Review - Blazing Guns at Roaring Gulch

“And now for something completely different.” ~ M.P.

If you only see one play this year, then please, re-prioritize your life and see three. And if you only see three plays this year, then by all means, make one of them the Titusville Playhouse’s production of Shubert Fendrich’s Blazing Guns at Roaring Gulch – Or – The Perfumed Badge.

Imagine a villain most foul, a real Snidely Whiplash, replete with the necessary accoutrements indicative of evil: black cape, top-hat, waxed and thin handlebar moustache above a slightly raised corner of the upper lip, and a leering, sneering sidelong glance at the audience as he ties his beautiful and innocent victim to the railroad tracks.

Perhaps you already may be imagining a dashing Dudley Do-Right, white teeth refulgent in the sunlight, galloping in to rescue the damsel in distress from locomotive doom just in the nick of time. Yes, Rocky and Bullwinkle taught many of us about punctilious villainy long before Mr. Burns ever tented his fingers together on The Simpsons and malevolently declared, “excellent,” in his sinister and poisonous voice.

Regardless of where we learned it, and none of us learned it in a saloon or playhouse in the 19th century, these villains and heroes have been Jungian archetypes deeply embedded in the American psyche ever since the advent of the modern melodrama. Their stories are not always told seriously for they are not serious characters, they are stereotypes, caricatures personifying elemental values of good and traits of evil. They, along with the accompaniment of an attentive and alert pianist, a “good vs. evil” plot-driven storyline, a full cast of other stock characters, and a happy ending bountiful in poetic justice, are all the key ingredients to a melodrama.

This is not a play to be dissected and evaluated like a conventional drama, comedy, or musical. Though it is comedy, it is drama, and it is musical, there is nothing conventional about it. It is melodrama. It is by it’s very nature unsophisticated, guileless, raucous, rowdy, bawdy, and filled with romance, suspense, silliness, and an absolute and unabashed deconstruction of the so-called “fourth wall” separating cast from audience. If a prop malfunctions, if a line is flubbed, this is not cause for awkwardness nor vexation, rather, it is treated as an opportunity for these skillful players to ad-lib, to embrace the accident and convert it to comedy.

Blazing Guns has no top-hats or railroad tracks, but it has everything else. And more. As I approached the Titusville Playhouse from the street, I thought that it was a nice touch to have painted the classic western-style swinging saloon doors on the outside glass of the entrance doors. Once passing through, I immediately gleaned the significance of the door decoration. I hadn’t realized but this is where the play began, at the front door.

Almost immediately, one steps back in time to 1892 and becomes transformed from observer to participant. The lobby is the jail, the ushers are cowboys and cowgirls, and saloon girls in frilly, colorful, satin dresses, are draped in boas and chasing blue jean-clad cowboys up and down the stairs. (It should be noted here just what fantastic work the costumers did in this play.)

It’s not long before a saloon girl or cowboy flirtatiously solicits you for a dance or before you find yourself in the midst of an audience sing-along. And never fear, if you don’t know the words to “Oh My Darling Clementine,” or “The Band Played On,” the words are printed in your program.

This is all just a part of the pre-show and more broadly, part of the olio that also comprises the Entr’acte entertainment. There is a butterfly-winged pixie who laments in song the perils of turning 60. There is a sexy saloon girl who elicits catcalls and whistles from the audience with her rendition of “Won’t You Come Home Bill Bailey.” There are fistfights, a woman singing, beautifully I might add, in a chicken suit. Even the Little Tramp makes a silent appearance. There’s so much more and still I’ve not touched on the actual play in two acts yet.

Mary Purdy as director has created something that though simple, is larger than life. Though there are many opportunities for the production to improve, overall the performances are nothing short of fantastic and the production is nothing short of hysterical. With more attention paid to timing of certain entrances and exits, such as with the cue-card girl for just a single example, and with some serious work on the choreography of the chorus line, cowboys, and saloon girls, the night could be taken from joyously grand to absolutely stupendous. Also, I felt that the selling of raffle tickets in the middle of the evening’s presentation was completely out of place and an unnecessary interruption that detracted from the performance as a whole.

But that’s not to say the evening’s performance was anything less than stellar. Every single player was in their own way memorable. Though I could easily praise each cast member individually, the cast is just too large. It would be, however, a great injustice to overlook a few of the key players who made the evening spectacular. And it’s no surprise that they are the leads.

Laughter flowed continuously from every seat in the house and this is in no small part thanks to Richard Jones and Lucas Beecham. Richard Jones as outlaw sidekick Bill Filbert created laughter at every turn. His animated delivery and mannerisms were more often than not simply side-splitting. The young Lucas Beecham as hotel clerk Barney Black, with his ridiculously comedic southern drawl and snoring shtick, delivered a performance so playfully exaggerated that it stopped just short of absurdity.


The heroes, and one villain, in this play were Melody Schilling as Sheriff Willie Lovelace (applause, please) and Jeff Ferguson in a dual role as Detective Harry Heart-throb, er, Heartstone, and also as the contemptible outlaw, Snipe Vermin (insert boos and hisses here). Ms. Schilling’s asides with the audience were beautifully executed. Not only were they funny, but her ad-libbed interactions in both speech and mid-action mannerisms provided a deeper connection between audience and cast than the aside alone could have possibly attained. And Jeff Ferguson had the same profound effect on uniting audience with cast. A master in portraying both villainous sneer and chivalrous obeisance, Mr. Ferguson was simultaneously loved and loathed. I couldn’t help but see the serious actor thinly disguised beneath all the silliness and wonder what he would do with a more traditional role.

Last, and immeasurably far from least, is Gladys Soler as Widow Black. The name is perfectly befitting of the character and needs no synonymic amplification to convey the role that Ms. Soler so vividly and expertly brought to life. She will make you laugh, she will demand your cooperation in her malevolent plotting, and she will be the one to elicit the loudest booing and perhaps even the most rejoicing cheers at one point. Though seemingly counterintuitive, you will crave her scolding and reprimands and do all you can to elicit them.

There is at least one unsung heroine in this play. One who does not take a curtain call, one who does not get any stage time whatsoever and one who will not be present to shake your hand as you exit the saloon (theater) for the night. And that is Ms. Barbara Lee, the pianist. Along with musical director Barbara McGillicuddy, they expertly implemented a soundtrack that spans a vast musical century from old-fashioned tunes like “Oh! Susanna,” and “Home on the Range,” to ABBA’s “Dancing Queen,” and Roy Orbison’s “Pretty Woman.” The attention to onstage action required for a successful accompaniment can not be overstated. The music must react to and be reacted to as if it were itself a character on stage. Ms. Lee and Ms. McGillicuddy are to be commended on their success.

The roots of melodrama are far deeper than the saloons and playhouses of the 19th century American west. However, that venue is the basis of origination for Blazing Guns. Often a rowdy playhouse was full of lowbrow, drunken, philistines who were completely disrespectful of the thespian’s art. It is said that out of that environment evolved the modern melodrama with it’s exaggerated movements and audience asides. So please, when you arrive, check all modern sophistication and high-falutin’ pretenses at the door. Expect to hear your fellow audience members engaging the cast loudly. And by all means, do buy a bag of popcorn – no, not to eat, to throw at the villains!