Ruby Red "Kinky Boots"

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I set a new record this year:  I managed to stretch out my birthday celebrations for over a month.

My grandmother wanted to bring my mother and aunt to Chicago for a “girls weekend” to celebrate my 25th.  She wanted to stay at Trump and buy us all tickets to see “Kinky Boots” in its out-of-town tryout at the Bank of America Theater.  However, mid-October was the earliest we could make it happen.

Obviously, I had no problem with this.  A weekend at the Trump Hotel, a tour of the Chicago Theater, dinner at Rosebud Prime (the best steak I’ve ever put in my mouth) and two hours of onstage drag queen glory – all at no expense to me – adds up to a pretty awesome weekend.  We even spotted the director and producer of the show at Rosebud Prime, and I’m pretty sure we saw the cast of a reality show arrive at the hotel Saturday afternoon.  (Anybody watch that crap?  Is there a new series out there involving yet another pack of dark-featured pretty people?)
    
“Kinky Boots,” in the tradition of “Billy Elliot” and “The Full Monty”, is a musical based off a British movie that challenges traditional ideas of masculinity and deals heavily with father-son issues.  We also once again see the lengths Brits will go to when faced with the prospect of losing their jobs.  It was a little slow-going at first (too many white, straight people onstage plodding through the exposition) but once the drag queen characters  and the Glinda-meets-Elle-Woods love interest showed up, it was full-steam ahead.  Luckily, the divafied, sequin-filled numbers are well-interspersed with some strong moments.  The kind that make a full house freeze, including a ballad when the two male leads sing about living up to their fathers’ expectations.  (Not gonna lie, I cried.)  The final number had the whole audience on its feet, clapping in time.  My grandmother said she hadn’t seen an audience reaction like it since she witnessed the premier of “Mamma Mia!” in London 13 years ago.

“Kinky Boots” boasts a much stronger book (jn my opinion) by Harvey Fierstien, plus original music by Cyndi Lauper (who’s apparently here during the run – OMG) so here’s hoping it does half as well as “Mamma Mia”, at least commercially, when it opens in New York in April.  Whether well-received by critics or not, I predict it’ll be a touring hit, so I won’t give away any more of the plot.  You may want to see it if/when it comes to a theater near you.

Let’s just say, I’m glad other people (and not just girls) are as entranced as I am by sparkly red stilettos and sexy high-heeled boots.

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