The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas, first presented on Broadway in 1978 and memorably mounted as a film in 1982, is ironically one of the most prescient musicals for the 21st century. The story of the Chicken Ranch in fictional Gilbert, Texas, both portends contemporary cancel culture and brilliantly contrasts the ethics of prostitution, the media, and politics—and in the end posits that the world’s oldest profession is the most noble part of that triad.
So it was great to see Evanston’s Theo Ubique Cabaret Theatre (now known more simply as Theo) ambitiously mount Whorehouse, a sprawling show that sometimes leaves the theater bursting at the seams. The production has some kinks to iron out but, nevertheless, is a great showcase of Carol Hall’s beautiful songs and Larry L. King and Peter Masterson’s bittersweet and caustic book.
The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas Through 1/29: Thu-Sat 7:30 PM, Sun 6 PM; no shows 12/22-12/25 or 1/1; Howard Street Theatre, 721 Howard, Evanston, 773-939-4101, theo-u.com, $45-$55. Three-course prix fixe dinner from Cross-Rhodes Evanston available for $30 (drinks and gratuity not included); dinner packages must be ordered a week before the show.
Whorehouse is very much a product of its time. Director Landree Fleming had her work cut out for her here. While 70s and 80s culture depicted sex work as either a comedic or tragic venture, advocates in recent years have started to consider that sex work is indeed, well, work—and is usually the result of circumstance and conscientious choice. In her director’s note, Fleming sums it up: “We see a woman [Miss Mona] who contributes to her town, who provides a safe haven and an honest day’s work, be attacked by a self-righteous talking head.”
At the center of Theo Ubique’s production is Anne Sheridan Smith as the world-weary but kindhearted Miss Mona. Whorehouse is above all else a story of time’s relentless passage and being present for the end of an era; Smith brings all that to Miss Mona brilliantly. Her performance of “Bus From Amarillo” nicely brings out that song’s nuances as both an elegy for lost youth and a weary look ahead toward the future.
Marc Prince’s Ed Earl Dodd probably should have been directed to be played as an older character. While the part is now closely associated with Burt Reynolds’s portrayal in the movie, Ed Earl works best as someone in their 60s or thereabouts. Ed Earl is at times imperceptive and obtuse, but, like Mona, he is hyperaware that he is getting old. He is a grumpy and vulgar man too, and the brashness the character needs to believably chase Melvin P. Thorpe’s (David Blakeman) camera crew out of town is missing in Theo’s show.
The show sometimes struggles for a balanced tone too. Thorpe and the Texas governor (Teddy Gales, who also plays the show’s other political officials), while intended as caricatures, seem more cartoonish than the play dictates. Make no mistake, the audience loved Blakeman and Gales the night I viewed the play, but the two actors seem to be in a different show than Miss Mona and the Chicken Ranch girls, who are all generally playing the story straight.
The ensemble here really knows how to keep the energy going. It’s a small cast for a show with so many characters, so some of the Chicken Ranch girls double as members of the Aggies football team. Jenna Schoppe’s choreography is excellent, and this ensemble knows their stuff—one of the performers playing a Chicken Ranch girl was sidelined at the end of act one and was replaced by a standby performer, but nobody ever missed a beat.
Speaking of brash, Cynthia F. Carter really nails Miss Jewel’s “Twenty-Four Hours of Lovin’.” On the other end of that emotional spectrum, Halle Bins captures Doatsey Mae’s loneliness and wanting in that character’s solo.