Steven Jay Crabtree performs his one-man comedy act Dysfunctional Divas the first weekend of every month at Pocket Sandwich Theatre. I went to check out the show after meeting the ladies a few days ago. It was quite divalicious.
I arrive at the Pocket Sandwich Theatre just as the show is starting. I sit down, the lights dim, and soon the voice of Warrior Woman booms over the loudspeaker. It is time.
A woman bolts in from stage left, her blond hair cascading over her shoulders. Only this isn't Warrior Woman. It's her secret alter ego, Peggy Porter. But not for long. She gets a call -- is there trouble? Oh no! -- and off comes the trench coat to reveal the sparkly Warrior Woman (above).
As fast as Steven Jay Crabtree can think, his divas act. One minute, he's Warrior Woman, attacking crime and falling over Dick Dickson, her alter ego's love interest. And the next, he's Side Pony Tail Girl, a ditzy teenager who loves to rap and, like, dish on B-list celebrities. Did she mention she legally changed her name to Side Pony Tail Girl? Cause she totally did!
Steven only breaks to run off stage and change outfits. There is no planning, no scripts written. Only his six muses.
When he debuts Persephone Styx, the empathic medium with her own show, I See, Like, Dead People, the guy behind me fucking loses it. He doubles over and smacks his head on his seat. Persephone is called in to help a family who has opened up a Manson Bed & Breakfast (yes, they're keeping the name). She's befuddled. The Manson B&B? Burn the fucking place down, she yells. Is this family serious?
Persephone leaves the family to their haunted B&B and out comes Stephanie Shapiro-Stein from off stage. I think if you counted the number of fucks in Pulp Fiction (which apparently someone did) and counted the number of fucks Stephanie tossed out, Stephanie would come out on fucking top. Just like she likes it. She takes serious fucking issue with the horror movies out there and has a list of things we can all learn from them:
Don't say "Hello?" to the night air or to the strange voice on the other end of the phone. What the fuck are you doing?
Don't fuck a 17-year-old boy in the woods
Don't swim naked in a lake
Don't ever, under any circumstance, babysit (this one holds true across the board, horror flick or not)
Tirade over for now, out comes Trayla Park, lip-syncing dynamite and owner of the stage. And although Trayla has won many pageants, she has graced us with her presence to perform her mama's favorite song, And I Am Telling You I'm Not Going from Dreamgirls. What. A. Performance. A one point, Trayla stretches her arms out wide, her bright orange dress hanging down. The next minute, she is crouched in a puddle on the floor. "I'm melting," she says mid-song. We are, too, Trayla. We are, too.
Following Trayla is the star of the show. The main attraction. The delectable, irreplaceable Martini Glass. The star of the silver screen since the silent era, Martini collects horror movie titles (real and made up) from the audience. She's so old, she's been in most of them, so she offers to reenact scenes from what we give her. In between puffs of her long cigarette and sips from one of her two martinis, Miss Glass delivers scenes from such classics as Slither, Freddy vs. Jason, and Killer Klowns from Outer Space. Her performances are all somewhat reminiscent of the movies and somewhat unique to the Pocket Sandwich stage. Just like Martini herself.