One notable name never comes up in 44: The Musical, a raucously funny trip back to the Obama era, written, composed, and directed by Eli Bauman, and currently onstage at Shakespeare Theatre Company’s Klein Theatre.
Historically and satirically speaking, you would think the show’s creator, who worked on Barack Obama’s 2008 presidential campaign, then briefly in Washington, D.C., wouldn’t choose to leave any prime targets off the table. Then again, as Bauman expresses in his recorded greeting that kicks off the show, 44 is about escaping the maelstrom of current events.
It’s a hopeful story told “in the spirit of joy,” and not every prominent figure we can think of aligns with that joyful spirit. So the name on everybody’s lips in this razzle-dazzle musical is Obama — that’s “Motherfuckin’ Obama,” to be precise, as sung in show opener “M.F.O.,” and reprised more than once for emphasis.
Lest anyone come expecting an exacting survey of the man’s presidency and politics, “M.F.O.” sets the tone for an irreverent, audience-pleasing, R&B- and gospel-tinged recap, told in sitcom style. Almost immediately, the show casts a comedic spell, stoked by nostalgia for the unmistakably good vibes of Barack and Michelle, acted credibly and sung impeccably by T.J. Wilkins and Shanice.
Wilkins, best known for his stint as a contestant on NBC’s The Voice, doesn’t exactly resemble Barack Obama, but he captures the speech and mannerisms of the charismatic senator-turned-President of the United States. And he croons beautifully through songs like “Red States Blue States,” a soulful call for conciliation in a nation divided by politics and culture wars.
That the country is also divided in the people’s response to electing our first Black president comes up for thoughtful discussion and sharp-witted derision in Barack’s “How Black Is Too Black?” The choreography by James Alsop is hilariously in on the joke here, highlighting with a few choice dance moves that Obama is a new kind of president.
Of course, Michelle Obama also brings fresh energy to the White House, announcing her arrival with the sassy “First Lady.” Conveying depth of character in that, and each song, and nailing the high notes, chart-topping pop and R&B singer Shanice carries her First Lady with strength and poise to match her husband’s, and to outclass their enemies.
Bauman gleefully re-imagines Obama’s political foes as secretly conspiring villains, which, in the case of Mitch McConnell (Larry Cedar), seems not just accurate but pretty forgiving, all things considered. There’s nothing forgiving about the second act’s comic highlight, “F.U.T.C.,” a proudly profane message for Ted Cruz (Michael Uribes), McConnell’s fellow member of W.H.A.M., the anti-Obama cabal of White Heterosexual Affluent Men.
They’re joined in their dastardly plotting by two who ostensibly, and amusingly, don’t fit the bill for W.H.A.M.: gloriously fey Southern gentleman Lindsey Graham (Ryan Williams, in for Jeff Sumner the night I attended), and hopelessly befuddled Black entrepreneur Herman Cain (Dino Shorté).
While Cain, along with W.H.A.M.’s secret weapon, Sarah Palin (Summer Collins), register as dated references in 2026, both resonate as examples of how quickly fighters can be tossed into, and knocked out of, the political arena. By contrast, Obama has in his corner two of the all-time great political survivors.
Ruefully ready to assist her former rival, Hillary Clinton (Jenna Pastuszek) gets her turn to vent in, appropriately enough, “My Turn.” Pastuszek’s pant-suited portrayal is funny, amping up Secretary Clinton’s reasonable frustration to epic indignation, but this is a parody we’ve seen before.
Offering a fresher take on the familiar, 44 strikes gold with its Uncle Joe (Chad Doreck), that other political lifer who, more than anybody, has his buddy Barack’s back. Shrewdly positing Vice President Joe Biden as the show’s narrator, recounting this monumental history as he sees it, the show grounds its insider view in their warm friendship, free to depict its subject with the outsized brotherly love Biden expresses constantly.
Embodied as a cheerful sidekick and big bro by Doreck, a performer much younger and (probably) spryer than Biden, this is bomber jacket Joe, the cool, Corvette-driving liberal who won’t stand for Mitch’s malarkey. He will stand up for his President, though, and does winningly, in song, dance, and rousing speeches that afford Doreck ample opportunity to practically walk away with the show, heartily repping the “spirit of joy” that flows abundantly through 44.
44: The Musical (★★★★☆) runs through May 16 at the STC’s Klein Theatre, 450 7th St. NW. Tickets are $44 to $207. Visit 44theobamamusical.com.
Following the recent Tony-winning run of Jonathan Spector's Eureka Day, the plan for that Manhattan Theatre Club production of the comedy had been to transfer from Broadway to the Kennedy Center. But then Trump and his arts czar Richard Grenell happened, and the Kennedy Center engagement of director Anna D. Shapiro's show was abruptly canceled, purportedly due to "financial circumstances."
Addressing the cancellation in a Deadline interview, Spector took the situation in stride. "I don't exactly know how it went down but I was, in the end, relieved that we weren't going there," said the playwright.
Beckoning the audience to a tale told by firelight, Rorschach Theatre's well-lit production of Jenny Connell Davis' Dragon Play sets out to stir tense domestic drama with a corresponding fable about a flying, fire-breathing beast. But the play's mixture of disparate elements doesn't truly ignite.
Staged in-the-round by company co-artistic director Randy Baker, inside Rorschach's lofty concrete space at the Stacks, Dragon Play generally feels like two plays running in tandem.
In a middle-class home -- evoked through a humdrum open kitchen set by Sarah Beth Hall -- a married couple, Woman (Erin Denman) and Man (Erik Harrison), approach a breaking point in their quarrelsome relationship. As she confesses, she's too hung up on her former lover, the Dragon (Jalen Wilson-Nelem), who's come back to her looking like "sex dipped in Sumatran chocolate."
Oh! If only we could trade in real-world troubles for the confectionery town of Schmigadoon. Granted, we're not sure exactly where it is, nor do we have a clue as to why everyone is dressed in prairie dresses, Edwardian suits, or chore coats. And sure, it's problematic that there will be an auction at the social where women are auctioned off for a date. "Somehow we're ok with this," the townspeople sing in winking fashion. There is so much mystery around this fantastical place that has just landed on Broadway.
What we do know is that most of the residents in the town are cheerful, jaunty, squeaky clean, and they can't stop singing about, well, anything and everything. And by the final curtain, even cynics who loathe musicals will exit the Nederlander Theatre with elation, humming the tunes and buzzing with joy.
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