Something Rotten!: in praise of chorus boys and musicals
20 Jun 2024 - Photos by David Hou and Ann Baggley

With a big voice that belies his lithe frame, Jeremy Carver-James launches into "Welcome to the Renaissance" to welcome us to the Stratford Festival's good time musical Something Rotten! The stage floods with triple threats in period appropriate costumes, belting witty lyrics over catchy tunes. One can feel any tension disperse, the very pretension of attending the theatre melts away, and one realizes that we are in the capable hands of director Donna Feore and an energetic and breathtakingly precise cast and crew. The plot is both simple and convoluted and it is an excuse for gag after gag and show stopping musical number after show stopping musical number. If it weren't all so nimble and hilarious, it would be exhausting. 

The basic plot has the playwrights Nick and Nigel Bottom about to be dumped by their patron unless they come up with a hit to rival those of their rival Shakespeare. Desperate, Nick consults Thomas Nostradamus, nephew of the famous astrologer, who looks into the future and urges Nick to invent the musical. From there sprout plotlines of creating the musical (and satirizing every let's put on a show musical), outwitting Shakespeare who is a bit of a plagiarist (and making satirical one liners out of every Shakespearean quote and title), resolving parallel love stories for each brother (while satirizing love ballads and gender roles), simply satirizing Puritanism, all while paying homage to (and satirizing) a dizzying array of classic and/or notorious musicals. It builds to climax after climax with the zenith, for me, being when a breakdancing nun spins in front of the Phantom from Phantom of the Opera who parts his cape to reveal Frank-N-Furter's corset and heels, which is the cue for an army of tap-dancing eggs. And it all makes logical, gut-busting and sing-along sense. And lets Something Rotten! have its cake and eat it too. With gollops of icing to spare.

Something Rotten! had barely begun when I marvelled at the skill and dedication of the chorus. There are hundreds of costume changes, reams of complicated athletic choreography, and dozens of specific characters who have to be defined while remaining in the background. As he did in Spamalot and Frankenstein Revived, Devon Michael Brown can't help but draw attention while carefully not stealing focus. The energy he radiates is as impressive as the physicality. Whether bored at rehearsal or bumping and grinding as part of Shakespeare's bedazzler codpieced entourage, he and Alex Kelly (who filled in as a delightful Francis the first time I saw La Cage Aux Folles) morph from character to character while singing and dancing with gusto. This is not to denigrate the abilities of the rest of the chorus, this is simply because I had seen the pair in action before and was amazed at how so much talent can, by necessity, be harnessed and grafted into a manic clockwork whole.

That pondering was triggered by Stratford's repertory structure which operates in tandem with a star hierarchy. While I had no doubts that the production of Something Rotten! would be slick and steps beyond professional, two of the actors I was looking forward to seeing were out that day, replaced by understudies. My disappointment melted away as the show worked its charms and climbed from height to dazzling height. Perhaps, I mused, the star system is an archaic publicity device held over from the Renaissance. Note: this idle thought was ably amplified by Something Rotten!s portrayal of Shakespeare as a celebriwhore, a shallow but mesmerizing rock star of a playwright/poet. And this starring, while satirizing the concept of stardom, role was being played, with finesse, by the understudy Gabriel Antonacci. While I am a fan of Jeff Lillico's, I did not feel cheated, perhaps only that the Clairol hair flip moments might be more pronounced with Lillico's famed mane. The production itself, an entertainment machine, is more important than any of its parts.

Enter Dan Chameroy as Thomas Nostradamus. I have enjoyed Chameroy as his pantomime alter-ego Plumbum many times, but nothing prepared me for his scene-stealing spotlight devouring Nostradamus. Yes, the singing and dancing was spot on, the jokes impeccably timed, the physical comedy uproarious, but there was something else, that intangible star power that just lights up the theatre. And, unlike the hardworking and humble chorus boys, he gleefully stole focus. Deservedly. All my theories thrown out the window like Renaissance effluent. And Something Rotten! then did something very rotten and overwhelmed my critical thinking processes. I just settled into my seat and, toes tapping, let the entertainment carry me away. It was only after the rousing curtain call that I realized how cleverly I had been manipulated, to revel in both mockery and homage to musicals, Shakespeare and dozens of other targets.

The leads, the Bottom brothers, are both strong in different ways. Mark Uhre as Nick is bumbling and comical until he grabs hold of a musical number and leads it to triumph. Henry Firmston as Nigel, the intellectual poet and shy lover, has a lovely voice that lends itself to the ballads he is handed. He is wistfully matched with Olivia Sinclair-Brisbane as Portia, his pre-feminist love interest. Starr Domingue as Bea gets the first stand and deliver number which she belts out with as much skill as she handles Bea's unintentionally castrating comic bits. She is a delight. As is Juan Chioran who has the least subtle and smuttiest double entendres as Brother Jeremiah. The songs by Karey Kirkpatrick and Wayne Kirkpatrick are pop rock pleasant with enough hooks for the singers to sink their teeth into, while the book by Karey Kirkpatrick and John O'Farrell is packed with jokes, jibes and affectionate satire. It's impossible to know how many references, some are specific to the festival itself, were inserted by Feore and the creatives, but the audience roared with laughter repeatedly to the point where it was contagious.

Though the Festival theatre holds a huge number of audience members, all of the seats are close to the stage. The skill deployed in sending a huge cast on and off and all around the stage makes the action seem even closer. Perhaps being able to see the expressions on the faces of the chorus made their work all the more splendid. It is one thing to emote during a power ballad or patter number, it is another to be so completely engaged and engaging that the illusion is seamless. And as fast as the illusions appear, dozens of red wigs materialize for a twelve bar riff on Annie that brought down the house, they disappear to become something else. As one character sings in yet another double, definitely triple, possibly quadruple, entendre, "These Bottoms going to be on top."