Friday March 29, 2024
The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert
Review

The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert

October 17 2008

WHO needs Busby Berkeley and the Ziegfeld Follies (staple anti-depressants of the global financial meltdown of the 1930s) when you have Priscilla Queen of the etc etc?

The old bus and her passengers, Bernadette, Adam and Tick, are all that's required to put a smile on your face and only the most churlish and un-Austrayan among us would say otherwise.

Priscilla has come – and gone – a long way since she chugged out of the Lyric Theatre two years ago. Ten months in Sydney (and they said she’d never make it) then a triumphant sojourn in Melbourne (and they said she’d never make it) then across the Tasman to New Zealand (and they said she’d never make that transition either). And now she’s back home for twelve weeks, then it's off to London. It’s a remarkable story – and a thoroughly remarkable achievement by all concerned.

Priscilla has undergone a fair amount of renovation and polishing since she was last in Sydney and it's mainly all for the good. The story lines are clearer, the look of the show is – if it's possible – even more extravagant, exuberant and joyous (Tim Chappel and Lizzie Gardner's costumes are beyond spectacular) and the recruiting of Todd McKenney in the role of Mitzi/Tick is a big plus.

McKenney brings a warmth and sweetness to the role of the drag queen whose closet contains an ex-wife and young son that adds a lovely dimension to the show and also helps the other main characters. In particular the spoilt brat Felicia/Adam comes to life as a boy whose lust for life and adventure is really about unacknowledged pain rather than sheer naughtiness. Daniel Scott made a huge impression when he first descended from the gods, two years ago, clad in black leather and attitude; and the impression is greater now because he is no longer channelling Guy Pearce but has claimed the role for himself and he's fabulous!

The Adventures of Priscilla Queen of the Desert

And that leaves the heart and soul of the show: Tony Sheldon. As Bernadette, the world-weary transexual, Sheldon is simply sublime. The depth, intelligence and subtlety of the performance is such that at the final curtain, when he comes down the stairs sans-wig with his silver crewcut gleaming, there are gasps from the audience. In particular from those ladies of middle years who have spent the evening empathising and identifying with this woman whose search for love, dignity and a halfway decent man are modest and heartrending ambitions.

At the same time, however, the other side of this extraordinary performance is the energy, humour, discipline and sheer joie de vivre that comes from a lifetime of top rank showbiz experience. The man is a national living treasure and we had better make the most of him because when London discovers him (March 2009) I suspect he'll be snapped up a la G. Rush and become an overnight international sensation.

And for the rest of the show: the ensemble is as tight as a drum, the divas are divine, Brian Thomson's set remains a masterpiece of economy and wit, the band rocks and the bus trundles as recalcitrantly as ever. Priscilla is a show I've loved hopelessly from the beginning and I still do. Nevertheless, I think it would be a good idea to stop mucking about with it now and have the confidence to take it to London as is. If you didn't have Sheldon as Bernadette it could be a worry, but as it is, I'm going to be there with bells on.

 

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