All the World's a Stage

Adam Gwon's book, however unbelievable, has a sort of charm that almost seems accidental. A small, religious town -- so homophobic that the idea of merely existing as a gay person is grounds for firing -- is seemingly okay with a super-gay bookstore on its main drag, with the extent of hate crimes against it being a brick in a window. (Given this is the era and similar setting of what happened to Matthew Shepard, it seems a little tame.)  In said small town enters the nerdy and deeply closeted Ricky Alleman. He's the new math teacher at a rougher high school on the bad side of town. He likes math, but he loves theatre. When the student firebrand Sam is sent to his detention, he discovers her passion for the art that is disallowed to thrive in this town, and he takes it upon himself to foster this growth in a way that he didn't have. Taking her under his wing, the two develop a sonnet for her to perform in a competition. All the while, his relationship with a (proudly out) local business owner remains on the DL. All would probably be fine for Ricky if Sam stuck with Shakespeare as planned, but when she discovers the hyper-controversal Angels in America, the play takes a very interesting turn and transitions from a coming-of-age storybook to a broader commentary on the concept of performance. Sam feels trapped in more ways than one in this town, and Ricky's closetedness drives a wedge between him and his boyfriend, Michael. The attitudes of the townspeople, some seen as friends, challenge Ricky's feeling of acceptance and whom he portrays to them, even leaking into other facets of the piece to explore some proto-nonbinarism. I found its critique of banned media and limited expression to be a satisfyingly sour companion to its much sweeter score, featuring some high-quality contemporary musical pop that is fine if not inoffensive. 8/10

Kyle Sherman is a delightfully dandy Ricky, his affable lankiness injecting warmth and care to the teacher role. There's even a slight gradient of lavender that tinges his character over the course of the play, which was subtle but appreciated. His relationship with Sam -- an astounding Deema Turkomani -- is natural and mirror-esque, and the show lives and breathes because of it. Turkomani's voice is sublime in this role, and the non-binary-slay they give into Sam's character adds a lot of dimension to it. Coupled with an effortlessly energetic stage presence, they commandeer the star label of this show on multiple occasions. Their relationship with Callum Francis' Michael, a magnificent supporting turn in itself, serves as an excellent fulcrum of development for her, and the resulting triangle of queerness is fully-realized.9/10

Artistic Director Matthew Gardiner takes the reins on this piece, and he does this thing quite well. The production is nimble and often quite creative, with humorously blocked choreography and featuring poppy costumes by Shahrzad Mazaheri and the score is handled skillfully by Marika Countouris. However, I found the staging by Paige Hathaway too busy for the space, featuring several blocky shelves with knick-knacks and paddiwacks galore. The notable exception being its rotatable column that serves to transition between scenes, it being so effective that I want one for my own home. 7/10

The scrum that greets you is a bit plain, merely a stage (all the world, apparently) and a blue curtain. But some eagle-eyed theatergoers could take a look at the walls going in to find some clever world-building and even a slur graffiti'd here and there. It makes it feel uneasy if you're queer, but somehow familiarly welcoming as a facsimile of the theatre, a long-held queer safe space. The key art features Ricky peering over some ruled papers with some Shakespeare, a curious depiction that feels just nerdy and intriguing for how the show actually plays out. 7/10