The set-up: Without apology for fear of being bashed by the politically correct, I can honestly say that this new jukebox musical, Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, is "so gay." Unabashedly so. Normally, this would be a good thing, except this hyper-colored valentine, all bells, whistles, and razzle dazzle, has the musty smell of a world gone by. The execution: This sweaty and muscular musical, based on the 1994 cult Australian movie, beats you over the head until you're defenseless, smothered under tons of sequins, mylar, and sort-of bitchy bon mots that I thought went out in the '80s. This is the gay world for blue hairs: slightly naughty, but oh-so-sweet, uplifting and terribly non-threatening. We're just like you, the musical proclaims in non-stop numbers that quickly resemble each succeeding one, only we like to wear towering platform shoes and fantastic wigs in the shape of ribbon candy, or pom poms, or candle flames, or...
For a musical that hit Broadway in 2011, after a 2006 premiere in hometown Sydney and a run that included London, it's so old-fashioned and eager to please that you expect Noel Coward to materialize and sing a ditty. If this is what gay pride is all about on Broadway, there may be a few too many steps backward for the number of scant steps forward. Jerry Herman's La Cages aux Folles is subversive by comparison.
Stereotypes abound. To be fair, they're equally scattered, so everybody gets skewered: fat, horny, unattractive women; German tourists; Outback rednecks; or Asian mail-order brides. Unfortunately, so do the leading gay characters.
Tick (Wade McCollum), a.k.a. Mitzi, his drag name, sets the glitzy disco ball spinning because his wife (Christy Faber), who lives in the wilds of Alice Springs with their son (Shane Davis; Will B. in other performances), asks him to come home and perform his drag act in her casino which has lost its musical act. Tick hasn't seen his son in years, having moved to the big city to find himself after Benji was born.
Tick gathers two of his friends to accompany him: outlandish Adam, a.k.a. Felicia (Bryan West), and post-op transsexual Bernadette (Scott Willis). Felicia is out there, a buff fireplug of swish, whose patron saint is Madonna. Bernadette is from the "old" school of lip-syncing drag, she's all about attitude and glamor, bewigged and dressed like Lauren Bacall. Their waspish put-downs of each other are half the show.
Willis is reason enough to see this pre-Stonewall-like dinosaur; his Bernadette is the only real person on stage, wise and motherly, but with a mouth like Mae West. Her "True Colors," sung after their fabulous bus, Priscilla, is marred by hateful graffiti, is a highlight of the first act. Willis pulls this musical together in wondrous, sly ways. She doesn't need outrageous platform shoes, she lifts up the show on her very sensible high heels. Considered over the hill by the younger generation, Bernadette is just looking for love, and finds it with average Bob (Joe Hart), the mechanic who rescues the trio when Priscilla breaks down in the desert. We root for this showbiz, drag show veteran who's still got plenty of snap.
The adventures continue, bigotry is confronted, hearts are mended, the disco hits continue unabated.
