From left: Jennifer Van Dyck and Christopher Borg play an outré Austrian couple, admirers of Lily Dare (Charles Busch).
It’s been quite a while since Charles Busch, the playwright and actor who specializes in sending up old movie tropes in works like The Divine Sister and Red Scare on Sunset, has had a show that he deemed ready for review, so The Confession of Lily Dare counts as a successful return to form. It’s a loopy satire of film melodramas about fallen women, although its most prominent forbear is Shaw’s Mrs. Warren’s Profession (first performed in 1902). Few performers can discern Hollywood camp as well as Busch: he has even provided commentary on DVD releases of The Bad Seed and Dead Ringer.
The play opens at a cemetery, where Emmy Lou (Nancy Anderson) and Mickey (Kendal Sparks), two old friends, visit Lily’s grave in San Francisco. (Lighting designer Kirk Bookman has created a nifty effect: the Golden Gate Bridge is unmistakably outlined in red bulbs behind them.) Their unexpected encounter brings forth loving reminiscences of the gal they knew. In flashbacks, Lily’s story unfolds.
Busch as Lily with Howard McGillin as Blackie Lambert. Photographs by Carol Rosegg.
The orphaned 16-year-old Lily (played by Busch, of course) arrives at her aunt’s mansion on the Barbary Coast in the early 20th century. She soon discovers that her Aunt Rosalie (Jennifer Van Dyck, barking away in the first of a string of terrific characters) runs a brothel and is a reluctant, and scornful, guardian. It doesn’t matter because, Lily says, “I love people, especially old grouches.” Her Pollyanna-inspired character charms Mickey, the cathouse pianist, and Emmy Lou, one of the working girls. She also wins over Aunt Rosalie’s business partner, Blackie Lambert (Howard McGillin), a denizen of high society and a crook.
Before long, Lily has survived the 1906 earthquake and a series of setbacks and successes. One may detect in Lily the indomitability of a Joan Crawford heroine, but Busch credits the pre-Code films The Sin of Madelon Claudet and Frisco Jenny, along with Lana Turner’s Madame X, as inspirations.
Lily consorts with some shady characters outside of Blackie as well. Most memorable are a couple from Austria, who come to see her perform as Mandalay, a cabaret sensation. The turbaned Baroness Leda (Van Dyck), strung with jewels, tries to pump Mickey about her background: “It is whispered that she was born in the streets of Sumatra, weaned by a King Cobra, and raised among circus folk in Constantinople.” “That sounds about right,” he replies. The over-rouged Baron (Christopher Borg, all teeth and leers) fairly drools at the prospect of an introduction.
“It is whispered that she was born in the streets of Sumatra, weaned by a King Cobra, and raised among circus folk in Constantinople.”
When Mandalay appears, she sings a song in the manner of Marlene Dietrich, but it’s called “Pirate Joe,” which evokes Lotte Lenya and “Pirate Jenny” as well. (The Dietrich accent frequently makes the words unintelligible, one of the few weak spots in the production.)
Soon, however, Lily is charged with a crime she didn’t commit and sentenced to prison. Her infant daughter, Louise, is adopted by a wealthy couple in Pacific Heights (like Nob Hill, an enclave of wealth). After prison, Lily bounces back by taking up Aunt Rosalie’s—and Mrs. Warren’s—profession, while following her daughter’s rise to renowned opera singer.
The familiarity of plot elements—necessary for the satire—can occasionally seem hoary, but Busch still finds juice in them. When Lily, reincarnated as Treasure Jones, a notorious madam, attends daughter Louise’s San Francisco Opera debut with Emmy Lou, she undercuts the glittering haut monde with a bawdy observation:
Did you notice the Mayor and his wife in the lobby as we walked in? He doesn’t dare look me in the eye. He knows I’ve seen his pecker sticking out of his union suit.
Kendal Sparks as Mickey and Nancy Anderson as Emmy Lou meet in a cemetery and recall their bygone chum, Lily Dare.
But when Lily overhears nasty gossips badmouthing her, and, realizing that if she stays, her presence will draw the limelight from Louise in the next day’s papers, she leaves. It’s seven-hanky hokum, and it’s delicious.
Director Carl Andress has surrounded Busch with terrific supporting players. Borg moves from the Baron to Louise’s adoptive father to a priest with aplomb. McGillin ranges from suave to sodden as the fallen Blackie, and Kendal Sparks is a warm and likable Mickey. It’s a treat to see Nancy Anderson, one of the most underused talents in New York, as Emmy Lou, the classic prostitute with a heart of gold; she makes the most of it. And Van Dyck, who plays the adoptive mother and the high-strung Louise, moves easily from sincerity to hysteria.
Busch is, of course, a treasure, not just for his loving recreation of overripe film genres, but for his clear-eyed perception of their underlying nonsense. The Confession of Lily Dare is a prime example.
The Primary Stages’ production of The Confession of Lily Dare runs through March 5 at the Cherry Lane Theatre (38 Commerce St.). Evening performances are at 8 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday; matinees are at 2 p.m. Saturdays and on March 3–5, and at 3 p.m. Sundays. For tickets and more information, call OvationTix at (866) 811-4111 or visit primarystages.org.
