Deen van Meer
The fantastic Kaden Kearney (left) and vocally stunning Kalyn West, touring cast members of "The Prom."
What if Cinderella’s fairy godmother showed up on the night of the ball, and instead of turning her rags into a gorgeous gown and her pumpkin into a coach, she turned the whole kingdom against Cinderella, then dropped her charge off at the wrong dance, and finally tried to take tons of credit for saving the day? Not exactly the magical answer to a downtrodden girl’s dreams. Instead, like more modern Disney heroines, Cinderella would simply have to be a self-rescuing princess, redeeming her well meaning but clueless fairy godmother along the way. If the Broadway musical The Prom was a fairytale, that’s how the story would go.
Playing through March 27 at Overture Center, The Prom is set in modern-day Indiana and the magical godmothers are actors — a group of narcissistic has-beens direct from the simultaneous opening and closing night of their disastrous flop, a musical about Eleanor Roosevelt. Discouraged and disgraced thespians who crave nothing but praise and an adoring audience, they decide that they need a massive public relations boost, in order to wipe the public’s memories of the horrific review they received from the New York Times theater critic.
So the quartet of sad-sack Broadway performers in search of adoration choose a Cinderella to rescue that will look great for them — a girl from a small Midwestern town who wants to take another girl to her high school prom. The PTA has threatened to cancel the event rather than allow a same-sex couple to attend, so it’s the perfect platform for the squad of fabulous, LGBTQIA+ performers to swoop in and tell those dolts in middle America how stupid they are. Oh, and save the day for junior lesbians everywhere. And bolster their pathetic off-stage reputations.
It is very easy to see how this big, brassy, liberal-Democrat-leaning musical and love letter to Broadway received rave reviews when it opened in New York in 2018. The show skewers/celebrates egomaniacal divas and ruthless reviewers, while name-dropping its greats, like Lin-Manuel Miranda and Andrew Lloyd Webber. Visually and musically it echoes a host of favorites like Godspell, Evita, Aladdin, Chicago, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, Frozen, Carrie and Dear Evan Hansen.
So how does it play here, in the flyover states that the show mocks for being filled with “fist-pumping, Bible-thumping, Spam-eating, cousin-humping, cow-tipping, shoulder-slumping, tea-bagging, Jesus-jumping losers and their inbred wives”?
It’s not genius, but it is a delightful good time. With a book by Bob Martin (The Drowsy Chaperone) and Chad Beguelin (Aladdin, The Wedding Singer), and music by Matthew Sklar (Elf The Musical), The Prom is filled with all the high school angst of TV’s Dawson’s Creek, the incredible singing and high energy dance numbers of Glee, the heart of Fun Home, and the unlikely message that teenagers and adults can work together to do the right thing.
The self-obsessed Broadway salvation squad that descends on the small, conservative town of Edgewater, Indiana, includes the bitterly divorced, aging starlet Dee Dee Allen (Courtney Balan); a Donny Osmond look-alike who’s always quick to tell you he went to Juilliard, Trent Oliver (Bud Weber); the high kicking, perennial chorus girl, never the star, Angie Dickinson (Emily Borromeo); and the fashion-obsessed theater veteran who has a drag act on the side, Barry Glickman (Patrick Wetzel).
Borromeo’s Angie does a nice job paying tribute to Fosse and his signature choreography with her inspirational song, “Zazz.” And Balan’s Dee Dee spends a lot of time trying to woo her superfan, the school’s principal Mr. Hawkins (a charming but clear-eyed Sinclair Mitchell), while learning how to have any human emotion that’s not solely self-interested. But throughout the show, their characters remain thin as a painted plywood set piece.
This is also true of Weber’s Trent, who has the only number in the show that feels completely out of place. Trying to get through to the youth of Edgewater about the wrongheaded-ness of homophobia, the actor whips out his credentials as a former cast member of several musicals about Jesus. He leads them in singing “Love Thy Neighbor,” and gives the high schoolers a lesson on how they are incorrectly interpreting the Bible. The song lands with a condescending thud, partly because it paints Christians as imbeciles, and partly because it's lazy. The arguments it makes have already been done so much better by Aaron Sorkin (on The West Wing) and by Funny or Die’s Prop 8: The Musical.
But none of that really matters because Wetzel’s Barry Glickman arrives and makes an immediate, genuine connection with an adorable, self-concious, shy high school lesbian in need, Emma (a fantastic Kaden Kearney). Like the Fab Four Queer Eye guys all rolled into one big bundle of heart, Barry would do anything to make Emma feel validated. He works hard to give her a prom to remember since he missed his own, back in the day, unable to come out and be himself in high school. Wetzel’s solo “Barry Is Going to Prom,” which shows off his strong, textured voice and some pretty slick dance moves, is one of the most fun and heartfelt moments of the show.
Fronting an uber-talented ensemble of dancing and singing high school kids, the real stars of the show are Emma (Kearney) and her tentative girlfriend Alyssa (the vocally stunning Kalyn West). The opposite of their theatrical fairy godmother posse, both characters would rather stay behind the scenes and just have high school romances and crushes and dances and break-ups like everyone else. Both actresses give tender, authentic portrayals, creating a romance that is gorgeous and understated, in great contrast to the rest of the show, which is turned up to 11. Their strong, clear singing voices express their first love so beautifully in “Dance with You” and “Unruly Heart” that it’s impossible not to root for these young people.
In the end, Emma and Alyssa triumph over everyone — the mean girls, the homophobic jocks, the closed-minded PTA, and the out-of-town, egomaniacal thespians, whose involvement in fighting for Emma’s right to go to prom sincerely does make everything worse until the finale. They do it their own way, and their triumphant final song, “It’s Time to Dance,” feels like a real celebration. As it should.
In 2018 it was probably easy to call this show a feel-good musical with an obvious story of acceptance and that champions diversity. Today, in light of Florida’s ‘Don’t Say Gay” legislation and similar bills introduced in a dozen other states, it feels more like a message that needs to be heard and celebrated more than ever.
