65. MIGHTY REAL: A FABULOUS SYLVESTER MUSICAL
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Is disco dead? Not if you visit the Theatre at St. Clements, the Episcopal church cum playhouse, where the high-octane MIGHTY REAL: A FABULOUS SYLVESTER MUSICAL is attempting to resurrect one of its prime movers in a joyously jumping but over-amplified production that threatens to burst the place’s brick walls as well as your eardrums. The show, which takes its title from one of his hit songs, is a paean to the life and career of Sylvester, né Sylvester James, Jr., a flamboyantly gay, African-American disco singer of the 70s and 80s. He may have been only 41 when he died of AIDS in 1988, and, if you weren’t into the disco craze in its heyday today, you may not remember him at all; still, he has a Wikipedia entry so long you might think he won the Nobel Prize.  |
| Anthony Wayne. Photo: Nathan Johnson. |
Essentially a cabaret cum jukebox musical, MIGHTY REAL, one of whose producers is diva Sheryl Lee Ralph, is a sparely designed musicfest. David Lander did the barebones black set and simplified, yet terrific, concert-style lighting, rotating disco ball included, of course. The show features a livewire five-man band, led by Alonzo Harris at the keyboards. After an overlong overture, the unflagging star, Anthony Wayne, appears at the top of a short flight of stairs, gowned in fur, to flame about in his fabled fabulosity as he recreates the glitzy glamor of the late singer. The only obvious design element is the large sign hanging over the stage, spelling out “Sylvester” in sweeping cursive style. Standing at stage right is a quartet of equally energetic and highly talented backup singers, Anastacia McCleskey, Jacqueline B. Arnold, Deanne Stewart, and Rahmel McDade. Mss. McCleskey and Arnold also appear as Sylvester’s frequent backups, Izora Armstead and Martha Walsh, known as the Two Tons o’ Fun (and The Weather Girls), although, unlike the originals, neither has the dimensions suggested by that name. Ms. McCleskey also did the minimal choreography, mostly based on the standard moves of disco performers back in the day.
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| From left: Anastacia McCleskey, Anthony Wayne, Jacqueline B. Arnold. Photo: Joan Marcus. |
The well-toned Mr. Wayne, who codirected with Kendrell Bowman (doubling as the costume designer), doesn’t resemble the “Queen of Disco,” as Sylvester was known, but you can’t deny his striking looks (especially in his glam makeup, accessorized with flaming red nails) and charismatic charm. He and his energizer bunny company offer 90 minutes of Sylvester’s disco hits along with a sampling of other major songs from the period (such as “Respect,” “Voulez Vous Coucher avec Moi,” “Rolling on the River”), given electric performances reminiscent of the great Motown divas, like Diana Ross, Aretha Franklin, Labelle, and Tina Turner, among others, who made them famous. There’s also a show-stopping “It’s Raining Men” by the Two Tons o’ Fun.
No one is credited with the book, a maudlin biographical monologue delivered by Sylvester, who speaks in a soft, breathy voice, sometimes blurring into inaudibility, as he talks into a mic held close to his mouth. It’s basically a sentimentalized and abbreviated account of his life, from his childhood as a gospel singing wunderkind growing up in South Central Los Angeles, through his teenage trauma at being rejected for his overt femininity and his becoming a professional singer. His career highs and lows, including his participation in the provocative San Francisco drag queen troupe called the Cockettes, and his indulgent life style spending thousands on bling, are dutifully accounted for, often with a mushy suffering-through-tears sentimentality, especially when the AIDS epidemic hits. He loses his beautiful white lover and eventually succumbs himself in 1988. But, given Ms. Ralph’s involvement as founding director of the D.I.V.A. Foundation, devoted to raising HIV/AIDS awareness, the show concludes on a positive, if platitudinous, note, urging people to live life to its fullest.
MIGHTY REAL, while low budget, does its best to dress Mr. Wayne, who often brandishes a folding fan in one hand (larger than the one seen in Sylvester YouTube videos) in a semblance of the sequins, furs, jewelry, and lamé associated with his flashy persona. He also makes a sharp impression wearing a white suit, with a big, red carnation on the lapel. Whereas the original Sylvester wore a white shirt with such a suit, Mr. Wayne is shirtless, so that his pronounced pectorals are on full display. Men can have cleavage, too! The Two Tons of Fun mostly wear wigs and red sequined dresses, evoking a definite sense of period.
The high-voltage music includes 10 Sylvester numbers, including “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real),” “Dance (Disco Heat),” “Do You Wanna Funk” (excuse me for thinking I heard something else), “Ooh Baby Baby,” and “Cry Me a River.” There’s also a medley where Sylvester covers Barry Manilow’s “Could It Be Magic” and Leon Russell’s “A Song for You.” Even up-tempo this medley offers relief from what begins to sound like an incessant barrage of fast-paced, intensely rhythmic dance music, sung and played as loudly and enthusiastically as possible--more so than the originals--by both Mr. Wayne and his backups. Too often, the exceptionally gifted Mr. Wayne is forced to shout and scream his many big notes (not all of which he hits on key), and J. Rafael Carlotto’s sound design doesn’t prevent the effect from sounding tinny. Listening later to the actual Sylvester’s singing, I heard a much sweeter, higher-pitched falsetto than Mr. Wayne manages, although one must acknowledge how difficult these songs are to sing in any register, and what a powerful instrument is required to sing at such a level for so long (twice on matinee days).
Disco music is dance music, so pretty soon you’re going to want to get up and boogy. For the final song, “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)” Sylvester, dressed in silk kimono and turban, invites the audience to rise, clap or wave its hands, and get down with the beat as Sylvester and company rattle the rafters. The audience happily obliges, but the number seems never to end, and only to get louder and louder (like “Hava Nagila” at a bar mitzvah I went to yesterday). By the time the show finally ends you begin to understand why, even in a church, bringing disco back to life isn’t the easiest of tasks, but it sure can be fun when it works.
