K.T. Peterson

What a ‘Ride’!

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By John Lyle Belden

For those in search of the next “Rocky Horror” phenomenon, or who feel that the stakes in “Spelling Bee” weren’t high enough, we invite you to “Ride the Cyclone”!

First developed in Canada in 2008 by Jacob Richmond and Brooke Maxwell, then appearing Off-Broadway the next year, “Ride the Cyclone: The Musical” has more recently taken on cult status with a large Tik-Tok community of fan art, theories, and costumes. The Phoenix Theatre now gives this experience a whirl, directed by K.T. Peterson.

In a storage building for a traveling carnival, a ghostly lament is heard, and the Amazing Karnak (Ben Asaykwee) awakens. Not a boast, he says, just the name on the side of his box. Unknown carny magic allows him to read the future, but only of one’s time and manner of death. This being too much of a downer, he’s been adjusted to be more cryptic. As he knows his own demise is imminent, he uses his remaining power to find those he couldn’t properly warn. Six teens, members of a school choir from Uranium City in far north Saskatchewan, died when The Cyclone roller coaster went off its rails. Their spirits are summoned to give one of them the opportunity to resume the life they had lost.

Enter overachiever Ocean (Mia Stewart); sassy only-gay-in-town Noel (Parker Taylor); surly adoptee from Ukraine, Mischa (Seth Jacobsen); comics-obsessed dreamer Ricky (Noah Lee), who had been struck mute from an earlier trauma; and plain and shy Constance (Marachey Fowler), most notable for being Ocean’s best friend and whose catchphrase is a very Canadian “So-rry!”

They are soon joined by Jane Doe (Olivia Broadwater), who had not been identified after the accident as no one could find her head. She replaces it with one from a doll. Having no identity of her own, she looks, acts, and speaks like an animated toy.

They each sing their case for going back through the light (like “Cats,” but more relatable) in a show that is at turns funny, moving, and surreal.

Asaykwee brings a bit of magic to all his roles. Here he gives wide expression to his wooden face, taking charge of the entire stage though he never leaves his box. He also shares this space with some of the best young talent we have seen around Indy.

Taylor once again makes us love a quirky character, even if his life’s dream is to die elsewhere. His Noel is comfortable in his queerness, while frustrated at missing the opportunity to be where he better fits in.

In fact, they all wanted to escape life in their dying former mining town (in our present day, home to under 100 residents). Perhaps it is more frustrating for Ocean, who Stewart plays as a controlling Alpha whose youth shows in her lack of tact. Or for Constance, who feared becoming resigned to living her whole life in Uranium (which, sadly, happened). Fowler takes on her pain of being overlooked and taken advantage of, converting it to inner strength.  

Ricky surprises them all, having regained his voice, and he has a lot to say. Ironically upbeat, Lee shares his sad origin and the cool sci-fi fantasy synthesized from his unconventional upbringing, complete with sexy catgirls.

Mischa is a little older than the others but was mostly denied a regular childhood. Jacobson handles his angst well. Feeling culturally mixed-up, he channels his feelings into hip-hop rhymes, and longs for the girl who liked him on YouTube.

Broadwater shows immense talent in working within the limits of her character in both movement and personality, taking her from creepy to heartbreaking with apparent ease.

Note the production is for teens and up, complete with a few F-bombs and a giant rat (Kristin Wentz). Appropriately cluttered yet versatile stage design is by David B. Vogel, complimented by lighting design by Michael Moffatt and sound and video projections by Ben Dobler.

Like the best carnival rides, The Cyclone is fun, wild, exhilarating, and affecting – and makes me want to get in line for another ticket.

Get yours at the Phoenix Theatre Cultural Centre, where “Ride the Cyclone: The Musical” runs through Aug. 2 at 705 N. Illinois St., downtown Indianapolis. See phoenixtheatre.org.

Phoenix: ‘Love’ in an unusual place

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By John Lyle Belden

True story: In the middle of the Pacific Ocean, an area bigger than many countries, there is a vast sea of human-generated garbage. Now, what if a solitary seabird called Nigel, who lived on a remote island off New Zealand (also true), instead occupied a tiny patch of land in those plastic-infested waters?

This sets the stage for “Love Bird,” a play by K.T. Peterson at the Phoenix Theatre. Note that I write “solitary” above rather than “lonely,” as in this fantasy, Nigel (portrayed by Scot Greenwell) constructed a couple of companions from the washed-up flotsam.

Elegant Saundra he adores, and wishes would return his affection. Nigel creates an extravagant nest, and even composes a song for her on his homemade instrument. But also, there’s easygoing Jessica, who likes to hang around in a nearby tree (a shrubbery, she corrects in his head). She’s the kind of friend who is easy to talk to.

“What a world we create for ourselves,” Nigel remarks, with no sense of irony.

He has a ring-pop secreted in a shell-covered box for his true love. The nearby pod of whales converse mainly with each other, so Nigel instead argues with some oncoming storm clouds. Suddenly, another flesh-and-blood seabird appears.

Norman (Bill Simmons) has different plumage, a gregarious personality, and likes to draw in the sand – mostly portraits of eggs. He comes bearing a gift of clothespins. He also seems to have been observing Nigel from afar, which is bothersome. 

Concerns are put aside, however, as Nigel sets up a wonderful dinner party for Norman, a double-date with Saundra and Jessica. Eventually, the storm butts in, and changes everything.

The portrayals of these birds (Nigel is a gannet, Norman is unspecified but resembles a brown boobie) are fascinating and highly entertaining. With the help of creative makeup, clownish clothing by Beck Jones, and movement to mimic creatures not used to walking everywhere, what we get is anthropomorphic but not human. Rather than seeing bird costumes revealing the personality within, we observe pure personalities with the hint of an avian exterior.

I wanted to love this play more than I did. There was much affection for Nigel among the audience, partly because Greenwell is just so darn adorable. In fact, it is the stellar talents of both him and Simmons – who provides contrast, tension, and eventually revelation – that elevate this performance above issues I had with the text. The human-relatable metaphors get muddled, as the characters make references both to being birds (“when I was a fledgling”) and being stuck in an office job with a “Karen.” And is it really that necessary for a bird to have a boat?

One obvious point in the play is the ubiquitousness of the garbage, from which Nigel makes his world,* and that Norman is tempted to eat. (This brings on one hilarious literal “gag.”) The fact that it goes without comment should perhaps be distressing to us, as our junk becomes “normal” to the creatures who live there. But in its colorful arrangement by set designer Kyle Ragsdale, and the way Nigel/Greenwell relishes its pieces, it comes across more quaint than invasive.

Directed by Jolene Mentink Moffatt, with the quirky weirdness you often get in plays like this (which has long been a hallmark of the Phoenix), this romantic comedy like no other might not be for everyone. But it is worth a look for its visuals and performances. At the core, it’s just a couple of bird-brains looking for companionship, and we can all relate to that.

One weekend of performances remain, through Feb. 20 on the mainstage at 705 N. Illinois St., downtown Indianapolis. Get info and tickets at PhoenixTheatre.org.

(*The trash was not a factor in the life of the real Nigel, as he lived on a relatively clean island with concrete gannets placed by researchers to attract the birds. Poor Nigel was the only taker, making him Internet-famous. The lone but not lonely bird passed away in February 2018, next to his concrete “mate.” Other live gannets have since taken his place on Mana Island, two miles north of New Zealand. [Source: Washington Post])