Kinky Boots

A woman's best friend when viewing a Broadway show is irrefutably a strong bladder. I was forced to reflect upon this little-acknowledged fact during the intermission of "Kinky Boots" as my friend and I headed to the bathroom and were somewhat shocked to find that the line extended up a flight of stairs, across the entire lobby, and almost to the theater entrance. I would say it was the longest bathroom line I had ever seen, but on several of my other theater-going occasions, I seem to recall similarly sized lines. When this same friend and I had seen "The Book of Mormon," the line was also positioned on a flight of stairs, with the lighting technician directing traffic, calling out several viewers for cutting. Even in a more distant past, I went to a preview performance of "The Producers" in Toronto with my parents and brother, and the bathroom line extended far into the middle of the lobby. Jam packed in the line amidst an endless sea of spectators, I promptly passed out from heat and general exhaustion, and was shoved to the front of the line. I remember coming to my senses in a cool stall, taking my time (even though I knew I was despised for such behavior), leaving the bathroom and having my father buy me a bottle of water. 

In any case, in the bathroom line for "Kinky Boots," I playfully remarked to my friend that the best way to get to the front of the line was to faint. Five minutes later, blinking lights signaled that we would not, in fact, have time to empty our bladders before the second act of the show. I wish I understood the reason behind this disparity in bathroom wait-time between men and women, but I assume it has something to do with the more technical aspects of relieving ourselves and how that varies between the sexes, and probably also the fact that Broadway musicals are traditionally oriented towards a more female audience. Well, that might not be true, but as the stereotype suggests, women and gay men like musicals—thus, the women's bathroom line is fated to be longer. Why they cannot adjust the bathroom sizes accordingly is also a mystery to me, since it appears those behind these Broadway blockbusters are acutely aware of this fact. Indeed, "Kinky Boots" is a testament to the general population of musical theater buffs and their viewing habits. 

"Kinky Boots" is a formulaic show that by its very nature reveals almost everything that has been wrong with Broadway in recent years: based on a less-than-popular feel-good movie, staging morality through stereotypical characters and their actions, and involving flamboyant drag queens who literally own the stage and preach acceptance, "Kinky Boots" tugs at an audience's sensibility in such an obvious way that nowadays, it actually should not produce any effect on us whatsoever. 

Let me explain myself more gently. I enjoyed "Kinky Boots" in a similar way that I enjoyed "La Cage aux Folles" (which I viewed last October, in Baltimore's Hippodrome theater, much too late for the subject matter to be shocking to someone like me—I am, after all, a twenty-something who has virtually been raised on shows and stories like these) or "Hairspray" (which I reluctantly saw one afternoon in Toronto as a fifteen-year-old who at the time wanted nothing more than to see "Mamma Mia" yet again). "RENT" is one of my favorite musicals, and Angel's cross-dressing does not phase me in the least. How could it? I started listening to the soundtrack when I was six year's old, and distinctly remember asking my father if Angel was a boy or a girl, to which he bluntly responded: "Angel is a boy who dresses like a girl." Even for my father, a member of that generation "RENT" was attempting to shock, the shock was not in Angel's cross-dressing. Rather, his tone seemed to suggest that there was nothing unique or out-of-the-ordinary in Angel's character, an implication that has since forced me to seek elsewhere for the greater meaning in "RENT." 

The difference in my reaction to "Kinky Boots" was that all throughout the formulaic plot, popped up music that sounded just like all shows, all conveniently squeezed into a perfectly acceptable 2 hours and 45 minutes, I had that horrible experience of déjà vu. And to a certain extent, that happens in every musical, since most are not their own original stories. But in "Kinky Boots," I felt the clichés pile up one by one, and was forced to admit almost immediately that there was absolutely nothing original that was going to happen in this theater. I don't know about you, but that is not a feeling I usually like to have when I've just shelled out $139 for my ticket. And after all of that, I wasn't even able to go to the bathroom during intermission. 

A scene in Act I of "Kinky Boots" that tries to be as self-righteous as it can is when Lola (Billy Porter), dressed as a man for his first real day of work at Charlie's shoe factory, immediately cloisters himself in the bathroom. The immediate question for the audience: which bathroom is he in? For Charlie (Stark Sands), the answer seems to be obvious: Lola is certainly in the women's bathroom, and when asked to go get Lola out, Charlie responds that he can't go into the women's bathroom. When he learns that Lola is in fact in the men's room, the song that follows is a deep reflection on their manhood, told through the figures of their fathers and their respective back stories. Forgive me if I don't go into details. I'm sure you can figure it out. I just found it ironic that, in a musical that centers around the heroism of the transvestite (or rather, the drag queen—a distinction that Lola makes early on), the fluidity presented in this bathroom scene is almost in direct contradiction with the experiences of most of the spectators of the show. Let me be clearer: I would have loved to use the no-line men's bathroom during intermission, but that sort of behavior is frowned upon in the very society which adulates the abolition of gender stereotypes through the figure of the drag queen. 

What I condemn "Kinky Boots" for is its lack of originality, and not its message. And I think that such a glaring discrepancy between the behavior of theater-goers and the reception of the show is indicative of this very problem. Broadway does not practice what it preaches. Rather, it capitalizes on ideals, charging exorbitant prices for tickets to shows that most viewers have already seen. Then, this recycled lesson in acceptance is given new music, new actors, and new Tony nominations. When it wins however many of the 13 Tony's it has been nominated for, "Kinky Boots" might make it another year or two on Broadway, swindling customers out of their hard-earned money to teach them a lesson they already know. The names associated with it alone—Cindy Lauper and Harvey Fierstein—are enough on their own to attract countless tourists who may not be in the loop. And they both know this. Lauper has created a score of foot-tapping tunes, sure to bewitch the audience for the duration of the show, but certain not to last for very long in their longterm memories. Fierstein has written a book that yet again glorifies the cross-dresser, which would not be so redundant if he weren't the very man who exhausted the genre. Yes, we all have to admit it: "Hairspray" might have been the last straw. I'm sure he was quite funny, but his time is over, and any future drag queens on Broadway stages are almost anachronistic ghosts of a decade ago, reminding us of what Broadway was. If there were other redeeming qualities to the story of "Kinky Boots," I would say the utilization of such techniques would be forgivable, but sadly it is as derivative as "High School Musical." Substitute high school jock for drag queen, and there you have it. 

I do not mean to say that "Kinky Boots" is a bad show. It's perfectly fine, an enjoyable afternoon. What I wish to convey is the practical message: it's not worth it to pay full price. While the leads (Stark Sands, Billy Porter, Annaleigh Ashford) perform admirably, they cannot bring originality to the show. Annaleigh Ashford came the closest, with her over-the-top portrayal of yet another cliché (the lower-class factory worker who falls for her boss). Unfortunately, her role was so reduced that her purpose seemed a bit superfluous and rushed. When to escape the preaching drag queen cliché, one's only refuge would be yet another, it would be a clear crime to call this musical "original." 

While I certainly cannot blame Mr. Fierstein and Ms. Lauper for cashing in on these tried and true techniques to boost ticket sales, I would have expected more from them. Especially Mr. Fierstein, who should know better. In the past few years, absolutely no new shows have broken or even experimented with the traditional Broadway mold, ticket sales continue to drop, prices continue to rise, and no one seems able to acknowledge that perhaps this genre is making itself irrelevant. Musicals like "Kinky Books" are evidence of this fact, and it is a shame: the musical as a truly "American" genre is flexible, adaptable, and fluid enough to adapt on its own without resorting exclusively to the repetition of the same tired themes. But don't take my word for it: read Ben Brantley's New York Times review here (http://theater.nytimes.com/2013/04/05/theater/reviews/kinky-boots-the-harvey-fierstein-cyndi-lauper-musical.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0), and note that, while he doesn't say it directly, there is absolutely nothing in "Kinky Boots" to warrant $139 of your hard-earned money. 

PS: 

Dear Mr. Fierstein,

While I did not love your show, I certainly did enjoy your surprise visit at the end. In the past two years, I have seen 29 musicals, and even so, I never would have expected you to attend a random Wednesday matinee performance and invite the entire theater for hot dogs afterwards (not in my wildest dreams!). From the girl who went to college in Baltimore (to whom you apologized), it really was an honor. And though I really didn't like your namesake hotdog, I was impressed to see you eat the entire thing. You gave me the theatergoing experience of a lifetime—a story that I'm sure I will tell and retell to countless friends and strangers—but it was unfortunately unrelated to the quality of your show.