In ‘Torch Song,’ a lovelorn drag queen, his heartbreaks, and his Ma
We’ve come a long way . . . haven’t we?
On one level, the world Arnold Beckoff inhabits as a gay man in 1974-1980 seems almost quaint. Post Stonewall, preAIDS, it feels like a strange bubble of sexual freedom trying to assert itself in a world still determined to deny it. While the shock value of seeing a man in drag is long gone, as is the threat of losing one’s job as a teacher for coming out as gay (mostly), the horror of homophobia taken to the extreme feels all too timely.
But the beauty of Moonbox Productions’ staging of Harvey Fierstein’s “Torch Song” lies in this ensemble’s ability to lean into the fragile humanity of these characters, fully embracing their flaws and vulnerability as much as their sexuality.
Led by an endearing Peter Mill as Arnold, this “Torch Song” is driven less by Fierstein’s snappy one-liners than by one man’s search for love and respect. Arnold is a drag queen, and admittedly vain and self-absorbed. But he’s also painfully self-aware, which he shares in the first-act monologue set in his dressing room. Mill dons his dress, wig, and heels with finesse, but we know these are bits of armor worn to protect him from the rejection of the straight world.
His search for love leads him to a bar, The International Stud, where he meets and falls for Ed (Cristhian Mancinas-Garcia), a charming man who seems perfect for Arnold but happens to be a bisexual who feels pressured to find a woman to settle down with. When Ed dumps Arnold for Laurel (Janis Hudson), Arnold is heartbroken until he meets the much younger Alan (Jack Manning) and finds real love.
Act II, called “Fugue in a Nursery,” is set in Ed’s country home, a place where Arnold had spent a lot of time until Laurel replaced him. Set in two kingsize beds, the couples pair off in different conversations, discussing their relationships. The pillow talk moves beyond the bedrooms, and Ed essentially cheats on both Laurel and Arnold by seducing Alan. The original “Torch Song Trilogy” was 4½ hours long, but Fierstein’s revised version, while significantly shorter, suffers here from a lack of smooth transitions, leaving this “Fugue” feeling more dissonant than interwoven, like the musical form that gives it its name. Once again, however, Mill provides a steady rhythm, and his careful act of drying dishes in the kitchen with Laurel evokes the poise of Noel Coward and speaks volumes about Arnold’s generosity and open heart.
Act III is set in Arnold’s apartment, where Ed, now separated from Laurel, is crashing on Arnold’s couch, and we meet David (Jack Mullen), a street-smart teenager whom Arnold is in the process of adopting. But really, all of this is a set-up for the arrival of Arnold’s mother, on a visit from Florida. Bobbie Steinbach as Ma owns the stage from the moment she steps onto it until the moment she leaves. Watch her bounce from confusion to sharp disapproval to grandmotherly concern as she interrogates a bemused David about how he fits into the arrangement. Watch her spar with Arnold in a shouting match that feels improvised and so deeply emotional. Although Ma represents every mother unwilling to accept her son for who is, these two reveal how much alike they really are and how deeply they have been hurt, not by each other, but by loss. Although Ma makes a dramatic exit, she tempers the vitriol by offering loving advice about how to grieve for a lost spouse and leaves the door open for a reconciliation.
Early in the play, Arnold explains that drag queens are like oil paintings: You have to stand back to get the full effect. In “Torch Song,” under Allison Olivia Choat’s gentle direction, Mill and Steinbach deliver detailed performances; yet when you step back, they reveal the complexity and humanity of this mother and son.
The beauty of Moonbox Productions’ staging of ‘Torch Song’ lies in this ensemble’s ability to lean into the fragile humanity of these characters.