‘Everybody’s Talking About Jamie’ @ Uptown Players
Photos by Mike Morgan Photography
—Ryan Maffei
It’s possible 2025 is the scariest political year in recent memory. The very concepts of unity, diversity and equal opportunity are under attack by a vengeful, wrathful administration. Its targets appear to be anyone “different” in a country based on differences, and the people with the least power in a country where power is concentrated in small, sealed-off pockets. A stolen land most of our ancestors escaped to, chasing better lives, and a melting pot from which some of the most exciting and vital developments in art emerged in this last century.
Yet sometimes I feel that—should those oppressive forces came for the neighborhood I have the privilege of waking up in each day, Oak Lawn’s “gayborhood”—they wouldn’t stand half a chance. Pride, irreverence and difference are abundant here; the unhoused take refuge, the exiled and displaced are on every corner. If stifling armies descended on us in their most expensive gear, everyone would band together with a deadpan “no, bitch.”
And in the front lines would be the luminaries of our thriving, inspiring drag scene—recently in the crosshairs of cultural debate, even though, as my partner put it, “nobody’s ever been bummed at a drag show.” The drag performer fights for two identities, bifurcating their often queer everyday selves and the righteous manifestation of a crucial internal essence. That they reserve the latter for performance is a living, but also a gift. A great drag show can just be a blast, or it can put you directly in touch with a part of yourself screaming to get out.
Much of this is explored in Uptown Players’ Everybody’s Talking About Jamie, running at the company’s usual venue, the Kalita Humphreys (another wonderful perk of this part of town). The musical turns a BBC documentary about Jamie Campbell, a real-life teen drag queen, into a spectacle of appropriate scale and flair. The material addresses the ugly stigma around queer people and young people indirectly, yet pointedly. But mostly, Jamie is as rousing and vaguely utopian as any misfit-makes-good story—you know right off that the bullies won’t win.
If you counterpose the musical’s somewhat easy, formulaic approach against the tenor of the times, the feelings it leaves you with become more than just generically positive. That’s why I opened the review as I did. Jamie may be a little neat in its construction—its jokes not always brilliant, its plot twists rarely unpredictable, not all of its songs or scenes showstopping or even necessary. But it feels important, which heightens the impact of Uptown’s reliably excellent performances and other elements.
Uptown’s sets are often designed by Kevin Brown, a wizard with shape, color and space. His amazing work here is lit beautifully by Scott Guenther, who also provides multi-media work. The ever-reliable Brian Christensen designed the fabulous sound, and local icon Suzi Cranford provides functional-to-whimsical costumes; her work for the drag performers is especially commendable. Perpetually spot-on Kennedy Smith did props. Occasional bursts of fight choreo were manned by David Saldivar and the agreeably ragtag dance choreo (lots of fun interlocking bits) was provided by Evor. T3 treasure Vonda K. Bowling is in charge of musical direction (great harmonies throughout), Michael B. Moore worked his usual hair/makeup magic, and Krista Scott ensured that none of the Scouse accents felt false, which is no easy feat. And Renee Dessommes and Lexi Salmon slayed as stage manager and assistant stage manager for a big, challenging show.
As with most musicals, there are about a hundred great performers onstage, and I’m sure none of them would be chagrined if I singled out the inexhaustibly talented Henry Cawood as best in show. His is a Jamie worth talking about for miles around—and between his ace comic timing, his aptly sub-angelic voice, his boundless energy, his perfect masculine-feminine look, and the weird sense that he could pass as British (down to his name), he’s perfect for this role. He devours the stage, and doesn’t hedge (much less miss) a beat.
That said, the talent surrounding him keeps him on the toes he stuffs into in A+ heels. The extraordinary Jamie has a movingly ordinary mum, but when Mary Gilbreath Grim belts that mother’s heart out, you know you’re in the presence of one of the best singers in the world. Her second-act centerpiece “He’s My Boy” is so remarkable and devastating, if she doesn’t have a kid in real life, I insist we steal this woman a BAFTA. She finds a great match in Brett Warner as Ray, mother Margaret’s balls-out bestie. Warner scores bullseye after bullseye.
As Jamie’s BFF Priti Pasha, Laila Jalil is exceptional—hilarious and heartrending in equal measure, with a powerful voice to match her chops. And the magnificent Doug Fowler, as Jamie’s gruff yet brittle forerunner Hugo (née Loco Chanel), is so good you don’t care that he barely bothers with an accent. He flawlessly unifies pathos and comedy, and burns the house down every time he sings. I keep returning to little moments of his work, chief among them the hand he places on his cheek to suddenly and vulnerably extinguish a fiery song.
All of Jamie’s classmates are a great deal of fun, particularly when throwing themselves into the vocal arrangements and choreography. I’ve seen many of the ones who play girls before: Ania Lyons was wonderful in Debbie Does Dallas, Abriela Rodriguez was terrific in A Chorus Line, and Gabriela Yarbrough was [Scouse accent] stunnin’ in Big Love. All are excellent here, and the one I hadn’t seen, Sophie DeYoung (who was in Uptown’s The Prom), nails many of the funniest lines. As the boys, Carlos Gutierrez, Hunter Hurt, Dave Mar and Steven Rios are goofy delights. I’ll remember every one of these performers going forward.
The chief boy is the most impactful of three figures who thanklessly serve as Jamie’s built-in resistance. Jamie really doesn’t face much resistance; his daring opening bow as Mimi Me (his drag persona) comes off so well that the second act is devoted to a whole other conflict, the burden of getting right with his offstage self. The boy who tries to derail that debut performance is perfectly-named prick Dean Paxton, expertly inhabited by Sam Illum. He earns his highest marks for his last scene, where he quietly sheds his defensive armor.
Illum is so good at being awful that he’s ultimately kind of charming, but poor Jericho Thomas, one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met, has to be downright disgusting (a key word) as the source of Jamie’s self-loathing: his absent father. His finest moment is the “yeah, I know” face he makes as he comes out for curtain call. Valiant work, sir. The strangest role is Miss Hedge, played by Laura Lyman Payne, a teacher who never quite settles into friend or foe. Payne’s sly delivery and understated riz ultimately endear us to a rather underwritten role.
I’ve reserved my penultimate paragraph for the three queens themselves: Tray Sophisticay, Laika Virgin and Sandra Bollock. Jacob Hemsath and Tyler Ray Lewis are wondrous as the latter two, respectively: you want more of both. Hemsath is winsome enough to get why he’s Jamie’s understudy, and Lewis emanates a potent, enigmatic prowess. But the king of the queens is Arya J. Valley, a fierce local legend who also gets to embody Loco Chanel (not that it’s a drag race). Valley as Sophisticay is beyond striking in their getup and makeup, the picture of poised, otherworldly femininity. And in mere, fleeting moments they prove to be a brilliant actor and fantastic singer. These three performers together could sell an Alabama grandma—or a deadbeat dad—on the concept of drag for life. They’re key sparks in an electric show.
Ah, but the magic of their moments leads me to my biggest complaint: the way the show denies us Jamie’s pivotal Mimi Me performance just before the second act. Cawood could certainly pull it off, and the brief moment of videography doesn’t do the lead-up justice. This could be the fault of the musical itself or the production—but whatever it is, it’s disappointing.
That said, it doesn’t detract from how vital Uptown’s production is. Rush out with as many friends and family as you can rope in to see it; why wouldn’t you, when everybody’s talking about it? And if you still need the drag fix it whets your appetite for, there’s a world-class well of it just a few streets over.
WHEN: July 18-August 3, 2025
WHERE: Kalita Humphreys Theater, 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd., Dallas
WEB: uptownplayers.org
