Theatre in Review: Beau, the Musical (Out of the Box Theatrics/Theatre 154)

	Chris Blisset. Photo: Valerie Terranova

It's not every day that an actor, playing a singer in a Nashville honky-tonk, sassily characterizes four audience members as "former twinks." Queer-coded wisecracks are the province of New York City's Broadway, not the one in Tennessee. The line was an ad lib at the performance I attended, but one look at the show's charismatic leading man, Matt Rodin, will tell you that Beau is something different. A queer coming-out-and-coming-of-age tale set in the country music capital may seem inevitable in the age of Brandi Carlile and Orville Peck, but it's something we haven't seen before. And songwriters Douglas Lyons and Ethan D. Pakchar find new harmonies in the Music City style, easily engrossing us in the fraught, secret-filled adolescence of rising star Ace Baker.

Ace is a successful composer/singer, making the Nashville homecoming he swore would never happen, debuting the songs from his new album. All are drawn from his teen years, and he has quite a story to tell. The only child of Raven, a single mother, he is a classic nerd and bully magnet who gets the shock of his life when Ferris, his daily tormenter, lures him to their middle school's men's room for an unexpected kiss. Soon, they're a regular thing, making out in a bathroom stall and acting like strangers elsewhere.

It's enough to leave a boy thoroughly confused, but Ace has other problems. He isn't at all happy about Larry, Raven's new boyfriend, a doofus whose chummy overtures (including the overuse of "fella") leave the boy cold. But he becomes incandescent with fury when a phone call from a Memphis hospital reveals that Beau, Raven's father, is alive. Raven, who has always insisted her parents are dead, refuses to discuss her long-running deception, but she tolerates Ace's visits to his grandad, the first benign father figure he has ever had. Among other things, the bearish, hard-drinking Beau introduces Ace to the pleasures of playing the guitar and writing songs. Also, Beau, who is divorced and anathema to his loved ones, is uniquely poised to sympathize with a boy struggling with his sexual orientation.

Obviously, everyone in this clan needs to start practicing a little honesty. Their collective dilemma is laid out in a series of pointed musical numbers. "The Middle" features Ace and Raven trying, dynamically, if not too successfully, to bury their resentments. "It Couldn't Be" poignantly explores the limits of Ace and Ferris' on-the-downlow fling. "Thursday in July" plaintively details the family tragedy that ultimately makes a man of Ace. As orchestrated by Pakchar, arranged by Chris Gurr, and delivered by a company of eight super-skilled actor-musicians, even the most introspective numbers are notable for their lively, up-tempo qualities; Beau is both an engaging drama and a rocking night out.

The songs are especially useful because Lyons' book is often content to sketch in situations, leaving too much to the imagination; given the show's relatively brief one-hundred-minute running time, certain plot lines could be profitably expanded. Raven's evolving views on Ace's queer identity could use additional exploration. It would be good to hear more about Beau's strangely solitary life following the scandal that dissolves his marriage. As Daphney, Ace's best friend and creative partner, Miyuki Miyagi is such a delightful performer that she should have more to do.

Still, Lyons admirably folds past and present together in several scenes, detailing the lies and evasions that make growing up so difficult. And Josh Rhodes' direction is skilled at calling up touching moments while skirting unwanted sentimentality. As Ace, Rodin presides over the action with authority, quietly signaling his character's youthful vulnerabilities while hitting number after number out of the park. Chris Blisset's Beau recalls his long-past performing days with a sassy banger titled "Shut Up," but he also limns a figure of surpassing loneliness, with lessons in courage to impart. ("Don't be scared/Just be prepared/There's fun in falling on your face.") Amelia Cormack's feisty Raven makes a first-rate antagonist for Ace, and Matt Wolpe doesn't overplay Larry's goofier qualities. At the performance I attended, understudy Seth Eliser confidently navigated the tangle of conflicting impulses that is Ferris.

Daniel Allen's scenic design is a thoroughly authentic wood-paneled nightspot complete with a cash bar. The abundance of posters, twinkle lights, and "neon" beer signs makes it feel like the perfect home away from home. Adam Honore's lighting creates a warmly inviting club atmosphere that turns ice cold for certain scenes and numbers. He also paces the numbers with rotating backlight looks; a set of upstage PARs in red, orange, and yellow; and occasional ballyhoos. (Fewer blinder cues would be welcome.) Devario D. Simmons' costumes are inventively tailored to the characters: Note the plaid vest and denim bustier that can be added to Raven's leopard print ensemble as needed. Also note the plaid lumber jacket that carries so much emotional weight. Jordana Abrenica's sound design is clear without being intrusive in this tiny space.

It's probably faint praise to note that Beau towers over the typical Pride month attraction, which typically features shirtless men in flimsy dramatic situations. In nearly every department, its creators have taken care to craft entertainment that should appeal to a broad audience. With several commercial producers attached, it seems likely to turn up again after it closes at the end of July. It also seems like a sure thing for theatres around the country. Like a good country song, it tells a story that you can enjoy hearing again and again. --David Barbour