 White Canadians Nathan Cuckow, left, and Chris Craddock offer a two-man hip-hop meditation on gay rights in 'Bash'd: A Gay Rap Opera.'
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A Stephen Kocis, Carl D. White, Paul Boskin,
Michael Filerman
presentation, in association with David J. Gersten, of a musical in one
act with lyrics by Chris Craddock and Nathan Cuckow, music by Aaron
Macri. Directed by
Ron Jenkins.
With: Chris Craddock, Nathan Cuckow.
Canada is not an obvious breeding ground for great white rappers --
remember Snow? -- but the Caucasian Canucks behind "Bash'd!: A Gay Rap
Opera" have skills. Their 65-minute concert-cum-musical, transferring
to Off Broadway's Zipper after berths in Canada and the New York Fringe
Festival, not only puts a smart spin on gay rights but also delivers
some radio-worthy hip-hop.
Musically and dramaturgically, the
rapped-through show is a study in aggression. Telling the story of a
gay Canadian couple whose marriage is marred by violence, narrators
T-Bag (Chris Craddock) and Feminem (Nathan Cuckow) argue whether the
young lovers should fight back or simply move on.
Duo also play every other character in the story, voicing perspectives from radical activism to staunch homophobia.
That's
a potent approach. The gay community has long been divided over its
relationship to straight culture, and the increasing acceptance of gay
marriage only propels both sides: From one vantage point, marriage
equality grants everyone the same human dignity, but from another, it
assimilates gay people into hostile hetero traditions.
T-Bag and
Feminem debate this issue in blunt political terms, but Craddock and
Cuckow, also the show's lyricists, shrewdly leave the rhetoric to their
narrators. The rest of the characters embody the human side of gay
rights, as when naive country boy Dillon (Cuckow) falls for
street-smart city kid Jack (Craddock). Both men have archetypal
qualities, but they also have specific, relatable traits.
Thesps'
sweet-natured chemistry makes it easy to accept love is blooming, and
sharp acting choices turn secondary characters like a timid support
group leader and Dillon's conservative father into more than political
signposts. Each facet of the gay rights debate is taken seriously, and
no one -- not even Jack and Dillon -- is portrayed as perfect. When
consequences erupt in the final scene, the script insists everyone
share the blame.
A mawkish coda tacks on an unnecessary moral,
but otherwise, the show leaves the audience with a refreshing
opportunity to make up its own mind.
But "Bash'd" is more than
just social issues. Craddock and Cuckow include plenty of comedy, and
director Ron Jenkins adds his own funny touches. A song about the
various stereotypes in a gay club becomes a satirical tour de force,
with the narrators embodying everything from brainless twinks to
militant lesbians (and finding examples of each in the audience).
And
while it's easy for hip-hop shows to devolve into rappers standing
still, Jenkins crafts a string of expressive moments. Sometimes, for
instance, one thesp silently lip-syncs with the other, suggesting that
a particular verse has universal weight. In one moment, Jack leaps onto
Dillon's back to rap about how much he loves him, physicalizing the
couple's supportiveness.
As rappers, both thesps have an
impressive, hypnotic flow, and they manage to maintain it even as they
act their words. (Rapping with emotional emphasis is difficult, since
pauses and inflections can sabotage the rhythm of a verse.)
The duo's lyrics are as smooth as their delivery, with only an occasional awkward slip.
Aaron
Macri's music matches every twist of the story, cheekily referencing
Eminem or launching a throbbing, club-ready assault. His grace note
comes when the boys get married: As they rap about their commitment,
Macri swirls a sample from Pachelbel's "Canon in D" into a sunny dance
beat. The music is so joyful and engaging that it seems like the
perfect soundtrack for falling in love. It's another way the show turns
a cultural movement into satisfying entertainment.
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