nearly every line, to the comedic callback of his ongoing flippant chain-smoking habit (He literally puts cigarette after cigarette in his mouth only to carelessly flip them somewhere in the vicinity of the nearest ashtray, only to rinse/repeat this action throughout the show). As if stealing each scene weren’t enough, Rezende’s Tony never simply exits the stage. With every exit comes a last-minute fourth wall-breaking knowing over-the-shoulder glance letting you know he’ll be back for more mayhem. The audience just couldn’t keep their eyes off this production’s licentious lothario. Then there’s the matter of his wardrobe. It’s well-established early on that Rezende’s Tony is, um…above average in certain aspects. Suffice it to say Jimmy Fallon’s “Tight Pants” skit could easily have been written in Rezende’s Tony Parker’s honor. Humor suited for any horned-up 12-year-old, and it plays hilariously in the hands of Rezende.
Oh, and you gotta love one particular scene in which Tony arrives at the mansion to give Angela a tennis lesson. Angela, dressed in a cute green knit tennis ensemble (a reliable source tells me it was procured at a local Goodwill, if you can believe that) is carrying a matching equipment bag with the words RACKET and BALLS on it. Perfect to decribe both the racket going on within the house and well, Tony, in general. Meanwhile, it also wasn’t lost on me that Wanderson’s Tony is sporting track pants by Everlast©.
Rezende’s portrayal thrives on precision. That ridiculously prolonged stare, the ever-present cigarette and the calculated physicality could easily become tiresome in lesser hands, but he keeps finding new ways to wring another laugh from them. Tony is the kind of character who seems convinced that every room is his personal stage—and Rezende gives him exactly that level of shameless confidence. Having seen Rezende in just under a dozen roles in recent years, I’m continually impressed with his versatility as an actor and his masterclass-level comedic timing.
Daniel Vincent’s Sol Sussman is the butt of many of the show’s jokes. That ASSessment makes more sense if you’ve seen the show. Pulling double-duty as co-director of this production, perhaps Vincent leans a bit too heavily into the stereotypes of the character’s Jewish film producer tropes. Regardless, Vincent is most fun to watch when he’s trading barbs with his on-stage wife, when paired with Christian Swann as his too close for comfort dotting daughter, Edith Sussman. or dodging advances from his mildly obsessive maid. But it’s the aforementioned nearly-incestuous ick between Sol and Edith as played by Vincent and Swann that’s pure Charles Busch camp.
There’s a particularly entertaining rhythm to Vincent’s scenes with Veronika, as Sol and Angela volley insults with the practiced ease of a couple who have spent far too many years perfecting the art of getting under each other’s skin. His scenes with Swann take that discomfort somewhere considerably stranger, particularly as Edith’s devotion to her father begins veering into decidedly inappropriate territory.
On the subject of Swann’s Edith, when I heard Playhouse 615 had cast a male in the role of the Daddy-worshiping, Mommie-hating Edith Sussman, I fully expected the joke to be drag queens playing the rivaling mother/daughter duo to the hilt. Much to my absolute camp-loving delight, making his Playhouse 615 debut, Swann’s Edith is played strictly for laughs as a boy in a wig and a short dress. Sure his nails are painted, the wig has potential and he’s donned a bit of makeup, but there’s not even the slightest attempt at a higher-pitched voice, or perceived ultra-feminine gesturing or movement. Yet, somehow Swann simply reads brilliantly as Edith. I suspect the show’s co-director, Diane Bearden had a hand in this. Either way, kudos to Swann for not only making Edith his very own, but also for making her among my personal favorites in the show.
That choice proves particularly effective because Swann never seems to be chasing the joke. He simply inhabits Edith’s bizarre worldview and allows the circumstances around him to generate the comedy. His expressions and reactions do a tremendous amount of work, particularly when Edith is confronting Angela or fawning over her father. For a Playhouse 615 debut, Swann makes a memorable first impression, turning what could have been a one-note gag into a character with a distinct presence of her own.
Cast as Lance, the Sussman’s ne’er do well, oddly twitchy son is Zach McMasters. In my recent Rapid Fire 20Q with cast from this production, I chastised Zach about the raven-colored, poorly groomed wig as seen in the show’s promo shots, so at least they went with something less offensive for the performance. Looking AND sounding like a less-mellow Shaggy Rogers from Scooby-Doo, I half expected McMasters to let out the occasional “ZOINKS!” when action in the play took a surprising turn. Nonetheless, his Lance mugs for the audience, somehow transcending the camp, evoking a bit of sympathy for his familial circumstances. And is it weird that among the on-stage overlapping love interests, couplings, flirtations and strange bedfellows, his scenes with Rezende’s Tony somehow equate to the most chemistry between actors? Nope. It’s not weird. In a production filled with tangled relationships and improbable romantic entanglements, their exchanges have an oddly genuine spark that makes their scenes particularly enjoyable. Lance could easily disappear beneath the eccentricities, but McMasters gives him just enough vulnerability to make us wonder what might have happened if he’d grown up in literally any other family.
Rounding out the cast is yet another scene-stealing, dialogue-devouring member of the cast comes courtesy the Sussman family’s sedulous, albeit frequently soused (was that a Tiffany & Co. flask I spotted?) maid, Bootsie Carp, as played by Deborah Seidel. Part devoted Alice Nelson from The Brady Bunch, with a healthy does of Agnes Moorehead’s loudmouth, back-talking maid Velma Crutcher in Hush, Hush, Sweet Charlotte, Seidel’s Bootsie simultaneously throws verbal punches to Veronika while while whispering often unrequited sweet nothing to Sol. Spoiler Alert: her ‘death scene’ blatantly steals every over-reaching laugh-grab from classic comedians like Carol Burnette, and we’re here for it.
Seidel has the timing to make Bootsie’s every appearance feel like a comic punctuation mark. She knows exactly how long to hold a reaction, when to fire off a retort and when to let the audience enjoy the sheer ridiculousness of what’s unfolding around her. Her rapport with Veronika is especially delicious, with Bootsie seemingly possessing just enough nerve to say what everyone else in the mansion is thinking. And when she turns her attention toward Sol, that flirtation adds yet another wonderfully inappropriate wrinkle to the household. As for that death scene, subtlety clearly never entered the room. And frankly, why would it?
Charles Busch’s particular brand of comedy works best when the performers embrace the outrageousness rather than attempting to sand down its sharper edges. Having assembled a cast that brings distinctly different flavors to the Sussman household Playhouse 615 get it. Veronika Electronika has the glamorous excess of Angela down to a rhinestone-encrusted science, while Wanderson Rezende turns Tony into a walking, talking, smoking, smoldering testosterone laugh-fest. Daniel Vincent finds just enough mileage in Sol’s perpetual discomfort, Christian Swann delivers an unexpectedly terrific Edith in his Playhouse 615 debut, Zach McMasters gives Lance an appealing vulnerability beneath all that neuroses, and Deborah Seidel makes Bootsie the kind of maid you absolutely want around, especially if your’e the black sheep of the family and the rest of your relations start behaving badly. It’s worth mentioning again, this production also benefits enormously from that sumptuous set. It provides exactly the sort of decadent backdrop this story demands and immediately establishes the world in which these characters can indulge their worst impulses. Just remember: in Beverly Hills, the family that schemes together may not stay together—and when Mommie says everything is fine, you might want to check the body count.
If you like your family drama served with murder, marital betrayal, sexual innuendo, extravagant wardrobes and a maid who knows entirely too much, Die, Mommie, Die! is ready to welcome you into the Sussman mansion as Playhouse 615 continues the camplicious hysterical histrionics thru September 13. CLICK HERE to purchase tickets (use the drop-down to select specific date/time). For more from Playhouse 615, check out their website or follow them on Instagram and Facebook.
As always, if you wanna follow JHPEntertainment to find out who I’m chatting with for my next Rapid Fire Q&A, or for my take on the latest local and national theatre, music, arts and more, visit JHPENTERTAINMENT.com or find us on Facebook, Insta, Threads and X. Till then #GoSeeTheShow!
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.
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.