'OH, MARY!': LOVE AMERICAN STYLE
- Reda Belhadfa
- 10 hours ago
- 5 min read
After fielding thirsty DMs and (tragically) paying retail, theatre critic Reda Belhadfa takes her seat at the Trafalgar Theatre for Cole Escola's Oh, Mary! — a madcap Mary Todd Lincoln biopic that’s equal parts camp, cabaret, and a mid-Atlantic meltdown worthy of the First Lady herself.
Solicitous and perverted messages notwithstanding, going by my DMs, this has been the most hotly anticipated play for me to review. Now, normally, I would request (see: beg, additionally: shameless) a free ticket from the theatre for them to enjoy the luxury of me drunkenly cackling from somewhere in the cheap seats, however, in this case, I paid retail like a schmuck. In their defence, they are a month out from opening (we here at Fetch are nothing if not timely), and frankly I’m not very good. Or at the very least, not very professional but, hey, this ain’t the New Yorker.
For those of you unaware or otherwise thoroughly debased and plebeian, Oh Mary is the chef d’oeuvre of one Cole Escola, New York based multi-hyphenate (Actor-Director-Writer-Comedian-Something else surely) and complete envy of my and many others careers. But we can put aside our fettered frustrations for a bit and write an impartial critique. Our play, essentially, is a madlibs style biopic of Mary Todd Lincoln, wife of some guy named Abraham and cabaret star extraordinaire. After a remarkably successful and culturally impactful run on Broadway, Mary has finally crossed the pond to grace the rickety backwater burg of the West End. And, as a transatlantic myself, I for one could not be happier.
Before the play even begins, there are good signs abound. Not only is the Trafalgar, in my esteemed opinion, one of the most beautiful West End theatres (I’m a sucker for Art Deco), but the seating is set on quite a steep incline, giving every seat a good view. In addition, before the curtain rises, you are greeted with a wonderful medley of Carol Channing and Cole Porter, delight of the New Yorker tote carrying, bespectacled twinks, which made up a modest 25% of the audience. Oh Mary indeed, as my friend would oft remark over the course of the evening.
Now, one piece of advice: if you, like me, run hot, dress LIGHTLY. It gets schvitzy, and after one particularly bad laughter induced hot flash, I found myself having to lift my collar and blow down my tits. And for those of you with poor bladder control, I should warn you there is no intermission, and the theatre does not have the time to dry the seats between performances so go to the last showing or wear a diaper, dealers choice.
Photography courtesy of Manuel Harlan
The curtain rises and we are not greeted by Mary, but rather by Abraham Lincoln (Giles Terera) and twink companion (yes, bespectacled) Simon (Oliver Stockley), in a mad dash to prepare for incoming disaster. Then comes the twister, busting in through the double doors, enters Mary (Mason Alexander Park) in delightfully vampy makeup and ridiculous little Bo Peep curls, clearly visible from my nosebleed seat. And, instantly, I was in love. As someone who sounds like if Lauren Bacall swallowed an ashtray or was raised by 1950’s bookies, the representation of a mid-atlantic firecracker on stage touched me profoundly. In short, Mary’s got moxie.
Directed by Sam Pinkleton, the play follows Mary Todd towards the end of the war (with who neither I nor Mary could possibly tell you). Our drama centres around Mary’s budding acting career, without giving too much away. A former cabaret star, her acting career has always been hindered by her husband, an obvious homosexual (that part may actually be historically correct, if a cursory google search and an episode of American Dad are to be believed). Now she’s hit the bottle, and her companion Louise (Kate O’Donnell), hard. In an attempt to placate her, honest Abe hires her an acting coach (Dino Fetscher), himself a failed actor of low billing, culminating in disastrous results.
Photography courtesy of Manuel Harlan
From throwing tantrums to throwing bottles, she is a torturous woman to be around, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. A bit of an artistic dilettante, and marvellously lacking in lucidity, Park’s version of Mary Todd Lincoln is camp in its highest form, a horny snake in a newspaper cartoon if you will. Like panto but actually funny (I suspect I am either too North American or simply not stupid enough to find panto funny, I do apologise).
The problem, the only problem, with her really is I believed it to be real. I think perhaps because I find myself in a delicate place in my life (mind you, when am I not?). However there was, when the laughter stopped — wether it be during a sad moment of realisation or a shocking revelation — a whisper in my ear saying; “she’s me”. Frustrated, drunk, held back by an invisible force and frequently antagonised by a gay guy, I feel strangely akin to our first lady of yesteryear. Her Gloria Swanson-esque descent into madness is how I feel everyday, slamming my head into the brick wall of the creative world.
But fret not, nothing can keep a leading lady (wether it be I or Mary) down for very long, and no sooner than the gruesome reality of life sinks does she break into a musical number worthy of the Zigfield Follies. Yes, that’s right, Mason Alexander Park can sing (hell of a set of pipes) and frankly I’d love to see them tackle Reno in Anything Goes.
I’m not sure what my takeaway from Oh, Mary! is, except that it is a must see. Every cast member was on every second, Terera truly wowed, and O’Donnell didn’t miss a beat, but of course our flowers must be thrown at the feet of Park, who was, for lack of any other befitting word, electric. In many ways, Oh, Mary! has revived the American play, in a way “My American Cousin” could have only dreamed of. With only two months left to catch Park in the titular role, I must implore each and everyone of you to purchase a ticket, as well may I, just to experience it again. You will learn a thing or two about life, the theatre, and possibly American history. As for me, I learned a new trick to try out at home with a cone of ice cream. My only question, if Cole Escola is reading this: does it only work with soft serve or is mint chocolate chip okay?
Oh Mary is on the the Trafalgar Theatre until April 22nd.
Reda Belhadfa is a London-based script writer and critic.
