Ferris (Cory Jeacoma), temporarily just a boy in the band, and Ace (Matt Rodin), in close harmony.
The first thing to know about Out of the Box Theatrics’ Beau the Musical is that it’s mostly not about Beau. He’s an important supporting character in the show by Douglas Lyons (book, music and lyrics) and Ethan D. Pakchar (music), but Ace Baker (Matt Rodin) is very much the star. He narrates, plays the guitar, and sings practically every song. The next thing to know about Beau is, you have to stick with it. At first it feels pat, clichéd, and straight off the gay-pride-musical assembly line. Then, finally, Lyons’s characters acquire some individuality and become more interesting.
Lyons, whose Chicken and Biscuits was the second-most-produced play in the U.S. a few seasons ago, writes in a program note that Beau was written for “the young queer kids, alone in their Midwestern towns, who are told on a daily basis that they don’t belong.” That’s evident from the outset, with Ace, a misfit 12-year-old, living in Nashville in what’s supposed to be 2013—but why does no one have a cellphone?
Raven (Amelia Cormack) is haunted by memories of Beau (Chris Blisset).
Ace is regularly bullied by Ferris (Cory Jeacoma), the local tough who filches cigarettes from him, calls him “faggot,” then locks him in a bathroom stall and kisses him. They begin a clandestine affair lasting several years, though Ferris insists he’s straight and “we’re just two boys gettin’ each other off till we can find chicks dumb enough to do it for us.” (He’s handsome, he’s popular—why couldn’t he?) They’re preteens, and though it helps that adult actors are playing them, Lyons seems out to titillate the audience with their youthful indiscretions.
Ace, already mortified over his gay feelings, has a hard time relating to anyone. He’s guarded with his one friend, Daphney (Miyuki Myagi), and contentious with his white-trashy mom, Raven (Amelia Cormack). She won’t tell him anything about his dad. Her boyfriend Larry (Matt Wolpe) is one of several one-note characters, a tiresome buffoon, until plot reasons force him to turn into a gentle, sensitive father figure. Raven also told Ace that his grandfather died, which he discovers to be a lie when he receives word that Beau (Chris Blisset) is in a Memphis hospital.
So Ace hops a bus and initiates a relationship with the granddad he never knew. Beau also seems one-note at first, a heavy drinker and smoker who spouts crusty-old-man talk like “Oh relax, yer butthole’s tighter than a balloon knot.” He had a band, Beau and the Bell Bottoms, decades back; he’s up for teaching Ace guitar; and he has a secret that binds him closely to Ace, one that probably won’t be too hard to figure out.
Beau, in a 1970s flashback, gives out with “Shut up and leave me alone.” Photographs by Valerie Terranova Photography.
What predictably ensues is Ace’s story of learning to live with himself, mostly through music; he writes songs well beyond the capability of most teens. Some are quite nice, and the band—several guitars, keyboard, drums, Daphney’s violin—makes the most of them. “By Your Side,” a Beau-Ace duet, gets extra points for being slow and quiet, and the only real dog is Beau’s band song from 1970, with the refrain, “Shut up and leave me alone.”
Rodin, recently so good in All the World’s a Stage, is good here, too; he can really sing and act, and he seems on the verge of being the go-to young-gay-musical-leading-man. He does emote rather heavily, though, and so does nearly everyone, with overacting the default mode of director-choreographer Josh Rhodes. Only Blisset manages to underplay, and it’s a relief every time he’s onstage.
Daniel Allen’s scenic design includes a cozy, realistic bar. Adam Honoré’s lighting achieves some nice effects, especially when spotlighting the performers in their diegetic numbers, and sound designer Jordana Abrenica doesn’t pump the volume up too high.
Much of Beau feels familiar: How many unhappy gay teens has the stage contained in the last 10 years, and is there ever any doubt they’ll emerge out and proud? And it works relentlessly to send the audience out happy, including the revelation that (spoiler alert, but not really) Raven knows her son is gay, and that’s OK—a complete character inconsistency, and how did she find out, anyway? But Lyons writes persuasive Southern-fried dialogue, the big emotions are well supported by the score, and the band really rocks. Don’t expect anything new from Beau the Musical, but sit back, stomp your feet to the songs, overlook the plot holes, and you’ll probably have a fine time.
The production of Beau the Musical runs through July 27 at Theatre 154 (154 Christopher St.). Evening performances are at 7:30 p.m. Wednesday through Monday; matinees are at 2 p.m. Sundays, with an additional show on June 28 at 2 p.m.; no shows on June 29. For tickets and more information, visit ovationtix.com.
Book & Lyrics: Douglas Lyons
Music: Douglas Lyons & Ethan D. Pakchar
Director & Choreographer: Josh Rhodes
Set Design: Daniel Allen
Lighting Design: Adam Honoré
Costume Design: Devario D. Simmons
