WaistWatchers the Musical

WaistWatchers the Musical – Royal George Theatre

 

WaistWatchers is about a group of friends at a women’s gym, all of whom are trying to navigate their complicated lives while getting in shape. It premiered in 2007 and since 2013 has been touring regional theaters; this month, it comes to Chicago for the first time at the Royal George Theatre. In many ways, it is in keeping with the Royal George’s other fare, like Late Night Catechism. Reviewing a show like this can be difficult, since the show largely promises nothing more than a good time, and largely delivers. Delving deeper into analysis seems almost beside the point, doesn’t it? But this is a review, so here we go…

Most of the songs are, if not outright parodies of other Broadway and pop songs, certainly are pastiches in their mold. The result is a show closer to a cabaret than a musical which, in the cabaret space at the Royal George, actually works. Most of the songs work quite well. They are fun and energetic pieces that cover aging, body image, food, and relationships, even if they don’t say anything particularly new about them. The only number that really hit a sour note for me is one of the women lamenting how unpleasant she finds all the sex she feels pressured into having with her newly Viagra-reinvigorated husband, which is a joke that may have worked when it was written (maybe), but certainly not today. Aside from that misfire, though, the soundtrack is fun, if not exactly memorable.

One place I will lavish unrestrained praise is on the cast. They are, to a person, very talented and clearly giving it their all for each and every one of the show’s 90 minutes. In particular, I want to single out Katherine Barnes who is a delight and criminally underused. After warming up the audience pre-show and appearing in the opening number, she disappears from the class, coming back on stage at various points in costume or with props to propel the fantasy sequence of a song. Despite not getting as much time on stage as I think she should, she is clearly having a ball squeezing as much as can into the time she has.

And Martha Wash. She was, of course, one half of the The Weather Girls’ and their iconic 80s hit, It’s Raining Men. “Gay icon” does not begin to do justice to her and her career. To say I was seeing this show for her and that I was extremely excited is a severe understatement. Whatever my other issues with the show may be, it will hold a special place in my heart because I can now say that I sat 15 feet from Martha Wash while she was singing. And she has lost none of her iconic voice.

Looking back on the show, the show was fun. But it was just that. The other song that most people know Martha Wash for is belting the line “Everybody Dance Now!” from the C&C Music Factory dance song from the 90s. What most people don’t know is that for the music video for that song, they recast a thin model to lip-sync Wash’s lines because she was seen as “unmarketable” and gave Wash no credit on the album. She sued and won and changed how musicians and vocalists get credited for their work. It’s a good story, not just to show a woman standing up for herself to get what she deserves, but it demonstrates there’s something more than vanity at the core of these women’s concerns about their appearance. I think a little hint of that darker aspect would have taken the show up a notch without sacrificing its energetic tone.

Still, at a brisk ninety minutes with no intermission, a game audience, and a bar, WaistWatchers was a perfectly charming way to spend an evening. I’ve criticized the show for not having something deeper to say, but in its defense, I don’t think the show is falsely suggesting that it does. It promises a good time, and on the strength of a delightful group of performers, it delivers. In the end, I’ll say this: If you read a description of the show and decide you think you’ll like it or you won’t, you’ll be completely correct.

Recommended

Reviewed by Kevin Curran

For information on this and other shows visit www.theatreinchicago.com