Forever Fun

Forever White.
As I scan the audience, I see the audience matches the title. Transparent perms, slacks, frowning old Caucasian men. But wait- there's hope- across the house from me are two gorgeous Latina girls who I'd like to scalp for wigs.
Lights up and then down. We give a round of applause to Travis and the bassist who haven't done anything yet to prove they deserve it.
Eric Williams has apparently won the annual VA Rep lottery of Who Gets To Do Voiceovers At The Tavern and demonstrates his skills by reading an obituary over the PA system. What a refreshing start.
Four boys walk in - LATE - holding fake Christmas candles and uncomfortably scan the audience as they cross IN FRONT OF EVERYONE looking for their seats and then - presumptuously- decide to go right up on the stage and have a conversation.
They talk for awhile, and - it having become clear that the actual cast isn't going to show up - Travis and bassist start playing the score.
Fortunately for everyone who paid $44 dollars to watch "Forever White," these boys turn out to be VERY VERY VERY good.
Everyone thinks so. You can tell. Several couples reach over mid-ballad to clasp the hands of their significant others. It's either sweet sentiment or spasm stifling. Only ONE PERSON is asleep. Two fifth-grade girls in the front row begin to consider going home after the matinee and starting down the path to masturbation.
Caleb is doing serious acting and sex-oozing. Ian is making faces and delivering subtle facial hemorrhaging at a level I've never before seen. And I consider myself a mistress of the subtle nosebleed. My mother is in stitches. Travis puts on a pantyhose fruit bandanna and Richmond theater critics everywhere jot him down for a RatCock nom. Other Seymour is doing a killer job of finding discreet places in the show to whip hankies out of innumerable secret pockets in his costume to wipe his face. He should get a moment backstage if he needs it. I've never seen one human do that many lunges in the space of 2 minutes in my life.* The boy who (I think) lives with Ian and the snatched Swift Creek Mill kittens who Mr. Will still tries to forget is hitting notes never before reached on the Tavern stage. And I should know. I once had to sing a five part "Apple Blossom Time" as the bottom tiered alto on that stage and I TRIED.
Everyone is grinning- even the cantankerous old men and Audras. My mother is cocking her head in that way she does when she identifies a hard to nail chord coming up and is impressed with the result. But mostly- MOSTLY- it's the sight of some girl I don't know and half of Katherine's head and arms swaying back and forth in the stage management booth for THE ENTIRETY of the longest ballad in the show that proves just how justifiably adored this production is.
Forever Triceps.

*JS Fauquet will take issue with my referring to him as Other Seymour.