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Balls is a flat-out hilarious, and simultaneously subtly insinuating, tribute to the vulnerable "bromantic" core at the heart of macho posturing. Studded with brilliantly satirical songs, and self-mocking dance numbers, Balls, through its five defiantly he-men protagonists, dives into the overwhelming maelstrom of theatrical ambition and maddeningly complex contemporary male-female warfare. In order to offset the trauma of the disorienting realities they face, the featured quintet has forged an indestructible bond based on their sense, that as straight men committed to the world of musical theatre, they are a beleaguered minority.
The drama of the show centers on the decision of Burger, played by Nikkieli DeMone, to throw in the towel and go back home, and for the necessity of the other members of the quintet, to conceal this development from the "bromantically" connected Mick, played by Mick Bonde. Mr. Bonde exhibits an uncanny mastery in conveying a sense of nuanced alertness in dialogue, song and mime that never fails to impart a vividly life-like resonance, whether seductively ironic or passionately intense, to whatever situation he inhabits. And Mr. DeMone's unhurried, gorgeously smoky-voiced singing, which, in my judgement, establishes him as a master of the often forgotten art of vocal understatement, is a crucial component of the show's success from a singer's standpoint.
The show is anchored, in many respects, by Brandon Ellis' cheerfully bull-dog characterization of "Brandon," the reliably opaque, demonically uber-macho lawgiver who monitors and condemns any group member's deviation from the thorough commitment to the equation of masculinity with beer, football, a tormenting obsession with the secondary sexual characteristics of the vast majority of females on the planet and, perhaps most importantly, the absolute avoidance of all discussions that may subject a male's behavior to any form of analysis or evaluation by a woman. Brandon does this with unparalleled comic aplomb and gusto. And his angst drenched transformation of "Memories" into "Mammaries," deserves immediate installation in The Satirical Song Hall of Fame, along with the macho reverse version of "I Am What I Am" and the theme song from Guys and Dolls, also featured and wildly performed in Balls.
I'll not act as a spoiler for the comic scenes in which Will Ray, as "Will," the Bumpkin Archetype publicly secreting testosterone, finds out that things are not always as they appear to be in the big, wild city. Mr. Ray infuses his character with a thoroughly believable full-tilt naivete that conveys the sort of exasperating charm that these sorts of characters often have in real life. There's more, of course, but the pithiest review (if I may) came from a woman I overheard talking to her date in the lobby after the show. She said, "I wish I had gone to the bathroom before the show, because I think I hurt my bladder trying to hold it in." She really said that; that's not reviewer's license.
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