‘The Book of Mormon’ @ Bass Performance Hall
Photos courtesy of Performing Arts Fort Worth
—Rickey Wax
They say laughter is the best medicine, but after seeing The Book of Mormon at Bass Performance Hall this weekend, I’m convinced it’s also the fastest route to side cramps and a sore jaw. If you’re looking for a musical that’s polite and reverent—this is not your pew. Winner of nine Tony Awards, this juggernaut from Trey Parker, Robert Lopez, and Matt Stone (think South Park meets Frozen) barrels ahead with satirical bite that’s equal parts clever and wildly inappropriate. Under Jennifer Werner’s direction and choreography, the touring production (presented by Performing Arts Fort Worth) brought outrageous humor and unexpected heart to the performance.
The story kicks off with Elder Price (Sam McLellan), the golden boy missionary who dreams of an assignment to Orlando, only to be paired with socially awkward Elder Cunningham (Ronnie Spoto) and shipped to Uganda. Culture shock hits hard when they meet locals more concerned with survival than scripture. Jonathan Grunert provides early laughs in triple roles—missionary voice, Price’s dad, and the Mission President—each distinct in their comic flair. The villagers’ grievances explode in the infectious “Hasa Diga Eebowai,” setting the tone for a story that’s equal parts absurd and oddly sincere.
Jarius Miquel Cliett’s Mafala Hatimbi grounds the comedy with warmth, while Charity Arianna’s Nabulungi delivers the emotional core, longing for a better life in faraway “Sal Tlay Ka Siti.” Spoto’s Cunningham is gleeful chaos—an unfiltered storyteller embellishing Mormon text with hobbits and interchangeable Star Wars and Star Trek references. His physical comedy lands every time, but so does the quiet emotional arc beneath the slapstick.
Act I peaks with Elder McKinley, played by Gideon Chickos, whose “Turn It Off” is a pink-sequined, tap-dancing showstopper—part wholesome show choir, part emotional repression guidebook. Chickos’ charisma keeps the audience grinning from start to finish. By intermission, the whirlwind of absurdity and unexpected heart leaves you wondering how these hapless missionaries will win over a single soul.
Visually, the production dazzles. Scott Pask’s set shifts from Salt Lake City’s painted-sky optimism to the textured grit of a Ugandan village. The proscenium’s clouds and stained-glass panels set the tone before a line is spoken. Brian MacDevitt’s lighting adds depth and the occasional heavenly glow (pun intended), while Chad Parsley’s sound design keeps every rapid-fire lyric crystal clear. Ann Roth’s costumes balance crisp missionary whites with vibrant village patterns, both perfectly in sync with the show’s visual wit.
Musically, the backbone is rock solid. Stephen Oremus’ music supervision and vocal arrangements, with orchestrations by Oremus and Larry Hochman, give every number full Broadway polish. Braden Chudzik’s music direction keeps the orchestra lively, while Glen Kelly’s dance arrangements make tap breaks and ensemble numbers pop.
Act II opens with Elder Price’s breaking point and “Spooky Mormon Hell Dream,” a feverish spectacle of guilt and pyrotechnic flair. Cunningham doubles down on his unconventional teaching style, spinning wilder doctrinal “additions” to win hearts. Spoto shines, balancing bumbling naïveté with unexpected heroism.
The villagers, inspired by the tall tales, stage a pageant to impress the Mission President—a sequence as hysterical as it is cringeworthy. Here, The Book of Mormon pushes its satire to the edge, skewering cultural misunderstandings while keeping the laughs rolling. Nabulungi’s hope and heartbreak hit hardest here, as Martin delivers both joy and quiet devastation when things unravel.
In the finale, missionaries and villagers find connection—not through strict doctrine, but through shared storytelling. The warmth of this ending sneaks up on you after two hours of razor-sharp comedy.
That’s the beauty of The Book of Mormon: beneath its gleeful irreverence lies a sincere meditation on belief, adaptation, and human connection. It pokes fun at zealotry and naïveté alike but stops short of pure cynicism.
If you missed it at the Bass this time, you’re not alone—two-day tour stops can be hard to catch. But when it returns, brace yourself to be delighted, offended, and unexpectedly moved, often in the same scene. And if you’re still confused? Elder Cunningham will be happy to explain…though expect a few dragons in the retelling.
WHEN: August 8-9, 2025
WHERE: 525 Commerce Street, Fort Worth
WEB: basshall.com
