‘Godspell’ @ The Firehouse Theatre
Photos by Jason Anderson/Pendleton Photography
—Ryan Maffei
What the hell is Godspell?
OK, it’s a passion project (zing) conceived by a Carnegie Mellon student in 1970 as a master’s thesis. Hippie culture had given way to a lot of Jesus freaks out in the street by the end of that decade. The late ‘60s put something like the fear of God into a lot of folks, and it’s not hard to conceive of Jesus as the original peace and love guy.
Across the pond, a future menace was fusing the gospels and popular music together in a similar fashion, the Armageddon to Godspell’s Deep Impact. (If you were born after 1998 you have no idea what I’m talking about.) The effect Jesus Christ Superstar had on the developing Godspell is unclear, but in 1971, future Wicked wizard Stephen Schwartz was hired to spruce up the music, ultimately replacing all the earlier songs except “By Your Side.” If Stephen Sondheim is part of a binary, then Schwartz is down toward the other end—but I’d take him over Sir Andrew any day. His catholic cocktail of musical styles (catholic in this instance meaning “including a wide variety of things; all-embracing”) is irrefutably appealing. Even Peter couldn’t deny it.
That Godspell was so easy to re-carpenter speaks to a certain wishy-washiness in its basic idea. But this suits a vessel for spirited theatre people preaching to the eclectic choirs of Farmers Branch. There’s a church across the street from The Firehouse Theatre, after all, and it’s safe to assume a lot of the neighborhood congregation didn’t vote for Kamala. The musical flits noncommittally between feeling like a Christian camp and feeling like an acting class, but the unifying element of this production is the zealous positivity director/choreographer Amy Parsons believes in devoutly.
That the original production’s ten actors used their own names speaks to the piece’s inhabitability and mutability. Parsons has keyed her Godspell to a pretty brilliant concept: her show takes place on a New York City subway car, and praise be to scenic designer Logan Uhtenwoldt for a set that momentarily takes you out of Texas. Costume designer Dayna Rae Dutton gets it equally right, dressing the company in a broad array of styles you’ve absolutely encountered on your trips to the Big Apple, with some fun easter eggs in the props department. (No specific designer is credited.) The car is smartly lit by Hank Baldree, though his best work comes the further away from reality we get. The cast bounces on their heels as the train moves. It’s worth the price of admission.
My companion noted the genius of this idea—NYC is the great equalizer, no matter what people in Kansas might have to say about it (and no matter what it costs to visit or live there). It’s our foremost locus of diversity, equity and inclusion, all very good things no matter how scary they sound in an acronym. This Godspell carries in its open arms an impassioned message of love. “In a world right now with so much negativity, anger and stress,” Parsons explains in her director’s note, “it is my hope and prayer that this show gives you a lot of gut healing and laughter, some powerful food for thought, and a lot of hope and inspiration!” Reader, I did get those things. I cackled; I bopped to the awful pop-metal arrangements (sorry, music director M. Shane Hurst). I could’ve done with more irony, but I suppose I’m just a hater.
That’s the thing about Godspell. When someone is going on and on to you about God, your guard can’t help but be up (if you’re the sort of godless heathen keeping art alive, anyway). Though the show once featured John Waters in its lineup, it operates at a Lin-Manuel level of sincerity. Parsons’ version is overflowing with references, some eye-rolling (Darth Vader), some eye-widening (Diddy)—and there’s another villain whose initials start with D, who I guess has too many disciples to spoil the fun by name-dropping. It includes a fleeting quip about DEI hires that isn’t pointed enough. The phrase itself is meant to get the laugh, which landed uneasily for me the same day the Supreme Court upheld the current administration’s grant freezes. Texas is a pretty dangerous place if you’re preaching a gospel of love and tolerance—and though the something-for-everybody tactic makes sense, it can feel dispiritingly safe.
Ergo, you need a group of actors you feel compelled to follow without hesitation, and the best thing about this production isn’t its Greatest City in the World motif—it’s the eleven-person company. I don’t know if I’ve encountered a more likeable group of performers in one place (like, ever), and though I dutifully figured out who was who, I’m hard-pressed to single anyone out.
Sure, I could give a shout out to Sydnie Roy for her killer improvs, or note that you could watch Trev Turnbow’s face the whole time and get a hell of a show. But everybody onstage does amazing work: the Powerhouses (Cam Hayes, Kayla Renee Jackson, Cayley Bender-Davis); the Adorables (Bryson Morlan, Meghan MacLellan, Evan Taiclet); the short punk chick (Brianna Seanor) who, to complete the circle, is an Adorable Powerhouse. Bible camps and acting classes are annoying, but this cast’s energy is so infectious you just wanna hop up on stage and join them—and on any given night, you might literally have the chance.
Godspell is a deeply democratic show. Everybody gets their number and their moment, and everybody gets to fall on their hands and knees and make sheep/goat noises. But of course there’s a fearless leader, and Lucas Haupert steps into his dream role (he told me) and wears Jesus’ sandals with grace and aplomb. This is easily the most difficult part in the show, and with castmates so fabulous, the first-billed has a heavy cross to bear.
As the head counselor at the most fun summer camp of all, you’ve really got to make the audience fall in love with you early on. And Haupert is flawless and emotionally convincing in the darker second half too, doing harder work at a higher level than anyone else is called on to contribute. At times he’s a little like the Jesus in the actual gospels: moody in a hard-to-parse way, keeping thoughts too close to the vest to let us totally trust him. Haupert is so skillful, I’m going to have faith he meant it like that.
Then there’s rail-thin Nolan Spinks as Judas, who fits right in with the fun until he’s called down to the ninth circle—and the subtle shift is compelling indeed. Spinks is a pure delight during the most frivolous (and possibly my favorite) number, “All for the Best,” during which Haupert also does some of his most fetching work. But Spinks slinks over to the dark side with a perfect balance of meaning it and burlesquing it. Parsons gives the actors a lot of business I admire, plus a lot I thought was too silly. But the most transcendent moment is when Spinks is made to shout (not quite a sneer and not quite a bellow) a snatch of Julius Fučík’s “Entry of the Gladiators”—aka “that circus song”—as he approaches Jesus for the great betrayal. A glorious queer energy radiates around the crucifixion scene, with Jesus bound by red ribbons to the subway rail. I’m still sad they didn’t kiss—it’s in the book, damn it!
It pains me to say that the sound was the weakest part of the show I saw, Friday’s opening performance. I can’t fault designer Bill Sizemore for the fact that the aforementioned sonic profile—prefab drums, Def Leppard guitars—makes my personal skin crawl. But the sound mixing was consistently problematic, with the actors often fighting to be heard, or at times burning out mics on the other end. This may or may not have contributed to the company properly hitting notes at something like a 75% level. But again, you’re so taken with the people on stage that none of these issues come close to spoiling the experience. Surely the problems have been addressed since that opening night; go buy a ticket and find out.
There’s so much to love about this production: the saltine eucharist, the Caesar joke, a Hell replete with Russell Crowe in Les Misérables, the fact that the guy who hated money-lenders tells you to go buy snacks at intermission. And sometimes, a bit of the real gospels pops out and makes you think. I knocked this production for erring on the side of caution, but there’s a bit from the New Testament about how it’s not extraordinary to love those who already love you. It’s worth mulling over if you’re having trouble turning that other cheek.
Love is the message, as the group MFSB says, and this Godspell is a very easy show to love. Like life (not to mention the Bible), your mileage depends on what you make of it. As one of the actors told me, the cast aimed to have fun with the material regardless of the text, and the fun became the point. So, go have fun. You might come out converted to a few ideas you didn’t think you had room for going in.
WHEN: April 3–19, 2025
WHERE: 2535 Valley View Lane, Farmers Branch, TX
WEB: thefirehousetheatre.com
