Witty cabaret in the Noel Coward tradition fulfills the Wicked Witch of the West in Miss out on Gulch Returns, Fred Barton’s musical “vivisection” of the stereotyped shrew from The Wizard of Oz. Gifted vocalist Brett McMahon is in fantastic type, no matter if putting on a black tie tuxedo or a flower hat and ankle-duration frock, as he croons to his onstage audience, backed on the keyboard by the ever-excellent Julian Bond.
Elmira fills the Green Area Lounge with tongue-in-cheek tunes like her excised Oz anthem “I’m a Bitch,” an ode to her lifelong bicycle obsession, and her sexy mother’s mantra, “Pour Me a Male,” as Gulch presents a glimpse of her very little-identified everyday living extended right before Dorothy’s day.
I went into this demonstrate eager to master why this menacing matron was worthy of her very own musical, but I remaining without the need of lots of fulfilling responses. McMahon nails the comic quantities as the self-proclaimed “ultimate hag” dreams of starting to be a homosexual pop icon like Bette, but remains as well glib in the course of the far more psychological beats. Gulch states that stereotypes (like hearts) are meant to be damaged, but this amusing musical hour with the infamous Toto-hater hardly ever dug deep enough beneath her celluloid floor to make this experience like far more than a lightweight lark, instead of the insightful assessment of why Gulch obtained stuck in our collective unconscious that it sets out to be.
Tickets and clearly show details: Skip Gulch Returns
