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.
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