It is surely stipulated in J. Harrison’s Ghee contract: “They must steal the show.”
As it was with their history-making Tony Award-winning performance in the 2022 Broadway revival of Some Like It Hot—becoming the first non-binary performer to win Best Leading Actor in a Musical—so it is in Saturday Church (New York Theatre Workshop, to Oct. 19), in which Ghee plays two roles so visually different yet so convincingly you may wonder why one of those characters, Pastor Lewis, is apparently missing during the curtain call.
As a fabulously dressed, never under-sequined “Black Jesus,” Ghee begins the show addressing the audience: “Can I show y’all what collective love looks like? What collective joy looks like? What collective healing looks like?”
That is the core aim of this musical, a crackling thunderstorm of drama, humor, sass, and trauma—with some fantastic songs by the pop star Sia; additional music by Honey Dijon—in which Black Jesus attempts to help teenager Ulysses (Bryson Battle) as the latter struggles to come out as their true self. Pressing down on Ulysses are feelings of loss and abandonment; their dad is dead, and mom Amara (Kristolyn Lloyd) is an overworked nurse trying to provide for them both.
There is also the shadow of a domineering and judgmental aunt, Rose played by Joaquina Kalukango, who won the Tony for Best Actress in a Musical for her role (and standout singing) in Paradise Square the same year as Ghee. At the outset, Rose makes clear that she despises what she perceives as Ulysses’ flamboyance, especially at the conventional church they attend, and so Ulysses is left feeling unmoored and desperately alone over both how he (later they), can express who they really are.
The musical—directed by Whitney White, and adapted from Damon Cardasis’ 2017 movie—switches between the heart-tugging register of Ulysses’ sense of isolation, and the snap and pop of its excellent soundtrack (at least two songs should be released as singles, right now). The show’s choreography by Darrell Grand Moultrie fills the stage with consistently gorgeous fire and flair. Qween Jean’s costumes—riots of color, sparkle, dramatic silhouettes, and flattering detail—are lead characters in themselves.
Cardasis wrote the book of the musical with James Ijames, who won the Pulitzer Prize for his contemporary, very queer Hamlet adaptation, Fat Ham. That play recurred to me throughout the show, as the character of Ulysses intimately echoes and mirrors the character of Juicy in Fat Ham—two young Black queer people who are very much their own identities, and stubbornly at a variance with straight and LGBTQ families and communities around them. They seem soft, often persecuted, but they are also absolutely sure of their own selves.
Ulysses’ questions come with a meaningful overlay of faith: he believes in God, he wants a place at church, but what place can there be if that church does not see him as lesser? On a mostly bare stage with tables and benches acting as useful platforms, and a modest set to convey Amara and Ulysses’ home (designed by David Zinn), a few answers to Ulysses’ predicament present themselves, first in a meet-cute on a subway train with Raymond (Jackson Kanawha Perry), who guides him to the Saturday Church of the title, a place where LGBTQ young people gather to be themselves.
The only rule there: Don’t be boring.
The power of Saturday Church lies is its collision of fiction and 2025—the experiences of its queer characters on stage versus the onslaught of animus they are experiencing in the political and cultural world of now. That goes particularly for its trans and gender non-conforming characters, for whom Ebony (B Noel Thomas) is a resolute spokesperson.
She has just lost a dear friend, and wants to withdraw from the world; helping Ulysses helps her re-enter the world. The show makes clear the negative forces of hate, alongside an equally insistent case that joy and community are potent and liberating counter-forces.
In some ways, the story is simple, but with clever and impactful touches, like making Rose’s hostility, as ugly as it is, rooted in worry for Ulysses, and the world of prejudice a young Black person faces—with the addition of homophobia to that—rather than fire-and-brimstone disgust.
But in a confrontation with one line about wig—the audience reaction to which stopped the show for some seconds—Ebony reminds her that this is Ulysses’ life to live, and better for them to live it with as much love and support from their family, both biological and chosen, as possible.
Saturday Church’s story wilts slightly set against its stunning songs. Nothing much happens at Saturday Church, despite all the cattiness and gossip there. Ulysses’ descent into sheer despair is blink-and-you-miss it fast and not well-sketched. I kept wondering how mother and aunt had apportioned the emotional raising of Ulysses; Amara feels both very present and very absent. Why did she allow Ulysses to be raised and affected so much by the judgmental Rose? What is the relationship between the two women?
The love story of Ulysses and Raymond feels too glancing (though both actors are affecting in their flirtation and love), and a scene involving Ulysses and a man who they meet when at their lowest ebb is also a puzzle, raising and then discarding issues around violence and consent. I became (perhaps nerdishly) focused on the fate of Ulysses’ phone, which at one point is meaningfully taken from them, then never used in the follow-up story gyrations, then never returned. (Give Ulysses back their phone!)
Still, the very funny and very resplendent Ghee dominates the stage with charisma and presence, and the musical’s inevitably ebullient finale—a full-dress-up ball any fans of Pose and Drag Race will delight in—colorfully blitzes the show to its close, ablaze with affirmation.
The kids may well be alright, Saturday Church suggests, and if that’s the case it is largely down to them. The adults really need to do some work.
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