'Bat Boy': The Play This Campus Deserves

“Bat Boy: The Musical” isn’t stuffed with laugh-out-loud moments, but it’s performed with remarkable gusto. The very idea of a half-human, half-bat creature—as well as some later, even more farfetched plot points—are all taken in stride by the protagonists, leading to delightfully bizarre tableaux that keep the audience amused and engaged throughout, if not exactly doubled over with laughter. The Harvard-Radcliffe Dramatic Club’s production of “Bat Boy,” which runs until Nov. 23, wins points for consistency, wittiness, and overall polish. With a sophisticated, clever set and costume design, and self-aware actors who toe the line between the campy and the commonplace, “Bat Boy” takes a vivacious relish in the overall absurdity that permeates the production.

“Bat Boy” begins as a trio of teenage would-be-spelunkers stumble upon a feral, humanoid creature in the caves surrounding the small, insular town of Hope Falls. The creature, referred to as the Bat Boy (Jacob D. Rienstra ’17) is ultimately entrusted to the care of Dr. Parker (Jake Ohlbaum), the local veterinarian, where he is taught the basics of civility and christened with a new name—Edgar. Edgar becomes a de facto part of the Parker household but must overcome his feral instincts, the mistrust of the townspeople, and Dr. Parker’s growing resentment before he can truly be accepted.

Keythe Farley and Brian Flemming, the original writers of the “Bat Boy” book and musical, as will as songwriter and lyricist Laurence C. O’Keefe ’91 collaborated with director Ally M. Kiley ’15 and musical director Cynthia S. Meng ’15 to develop new scenes and songs for the musical, though the major strokes of the plot and the overall tone of the production are carried over from the original off-Broadway production.

The acting is of high quality throughout. Rienstra’s Bat Boy is wonderfully adaptable, transitioning flawlessly from a Gollum-like, scuttling creature to an eloquent, dapper young man-bat. His depiction of Edgar has, at all its stages, a certain fragility—a certain naked genius to it that makes Edgar unusually sympathetic. You want to love Rienstra’s Bat Boy because you feel the difficulty behind the transformation, the vulnerability inherent in Edgar’s re-entry into a fundamentally alien world. When a newly civilized Bat Boy, for instance, lapses back into his bestial frame of mind and attacks Dr. Parker, Rienstra’s Bat Boy, upon realizing what he has done, reacts with such poignant, shattered horror that it’s impossible not to feel sorry for him. Rienstra is also incredibly expressive, in both his movements (the intro has him nimbly swinging around some scaffolding, even hanging, bat-like, upside-down at certain points) and his voice, managing to imbue Edgar’s pre-speech clicks and squeals with a remarkably human range of expression.

Meredith Parker, played by Taylor K. Phillips ’15 is excellent as the matronly Mrs. Parker, showing a real, tender affection for Edgar, along with an underlying grit in her dealings with Dr. Parker himself. Tess V. Davison ’16, portraying the Parkers’ teenage daughter Shelley, shows off a slightly parodic teenage naïveté. The supporting cast, most of whom played two or three different roles of varying genders, were all incredibly solid, and their lines grabbed a high percentage of audience laughs. Dylan J. Peterson ’17  and Kyle R. Whelihan ’17, in drag as Lorraine and Mrs. Taylor respectively, performed their roles with relish, lapsing into hilariously overblown falsettos when particularly agitated.

Dr. Parker, on the other hand, is treated to a much more reserved portrayal by Jake Ohlbaum, who initially shows the veterinarian as a tired, belabored, thinly stretched figure. But Ohlbaum successfully depicts Parker’s slow slide into insanity until even his seemingly realistic character begins to take on the slightly absurd, larger-than-life verve which characterizes the atmosphere of the production.

Meng’s score and Tomi J. Adeyemi ‘15 choreography also carry this bombastic verve with arrangements ranging from booming, quasi-choral arrangements, sung faux-somberly by black-robed Bat Boy Adherents, to rollicking, pop-rocky numbers, all performed with gusto by a live pit orchestra under Meng’s direction and adding yet another layer of campy relish to the production. The “Hold Me Bat Boy, Touch Me Bat Boy” refrain, in particular, is sung with extreme glee by the entire cast.

The lighting and set design of “Bat Boy” are unfailingly clever and well executed, providing a remarkably clean yet slightly tongue-in-cheek backdrop against which the bizarre events of the play can unfold. The Parkers’ kitchen/living room is rendered in warm light, with cream-and-mint pastels that give the space a certain banal domesticity—which makes it all the funnier when the Bat Boy scampers about their home, hopping up and down on their quaint, mint-colored backless chaise. And the play’s execution of the notoriously difficult flashbacks is extremely clever and intuitive. Two supporting characters, only their silhouettes visible from behind a backlit screen, act out the event in question as the two reminiscing characters stand spotlighted at each end of a darkened stage, as they narrate the action depicted unfolding behind the screen.

The costume design is clever as well—packets of fake blood are cunningly hidden on the characters, and in the play’s occasional moments of violence, streams of fake blood gleefully spurt all over the stage and characters. The effect is especially pronounced with Edgar, who is clad in white for the majority of the play; the blood splatters and stains his dapper white ensemble as the play progresses, an ingenious reminder of the struggle between savagery and civility that dominates his character. But the fake blood is also just fun, and every time it appears the entire ensemble greets it with an overblown, horrified-yet-delighted gasp.

Harvard’s production of “Bat Boy” is performed with admirable gusto and satisfaction, with a high degree of wittiness and polish. It’s an overblown, rollicking production, but one that’s self-aware and clever throughout.