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'Whorehouse' hits all the right notes

By BARBARA L. FREDRICKSEN
Published October 4, 2005

The musical Best Little Whorehouse in Texas sounds like a lot of fun. And, as done by the Show Palace Dinner Theatre, it is superb fun, what with boot scootin', high-kickin' dance numbers and down-home Texas aphorisms delivered by a tall, handsome sheriff (W.C. Green) who looks for the world like a genuine Texas lawman, little belly paunch and all.

But scratch that happy veneer a little, and Whorehouse is a thoughtful, poignant, sometimes sad and unfailingly cynical commentary on morality and moralists, with lyrics and lines really worth listening to.

Whorehouse is the close-to-truth story of a 130-year-old bawdyhouse that sat halfway between Texas A&M University and the state capital in Austin until the mid 1970s. Prominent politicians and lawmen and not a few Aggie boys went there regularly to partake of the wares. That is, until a crusading television personality (not to be confused with a reporter) decided it should be shut down and forced the governor to do so.

In the musical, the lady in charge is Miss Mona Stangley (Patti Eyler), a hard-headed businesswoman with a small vein of gold in her heart. Mona has strict rules for her house - no drinking or cussin' - takes care of her girls, respects the community, donates to charities and has a cordial relationship with the local sheriff, a plain-spoken Ed Earl Dodd.

Her girls aren't high-toned Las Vegas or Mayflower Madam types; they're farm girls whose boyfriends or daddies have abused them and women who are on the down slide and generally grateful to work in a safe environment without some pimp beating them up and taking their money.

All goes well until the bombastic TV guy, Melvin P. Thorpe (Matthew McGee), comes to town in his tacky red wig and outlandish clothes and makes the Chicken Ranch (called that after Depression-era farmers paid the girls in chickens) his latest target.

The musical has a rip-roaring feel to it, thanks to choreographer Katie Kerwin's high-energy production numbers and the dancers' jaw-dropping energy levels, though they sometimes edge close to overpowering the show.

And there are plenty of laughs with the sidestepping governor, played with smarmy charm by Joe Camper, who says a lot while saying nothing; lanky, smooth-talking Senator Wingwoah (Dudley Saunderson), one of Miss Mona's best customers, until Thorpe's crusaders arrive; a charming Narrator (Justin Barnette); and the soul-singing whorehouse maid Jewel, played with passion and all-around good humor by Sara DelBeato.

The heart of the show, though, belongs to Ms. Eyler, whose beautiful, earthy Miss Mona is as coldly realistic about herself and her profession as she is warmly vulnerable to her all-too-human emotions.

As she did with Dolly Levi in Hello, Dolly! , Ms. Eyler makes this role her own, not through theatrics, but through a quiet tenderness that draws the audience into her world.

Sheriff Ed Earl is a harder-edged realist without a trace of the romantic. This sheriff ambles into the sunset, not on a white horse, but with his hat in his hand, as oblivious to Miss Mona's feelings for him as he is to the verities of TV-era politics.

Thankfully, unlike the first time the Show Palace did the musical, director Matthew McGee sticks with the script and lets the show play out to its logical conclusion, not one prettied up to make everyone feel good.

In the end, as Miss Mona's girls say, life really can deliver A Hard Candy Christmas .

[Last modified October 4, 2005, 02:15:30]