Emphasizing emotional sisterhood and female solidarity, the underlying Sapphic glow of Thelma and Louise has registered in the hearts of its many fans since its cinematic premiere in the summer of 1991. Using that subtle queer thread as a starting place, writers EllaRose Chary and Brandon James Gwinn joyfully created Thelma Louise; Dyke Remix, a musical that imagines celluloid’s most famous female outlaws surviving and discovering that they are indeed lesbians.
After a successful run in San Diego, this whip-smart celebration is now set to make its Midwest premiere this fall at Theo Ubique in Evanston. In anticipation of this unique event, Chary, Gwinn and Claire DiVizio, the current production’s director, spoke about the show for Windy City Times.
Note: This conversation was edited for clarity and length.
Windy City Times: One of the San Diego reviewers described this show as being “something you’ve never seen before.” What do you think is going to surprise audiences in this Midwest premiere of the show?
EllaRose Chary: I’ve never seen a show like this that centers the experience of queer women / femmes / non cis male people in musical theater—which is one of the reasons we wrote it.
I also think people are used to queer stories that center on hardship, trauma or the difficulties our community faces, which are valid things to shine a light on. But this show is all about queer joy and one thing people have often told me is that they are surprised by how funny the show is. I think people who have no context for queerness, no context for the film Thelma and Louise, no context for new musicals, will be surprised by how resonant the show may be for them as well.
Claire DiVizio: I think something that people won’t be expecting to see in a show that is, on the surface, grungy and punk and irreverent, is the amount of joy and playfulness and childlike wonder and amusement we’ve filled this production with. Our staging takes place in a garage where the band practices, surrounded by boxes filled with old toys/trash/forgotten stuff of childhood, which enter into the storytelling in fun and often unexpected ways.
A conversation that is being had a lot in the queer and especially trans communities more and more is the idea of reclaiming the childhood that you weren’t able to have when you were in the closet, and the healing that can come from that. Something that was on my mind as we were building this production is how the band, having already reclaimed their queer child selves before the start of the show, can help T&L do the same.
WCT: When were you first introduced to Thelma and Louise and can you describe your initial reaction to the film to us? Also has your impression of it changed over time?
Brandon James Gwinn: College was a time to watch a lot of things, especially things I had always heard of but somehow had never seen. There are seemingly endless cultural references to Thelma & Louise, so I was already aware of its footprint in the zeitgeist. Even though it is comparatively not that old of a film, it was groundbreaking in so many ways and continues to be to this day. It’s an outlaw film. A western even, starring two women and centering their journeys, struggle and a powerful friendship. They grab hands, kiss, and drive off the cliff together rather than succumb to another fate where they would probably be separated, prosecuted and further subjugated to a system that has kept them down. It seemed a wild and over-the-top reaction and choice for them to commit suicide together when I first watched it (it was actually criticized in its time for “glorifying suicide”—a critique many more violent, similar films with male leads had been spared). Now, I think their choice is a direct result of the events that led up to it. It’s a choice about power. A “fuck you” to the system and the male oppression they leave behind. It’s pretty bad ass. It says way more about the society than them that they find themselves in that, and that’s the only way to solve their story.
ERC: I didn’t watch the full film until Brando and I watched it as research for this project. But I knew that the film was iconic and I knew the critique of the ending—that strong female characters always die in media and that this was no exception. Because of that I did have a bit of an aversion to it, which may be why I didn’t watch it. That said, I’m a huge fan of Geena Davis and Susan Sarandon. My reaction to the film changed by getting to understand more of the history—why they chose to give the characters a traditionally “male” ending (going out in a blaze of glory instead of being caught, like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid)—I appreciated the choice more. I have a very nerdy queer theory text that is central to my understanding of our musical, Disidentifications by José Esteban Muñoz. My understanding of Muñoz’s definition of “disidentification” is that we see ourselves in a piece of media (like a movie, or a musical) that’s identification; if we see a piece of media, and we don’t see ourselves, we may say “forget that”, and that’s counter-identification; but if we see a piece of media and we don’t see ourselves there, but we FIND ourselves there anyway, that’s disidentification. And I think the last one is how a lot of queer women and queer people feel about Thelma and Louise, and so that has impacted how I think about the film.
WCT: in horror movies, particularly, the sassy, sexual women are killed off while a more milquetoast heroine saves the day. The show’s first song “Why Do Strong Female Characters Always Gotta Die?” reflects this frustration. Over the years, has there been a demise of a magnificent celluloid woman that has affected you the most?
CD: Man, there are so many! Tara from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which appears in the great list in the first song, was a huge one for me.
BJG: That song in particular has seen many versions, because we keep having to add queer women+ characters that have met their end in media, many in wild and abrupt ways. If I have to pick two (one seems way too limiting – haha) I would say Poussey from Orange is the New Black and Villanelle from Killing Eve—the shock!—my friggin’ heart!!!
ERC: How can I pick just one? We wrote a whole song about our heartbreaks on this front, haha. I’m a huge, huge Buffy the Vampire Slayer fan, speaking above of identification in media, Willow from BtVS is a touchstone for me. So, when Tara died …ooph. Brando said Poussey, also obviously that one.
WCT: I think we have all had moments when we’ve felt alienated from our own community. Thus, “Boy Shorts” really stands out as a song here. Do you, personally, relate to the frustrations that T and L feel here, as well?
CD: Oh absolutely. As an AuDHD non-binary trans person who spent the first decade of their adult life in a monogamous relationship with a straight man! When I turned 30, was single and had never had a queer relationship, I felt like I was doomed. I had been pretty comfortable with the knowledge that I was bi/pansexual since I was a teenager, but the idea of trying to date anyone as an adult with limited experience, much less a hot queer babe, felt totally impossible. I’ve gotten over that feeling… a little bit? But I still deal with a lot of feelings of inferiority especially in dating spaces.
BJG: As a masc-presenting ENBY man, I am often in hyper masculine gay (not queer) spaces, and feel a lot like a fish out of water. Or maybe an ugly duckling? Haha, anyway, I think everyone can relate to a song like “Boy Shorts.” Everyone has been in a group that has their own jargon, their own language, traditions, their own tribal knowledge and immediately felt like the odd-person-out.
WCT: Theater—especially queer theater—is such a vital force in troubled times like these. Where do you think this production of Thelma Louise: Dyke Remix fits in with our current environment?
CD: The fact that this piece doesn’t dwell on violence, trauma or external persecution for plot movement feels both hugely important in contemporary times, and is sadly kind of unique. It is aggressive in its queerness, and aggressive in a way that specifically forefronts pleasure and happiness and self-actualization as a key feature of queerness, as opposed to a coincidental by-product or something that can only be achieved after lots and lots of bad stuff. We know about the bad stuff. We’re not allowed to forget about the bad stuff. It’s honestly pretty radical to spend a whole show reminding an audience that queer people deserve to be happy, playful, and joyous because they’re queer and not in spite of it.
ERC: The message of this show is we, queer people, belong here. In musical theater, on stage, taking up space, in the world, etc. In our current moment, there are a lot of powerful forces trying to say we don’t belong, or worse, we don’t exist. I think it’s really important to say we do and our joy belongs here and exists, too. I have always understood that the antidote to oppressive forces is community and, to me, making theater is an act of building community—with other artists and audience. We need that more than ever now. On a personal note I grew up in the Chicagoland area, so it’s an opportunity to share the piece with my home community, which is really special.
TL;DR runs from September 7th to October 7th at Theo Ubique at 721 Howard Street in Evanston. Further information is available at http://www.theo-u.com.