Meet the spunky grandsons of “The Boys in the Band.”
“To My Girls,” JC Lee’s laugh-out-loud crowdpleaser, now in its premiere West Coast production at the New Conservatory Theatre Center, feels like Mart Crowley’s black comic classic from 1968 fast-forwarded through Stonewall, AIDS, and Obama and transplanted from a shadowy Manhattan to sunlit Palm Springs.
Getting together for a weekend reunion in the desert are fatuous, flirty Curtis (Robert Rushin), simultaneously unabashed and insecure; analytical Leo (James Arthur M), protectively sequestered in a bubble of queer theory; and snappy little Castor (Louel Señores), the bitchery-armored runt of the bunch.
Joining this Millenial troika is their heartbroken pal Jeff (Maro Guevara); Omar (Samuel del Rosario), a dim-yet-deep hunk in pink undies; and the boys’ AirBnb landlord, Bernie (Tom Reardon, whose adorable swagger compensates for his glitchy Yiddish).
Like its overtly darker forefather, “To My Girls” takes place during a celebratory gathering of gay male friends. Jealousies and resentments bubble up from beneath the fellows’ fragile surfaces, but playwright Lee largely replaces Crowley’s sulfurous boil with the fruity fizz of a mimosa.
Sets appeal and sharp humor
The show’s mood is established immediately upon entering the Decker Theater, as audiences are invited into the cheerfully decorated rental home where the buddies’ weekend reunion will take place.
Designer Matt Owens’ set centers on a window-walled Mid-century Modern living room of Neutra neutrals punctuated with pops of yellow, orange and green. Collaborating beautifully with lighting designer Justin A. Partier, Owens expands the dramatic space with fractional glimpses of a pool deck, driveway, and bedroom corridor. A ceiling soffit extends beyond the front of the stage, extending the show’s kiki into the crowd.
The zippy visuals (Kudos also to J. Conrad Frank’s props and costumes) are just a prelude to the citric spray of Lee’s writing:
One of the aging party boys points out that another is no longer a twink, but “a twas.”
Another quips, “My dad thinks ‘Wicked’ is set in Boston.”
A politically conservative gay guy earns the sobriquet “Sarah Huckabee Man-ders.”
OCD becomes a boast with a declaration that “Checklists are my kink!”
And, in a play where race-based privilege and marginalization simmer in the subtext, a burst of righteous laughter greets the line, “God grant us all the confidence of a mediocre white guy.”
That’s the show’s sublime moment: Lee both “goes there” and stays funny, simultaneously hitting a sweet spot and a bitter one.
Depth of character
Such perfect elisions of comedy and social critique are nearly impossible to achieve and unreasonable to expect. Through most of “To My Girls,” director Ben Villegas Randall and his cast successfully toggle back and forth between the two, with a higher proportion of time spent on the former.
The laughs are big and satisfying, and there’s sufficient connective tissue in the performances to keep the show from feeling too choppy, too preachy, or from tipping more than a couple of toes onto sit-com turf.
Even as they crack wise, Arthur M, Del Rosario, and Señores bring impressive emotional translucence to their characters: Leo’s sense of abandonment presses up against his above-it-all demeanor; Omar’s slow-talking soulfulness enhances his studliness; and Castor’s psychic bruises radiate through his fiercest camp.
Happily ever after?
While Lee richly draws the relationships between his three central characters, he’s less successful in his efforts to fold in observations about gay generation gaps. Landlord Bernie, in his sixties, expresses a smidge of jokey, unreflective disdain for the visiting “youngsters,” and Omar, a Gen Z local, gives a scolding speech about the shortcomings of thirtysomethings.
Still, both of those under-developed bits feel well-intentioned and easily forgiven. It’s harder to come to terms with the show’s flashy lip sync finale (The fourth such crutchy conclusion to a queer-themed non-musical on local stages this year, following “Exotic Deadly: The MSG Play,” “Fat Ham,” and “Simple Mexican Pleasures”).
After several smart twists have turned the play into a black comic spectacle of backstabbing and self-loathing worthy of Edward Albee (namechecked in dialogue) or Mart Crowley, why does Lee insist on giving “To My Girls” a disingenuous happy ending?
Let’s face facts, boys: In some ways, it gets better; in others, the band plays on.
‘To My Girls,’ through June 8. $35.50-$64. New Conservatory Theatre Center, 25 Van Ness Ave.
http://www.nctcsf.org
