Sex, Drugs, and EDM

There probably aren't many patrons in the Prince Faggot audience who are surprised by the show; if you buy a ticket, you know what you’re signing up for. Still, the new work by Jordan Tannahill playing at Studio Seaview manages to shock, delight, amuse, and devastate in equal measure. 

Prince Faggot tells the fictional future story of England’s Prince George if--as many have speculated--he were in fact gay. But the play is not just about the future king if he happened to be queer; it’s a metatheatrical commentary on queer representation, with each performer playing fictionalized versions of themselves, in addition to playing the royals and those in their orbit in the play-within-a-play of George’s life.

It begins with the cast emerging from the green room at the back of the stage, partly visible and reflecting the audience in its well-lit mirrors. Actor Mihir Kumar stands next to a large, projected photo of himself as a child. The audience laughs in recognition as Kumar nods; it is unambiguously a snapshot of a little gay kid. As he speaks, the image switches to a photograph of a young Prince George staring wondrously at a helicopter taking off out of frame and looking rather...well, rather effete. Kumar reminds us that in 2017, the image sparked widespread speculation about the then-four-year-old's sexuality, as well as debate on whether or not such speculation is appropriate. 

Kumar adroitly handles the nuance and humor of the opening scene, recounting ostensibly true debates with strangers on the internet. Why, he asks, do we balk at speculations that George might be gay, but chuckle at the baby girl who, shortly after George’s birth, was photographed in a onesie that read, "MARRY ME GEORGE"? 

It’s a thought-provoking monologue that at times flirts dangerously with becoming a panel discussion. But it effectively sets up the spark of Prince Faggot: this image of the queer prince. 

At that point, we switch to George’s story. Kumar plays Dev, the boyfriend of the future king George (John McCrea). They face expected homophobia and press scrutiny once their relationship becomes public, as well as the skepticism of George’s parents, William (K. Todd Freeman) and Kate (Rachel Crowl). The tumultuous relationship doesn’t last, and George goes through a destructive spiral, buoyed by his sister Charlotte (N’yomi Allure Stewart) and his old friend and confidant, the Royal Butler (David Greenspan, also pulling double duty as Jacquline the PR consultant). Eventually, George gets his gay wedding--but to an unseen, Firm-approved man named Tom, not to Dev, the true love of his life.

Interspersed with the main narrative, each performer gives a monologue like Kumar’s opening speech, maintaining the metatheatrical framing–although according to a note in the program, all the monologues but Kumar’s and Stewart’s (which closes the show) are fictional. But they certainly don't feel like it. Each one explores some element of the performer's identity--gender, sexuality, race, class, kink--in conversation with those themes as portrayed in George’s story. Some, like the opening, occasionally teeter on the edge crossing from theatrical monologue into something more politically preachy, but the cast handles the balancing act well. They take Tannahill's writing and deliver an effective one-two punch that first has us doubled over laughing then turns on a dime, evincing gut-wrenching frankness about their realities living at the various intersections of marginalization. 

The back and forth works well. Tannahill does a great job of making sure that things feel tethered to our present day reality, even as we get further into a fantastical future. The trappings of royal-family scandal, familiar to anyone who’s watched The Crown, are all present, and Tannahill’s vision of how those trappings might play out rings true. The ongoing debates throughout the show--both explicit and subtextual--over just what “kinds of gay” are acceptable for a royal to be feel frighteningly and frustratingly contemporary. When George and Dev’s relationship falls apart, first, we are sad. Then, we are angry, as we discover that Will and Kate actively conspired to bring about their permanent break up. We never know exactly what it was that made the couple untenable for the elder royals, whether it was their specific queerness, or Dev’s race, or his politics, or his economic station. But it feels backward.

Eventually, after George spends what seems like years in a drug-fueled fugue state, including some notably public promiscuity, he and his father confront one another. George believes his parents object to his behavior only because of his queerness. He’s not ”dressing up as a Nazi” or “fucking 17 year old girls,” so what’s the issue? But Will and Kate show genuine concern. Concern for the PR of it all, sure, but mostly concern for their son’s health. William’s emotional vulnerability, breaking down after the tense conversation, is a humanizing and tender moment, exceptionally well acted by K. Todd Freeman.

Now, I would be remiss to review this show without addressing the elephant in the room. Prince Faggot contains graphic, fully nude sex scenes, including intense portrayals of BDSM with George suspended in shibari from the ceiling and led on a leash wearing a latex puppy mask. It’s not “gratuitous” in the sense of “this-feels-shoehorned-in-just-because,” but I think it’s probably fair to describe “plump scrota slapping in the throes of doggy-style,” to borrow phrasing from Hari Nef’s essay in the digital program, as gratuitous. Or at least extreme. But I, for one, think that we need to insert a graphic fully nude sex scene into any and every Broadway and Off-Broadway show. Yes, even that one. Not because every show needs such a scene for dramatic purposes, but because if a show contains graphic nudity, the theater will force everyone to turn off their cell phones and lock them away in pouches for the duration of the performance. How blissful it was to know that the risk of a phone lighting up or making noise mid-show was exactly what it should be: zero.