Dirty little secret

Editorial
I'm going to reveal a dirty little secret. I love to perform. That has never gone away. No matter how far I get from the theater, that desire to entertain my friends, my family, an audience of strangers, even my terrier Fanny, is still very much a part of who I am. I'm going to reveal another dirty little secret. This love has manifested itself into Burlesque. Every other year, ever since I left theater, I have performed with Theatre Limina's Burlesque troupe. It's a low rehearsal commitment level that results in only one or two performances once a year. My character is Tipsy St. Swingsteen and she is INSANE. She is the drunk entertainer. (And no, I do not drink while performing Tipsy. In fact, I rarely ever drink, even at my infinite number of rock shows. I find the energy, MY energy, to be enough of a stimulant.) One of the greatest moments of my life was, last year, when I stood backstage ready to make my entrance. The audience remembered the insanity from two years prior, and they were chanting my name. This ridiculous character is something I easily fall into. And yes, I take my top off to reveal pasties (hot pink tassels when I did chair tricks and mouse pasties when I played a feral cat.) It's a supportive environment, freeing and, due to years of a crippling lack of self-confidence, absolutely empowering. At the expense of what some may see as my dignity, Tipsy makes people laugh. And rarely do I get SUCH a sense of accomplishment. Of course there's always an absurdly awesome soundtrack to go along with it. Last Tuesday, I attended Lili's Burlesque at Bryant Lake Bowl. It was everything every quality Burlesque show was that I've ever seen or been involved in. There were bright/creative/detachable costumes. Great, often corny/sometimes sexy songs, many the audience karaoked to. There was a Star Wars strip tease. There was an alien chick who had some of the greatest facial expressions I've ever seen on stage. There was an awesome transition from drag queen to king by one masculine girl, named "Switch the Wonder Boy." Switch changed from an obviously uncomfortable sequined dress, wrapped his/her pastied chest, donned a vest, jeans and, with arms raised and an ever escalating comfortable energy, finished lip-syncing to the song, exploding in masculine glory. There were screams of encouragement from the audience as every size of breasts were revealed. There were constant cheers. And I sat in my chair, desperate to get up on stage and perform a Tipsy number, choosing songs in my head, choreographing numbers, designing pasties. Tipsy will be around for a LONG time. The next night, on Wednesday, I revisited my past self once again by attending The Jungle's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? For as long as I intensely studied theater, a decade or so, I revered two playwrights: Sam Shepard (the arguable master of legitimate rock'n'roll theater) and Edward Albee. I've seen Who's Afraid performed before. I read Albee biographies in college. I even took an acting course that focused JUST on that play, when I spent a semester studying and performing Martha. At the National Theater Institute, there was a brass sign over one of the rooms that said "Edward Albee." He stayed in that room during his stints at the Eugene O'Neil Center, and I stood under that sign many times in awe. To me, and to many others, it is one of the greatest American plays. Magical, perverse poetry on the page and stage. Those characters are OBVIOUSLY rich with complexities. George and Martha are sick drunken puppet masters who comfort they're own anguish by emotionally and mentally destroying their guests, Nick and Honey, thus continuing to destroy themselves. There are layers to that play I will never fully understand (well, hopefully never fully understand). This is an ensemble play, no doubt, but one of those ensemble members truly shone. Stephen Yoakam as George gave one of the greatest performances I have seen in years. It was effortless, honest and nauseating. I found myself shaking my head many times in disgust and wonder. For me, Yoakam carried much of that play. By the end, I was sitting on my hands, mouth completely agape. I was mere feet away from such destruction. Holes in other performances did little to detract the impact it had on me. Yes, my mind wandered several times to how cold and exhausted I was, trying to remember when a bill was due or what date Justin Townes Earle would be at the Taste of Minnesota. Yes, in this age of throw-it-all-out-there sex, Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? does not have the same shocking affect it once did. It seems slightly archaic. Yet, forty years later, it can still enthrall. People around us laughed throughout and gasped in horror. I even heard a young man behind me whisper "DAMN that's crazy" at one point in the second act. Is there a modern play, forty years from now, that will do this for an audience? This week, I realized just how much Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, like performing in some aspect, will always be a part of me. As we walked out, I shimmied my fully clothed chest to the curtain call tune all the way down the aisle out out the door. For years to come.
Headshot of Alexa Jones
Alexa Jones
Alexa Jones was a performer and director for most of her life in her hometown of Kansas City, at St. Olaf College, and all around the Twin Cities. Now, she goes to rock shows and takes photos.