The road to the stage is never quite a straight line for any new play. In this case, after a delay of about a year because both director and writer were pregnant, "Blaque Showgirls" finally arrives at Griffin, a wildly inventive spoof of Paul Verhoven's 1996 movie (which I've never seen, but I'm gay and grew up in the 90s so I feel like I know most of the key details anyway), throwing in additional questions about racial identity and the honest creation of art. In Sharri Sebbens and Ursula Yovich's production, it's a flashy, silly, and somewhat scathing take on the popular myths we have about fame and success with a strong identity all its own.
Leading the cast as our dimwit heroine is Stephanie Somerville as our dimwit heroine, Ginny, convinced of her talent even if absolutely nobody else is, bringing vast amounts of idiotic delusion to the role. As best friend Molly, Angline Penrith sells the absurd things that happen to her with a gentle self-effacing charm, and when she gets the bits of the script that are Obviously The Authors Message, she sells that too with integrity and power. Jonathan Jeffrey as the imperious lead dancer Chandon gives great bitch and moves like a godess too. Matty Mills as Kyle is pure sleaze in all the right ways. Filling in for an injured Matthew Cooper as True Love interest is an endearingly sweet and committed Ian Michael and giving charm and honesty even as his dialogue gets increasingly ridiculous.
Cris Baldwin on Set and Costumes gives maximum tacky glam. Verity Hampson lights the tiny Griffin space with skill and acute accuracy.
This is a delightful way to spend an evening, clever, insightful and thoroughly satiric. You'll leave the venue grinning.
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