By Stephen Dubois
I remember being in the aisle of a supermarket decades ago and laughing out loud at the absurd cover of The Weekly World News that first featured Bat Boy. And, despite knowing that this “periodical” was the epitome of fake news—long before anyone used that term—I bought a copy.
I had to.
And it was just as bizarre and kitschy as I thought it would be: a story of a diminutive half-bat, half-human boy found in a remote cave in West Virginia who was ultimately captured, only to escape and become the subject of several follow-up stories and updates in the publication.
Fast-forward to 1997, when a musical version of the story debuted in Los Angeles, with music and lyrics by Laurence O’Keefe (Legally Blonde, Heathers) and a book by Keythe Farley and Brian Flemming. It moved Off-Broadway in 2001, where it became an award-winning show and developed the cult following it enjoys today.
My friends and I have a saying: “Everything’s a musical.” It’s usually a sharp criticism of how oversaturated Broadway has become with shows based on the craziest sources of inspiration. And while the genesis of Bat Boy may be rooted in one of the most obscure sources imaginable, it turns out to be a fun, catchy and surprisingly endearing theatrical experience. It is also seriously well-written from both a compositional and lyrical standpoint.
But these roots go much deeper than a supermarket tabloid. At its heart is one of storytelling’s oldest archetypes: the Outcast. Musical theater is certainly no stranger to it, from Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame and Erik in The Phantom of the Opera to the Beast in Beauty and the Beast. Outcasts almost always win our hearts, prove their worth and ultimately show us how wrong we were to fear them. The nefarious actions of individuals, however, can often perpetuate that fear.
This story takes a different spin from the source material. Here, the Bat Boy is taken in by the town veterinarian’s wife, who names him Edgar, and is fostered by the family until dark turns in the story forever change his trajectory.
A show like this could really go two ways: silly and campy, or overly sentimental. This is where director Doug Weyand navigates expertly, straddling the line between the two with razor-sharp precision. He instinctively guides us to the big laughs—of which there are many—while also managing to bring a tear to our eyes as we become increasingly sensitive to the plight of our chiropteran protagonist. It is neither too maudlin nor too outrageous.
Weyand is also responsible for the choreography, and this is really where the production shines. The dynamic movement makes the relatively small set feel much larger and more alive, and the choreography becomes an important part of the storytelling rather than simply ornamentation.
The sound was well-balanced and clear, which can be a challenge when the band is offstage.
The lighting design was very effective, but the set was a bit puzzling. So much of it was dressed for the cave sequence at the beginning that the oversized clapboard background, combined with the cave surface, never quite sold the later scenes, which for the most part took place in town halls and homes. The use of wooden crates to represent nearly all of the furnishings throughout also felt a little too simplified. A minor criticism overall, but this is not a set-driven show. Its storytelling comes from the cast, and this troupe is a strong one indeed.
In the title role, Ricky Needham is outstanding. His skittish movements and vocal grunts are as endearing as they are convincing. Then to see his evolution into a prim, proper, well-mannered and coherent speaker (perhaps a nod to Pygmalion) is an absolute delight. And what a great voice, too. Equally strong vocally are Michelle Marie Roberts as Meredith Parker and Audree Woods as daughter Shelly Parker. Rounding out the veterinarian’s family, Marc Sacco, as Dr. Parker, makes an effective antagonist—shifty, unpredictable and increasingly menacing.
One of the most impressive and show-stopping numbers comes from Joe Greenan’s portrayal of Reverend Billie Hightower, who commands the stage with his presence and incredible vocal range. Other roles are played up for pure camp delight, including Thomas Evans as Pan and Dave Spychalski, who deftly takes on multiple roles. His portrayal of Mrs. Taylor, however, may be his most memorable—and hysterically funny.
Many members of the cast take on multiple characters, often donning wigs and changing costumes on the fly, which only adds to the comedic effect. The remaining cast is strong throughout. There is an infectious energy running through this production, and it is clear that this ensemble has embraced every wonderfully strange moment of it.
In the end, we come to understand the musical’s central lesson: Edgar was never simply the monster. Yes, he does terrible things, but much of his behavior grows out of fear, rejection and being repeatedly cornered by those around him. The people who judge, sneer at, persecute and ultimately hurt what they don’t understand are the real monsters.
It becomes a parable for humanity—to embrace those we don’t comprehend, to look beyond appearances and, perhaps, to find some middle ground before fear turns into something far more destructive.
And while “everything can be a musical” nowadays, it’s rare to walk away from one having learned something about acceptance, compassion and what it truly means to be human.
Bat Boy runs through October 18 at the Shea’s Smith Theatre on Main Street. Tickets through Second Generation Theatre 2nd Gen Buffalo or Sheas.org
