‘Mega Python vs. Gatoroid (The Musical)’ @ Hip Pocket Theatre

—Ryan Maffei

When I think of the real magic of theatre – the miracles distinct from the illusions – I naturally think of community. Not just the instant (and often fleeting) families theatre inevitably forges, but the intimate (and often life-changing) connection with audiences theatre reliably achieves.

In DFW, where mere participation puts you within six degrees of the most powerful players, and where our greatest advocates are one another, this reality feels particularly profound. And though the local theatre critic is so often seen as dispensable (if not a nuisance), my stance remains firm that we’re no less in this for the love of theatre than you are — and not just because many of us critics hold other titles by day and night.

I was bound to return fondly to Hip Pocket Theatre from the first perfect-weather evening I spent there. But my principal reason for agreeing to review The Three Cuckolds earlier this summer was to see my friend Will Frederick unleash his inner femme. By chance, as I wrote in my review, I left the show utterly over the moon about two actors I’d never seen before. The work Madi Rose Duren did in Cuckolds was an unrelenting firehose of irrepressible, irreverent inspiration; in a much smaller role, Julian Harris made himself felt in much the same way. Only because I printed my praise did I get the pleasure of meeting and talking with this incredible pair. In a neat twist, it turned out they were madly in love.

So I know firsthand — if not to the extent of their friends, family, colleagues or co-workers —that Duren and Harris were as brilliant offstage as they were on it; that they were so sweet, and so inventive, and so crazy about each other, as well as (I feel passionate about how important this is) so very STRANGE, albeit in total control of what they did with it. To me, from how she balanced hyper-attuned precision and freewheeling lunacy in that performance alone, Madi’s talent felt limitless. Julian shared with me some of his writing, another wild gift of his, and I was lucky to catch his stirring, grounded work in Kitchen Dog Theater’s The Absentee, as timely a show as I’ve ever seen.

The words he spoke in that play were already bound to stay with me forever. But early the following week, several other lines took on an uncomfortable new weight. In the distressingly senseless instant of a tragic, avoidable accident — not their fault at all — these two artists were gone. The subsequent outpouring of love speaks volumes. They were 22 and 23, but there was no trace of youth in the breadth of their abilities. Several of my friends remain in the disorienting thick of raw grief. “I can’t believe it’s real” is what I’ve heard the most, but it makes a strange sense, for it’s almost hard to fathom that they were real — that good, that young, that mutually devoted.

Yet they were all that, and the space their stolen future leaves is massive and awful. And while it can’t be much match for the pain their blood and chosen families face, when you go to watch Mega Python vs. Gatoroid: the Musical – the closing production of Hip Pocket’s 50th season (and the show Duren was in when we lost her) you are witnessing a family in mourning. That the piece is one of the silliest things ever concocted can’t help but make this stranger, and the burden the company carries heavier. And one of them has bravely stepped into Duren’s shoes: Faith Beene, who by way of yet another coincidence I got to work with this spring, and therefore can personally attest to her empathy, professionalism and ingenuity.

I have given so much space to Duren and Harris (and to be clear, Harris was not involved in this production) not just because this is my chance to pay them tribute, but because Hip Pocket, in the difficult decision to continue with this production, has dedicated it to their memory.

In their zen garden of a backyard space, the bandstand always abuzz with rootsy music, stands a board on which you are encouraged to post messages of love and remembrance. And soon, the stage will be filled with actors in character, all brave faces and zany antics — performers in whom we can honor the fallen by cherishing them while we still have the chance. I’m told the discussions in the wake of this loss were deeply challenging, but it’s hard to imagine Duren and Harris wouldn’t want the show to go on.

And thus, so will this review.

In the preshow, you are apt to be approached with posterboard and a marker, and asked to fashion a protest sign. As I’d heard the show included live chickens (false: they are rubber), I scribbled “FREE THE CHICKENS (AND PALESTINE)” on mine. It wasn’t used later, but yours might be. Mega Python vs. Gatoroid was conceived in the mind of the OG Hip Pocketeer, co-founder and counterculture guru Johnny Simons. The octogenarian Simons had intended to direct, but the plucky Alice Nelson has taken over to devise a script with the ensemble and turn it into a finished story — an adaptation of the B-movie based on Simons’ ideas. Nelson directs, too.

And what does the show stand for? It’s as clear as you are, cheerfully standing there with your blank posterboard and trying to think fast.

The piece takes place in the Florida Everglades, which brings to mind yet another line of Harris’ in The Absentee — something about the state being the thing on which democracy precariously depends. Human ecological meddling has (and ever more swiftly) resulted in the wildlife imbalance the musical’s title suggests. So while it is nominally a plea to leave Mother Nature alone, this show spends a lot more of its energy on making fun of what our president once called the “poorly educated” the sort of people you cancel plays to avoid offending. And it’s not a typical musical. For a theatre so good at incorporating live bands and original music, Python is merely backing tracks for ‘80s hits with proudly moronic revised lyrics. Don’t let Sade’s, Queen’s, or Guns N’ Roses’ lawyers know.

These numbers are rendered transcendent by Harper C. Lee’s deliberately dumb choreography, which qualifies as an act of genius from this ubiquitous multi-hyphenate. With a cocked eyebrow you could cut your finger on, and enough energy for two much larger people, Lee is also part of one of the most gamely ridiculous ensembles ever assembled. Rivaling Beene (a scientist-slash-activist) for best in show is her co-star Hannah Bell, who plays a park ranger; Bell works harder than she needs to, to wonderful effect. She’s flanked by two Velvet Elk veterans, Lee and stately elder Thad Isbell, who winningly subverts his own dignity as a MAGA (sorry, MEGA) card carrier.

Beene’s twin cohorts are Ed Cannady and Lauren Ivy Chiong, both all-in and not utilized enough. Between Beene and Bell’s camps are a trio of earthy nitwits: exceptional Hip Pocket chameleon Paul Heyduck, cheery-deadpan superstar Esper Sosa, and a very amusing Gary Payne, the latter a dead ringer for Neil Young. As the musclebound predator hunter, HPT stalwart Ron Fernandez plays against type, but with familiar tools, growls and exaggeration. This fella is nothing if not relentless; he’s cast so frequently because he always finds humor and energy in his distaste for subtlety. Allison Marshall, the Circle Theatre Mac Beth’s masterful Macduff, fills in absurd gaps with a humble aplomb, while sad-eyed house clown Grainger Esch offers an irresistible introduction.

Tech is as sparse as big ideas or structure, though kudos to the village this piece took to bring it together — far too populous to name every resident. (Special props to whiz lighting designer Nikki DeShea Smith, fight choreographer Joe Chapa, puppet designer Basil Twist, puppet captain/undercover gator Amanda Merrill, invaluable costume designer Susan Austin, and SM/MC extraordinaire Gianina Lamberti-Stanfield.) All have helped construct a gonzo slice of escapism that may well be a tonic for whatever’s conspired to ruin your day. But do you know what I missed? The sharp, savvy aim that steadied Duren’s commitment well beyond the comic bit, and gave everything she dared a greater sense of purpose. Still….no one in Mega Python would claim this is the same show without her.

And to be frank — it’s the critic’s job — the faults here don’t really lie with the crew or cast, and especially not with Beene or Bell. Whatever follies don’t land are likely Simons’. Though I’m so grateful that Hip Pocket endures, something began to poke at me as Python rolled sloppily around its swamp. This theatre had capped a milestone 50th season (whose thematic throughline is its splendid patriarch) with a show about nothing — and right after a piece (Velvet Elk) that boldly tried to be about everything. Okay, that’s Hip Pocket. What now? Is it possible we’ve run through all the possible paces?

And then all of a sudden, SPOILER ALERT and no joke, out slouched the best Trump impersonator I’ve ever seen (Ken Buckner, even funnier than the SNL guy) AND THEY FED HIM TO A SWAMP BEAST. So I can’t really claim the show isn’t significant, or bold. Viva Hip Pocket, Viva Hinojosa ‘26, and free Palestine.

Julian Harris’ GoFundMe:
https://www.gofundme.com/f/remembering-julian-harris-supporting-his-family

Madi Rose Duren’s GoFundMe:
https://www.gofundme.com/f/in-loving-memory-of-madison-madi-rose-duren

WHEN: October 16–November 1, 2026
WHERE: 1950 Silver Creek Rd, Fort Worth
WEB: hippocket.org