Writer-performer Brandon Kyle Goodman invites theatergoers to be a little more open to their own messy, marvelous humanity in Heaux Church. Photograph by HanJie Chow.
In Heaux Church, writer-performer Brandon Kyle Goodman turns the traditional sermon on its head, transforming sex education into a joyful act of healing and self-acceptance. Directed by Lisa Owaki Bierman, and with DJ Ari Grooves and Greg Corbino backing a gospel of pleasure and pride, Goodman delivers a rousing, tongue-in-cheek service that’s part confession, part celebration.
Before the show starts, Grooves presides regally over her turntable, spinning a mix of pop, R&B, and hip-hop hits reimagined with gospel flair. Dressed in a blue satiny gown and crowned with matching bonnet, she builds a sense of joyful anticipation in the congregation before Goodman’s arrival. When she calls the audience to rise for the opening hymn, a disembodied choir takes over in a cheeky voice-over:
Choir: I’m a heaux, and I know it, and I ain’t afraid to show it. I’m a heaux, and I know it—buss me wide open!
DJ Ari Grooves spins a mix of pop, R&B, and hip-hop hits reimagined with gospel flair. Photograph by Ben Arons.
As the number ends, the lights snap to black. Then Goodman (who uses nonbinary pronouns) appears, center stage, their silhouette gleaming in a sparkly orange ensemble that flatters their lean 6-foot-1 frame. They cut a figure reminiscent of a young Colman Domingo—only with a distinctly downtown edge.
Goodman establishes an inclusive spirit from the get-go. Though identifying as a queer, Black, nonbinary person, Goodman makes a point of addressing the entire congregation, assuring all present that the lyric from the opening hymn—“Buss me wide open”—isn’t just a sexual provocation but an invitation to think expansively for the next 90 minutes, regardless of orientation or identity. Even those wary of audience participation are soon swept up as Goodman urges everyone to turn—once, twice, then a third time—to a nearby neighbor and recite the phrase. Incredibly, those four words begin to shed their initial shock value and take on the ring of communal faith, an embodied affirmation of openness to one another.
The joyous ritual of Heaux Church echoes the spirit of Goodman’s 2022 book, You Gotta Be You. In that memoir-manifesto, Goodman asks, “Who would I be if society never got its hands on me?”—a question prefaced by the Roman playwright Terence’s timeless declaration, “I am a human being, and thus nothing human is alien to me.” That same humanistic credo pulses through every beat of Goodman’s performance.
The play’s title riffs on the word “ho,” which Goodman explains has become a tired cliché—and is due for an upgrade. The more “bougie” spelling, heaux better reflects the bold, multifaceted women (and men) behind the word, since, as Goodman quips, “hos got stories.” Beneath the humor, the message is clear: in Goodman’s world, these storytellers deserve reverence and their own sacred space—Heaux Church—where laughter and liberation coexist.
Goodman talks about the birds, the bees, and their personal journey as a queer, Black, nonbinary person in their solo show at Ars Nova.. Photograph by HanJie Chow.
Scenic designer Lawrence E. Moten III conjures a Gothic-inspired set adorned that suit the show’s cheeky take on the sacred. Look closer, though, and the familiar trappings of a church reveal subversive details beneath the arches. Instead of a crucifix on the back wall, two vulva-shaped frames spell out the word BODY, with puppet windows positioned below. On either side of the stage, video screens project imagery that expands and amplifies the live “service.”
Greg Corbino’s puppetry is strictly for grown-ups. His irreverent creations—a penis, a vulva, and a booty—may sound gimmicky, but they’re so exuberantly performed that even the most buttoned-up audience member may laugh.
While community spirit fuels Heaux Church, it is also an intensely autobiographical work. Goodman recalls that his grandmother, with whom he lived for much of his childhood, was a minister, while his mother was a free spirit who sought meaning beyond the bounds of Christianity. The influence of these two women, each powerful in her own way, would shape—and sometimes scar—him. Yet, despite the tensions that grew between them, Goodman expresses deep admiration for both:
Goodman: Growing up, God was a concept to me. My mother is real. Deserving of statues erected in holy temples. Her face carved into mountains. Her name written in constellations. Cuz I look up to her. Obsessed. And I’m also obsessed with my grandmother. Grandma was queen of the pulpit. Originally, grandma is from Trinidad, the first in our family to come to America. She landed in New York, hustled hard, and eventually was called into a life of ministry where she made it to the helm of several churches and Christian schools. So, I grew up a PK [pastor’s kid].
Heaux Church may not be for the faint of heart, but its message of radical self-acceptance lands with surprising grace. Goodman transforms confession into celebration, leaving the congregation laughing, thinking, and perhaps a little more open to its own messy, marvelous humanity.
Heaux Church plays through Nov. 8 at Ars Nova (511 W. 54th St.). Evening performances are at 7:30 p.m. Wednesday through Saturday. For tickets and more information, visit arsnovanyc.com.
Book: Brandon Kyle Goodman
Direction: Lisa Owaki Bierman
Scenic Design: Lawrence E. Moten III
Lighting Design: Matt Lazarus
Costume Design: Oliver Vaughn
Sound Design: Christopher Darbassie
Puppet Design: Greg Corbino
Video Design: Stivo Arnoczy
