When P.T. Barnum invented the three-ring circus, his idea was to
have so much going on at one time that it would be impossible to take
it all in with a single viewing.

The same effect can be observed in Arizona Repertory Theatre’s
production of The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. You’re never
quite sure where to look—sometimes because of the embarrassing
antics onstage, but mostly because of the richly detailed performances
created by the talented cast.

The musical is loosely based on an actual brothel, called the
Chicken Ranch, that operated in Texas until 1973. As portrayed in the
musical, it’s a happy home where every hooker has a heart of gold, and
an honest girl can earn a fair wage for a good night’s work.

Ashley Stephenson’s two-story whorehouse set establishes the
carnival atmosphere right from the beginning. The paint is bright
bordello red; the walls are adorned with some tastefully naughty
paintings; the peek-a-boo walls expose the salacious goings-on inside.
(Audiences should be aware that the show contains simulated sex acts
and some rear nudity.)

Not surprisingly, the—how shall we put this?—”hostess,”
Mona Stangley, makes her entrance in an outfit that perfectly suits her
surroundings. Costume-designer Patrick Holt has run amok with Miss
Mona’s wardrobe. Feathered and ruffled, in a shocking rainbow palette,
and topped with the largest head of hair I have ever seen, Mona looks
like a cross between a Texas housewife and a Vegas showgirl.

The costume is filled to perfection by Angela Bray, as the good
madam. Bray commands the stage like a professional, and her warm
presence makes it clear why Mona is so beloved by her girls and the
community. Bray also has a beautiful singing voice, which is sadly held
back by several songs that sit too low within her range.

Whatever you do, though, don’t call Miss Mona “madam” to her face.
That’s just one of many words she doesn’t allow in her honorable house
of ill repute, where they merely conduct “business” with “customers,”
and there’s “nothing dirty going on.”

We get to know the girls at the house through the introduction of
Angel (Rebecca Spigelman) and Shy (Jennifer Hijazi). One is a seasoned
streetwalker looking for relief from an abusive pimp, and the other is
a simple country girl escaping a painful secret at home. Spigelman and
Hijazi bring such heart and charm to their roles that it’s a
disappointment to realize their stories are barely touched in the
remainder of the musical.

The same is true for most of the minor characters. This show has a
large ensemble cast, and director Samantha Wyer has helped them create
such detailed performances that every character, even those without
lines, clearly has a life of his or her own. This is the goal of any
large cast production, but I have never seen it achieved with such
success.

Special notice should be given to three performers in particular.
Claire Graham plays café waitress Doatsey Mae, who, since no one
is interested in hearing what she has to say, stops the show to belt
out her frustrated dreams to the audience. Max Nussbaum’s performance
as the governor in a number called “The Sidestep” is side-splittingly
funny, and is one of the best parts of the show. And Tamika Lawrence,
as Miss Mona’s right hand, Jewel, tears down the house whenever she
sings, and clearly has a bright future ahead as a professional
performer.

The minor characters also shine in part because—as in any
circus—there’s not much of a story to speak of. The script, by
Larry L. King and Peter Masterson, lacks imagination, and its best
moments are recycled until they lose their humor. Carol Hall’s score
has a few high points (“The Sidestep,” “Twenty Four Hours of Lovin'”)
but mostly falls flat. The score’s real saving grace is the athletic
dancing, staged by choreographer Amy Shuttleworth.

Here’s the plot: A publicity-hungry TV personality exposes the
existence of the Chicken Ranch and stirs up a media circus of moral
outrage until the governor has the brothel shut down.

That’s all there is.

It’s a shame the story isn’t more developed, if only to get more
mileage out of the deliciously repellent TV-reporter villain, Melvin P.
Thorpe. Played with relish by Chris Hixson, Thorpe comes off as the
unholy lovechild of Rip Taylor and a used-car salesman.

He’s a no-holds-barred, slimy self-aggrandizer, somehow made more
repellant by the fact that no reasonable argument can be raised against
the rightness of his cause. He’s not a stereotypical “conservative
hypocrite” with a shady double life, and Hixson plays him without
judgment or self-mockery. The result is both hysterically funny and
shudder-inducing.

Thorpe is more than a match for his nemesis, Sheriff Ed Earl Dodd.
The sheriff has a short temper, a sailor’s vocabulary and a soft spot
in his heart for Miss Mona.

Brad Kula brings confidence and a strong stage presence to the role,
but he isn’t given much to work with. He’s easily the least-appealing
character onstage and does little but wander from scene to scene,
shooting off his mouth or firing his gun into the air.

At the end, as Miss Mona sings about “taking the road to nowhere,”
it’s clear that when the circus is over, you’re left with just sawdust
and rags.

This article appears in Nov 19-25, 2009.