With Die, Mommie, Die!, Island City Brings a Queer Gem to the Stage

To see Die, Mommie, Die! is to dive into the past, not simply the 1960s when the play and its myriad inspirations take place, but into a time when pastiche had a place in theater. Charles Busch's play is something of a relic, a show that Busch himself refers to as a "comic melodrama that evokes the 1960s movie thrillers that featured such aging cinematic icons as Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Lana Turner, and Susan Hayward."

Island City Stage's production of Die, Mommie, Die!, playing until September 22, is the ideal reminder that Busch's brand of camp classic is timeless and that his plays should be staged regularly. This one, in particular, is as charming as ever: an inventive, if occasionally idiotic — in a good way — play on familial dynamics and the suspicious behavior that comes with a mid-century thriller or melodrama. Put simply, the play is about Angela Arden, an aging singer/star with a dead sister and a family who suspects her of murder. Her hateful marriage to a film producer results in her poisoning him, and what follows is a journey full of sexual misconduct, LSD trips, and more twists and turns than anyone can count.

By all means, Busch's play is absolutely ridiculous, and director Andy Rogow understands this, playing into the show's inherent comic and dramatic sensibilities. It's in everything from the video that opens it, complete with Photoshopped photos of Arden's rise and fall in music and film, to the chic but simple staging that allows one to reminisce on what things looked like once on screen. Its boldest moments of staging perhaps come in an impressive bit of sleight of hand that I won't ruin, as it is pleasurable enough to make one gasp with glee if unfamiliar, and the "trippy" lighting that accompanies the drug trip and is perhaps the closest thing to aesthetically mimicking the B movies from which the play takes inspiration.
And just as these aged works were often thinly veiled vessels for their leads to deliver phenomenal performances, so too does Die, Mommie, Die! play into that same script. There are joys to be found in the capable ensemble — Beth Dimon's lush maid, Troy Stanley's cruel husband, Kevin Veloz's demonic twink, and Clay Cartland's seductive actor, all of whom get their share of memorable moments — but most of the pleasure comes in their interactions with Kris Andersson and Susanna Ninomiya. Each one's approach to the tone of the play, divergent but oddly fitting, lends each scene a sense of surprise. You never quite know if you are getting the kind of performance you might find in a Douglas Sirk or John Waters film.

Ninomiya's boisterous performance is a blast, as she twists her words to be less in the vein of Mildred Pierce's spoiled brat Veda and more along the lines of Female Trouble's Dawn Davenport. She leans into how ridiculous the role can be — from the overtly incestuous nature of her love for her father to the deep loathing she holds for her mother — and chews the scenery in the best way. In her leaning into a certain level of absurdity, one can't help but think she'd be perfect in any other high-camp play stagings directly from, or descended from, the era of the Theatre of the Ridiculous; certainly, Island City and Rogow's staging of Charles Ludlam's The Mystery of Irma Vep years ago is proof that they're great at this brand of play.
With Andersson, it's not just about landing those camp beats and one-liners, as the actor nails those perfectly. Nor does he fixate on being an imitation of Busch's performance of the role, both on stage and screen. (It's a criminally underseen film adaptation of the play, which makes some liberal changes.) Andersson taps into the same kind of uniquely tossed-aside line delivery that makes Busch so captivating, occasionally to riotous effect, like when Andersson deliberately pronounces certain words with a borderline unintelligible and slurred accent. His performance as Angela isn't about hamming it up but making the character as amusing as she is sympathetic in her crimes, just as the films the play is inspired by once did themselves.

To that extent, Die, Mommie, Die! is an ideal staging of a queer gem. Like its inspirations, it doesn't need to be particularly showy beyond its star, and that's more than fine. Perhaps some might not be entranced by something as deliberately styled after the kind of film that many have forgotten in an era where the past is taken for granted, but Island City has a treasure on its hands with this one, appropriately bringing to life a play with true comedy built into its very bones.

Die, Mommie, Die! Starring Kris Andersson, Clay Cartland, Troy J. Stanley, Elizabeth Dimon, Kevin Veloz, and Suzanna Ninomiya. Directed by Andy Rogow. Through Sunday, September 22, at Island City Stage, 2304 N. Dixie Hwy., Wilton Manors; 954-928-9000; islandcitystage.org. Tickets cost $40 to $55. Thursday 7 p.m., Friday 8 p.m., Saturday 2 and 8 p.m., and Sunday 5 p.m.