Rock of Ages: the dreams you come in with may not be the dreams you leave with
03 Mar 2023

by Drew Rowsome - Photos by Raph Nogal.

The Rock of Ages audience was as happy as Dave Comeau's narrator who had just lamented his thwarted theatrical ambitions. Instead of intense drama and psychological exploration, Comeau is speeding across the stage, flirting shamelessly with audience, breaking the fourth wall, dispensing smutty but funny double entendres, and wailing high notes with abandon. As he says, to thunderous applause, " Hell yeah I'm happy. This shit is fun."

Rock of Ages definitely is fun. Fun with a capital 'F' for fuck yeah. Even having seen a touring company and the movie did not spoil my enjoyment. The book has been updated to include some topical references (including the nail in the coffin, judging by the applause and laughter it got, of John Tory's political career) and everything is big. Not just big hair but also a gargantuan set of gleaming steel, lighting and effects to rival any rock concert, and a collection of big, bigger and even bigger than that voices. Because the music is the entire reason for the existence of Rock of Ages. The collection of '80s hair metal hits may not be "Andrew Lloyd f'ing Sondheim" but there is no need for any of them try to worm their way into our brains. They are already baked into our DNA.

Being a jukebox musical, the book writer Chris D'Arienzo, who is relentlessly mocked by the characters, has supplied a surfeit of plots to string the songs together. None of it is of consequence and not all of it is even resolved in any meaningful or logical manner. It doesn't have to be. The thematic structural plot is a slam against gentrification which has particular relevance to a Toronto audience. A series of background projections showing the great structures we have lost to soulless condominiums drives that point home in a visual instant. I'm not even sure exactly how the dastardly plan to demolish the club at the center of Rock of Ages is thwarted. Again it doesn't matter, because the songs are all full of rebellion and adolescent angst. "We're Not Gonna Take It" and "We Wanna Rock" bristle with anger at the status quo and the establishment. That's more than enough vague villainy to carry an evening of political discourse of the shallow but gratifying variety.

The other main plot is a sweet love story between aspiring rocker, Trevor Coll, and a wannabe actress, AJ Bridel (Kinky Boots, A Christmas Carol, Lil' Red Robin Hood). Both play innocence corrupted with empathetic panache, and both have the vocal prowess to rip into and reinvent the songs that express their inner emotions bombastically. Bridel excels on the ballads and Coll milks a sustained high note for longer than Jennifer Holliday in Dreamgirls. It doesn't hurt that they both are instantly engaging, with Coll's piercing wide eyes compensating for his tentative crotch grabs, and Bridel rocking (there is no other description) stripper lingerie. The love story and its rom com complications are slight and just an excuse for the two to sing their hearts out. Even the resolution is a fourth wall breaking, book writer blaming, excuse for the final number. A number that brings the audience to its feet and that they are all still singing in their heads days later. 

The third corner of the thwarting triangle is the sleazy rock star Stacee Jaxx who is incarnated with daring comic aplomb by Jonathan Cullen (Forever Plaid, Beauty and the Beast, Parade) who is more reptilian than debauched. One believes the line referring to him: "Do you remember that time you dressed up as a clown and tea-bagged a llama?" His seduction/orgy number is a memorable highlight of the entire production, the bravado and timing are as hilarious as it is hot. Louise Camilleri bends mediocre lyrics to her will, and struts with style as the madam of a strip club practicing a questionable form of feminism. Tyler Pearse skirts offensiveness as the comic relief heavy, salvaging himself with a final one-liner but having already redeemed the character through sheer effusive charisma. Saphire Demitro (Little Shop of Horrors, Jesus Christ Superstar, American Idiot, Obeah Opera, Into the Woods, Evil Dead the Musical, Peter and the Starcatcher) sashays through her supporting roles and the few phrases she got to sing solo drew audible gasps from the audience.

Kent Sheridan's gravelly voice and bumbling gravitas give extra weight to the secondary, but more emotionally resonant, romance. The Fogmaster 5000 gag is priceless and when his in memoriam angelic projection spreads its great gay wings to embrace the cast and audience, it briefly threatens to give Rock of Ages more solemn grace than intended. There is not a weak link in the cast and that is particularly demonstrated by the constant motion ensemble including Joey Arrigo (Volta). Eighties metal fashions are skimpy and sexy and the dancers gyrate and swagger stunningly. More importantly, they are always characters. The choreography is a strenuous mash of acrobatics with '80s music video synchronization, but each dancer is aware, an actor who just happens to use a flexible fabulous physique as an expressive tool. 

Bringing us back to our narrator, Comeau, who delivers the dubious moral of Rock of Ages as a one-liner, glossing so as not to make this celebratory moment a tragedy. Already in his confidence, he warns us that on the Sunset Strip, in rock n roll, and in life, "The dreams you come in with may not be the dreams you leave with." It applies to this Rock of Ages itself. Whatever you are expecting, deep or shallow, you will leave singing of possibilities. But if you are expecting to have fun, your dreams will come true.