“At the Wake of a Dead Drag Queen”: The title sums up playwright Terry Guest’s alternately ebullient and sorrow-steeped tale of a dead drag queen.
But this is no somber, black-clad tale of trauma and mourning. We’re not at the wake of the late, great titular drag queen so much as we’re living in flashbacks of her life. In director Mikhael Burke’s staging, “At the Wake of a Dead Drag Queen” is a sequin-studded, rose petal-raining ode to joy.
Set in 2004 and inspired by the life of Guest’s uncle — a drag queen who died of AIDs at 35 — The Story Theatre’s 90-minute two-hander feels not only timely but defiantly so.
As it tells the story of Anthony Knighton and his drag-queen alter-ego Courtney Berringers (both played by Guest), “Wake” is also a wrenching exploration of the way trauma can force you to build walls so thick that barely a whisper of honest emotion can escape.
The Story Theatre production remount (which enjoyed its world premiere here in 2019), co-starring Paul Michael Thomson as Hunter Grimes and his drag queen alter-ego Vickie Versailles, is at once raucous, contemplative and irreverent as well as a full-on, lip-synch extravaganza.
The setting is over a quarter of a century gone, but few would fail to see the contemporary relevance. In 2004, homophobia was so strong, AIDs was still widely dismissed as a punishment from God, a plague sent to kill sinners.
A cruel version of that lethal mindset remains deeply entrenched today: Per the ACLU, almost 600 anti-LGBTQIA bills have been introduced in state legislatures this year. In Illinois, there are currently 15 pending bills that target gay and transgender rights.
Such is the context when we first meet Courtney in her act, draped in a skin-tight crimson gown, turning “I’m Every Woman” into a rallying cry. Breaking the fourth wall with pointed insouciance and ridiculous (in a good way) innuendo, she brings the house down.
Vickie/Hunter is a newbie to the art form. Vickie’s make-up is iffy, her wigs rough, her spirit undaunted. Hunter is determined to break into Anthony’s fortress of repressed emotion. Anthony is determined to keep Hunter at bay.
Beyond their work, Hunter and Anthony have little in common. Hunter is dubious about Garland’s bona fides as a gay icon, has never heard of “Sunset Boulevard” or — to Anthony’s horror — even Gloria Swanson. At one point, Hunter tries to make Anthony guess his favorite movie, “Titanic,” describing it as a tragedy on a boat. Anthony responds without hesitation: “Roots.”
Guest packs the story’s unspooling with vivid details: a maroon Buick that becomes a totem of Anthony’s childhood. A crystal lamp with near-mesmeric power. A record player. A grandmother who saw him and loved him. A larger world that saw him and condemned him.
As the flashbacks move toward their inevitable conclusion, Guest punctuates “Wake” with absolutely killer lip-synchs from Courtney and Vickie.
Backed by Ethan Korvne’s immaculate sound design, Courtney delivers “Get Happy” with choreography that replicates Judy Garland’s original, head to toe.
Vickie gets an operatic doozy of a number — “Der Holle Rache (Queen of the Night Aria)” from “The Magic Flute” — a frenzy of high soprano trills instilled with fabulous histrionics. Vickie also provides rich exposition to some of Courtney’s routines: The first act of a lip-synch is about history, the second about the queen performing, the third about pulling out all the stops and leaving the audience in awe.
The action plays out on scenic designer Alyssa Mohn’s atmospheric set. Old man’s beard — the spooky, tree-draping moss so prevalent in the Deep South — frames the stage. A queen in a crown of stars rises in a stained-glass window above an urn-bearing altar flanked by flower arrangements. A make-up station sits upstage. A massive series of mirrors — moss creeping around their frames — reflects the audience, making ticket-holders a de facto part of the production.
Racquel Postiglione’s costumes are a detailed melange. Layers of shapewear covered in form-fitting frocks, dressing gowns fit for a sultan, a rack of dresses covered in spangles and marabou fur. Courtney’s final costume mimics that of the stained-glass queen to gorgeous effect.
Per Ru Paul Charles (creator of the global franchise “Ru Paul’s Drag Race”), we’re all born naked, and the rest is drag. Terry Guest bears witness to those who embrace the latter, in his own family and in history’s larger context. It’s as powerful as it is entertaining.