Club Review: Flotilla DeBarge in “Corona & Flo”
It seems like drag is everywhere these days thanks in large part to RuPaul and her show and her knockoffs. But it’s a different kind of drag, a more meta, self-referential kind of drag; it seems to come from watching other drag queens. It is akin to the newer breed of directors whose entire frame of reference is movies; while the true greats made films about the world, and about life, these new artists make films about other films. It can be entertaining (even wildly so) but it is missing a crucial element.
Flotilla DeBarge comes from a generation of drag performers (Lady Bunny and Miss Coco among them) that performed without thought of awards, or crowns, or videos, or recycling what others have done. She is a prime example of a tradition that dates back to Shakespeare, and even before that time: The clown whose painted smile can break to reveal bitter truths; the court jester who entertains the monarch and guides him and his subjects in times of dire circumstance; Lear’s fool being a trustworthy friend who cuts to the truth when those around him obfuscate and deny. Drag can camouflage cultural and political commentary, using laughs and exaggeration to lower defenses so that important messages and warnings can get through to those who might otherwise reject them.
But before I make things sound too heavy, let me say that her return-from-lockdown show, Corona & Flo, presented at Pangea by Kevin Malony and TWEED TheatreWorks, is an outrageous, hilarious, obscene musical delight that leaves her audience laughing with glee, stunned with the shock of recognition, excited by brilliant observations, and warmed by quiet, heartfelt emotion. To quote an old saying, Flotilla DeBarge has it all, and she presents it as a post-pandemic gift to her audience. There is also the subliminal energy of watching a thoroughbred strut her stuff after over a year of inactivity.
Flotilla takes the stage in a resplendent, bejeweled gown and a shock of red hair so violently designed that it looks as if Lucy put her finger into a live socket. She immediately declares that the show will be all-festive and all-gay. First up was a “soliloquy” based on the Talking Heads’ “Once In a Lifetime” (David Byrne, Brian Eno, Chris Frantz, Jerry Harrison, Tina Weymouth) with the particularly relevant lines:
“And you may ask yourself, ‘Well…how did I get here?’
Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground”
During this number and elsewhere, the reverb is at such a high level that it becomes an irritating distraction that could be easily remedied with a lighter touch at the sound board. The wonderful support of musical director John Bronston, and a smartly chosen group of songs, give the show a strong musical underpinning. Perhaps Flotilla will one day grace us with a serious evening of song. Her voice is smooth and passionate, and her phrasing intelligent and thoughtful when she’s not clowning around. There are a few non-comedic song choices scattered throughout, and she nails each one. I am particularly fond of “But Beautiful” (Jimmy Van Heusen, Johnny Burke) with its brief Billie Holiday callbacks. A lovely, quiet version of “The Theme from Mahogany (Do You Know Where You’re Going To)” (Michael Masser, Gerry Goffin) is shattered (in the best sense) by an electrifying lip sync of Diana Ross’s monologues from the movie, and then miraculously returns to the gentle emotions of the song. It is a tour de force. Blondie’s “Call me” (Giorgio Moroder, Deborah Harry) proves an unexpected highlight.
A repeated admonition (a mantra, really) fills the evening: “Be in the moment!” Forbidding the use of cellphones, even, or especially for photos, she scolds audience members to not miss out on life by losing themselves in devices. She presents a lecture/diatribe on the importance for young gays to become more familiar with their history and the work of those who came before. She works the audience like a pro, remembering names and calling back moments as the show progresses. Observing the awkwardness of politically correct pronouns, she is interrupted by someone shouting out, “My pronoun is ‘it.’” Rather than be thrown, she takes it and runs with it, creating about 15 or 20 joke references to “it” over the rest of the show. Someone has a laugh that sounds like a chicken, so she carries on a recognizable dialogue with the person while doing nothing but dramatically clucking.
She trusts the audience (well, at least some of it) to get her dizzying array of references, among them The Court Jester, Britney Spears, Leslie Uggams making word salad of “June is Busting Out All Over,” Angels in America, Walt Disney, and Cardi B whose hit, “WAP,” is skewered within an inch of its life via a music video in which Flotilla and Lady Bunny perform a paean to their “dry-ass pussies.” It is funny, gross, tasteless, and puts the “rage” in outrageous as it lampoons the genial filth that passes for lyric writing in a lot of club music.
For a respite from this most welcome onslaught, Bronston’s singing and keyboard talents are given solo display with Laura Nyro’s “Stoney End,” and the gay anthem “I Will Survive” (Freddie Perren, Dino Fekaris). He grabs the spotlight with relish. And to prove once again that there are no accidents in a well-constructed show, the lyrics of both gain resonance in a post-COVID setting.
But the evening is Flotilla’s and she is triumphant, with a withering stare, a warm and inviting smile, a mocking smirk, an incredulous eyebrow, a bracing intelligence, and unabashed joy. She definitely “stays in the moment” and luckily for us she takes us there with her.
**Flotilla DeBarge in Corona & Flo presented by TWEED TheatreWorks at Pangea, June 26-27.
About the Author
Gerry Geddes has conceived and directed a number of musical revues—including the Bistro- and MAC Award-winning "Monday in the Dark with George" and "Put On Your Saturday Suit-Words & Music by Jimmy Webb"—and directed many cabaret artists, including André De Shields, Helen Baldassare, Darius de Haas, and drag artist Julia Van Cartier. He directs "The David Drumgold Variety Show," currently in residence at Manhattan Movement & Arts Center, and has produced a number of recordings, including two Bistro-winning CDs. He’s taught vocal performance at The New School, NYU, and London’s Goldsmith’s College and continues to conduct private workshops and master classes. As a writer and critic, he has covered New York’s performing arts scene for over 40 years in both local and national publications; his lyrics have been sung by several cabaret and recording artists. Gerry is an artist in residence at Pangea, and a regular contributor to the podcast “Troubadours & Raconteurs.” He just completed a memoir of his life in NYC called “Didn’t I Ever Tell You This?”
My pronoun is still “it”!
The banter between Flo and myself that night was from a long history of working together in nightclubs in NYC. It was good to see her in this Cabaret setting and allowing herself the space to go beyond the lipsynch. This was exactly the way to spend a Gay Pride evening, celebrating the creative petri dish of the East Village. I’m glad you had as much of a good time that evening as I did.