When It Rains, It Pours: Queer Hilarity in “Vile Isle”
Mariyea Jackson in Vile Isle (2024). Written by Justin Halle, directed by Spencer Whale, and co-produced by Most Unwanted (Connor Scully). Photo by Mari Eimas-Dietrich. Courtesy of The Tank.
Vile Isle begins with a drag queen dressed as the Virgin Mary, prophesying the end of the world. This Madonna—not to be confused with the other equally infamous gay icon—is struck with a series of visions as she lip-syncs in a cone bra and faux pregnancy belly, the back of the theater lighting up with projections of floods and suffering. “The world will end in eighteen days!” she exclaims to the club. Neither the DJ nor the three audience members on stage pay her much attention.
These four gay men, our real protagonists, are unable to weather the rough waters of the next two weeks, and we follow their relationships as they break down before the storm has a chance to hit. Playing at The Tank until October 6, Vile Isle, directed by Spencer Whale, flourishes in exploring these characters. The DJ, Christopher (Max Kantor), has not told his parents that he’s gay, a fact that his trans boyfriend Ziz (Julian Socha) resents. Nathan (Sam Gonzalez), a canonically described “demon twink,” is dealing with both a drug addiction and the death of his father, while his loveable boyfriend Alex (Kenon Veno) is desperate to find the best way to support him. This group, which the show describes as a “gay ‘chosen family’ consider[ing] unchoosing each other,” are at their own “before the flood” moment. In the next scene, Nathan and Christopher cheat on their respective partners as the service of a cat bat mitzvah rings in the background.
Sam Gonzalez and Max Kantor in Vile Isle (2024). Written by Justin Halle, directed by Spencer Whale, and co-produced by Most Unwanted (Connor Scully). Photo by Mari Eimas-Dietrich. Courtesy of The Tank.
A cat’s coming of age makes perfect sense within the world of Vile Isle. The show, written by Justin Halle, rings with an irreverent quirkiness, manifesting itself in laugh-out-loud funny jokes that are as effortless as they are clever. “They’re out of riesling,” Nathan proclaims in an early scene, “guess I’ll kill myself!” Later, about to be picked up by an Uber, he announces that “much like the prophet, Mohammed is here.” These quips, prompting uproarious outbursts from the audience, serve double duty, characterizing the men as much as making us laugh. Within fifteen minutes of meeting these characters, each one of them feels singular, like someone you would want to be friends with. We owe this, in large part, to the strength of the performances from the cast (especially Gonzalez), and it is hard to imagine anyone else in their roles. This blisteringly strong script/character/actor combination creates a perfect sitcom-like storm—we would watch this group do anything, pulled along by the power of their banter alone.
Mariyea Jackson in Vile Isle (2024). Written by Justin Halle, directed by Spencer Whale, and co-produced by Most Unwanted (Connor Scully). Photo by Mari Eimas-Dietrich. Courtesy of The Tank.
The exception to this, perhaps, is Lizzie Fine herself. The drag queen (played by Mariyea) builds an ark in the background of this gay drama, largely auxiliary to the main plot. While they intersect at times—Christopher briefly serves as her PR liaison, and Alex’s buying three tickets to the ark causes many a character motivation—she, herself, remains largely a cape-wearing enigma (the costumes, designed by David Hyman, are consistently excellent). “We, the last surviving Sodomites, will dance and die in power,” she declares, opening the ship to queer people alone. Her only personality trait, drag queen, makes her command the stage when she explains that this is not about recreating the world, but rather being the last people to watch it end.
Julian Socha in Vile Isle (2024). Written by Justin Halle, directed by Spencer Whale, and co-produced by Most Unwanted (Connor Scully). Photo by Mari Eimas-Dietrich. Courtesy of The Tank.
Halle’s cleverness here extends beyond their humor. A number of subtle parallels are set up throughout the show, between, for example, Alex caring for his cat, Gnocchi, and wanting to care for Nathan. The best of these is when Christopher worries that he is only a “fake” DJ, mirroring concerns that he might not be really gay. When he figures out that he is not gay in the end, it is done extraordinarily well. He is accepted fully by the group, but the undercurrents of one of Ziz’s early lines—if even a part of you is straight, then what does that make me?—make the issue as complex as it deserves to be.
Mariyea Jackson and Max Kantor in Vile Isle (2024). Written by Justin Halle, directed by Spencer Whale, and co-produced by Most Unwanted (Connor Scully). Photo by Mari Eimas-Dietrich. Courtesy of The Tank.
When the storm finally lands, late in the show, the four trip around the stage as the proscenium collapses around them, a brilliant element of scenic design by Dan Daly. The glimmering silver streamers, giving a club party feel to the rest of the show, suddenly seem like rain in the chaotic strobe lights. In these apocalyptic moments, we are still left with the question of how, exactly, the end of the world has impacted these characters. Did it lead them to forgive faster? No, not really. Did it serve as a moral compass? Decidedly not. Was it fun? Absolutely. While it is certainly not all Vile Isle is, the show embraces its own fun with full force, using the larger-than-life to reflect the reality of living back at us. Maybe, if we’re lucky, the end of the world will be half as hilarious as Vile Isle prophesizes it to be.
Vile Isle is on view at The Tank from Sept 12 to Oct 5, 2024. Please check The Tank’s website for more detailed schedules and ticketing inquiries.
