Theater Review: THE WEDDING SINGER (Colony Theatre)

Synthwave Romance: The Wedding Singer
Grooves on Camp, Chemistry, and Crimped Hair

If you still belt out “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” in your car or secretly miss the days when big hair was in fashion, The Wedding Singer—which opened last night at The Colony Theatre—has your number. This show doesn’t flirt with nostalgia—it goes all in, drenched in Aqua Net and straddling a keytar like it’s a weapon of mass seduction.

The Wedding Singer refuses to be anything other than what it is. Adapted from the 1998 Adam Sandler–Drew Barrymore rom-com, it doesn’t shoot for profundity or edge. It swaps out the film’s Billy Idol airplane climax for a Vegas chapel packed with celebrity impersonators—and improbably, that chaotic ending works even better onstage. What we get is the stage equivalent of comfort food: slightly ridiculous, deeply satisfying, and engineered for maximum delight.

Colin Huerta, Blake Jenner, Chris Bey

The plot is vintage rom-com with a synth-pop upgrade. Robbie Hart sings at weddings, gets left at the altar, and meets Julia, the kind-hearted waitress implausibly engaged to Wall Street sleaze Glen. You can spot the narrative arc from space, but that’s the point. This is the kind of story where familiarity isn’t a flaw—it’s the engine. The pleasure is in the vibe, not the surprise.

Director Michael Donovan, best known as one of LA’s top theatrical casting agents, strikes a sharp balance between campy 1980s excess and emotional sincerity. He keeps transitions tight, the energy high, and never lets sentimentality drown the show’s inherent ridiculousness. This deft touch elevates what could have been mere pastiche into something genuinely charming.

Blake Jenner, Hannah Sedlacek

Blake Jenner plays Robbie with just the right balance of earnestness and awkward charm. He avoids the smug edge that made Sandler’s original take occasionally grating and instead gives us someone we can root for without hesitation. He’s got a clean tenor, a grounded physicality, and the sense to play even the silliest moments with full conviction. Recent Pepperdine grad Hannah Sedlacek turns Julia into more than a placeholder love interest. She’s got timing that snaps and a presence that lifts each beat into something specific. Her chemistry with Jenner feels earned—a gradual buildup through small choices rather than some sweeping theatrical inevitability.

The supporting cast commits completely to the material. Colin Huerta channels 80s realness as Sammy, Robbie’s fashion disaster best friend and wannabe Lothario, while Chris Bey gives George, a flamboyant keyboardist in Boy George drag, the glimmering edge that electrifies every band scene. Juliane Godfrey brings comic voltage as Holly, Julia’s wild-hearted cousin and roommate. Her every side glance and pelvic thrust lands with intent. Natalie Holt MacDonald, last seen impressing in One for My Baby, makes Linda believably superficial and selfish as the ex-fiancée who ditches Robbie at the altar and somehow still thinks she deserves a second chance. And stealing the show in a late-act surprise is A Chorus Line original cast member Kay Cole, quirky and feisty as Rosie, Robbie’s spirited grandmother. Her unexpected number is a crowd-pleasing gem—evidenced by spontaneous applause from an audience that clearly didn’t want it to end.

(Top) Juliane Godfrey, Hannah Sedlacek, Chris Bey;
(Bottom) Michael Deni, Colin Huerta, Blake Jenner

Design doesn’t just support the show—it sells the illusion outright. Jenna Bergstraesser’s costumes lean into Reagan-era maximalism with cropped jackets, leg warmers, mini-skirts, high-waisted pants, and enough polyester to stock several Movies of the Week. Leland Stephens’ wig design doesn’t skimp on the volume—this is unapologetically “80s big hair,” either teased or crimped to the heavens. Michelle Elkin’s choreography delivers period-appropriate flair, blending Aerobicize and Solid Gold dance moves into a kinetic celebration of retro bravado. Mark Mendelson’s minimalistic set, with its vivid arches, gets an assist from lighting designer Justin Huen, whose glowing palettes help each moment pop without distraction. Even the neon-lit arches and over-the-top 1980s clothes serve as more than decoration—they echo a decade built on bright exteriors and hollow interiors.

The score by Matthew Sklar and Chad Beguelin, marking their Broadway debut, keeps the mood airborne without aiming for Sondheim-level complexity. “Somebody Kill Me” straddles pain and parody with surgical precision, while “It’s Your Wedding Day” launches the show with enough adrenalized glee to carry the night. With punchy electronic drums and gliding synth lines, the orchestration doesn’t just evoke the 1980s—it resurrects it.

Blake Jenner, Kay Cole

Sklar’s melodies are sticky in the best way: instantly singable, sneakily sophisticated, and often capped by key changes that make already-lovely tunes shimmer harder. He’s got an ear for both sparkle and edge, tossing off rock burners like “Casualty of Love” with a sneer and a hook. Beguelin’s lyrics, meanwhile, veer gleefully from earnest to acerbic. One minute it’s heartfelt (“So when it’s your wedding day and my music starts to play…”), the next it’s pure left-field sass (as in the grandma’s parting advice that “Linda is a skanky whore”). Then suddenly, it turns quietly poignant with lines like “I call them ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad.’” These aren’t just gags or emotional tugs—they’re character reveals disguised as punchlines and refrains.

But this production slips something sharper under the radar. Julia’s near-marriage to stability over substance mirrors a decade addicted to appearances—where glossy surfaces masked rot underneath. Glen isn’t merely a jerk; he’s the era’s excess in human form: slick, soulless, and hungry. Having graduated high school during Reagan’s “Greed is Good” years—watching classmates drive luxury cars while I took the school bus—I recognized Glen’s particular brand of entitled hunger. That contrast makes Robbie’s unflashy decency feel almost radical.

Hannah Sedlacek, Juliane Godfrey

The co-written book wrangles two impulses: Original screenwriter Tim Herlihy’s punchline sprints and musical theatre provide Beguelin’s bid for heart. Sometimes they pass the baton cleanly. Sometimes they trip. In scenes like “Casualty of Love,” (when Robbie is fully drunk and unhinged at a wedding) this tonal tug-of-war can feel like a sketch chasing gravitas. The Vegas finale, too, barrels into slapstick so quickly that the emotional payoff can feel a half-beat late.

This audience oscillated between belly laughs and nostalgic recognition, leaning in at every cue and cheering by the final blackout. The Wedding Singer isn’t here to challenge your worldview or unpack Reagan-era ideology in any systematic way. It’s a glitter-drenched mixtape from a decade that thought more was always more. But this production manages to throw that party with just enough bite to keep it from collapsing into kitsch.

It’s no small thing to make joy feel earned. The Wedding Singer does it with a wink, a beat you can dance to, and a genuine affection for the kind of love story that knows exactly where it’s going. Like a great mixtape, it spins every track with intention—and cranks loud enough to rewind time.

photos by Ashley Erikson

The Wedding Singer
Colony Theater, 555 N Third St. in Burbank
free parking in the multi-level lot adjacent to the theater
Fri at 8; Sat at 2 & 8; Sun at 2 & 7
ends on June 29, 2025
for tickets ($65), call 818.558.7000 or visit Colony Theatre

for more shows, visit Theatre in LA