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We Are the Tigers
Reviewed by Paul Birchall
The Hudson Backstage
Through Nov. 8
If you are studying Ancient Greek mythology, you will have heard of The Harpies, demonic creatures who appeared to avenge criminal wrongdoing. They would shriek, rend the flesh from their victims’ bodies, and torment them until the wrongdoers repented or died. American mythology may not have Harpies, but we do have cheerleaders, and they often appear in American fiction to perform many of the same functions. In Rebekah M. Allen’s ultimately rather sloppy musical, the cheerleaders are not just the top dogs of their high schools – they’re also driven by avarice and cheer-bition to destroy each other on their way to popularity.
The play opens with a cheerleading squad, The Tigers, assembling for their annual slumber party night at the home of queen-bee head-cheerleader Riley (Callandra Olivia). Although their squad is ranked near the bottom of their region, they’re still Cheerleaders, with all their ego and snark attached. The sleepover is being held to welcome freshman cheer-gal Mattie (Charlotte Mary Wen) to the squad, but before long, juvie delinquent teammate Farrah (Talisa Friedman) has gotten her drunk, and Farrah’s Bible-thumping older sister Annleigh (Rachel King) has snuck her boyfriend (Adam Cropper) in for a make-out session.
And then, seemingly for no reason, a spooky figure murders cheerleader after cheerleader – leaving the survivors understandably panicked: What will it mean for the squad if one of them is a maniacal killer? The cheerleaders squabble and decide to falsely frame one of their own as the killer, even as the maniac continues to run rampant – in song, natch.
Considering the striking amount of effort that has gone into director Michael Bello’s ambitious, but oddly inert staging, it’s a shame to have to deliver a rather dour review: There just isn’t that much that is catchy or delightful about Allen’s trudge of a musical. The cheerleader-centric storyline consists of a generic collection of mean-girl cliches that were tedious even when this sort of comedy was trending in 1990s.
The writing weaves uncertainly between camp, spoof, and pathos — but the camp is watery, the satire obvious, and the pathos founded on situations that are too contrived to pass muster.
I think about six months or a year ago, there was a musical that had a similar plot to this one, but during the intermission you could text your choice for the killer to the theater and then in act two the cheerleader with the highest number of votes was the culprit of the “whodunnit.” That sort of a gimmick might have salvaged We Are the Tigers.
Patrick Sulken’s musical direction is impressively taut, and the performers’ voices are in good form as they belt the show’s rock anthem song numbers. Even so, the music is strangely unmemorable, with melodies that sound very similar to each other.
The ensemble assay their cheery characters with the requisite pep and energy. Olivia offers a turn that interestingly seems to echo the performance by Reese Witherspoon in Election, and Jade Johnson, as one of the ferociously driven cheerleaders with an agenda of her own, is nicely creepy. However, most of the ensemble have difficulty rising above the material, which is essentially cheerless.
Hudson Backstage, 6539 Santa Monica Blvd, Hollywood; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m. Sun., 7 p.m.; mats Sat., 2 p.m.; through Nov. 8 www.wearethetigersmusical.com
