Chainsaw: the Musical kills
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If you’re looking for a profoundly unromantic way to spend your Halloween, allow me to suggest the world premiere of Chainsaw: the Musical (book by Forrest Attaway; music by Eric Wesley Redding).
The Living Room show is a party-horn blast of horror tropes and tonal contradictions best explained in a series of “yes, but” statements. Yes, it’s outsize camp but with glimmers of real intimacy. Yes, it’s kitsch but played with enough novelty to feel sincere. Yes, it’s coarse, but that’s why you’re having a good time.
Chainsaw bears down in the postage-stamp-size town of Cut and Shoot, Texas, where high school sweethearts Patrick and Molly Delaney give birth to a full-grown man they name Joey. (If you’re wondering how Molly’s downstairs fared in the delivery, don’t worry: This is Forrest Attaway. He’s not about to get coy.)
The two cash in on their bouncing baby man, peddling him as a sideshow attraction. But the money and their patience dry up as Joey ages and refuses to speak. Patrick grows abusive; Molly grows restless and skips town with the Mexican gardener.
Much of the setup is narrated by chorus leader Sister Squirrel (an adorably furry Shon Ruffin) and her merry band of Foul-Mouthed Foxes (Kelsea McLean, Bryan LaFave and Rebecca Munoz, all good) in “Way Down Down in Texas,” the show’s catchiest number. Redding’s music rarely fails to tap a toe, and the house band (led by guitarist Sean Hogge, in rabbit ears) grooves hard.
Director Missy Koonce has assembled a capable cast, but Ruffin is a standout in both vocal and comic expression. Girl can belt but has the restraint to keep it light, busting out the gospel growl only when called for. And she and Koonce deserve equal credit for one of the show’s most memorable sequences, a slapstick summit of a corpse-littered staircase.
Bob Linebarger gives a heartfelt and physically detailed performance as Joey, the show’s punching bag and chainsaw aficionado, who’s as vulnerable as he is creepy — falling somewhere between Childers from Sling Blade and Torgo from Manos: the Hands of Fate.
As Molly and prudish coed Amy, Laura Jacobs does her best work yet. Order her some “triple threat” business cards. Daria LeGrand is predictably solid as Sarah and Hannah (both bubbly ingénues with Cheshire-cat smiles), though I’m ready to see her range tested. And you can’t help but cheer for Bradley Thomas as Raul, the politely racist gardener with restless-limb syndrome and a Gary Busey–on-Christmas-morning grin.
The design elements are handsome and easily adapted to the show’s multiple settings. Regina Weller deserves special commendation for some old-school cool hand props.
If Act 1 dips its toe in horror tropes, Act 2 splashes around in them with relish. Smart double casting lends an air of perverse justice to Joey’s murders (er, spoiler alert), and the cast offers hilarious takes on classic archetypes. Mike Ott and Sebastian Smith are especially strong here, combining high-energy vocals with great comedic sensibilities. And Koonce lines up and knocks down a series of comic tableaux, making the most of each playing area.
But Act 2’s delirious energy highlights some of the first act’s flaws. More could be done with Nurse Funkhausen (Natalie Liccardello), an asylum caregiver who feels undefined. And while the asylum sequences are well-directed, the scenes seem to sprawl. Act 1 in general could do with a little carving: A few of the songs are less lyrically fresh and could be combined or cut down.
But this is the kind of scrutiny I’d apply to a touring show, and for good reason. Chainsaw feels almost ready to stretch its legs. When it’s good, it’s show-stopping good, as the crowd following me out of the theater — humming “Way Down Down in Texas” — can attest.
