Say You Love Satan
by Roberto Aguirre-Sarcasca
Photos by John Armstrong
Critics' Reviews
Richard Green - Talkin' Broadway
Don't be scared-off by the title, though the new show at the ArtLoft Theatre manages to be both hilarious and frightening. Like any good horror story it's also a great morality tale, and (like most HotCity productions) it is raising a tent pole in some unexpected dimension of our souls. Where do they find all these great shows, and why can't anyone else in this town seem to find them too?
The dreamy-eyed, flowing-haired Tyler Vickers is irresistible in the title role as the devilish hunk who likes to take his shirt off in public. In fact, his frequently displayed lats, pecs and biceps should probably get their own separate billing in the program. His left rhomboid was particularly unforgettable in the laundromat scene.
Director Annamaria Pileggi subtly reveals temptation and dread beneath the veil of comedy. And Ben Nordstrom is Andrew, the nice young man who's caught the devil's eye. With just the slightest tilt of his chin, he provokes uproarious laughter, merely by teetering on the threshold of each new diabolical revelation. Fortunately, the script by Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa also bubbles over with uncounted jokes, even as it hints at darkness around each new corner.
Sarah Cannon is Bernadette, Andrew's slightly obsessive single heterosexual lady friend (I wish there were a shorter way of saying that). Ms. Cannon is pretty young actress, with a fierce intellect hidden under a delicate, diminutive frame. Here, she dotes on Andrew in a series of increasingly worried phone messages, and looks (initially) like a patch of lawn, hidden too long beneath the garden gnome. But she finally regains her color, and throws her Catholic schoolgirl suspicions into high gear to give the devil his due. Along the way, she and Andrew gain an unlikely ally in a jealous angel (the very fine Shewan Howard).
Mr. Vickers, who was the soulful eye-candy in HotCity's recent Orpheus Descending, gradually unleashes delicious lustfulness and ghastly ambitions here, as the eerie little surprises mount up. And as their relationship traces its twisted path, Andrew seems to feel himself roasting on a spit, just moments after being treated like a very famous movie star. Let's see Neil Simon do that.
Rusty Gunther is quietly complex and noble as Jerrod, the ideal boyfriend, and we watch the dismal wheels turning in his head as Andrew drifts away. To demonstrate Mr. Gunther's credibility, allow me to recall the opening night audience's collective gasp, upon learning what became of the Madonna tickets he'd scored to save their dwindling relationship.
Chris Jensen is terrific in the roles of gushing fan and poisonous ex-boyfriend. And the clever, minimal set with its flashing disco floor keeps the story in high gear throughout. It's another daring and high quality show from HotCity.
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Paul Friswold - RFT
There's a terrible moment of tremendous fear in the first five minutes of Say You Love Satan that you must force yourself to sit through for your own good: Andrew (Ben Nordstrom), a slightly nebbishy grad student, directly addresses the audience with a few words on Dostoevsky.
Shudder.
And you think to yourself, "Wasn't this supposed to be a queer romantic comedy? What's with the literary allusions? Oh, crap. Is this going to be, you know, deep?"
Calm yourself. Andrew's giving you a glimpse of the esoteric mechanics that regulate what passes for his inner life, and yes, he thinks maybe a touch too much about dead Russian authors — but Say You Love Satan is about the deadly little evils we perpetrate in the pursuit of happiness. And if anyone knows about the evils of happiness, it's the titans of Russian literature.
Better still, Roberto Aguirre-Sacasca is aware of how pretentious Andrew's introductory remarks could be. So his script quickly counters with the introduction of Jack (Tyler Vickers), a handsome tower of man who flirts by stripping off his shirt to reveal a chest that one could serve a large country breakfast on, if one were so inclined. Jack is certainly in the mood for breakfast in bed, and so with some clever banter, a bit of inappropriate touching and the promise of sticky carnal pleasures, Andrew and Jack embark on what Andrew's best friend Bernadette (Sarah Cannon) later terms this "gay erotic thriller."
Ah, that's better.
Director Annamaria Pileggi takes the "thriller" portion of that assessment to heart; Satan hums along briskly, aided in part by the theater-in-the-round stage. A few glass boxes on wheels serve as furniture, a dancer's pole in one corner denotes the nightclubs where Jack and Andrew cavort and the lights set in the floor provide the appropriate mood and tone. Pileggi, lighting designer Alan Chlebowski and the cast have blocked the movements excellently; everyone moves naturally and smoothly to their marks, making the uplighting work even as the cast turns to face all four corners. It's an intricate dance, and it never seems forced.
Jack, who we must note again, looks quite fabulous without a shirt and even better in a suit, stalks around with a predatory sensuality, as befits his nature as the Son of Satan. Yes, really. And the conceit works, largely because the script gives you no choice to deny it. Jack declares his pedigree to Andrew with the self-assured statement, "My father is the Devil." With barely a pause, Andrew asks, "Who's your mother?" to a huge laugh from the knowing audience (gay men and their mothers...). Andrew, analytical and detached from the real world thanks to his immersion in academia, accepts the existence of the Devil and the Devil's son easily. And he gleefully takes to the idea of screwing hot devil-spawn; by his own admission, Andrew's a little selfish and a little lazy, and Jack is diabolically charming. Vickers evokes Jack's manly charms with a ready smile that promises rough trade, even though he turns out to be a cuddler (a discovery that makes the buttoned-up Andrew laugh nervously, but with evident fondness for the strangeness of it all).
Andrew's surrender to temptation (have we mentioned the pecs? They're on frequent display, right above the six-pack!) is barely checked by the concern of his best friend, Bernadette. Cannon has imbued this pushy gamine with a salty tongue and a wounded heart; she's jealous of Andrew's romance because she has none of her own, but she also senses real menace in any congress with the Devil. Her misgivings have some merit, but Andrew is blind to the danger.
And that's where the Dostoevsky returns. Andrew paraphrases The Brothers Karamazov, noting that "nobody wants to think of themselves as evil." And yet Andrew abandons his friends, his quasi-boyfriend (the always excellent Rusty Gunther) and his own life in pursuit of what? Hot sex and the hint of danger. The devil is in the details, friend; is this bad behavior any less evil just because the sins are small?
It is this argument that frames the story, but it never overwhelms the play. Aguirre-Sacasca's script is shot through with plenty of humor, and the cast does a remarkable job of imparting the threat of eternal damnation without becoming preachy. Say You Love Satan is a gay romantic comedy with heart, but it's also concerned with your soul. And if you can ogle a mass of beefcake while improving your spiritual well-being, so much the better.