Saints and Strippers Musicals invade Memphis stages. by Chris Davis ’m obsessed with Bertolt Brecht (see “Brecht for Dummies,” page 25). I see him everywhere these days. I think he’s chasing me. Perhaps the radical German dramatist’s theories have managed to seep into our consciousness to the degree that, accidentally or not, certain tropes are clearly visible even in productions by theatres that would never dream of producing his plays with any regularity. Or maybe I’m just losing my grip, and hallucinating dead communists rising from the steam off my morning coffee. A pair of respectably performed musicals opened this past weekend at Theatre Memphis and Germantown Community Theatre, which are at once distinctly American, yet borrow extensively from the German master’s bag of tricks. Gypsy at Theatre Memphis begins unexpectedly with the house lights up full – a device Brecht recommended highly. It is less a revealing shock to the senses than a disorienting stunt, but it works. It takes a while for the audience, caught in mid-chatter, to settle down. To add to the sense of disorientation, the audience is treated to such delightfully surreal images as a sparkly little girl outfitted in pink balloons doing a tap dance. The dreamlike giddiness of an out-of-control vaudeville audition creates the perfect environment to introduce the abrasive stage-mother (monster?) Mamma Rose. As Rose, Betty Ann Hunt delivers an energetic and tightly wound performance that is likely to drop a Memphis Theatre Award in her lap. She suffers a bit from musical-itis, the primary symptom of which is the overwhelming urge to play a type, rather than to create a character, but she plays the type to its teeth. This is something Brecht would have loved, and it may be an intrinsic quality of the role, but flanked by such solidly human actors as Barclay Roberts and Michelle Summers (the younger), it can be too much. While the leads all do an admirable job, there is an incongruity of styles that inhibits the actors’ connectivity and slows the show’s pace to a trot when it should be a gallop. The chorus is on the weak side, but there are some exceptions, notably Tracy McElhaney in the role of Tulsa. Watching the true story of stripteaser Gypsy Rose Lee unfold in all of her tawdry grandeur, I was struck by how much it reminded me of Brecht’s Mother Courage and Her Children. Mamma Rose’s blind ambition and tireless efforts to see that her daughters become famous causes her to lose everyone who is close to her, yet she remains steadfast, strong, and blameless, even as she trades her daughter’s dignity for a shiny golden star. Though her voice is on the thin side, Summers, as the famed stripper, does a swell job of finding dignity, in her less than dignified situation. The sets by Jim Seemann are a well-considered paradox of austerity and spectacle, and costume designer Andre Bruce Ward has reached a new high with his deliriously bizarre burlesque costumes. Oddly enough – for musical theatre – the band is pretty hot. Gypsy, Through September 27th, Theatre Memphis (682-8323) With its self-conscious narrative style, epic story, and folk-inspired (gospel/bluegrass) score, Cotton Patch Gospel is et up with Brechtian notions. Set in the redneck-infested world of rural Georgia, this surprisingly irreverent retelling of the New Testament’s book of Matthew is performed with the earnest folksiness of a Sunday potluck. The humor ranges from Hee-Haw corn to wickedly clever satire that (sometimes brilliantly) demystifies the life of Christ. The song “It Isn’t Easy Growing Up To Be Jesus” – “with no steady job and no steady girl … ” – shows him to be a confused adolescent coping with unusual (dis)abilities. This Jesus could stand a dose of Ritalin or, perhaps, a WWJD wristband. The staging by guest director Kevin Shaw is dreadfully unimaginative, favoring symmetrical stage pictures and static musical numbers, which, coupled with the actors’ poor mimetic skills, keeps CPG visually uninteresting. The program explains that Shaw stepped into the director’s role at the last minute, which might explain the less than exciting choreography. The band (excepting bassist Steve Clarke) is also never more than adequate. In spite of these seemingly serious shortcomings, the show is kind of wonderful. In an eviscerating number about the nature of politics the cast sings, “When the blood starts running just think of it as plumbing. If you have a problem you must flush it out” with the good-time, thigh-slapping energy of an autumn hayride. Very Brecht. CPG is an ensemble show (Jesus isn’t really the star here, doesn’t even get the top bow – fancy that!), and each performer brings something special to the stage. I’m not a very religious man, but if church were more like this, I swear to God I’d go – at least on holidays. The songs were all written by songwriting legend Harry Chapin (“Cats in the Cradle”) who died prematurely only months after the play’s debut. For fans this is a must-see as it represents his last completed work. Cotton Patch Gospel, Through September 20th, Germantown Community Theatre (754-2680)