![]() The way his story thread moves in and out of layered spaces from the micro to the macro brings to mind Chris Ware’s architectural graphic novels or a set of punky tattooed matryoshka dolls. The “terrible screaming skull behind” the aisles of the grocery store at night reveal it as a death permeated “plant and animal ward.” And, after witnessing the steam of Luke’s pee rising under the spotlight of suburban motion lights, he reports feeling “like a boy after his first magic show.”īut it’s also the way he embeds and traverses through, above, around, and into narratives. Language-wise, he has a gift for hilarious analogies: one of the girls talks in that “creepy way kids raised by their grandparents do” and he’s startled by a sound as if “someone left a baby in a cave” (even though he amusingly reflects that he has no idea what that would even sound like). Even when he’s not playing the piano as background, sound effect, or catchy tune, his hands move as if floating on an invisible set of three-dimensional keys. ![]() I don’t know which Terry’s better at- storytelling or song. The show is loosely motivated by making sense of his repeat dream of the prehistoric fish on a quest for something to devour and the community’s underground efforts to save Zoe. And so (obvi) Dane joins forces with Luke and the three girls-now Charlie’s Angels slash girl scout-animal activists. They meet and it turns out Luke is an InstaStar advocate for Zoe. Dane sleeps at a friend’s place across from an empty house for sale where he watches the realtor sneak in to meet for a quick tryst with Luke, a teenager Dane spies in a neighboring yard. Dane’s boss (the sinister Elias Critch) oversees the park’s animals, including a former NASA test chimp and Zoe the zebra who attacked a child, and now awaits controversial euthanization. It’s present iPhone and Grindr days, but filled with bygone tropes of villains, goons, and sidekicks. Flanked by a powerhouse trio of goth glam women (Avery Leigh Draut, Morgan Meadows, Saretta Wesley) who do everything from the Andrew’s Sisters and a drag number to Italian arias- Terry shepherds us through storytelling, theater, and song on an absurdist Lynchian dive into the creepy under belly of the suburban Midwest town. His eyes dart, fixing each of us in place, and we’re gleefully locked in for his queer cabaret odyssey. Terry opens by recounting a recurring erotic dream with hyperbolic seriousness (we begin the first ascent) involving a predatory ancient fish (click-click-click). A synthesizer sits center stage with a mirror angled behind it. Ushered in all at once for the show, we are immersed in pulsing house beats, blinking lights, and ominous blue smoke. It’s the ride at an amusement park in the Pepper Heights suburb of Cleveland, Ohio where “Dane” has a part-time gig. Jupiter’s Lifeless Moons is a rollercoaster.
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