Christine (Jesse James Keitel) and Myles (Mark Nadler) start with a simple showgirl walk.
Much of the audience at The Christine Jorgensen Show seemed to be, as the phrase goes, of a certain age, and maybe that’s understandable. Who under 60 knows who Christine Jorgensen was? Yet for a time in the 1950s she was, as a character says in Donald Steven Olson’s play with music, “one of the most famous human beings in the world.”
That character would be Myles Bell (Mark Nadler), a midcentury show biz figure even more obscure than Jorgensen. A singer-dancer-songwriter, he toured with Bob Hope for the USO, let his drinking get the better of him, and was more or less banished from the big time. That’s the state we meet him in, in a grimy office off Times Square, where it’s 1953 and he’s trying out his new, not very good song. Enter Jorgensen (Jesse James Keitel), and Olson’s slight, modest, but quite winning play begins in earnest.
Myles and Christine perform the act Myles created for her. Photographs by Joan Marcus.
About Christine Jorgensen: Born George William, and a veteran of World War II, the self-described “frail, blond, introverted little boy” wasn’t the first person to undergo sex-reassignment surgery, but she was the first to have it heavily publicized. Not willingly: She wanted a quiet life, but the New York Daily News, upon her arrival from Denmark after surgery, splashed her across its front page. Feeling ill-equipped for anything else, she pursued a career as an entertainer, not that she displayed any particular talent for that.
So she shows up at this shabby office, sent there by her agent to propose that Myles cook up a nightclub act for her. And from there The Christine Jorgensen Show proceeds down a predictable path, as these two move from mutual loathing to wary acceptance to respect to genuine affection. Myles is crass and broken, a failure as a husband and an entertainer, resentful of others’ successes and skeptical of his pretty client’s ability to put anything over on an audience. But hey, it’s a job. Christine is prim and haughty, but her hauteur masks a deep lack of self-confidence. She’s the first well-known man to become a woman: what role model does she have?
It’s clear where this is going, but the story isn’t the point. The growing mutual understanding is, and the rich period atmosphere, and the way these two actors ace it. Olson peppers his efficient dialogue with ripe ripostes. Myles: “We’ll start with a simple showgirl walk.” Christine: “I’m not a showgirl, Myles. I’m a Presbyterian.” Not har-har-har, but human, and believable, and ultimately rewarding as these two very different beings grope toward a common objective.
Christine has many moments of self-doubt.
If you know Mark Nadler, it’s probably as a wild, confrontational cabaret pianist-singer (though he’s classically trained on the piano as well). But here he has to act, to play someone quite unlike himself, and he’s up to it. He also has to tap, and fake a bad fall while tapping and get up again. It’s a lovely performance, and it’s matched by Keitel, who captures Christine’s determination mixed with a crippling insecurity. In these days of what can seem like overwhelming gender fluidity, she presents a real pioneer, one who knew who she was supposed to be from the start but had no guidelines on how to get there.
The Christine Jorgensen Show culminates with, yes, The Christine Jorgenson Show, and the 20-minute club act is a treat, especially for those viewers who may dote on midcentury entertainment vibes. Christine models some fetching Fifties fashion (Suzanne Chesney did the costumes), sings tentatively but acceptably thanks to Myles’ coaching, dances a bit, and does about as well as a no-talent possibly could. Myles complements her with shrewdly engineered material that maximizes her very modest gifts. And the finale, “The Voice Inside Your Heart,” may be 1950s-style uplift schlock, but in context it’s really rather touching.
Shoko Kambara’s set is barely there; Jacqui Herter’s sound design, refreshingly, is mic-free, save for Christine’s stage mic. Michael Barakiva and Zoe Adams direct unobtrusively, but what clearly emerges is two conflicting personalities finding common ground, and building up their own self-worth in the process. That makes for a satisfying little evening.
The Christine Jorgensen Show runs through March 3 at Theater C, 59 E 59 Theaters (59 E. 59th St.). Evening performances are at 7:30 p.m. Tuesday through Saturday and at 7:30 p.m. Matinees are at 2:30 p.m. Sunday. Tickets are available by visiting 59e59.org/shows/show-detail/the-christine-jorgensen-show.
Playwright: Donald Steven Olson
Director: Michael Barakiva and Zoe Adams
Sets: Shoko Kambara
Costumes: Suzanne Chesney
Lighting: Calvin Anderson
Sound: Jacqui Herter
Choreographer: Banji Aborisade
