by Megan Soyars

Created on: November 25, 2010

In light of gay student Tyler Clementi’s recent suicide, Joshua Conkel’s MilkMilkLemonade remains starkly relevant, even a year after its debut. Many theatre productions have explored the topic of discrimination against gay Americans, but MilkMilkLemonade distinguishes itself through its dark humor. This humor does not trivialize discrimination, but rather allows the audience to think more deeply on a topic that is usually treated with chagrin or aversion. A comic play with a dark undercurrent, MilkMilkLeomade allows us to both laugh and grieve.   

Emory (Andy Phelan) is a sensitive eleven-year-old boy more interested in becoming a Broadway performer than following in his Nanna’s footsteps as a chicken farmer. Emory feels trapped on Nanna’s farm and longs to escape to the city, where his passion for dance will not be ridiculed.

But Emory is not alone. He befriends Linda, a giant talking chicken, and begins a passionate affair with Elliot, a raw-boned boy who hides the secret of his sexuality behind a sneer and backwards baseball cap.

Conkel’s script is brought to life by the tragicomic performances of a diverse and transgendered cast. Clad in a baggy pink shirt and high-tops, Andy Phelan projects an innocent and empathetic persona. The aura of a gay eleven-year-old, not yet hardened by his lot in life, shines through the grown-up Phelan. Jess Barbagallo provides a nuanced performance as Elliot, a boy struggling to discover who he is behind the many masks he wears. And finally, there is Michael Cyril Creighton as Nanna, Emory’s bigoted grandmother.

In the climax of the play, Creighton pulls off a callous, yet at the same time comically pitiable, display. Hacking into her oxygen tank, Nanna hurls chickens into the processing machine as Emory weeps by her side. Creighton’s performance causes us to both pity and detest Nanna. A gravely ill woman, Nana is obstinate that everyone in life fulfill their role. Her role is to be a farmer. Linda the chicken’s role is to be butchered. Emory’s role is to “act like a boy.”

The question posed by the play is this—should we submit to the roles ordained to us by society, as Nanna and Linda do, or should we rebel against them, as Emory and Elliot do? The play’s finale (in which Linda goes to her death and Emory and Elliot consummate their relationship) suggests that while our roles are somewhat destined, we can still make do with what we have. The machine may be awaiting Linda, lung cancer may be awaiting Nana, taunts and abuse may be awaiting Emory, but that does not mean they, or any of us, should lay down and take things quietly. Chickens might not be able to fly, but they can still stretch their wings!  

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