The comic premise of straight men disguised in drag flopped with audiences in the recent Broadway musical versions of Tootsie (about a struggling actor trying to succeed by pretending to be female) and Mrs. Doubtfire (a divorced man dressing as a nanny to be near his kids). Enlightened audiences didn’t want to see drag (and female identities) co-opted by cisgender hetero men in order to sneakily achieve their male goals. But the new Broadway musical remake of Some Like It Hot has found a way around that pitfall. While the classic 1959 Billy Wilder movie centers on two straight male musicians on the lam and hiding out as part of an all-girl band after witnessing a gangland massacre, the stage version takes pains to include an evolution for one of those characters, which I’ll get to later. (Spoiler alert!) The Republicans who’ve been demonizing drag queens—but only queer ones; they’re not about to cancel Milton Berle reruns—will be uncomfortable here, and will retreat back to the movie instead. And that’s OK with me, especially since this delectable show looks to be a big, spangled hit anyway.
The film is a raucous romp that derives a lot of pleasure from the fact that two big movie stars—Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon—were prancing around in dresses at a time when that was still considered over the top and subversive. In the RuPaul’s Drag Race era, when people around the globe know how to “Sissy that walk”—and when trans people are now heroes who stomp shooters with their heels—the musical’s two leads may be less shocking, but they are even more appealing.
The movie version also benefits from its Sugar Kane—the vampy chanteuse that Tony Curtis’s character (Joe) falls for, played by Marilyn Monroe at the peak of her gifts. Far more than a sexpot in a tighter dress than the guys, Marilyn cooed, sang, and played ukulele like the fine comic actor she was. No one could do a line reading better than her funny yet poignant declaration about her bad luck with men: “Story of my life. I always get the fuzzy end of the lollipop.”
This musical doesn’t go for a Marilyn type—unlike the 1972 version, Sugar, which ran on Broadway for over a year—opting for a less woozy take on the character. In fact, as scripted by Matthew Lopez (The Inheritance) and writer/performer Amber Ruffin, the show changes a lot, to create its own identity, just as the two lead characters do. The time frame has been moved from 1929 to the early ’30s, at the tail end of Prohibition, and instead of fleeing Chicago to head to Miami, the ensemble is California-bound. Rather than adopt a Cary Grant voice and pretend to be rich, Joe (played by Christian Borle)—when he’s not Josephine—assumes the persona of a German screenwriter (clearly a nod to Austrian-American Billy Wilder). That appeals to Sugar (Adrianna Hicks, from Six), since she longs to be a pioneering Black movie star. Meanwhile, the actual rich guy—Osgood, played by Kevin Del Aguila—is no stranger to dual personalities (I’ll leave that for you to discover). And Jerry/Daphne, played by J. Harrison Ghee, isn’t just wheedling Osgood along; they are actually taken with the guy. Best of all, the girl band members don’t only sing, they tap dance! A lot!
“The world reacts to what it sees, and in my experience, the world doesn’t have very good eyesight.”
The result contains echoes of Chicago—another high-kicking, booze-swilling retro romp set in the Windy City—but Hot is less cynical and more life-affirming, serving up the sweet end of the lolly. The score, by Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman (Hairspray), is bright and diverse, with raucously jazzy tauntings (“What Are You Thirsty For?”), Cole Porter–ish odes to hedonism (“Let’s Be Bad”), and sultry ballads. The direction and choreography, by Casey Nicholaw (Something Rotten!), are inventively lively, and Scott Pask’s sets are deco masterpieces, including a glossy nightclub and moving sets of doors that allow for a slam-bang finale that’s as ingeniously pulled off as an old Tommy Tune routine. It’s all fairly traditional Broadway musical fare, as Andrew Lloyd Webber tweeted—“OK, it’s fabulously old school … but it’s everything Broadway does incomparably best”—but the updating is in the details, and that also provides a serious upgrading.
When our two leads slide into stolen frilly frocks and wavy wigs, Joe/Josephine sees it as a means to an end, but Jerry/Daphne finds it transformative. (“I finally feel seen,” they glow, anachronistically enough). There’s a danger that audiences might come away from this story thinking, “You put on a dress and it turns you nonbinary,” but the handling of Jerry/Daphne is delicate enough to avert that possibility. Ghee has been in Broadway cross-dress musicals before (Kinky Boots, Mrs. Doubtfire) and has also performed in drag as Crystal Demure (effortlessly reading me to filth at my 2017 roast, at the Actors’ Temple). Matching talents with the hilarious Borle, the lanky, soulful-eyed Ghee is wryly funny but also moving, especially when delivering the showstopping “You Coulda Knocked Me Over With a Feather,” a sincere exultation about realizing that they are both Jerry and Daphne and couldn’t be happier about it. (“The lady that I’m lovin’ is me.”) It’s the most gratifying self-appreciation number since “I Am What I Am,” from another drag musical, La Cage aux Folles.
The powerful-voiced Natasha Yvette Williams is bawdily engaging as the irritable band leader Sweet Sue. (“Settle down! I just heard from the doctor and I tested negative for patience.”) She also gets in one of the show’s many comments related to the racial element that’s been added to the identity stew. When asked, “We headin’ South?” the Black diva dryly replies, “It’s 1933. Look at me and ask that again.”
As Sugar, Hicks is as starry-eyed and heartbroken in love as Marilyn’s version, but she brings it to a more grounded, less vampy level. Alas, Hicks’s emphatic facial gestures are wildly distracting, and it’s hard to understand Joe’s obsessive craving for her—a more exquisite Sugar would have sweetened the pot—though by the end, Hicks does belt out a sensationally bluesy “Ride Out the Storm,” and even lands her punchlines.
But I have no complaints about Del Aguila’s Osgood, a light-in-the-loafers millionaire looking for some love to help spice up the Great Depression. Aguila is delightfully campy and quirky as he flits around and sings about the pain involved in being a “Poor Millionaire.” And his Osgood handily sums up the show’s point of view: “The world reacts to what it sees, and in my experience, the world doesn’t have very good eyesight.”
Fortunately, Osgood himself is none so myopic; in his own adorable way, he can cut through any subterfuge. The movie famously ends with Daphne revealing that she’s a man, to which Osgood unflinchingly exclaims, “Well, nobody’s perfect.” It’s a more complicated situation here—and Osgood has already called Josephine “Sir”—so after Daphne explains certain potential obstacles in their relationship, Osgood responds, “Daphne, my dear. I do understand. And I think you’re perfect.” That’s correct, if not exactly thrilling theater. But fortunately, the show gets right back to singing and dancing! ❖
Some Like It Hot
Shubert Theatre
225 W 44th Street
Michael Musto has written for the Voice since 1984, best known for his outspoken column “La Dolce Musto.” He has penned four books, and is streaming in docs on Netflix, Hulu, Vice, and Showtime.
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