HERE COMES MR. JORDAN
Have you ever been to a sultry party that has the oppressive feel of a languid, humid day in the Deep South, only to have the energy shift dramatically when a raconteur blows in like a refreshing breeze off the Gulf Coast? Usually, it is someone who can recount their adventures with style, pith, and crackerjack one-liners. The energy shifts and crackles as this bon vivant shocks, delights, and transports you with extraordinary tales of their best and worst of times, sandwiching insightful social commentary between layers of anecdotes.
Perhaps you have not been in the presence of a raconteur, as these witty and frank conversationalists are becoming a rare breed (if not an endangered species), victims to the social media and its world of transitory communiqués. Yet on an unpretentious, antebellum living room set at the Celebration Theatre, you now have the opportunity to meet the life of the party, Mr. Leslie Jordan.
Jordan’s largely-gay fan base will recognize the middle-aged, drawling, diminutive pixie as Beverley Leslie, the contentious, sparring nemesis of Megan Mullally in Will And Grace. Others may remember him as a mental drag queen in Del Shores’ Sordid Lives. More recently he made a big impression in the cast of The Help. But audiences lucky enough to see the world premiere of Fruit Fly, his latest one-man show, will never forget Leslie Jordan as…well, Leslie Jordan: a rascally storyteller who imparts his erstwhile true-life, sordid escapades.
The context of Fruit Fly is a coming-of-gay story, where a sissified boy in Chattanooga, Tennessee could do little to hide his natural flamboyance. His mama, Miss Peggy Ann, understood her boy was different and made sure he had a secret garden where boys could play with dolls. She even allows the lad to accompany her to the Beauty Salon, after which she is treated to the child’s uncanny knack for impersonation. But after tragedy strikes the family, Mama’s got problems of her own, leaving her brassy, brave child to sow his wild oats – whether by inculcating members of the Chattanooga Boys’ Choir or getting high on Black Beauties while lip-synching Tina Turner at an all-black speakeasy when he was 17. (“Y’all caint make this shit up!â€) Jordan comfortably sashays around Jimmy Cuomo’s set as he regales us with seemingly unbelievable stories which are nonetheless validated by photos projected on the back wall.
The staging is a bit loose and we need more than an ottoman on wheels for variety in blocking, but director David Galligan keeps the production flowing very well and has aided Jordan in focusing on mama as a central theme.
The show truly is transporting, but it could use some tightening at the top and feel a bit less schlocky at the end. Plus, it feels inauthentic when Jordan chastises someone in the light booth for projecting an incorrect slide – given that we know it is part of the show (“She’s on medical marijuana, y’allâ€). Then the same gag is repeated with the same line. This terrific one-person tell-all has too much going for it to feel superfluous on any level; the show will resonate more profoundly if all traces of stand-up are removed and we feel as if we are actually in his living room.
Jordan treats us as friends, delivering many of his stories with the delicate veneer of a gracious Southern Belle; it’s surprising that he doesn’t serve mint juleps as he comfortably chit-chats while making eye contact with audience members. When some folks couldn’t see the upstage screen, he merely wheeled a part of the set out of their way – talk about a hostess with the mostess.
photos by Matthew Brian Denman
Fruit Fly
Celebration Theatre
7051 Santa Monica Blvd. in Hollywood
ends on February 18, 2012
for tickets, call 323.957.1884 visit Celebration