If you were born the year when the original Star Trek debuted on television in 1966, you'd be pushing 50 right now. And you'd likely be over 60 if you actually remember watching the series during its original run. In a brief trivia quiz during a break in Mudd's Women, a first-season episode being given the Oasis treatment, a contestant was stumped when asked what eventually replaced the lithium crystals that powered the Starship Enterprise. But the audience, median age certainly less than 50, shouted out practically en masse, "Dilithium!"
That helps explain why co-director D'Arcy Drollinger felt the need to explain that, because of the series' diehard fans, fewer liberties were taken with the original than in other drag-centric parodies of TV shows. "Think of it more as a restoration piece," Drollinger said of the proceedings. But Stephen Kandel and Gene Roddenberry's original teleplay doesn't need much goosing to make it fertile for reverse-gender parody. It's already a goofball episode that cries out for semi-affectionate mocking of its hardly futuristic gender roles.
In the episode, three centerfold-ready women are beamed aboard the Enterprise, accompanied by their booking agent, and the mostly male crew gets all hot and bothered. The ladies are actually 23rd-century versions of mail-order brides, destined for a hellhole asteroid and marriage to some grizzled lithium crystal miners who live in shacks straight out of the Old West. Small twist: The lovelies must regularly take the Venus pill or turn into haggard crones. This is the actual TV plot, and not much needs to be changed to turn it into a high-camp comedy.
In their shimmering beauty-pageant gowns, Eve, Ruth, and Magda provide delectable opportunities for drag characterizations that have hefty doses of attitude on the Oasis stage. And the men at the helm of the Enterprise, most notably Capt. James T. Kirk, are ripe for drag-king impersonations. As Kirk, Leigh Crow steers this ship with her canny comic instincts, riffing on William Shatner's strutting manner and pompous delivery.
The lady Eve is another choice role, and Jef Valentine provides a wonderful combination of sultry, snarky, and snide as the most outspoken of the marital cargo. Persia and Jordan L'Moore play her hot-for-consummation cohorts with glamor infused with the elegance of bored strippers. The other male-to-female drag performance is Honey Mahogany's Lt. Uhura, a glorified secretary on the TV show and happy about it, who now realizes her status and gets plenty of mileage out of that.
Back to the crew on the bridge, with chief engineer Scotty (who seems to have absorbed some of the missing Chekhov) getting big laughs thanks to Emily McGowan's impenetrable brogue and hangdog manner. Amber Sommerfeld, Zelda Koznofski, and Ammo Eisu are fine as Spock, McCoy, and Sulu, but there is not as much humor mined from these roles. As Harry Mudd, procurer of space brides, co-director Laurie Bushman plays the role with sleazy panache.
Bushman and Drollinger have only occasionally punched up the dialogue with a risque retort here and a double entendre there, letting the performances and original material do much of the heavy humor-lifting. But the decidedly low-tech production offers up its own opportunities for comedy, from the tinseled transporter effect to the automatic sliding doors moodily mimed by the performers. The original Star Trek barely eked out three seasons, and that was decades ago, but its iconography merrily continues at warp speed.
Star Trek Live!: Mudd's Women will run through Oct. 31 at Oasis. Tickets are $25-$35. Tickets at sfoasis.com.