Picture: Charles Flint Photography
Fame Whore continues at the King’s Head Theatre, London until 29 October 2022.
Star rating: four stars ★ ★ ★ ★ ✩
It’s a bit basic to immediately bring up RuPaul’s Drag Race when reviewing a new drag show but seeing as Fame Whore – an excellent new piece of LGBTQ+ writing now playing at the King’s Head Theatre – is in part an examination of its under-discussed negative impacts on queer culture, it’s worth a mention. Ever since that TV reality competition exposed wider society to its specific style of drag, the art form more broadly has exploded in popularity. As the show has evolved, it has begun to showcase a broader variety of approaches to drag, but it has done so quite slowly while doing little to combat the more toxic side of its fan culture.
It is these issues which award-winning writer Tom Ratcliffe (who also directs) explores in Fame Whore. Becky Biro is a jobbing drag performer whose double-act partner rejects them for a more lucrative career path on fictional TV show, The Drag Factor. Unable to follow this route themself due to previous criticism of the show’s lack of inclusivity, Biro endeavours to grow their fanbase until the producers have no choice but to take notice. No dirty trick of social media manipulation is too low for Biro; but when it all blows up, will they have a career left at all?
The cosy King’s Head Theatre is made impressively opulent for such a small show. Set designer Alys Whitehead has turned the space into a fine approximation of a drag club, complete with mirrored floor and neon. Those internet and social media aspects of the story are told with cleverly interspersed projections, masterfully realised by Frances Ashton.
The biggest let-down is the sound, which is well-designed by Jac Cooper, but not done justice by the venue’s speaker system. This is a shame, as the show relies heavily on its technological elements for storytelling, and the numerous pop song parodies are otherwise joyful highlights. Fortunately, the show’s excellent writing carries the piece through.
Ratcliffe’s social commentary is razor-sharp and riotously funny. His ability to take on controversial subjects with not just the thoughtfulness and tact to put the audience at ease, but the confidence to make them positively hilarious is truly special. As a character with their fair share of hang-ups and resentments, Biro could be deeply unlikeable. However, Ratcliffe’s writing has such heart the audience are brought onside even during their lowest lows.
A popular summary of the three act structure is, “put your character in a tree, throw rocks at them, get them down from the tree”. In the language of this simplification, it could be argued that poor Biro suffers an overly protracted period of projectiles. Fortunately, the show gets away with it through the irrepressible humour in the writing. The jokes come thick and fast and are told with utter charm: just as valuable as Ratcliffe’s wit to the success of this show is its stunning lead performance.
Tying Fame Whore together is the whirlwind of joy that is Gigi Zahir (aka Crayola the Queen). Not only do they star as Becky Biro, but they appear as a whole ensemble of other characters in Zoom and Facetime projections. Zahir is a stupendously talented performer who I last saw bringing down the house in the Pleasance’s gig-theatre production of Shakespeare’s The Tempest a few months ago. As well as performing in Fame Whore, they contribute lyrics to the show’s many delightful pop song parodies. Their talent and natural ownership of the stage elevate Ratcliffe’s already excellent material into a fantastically funny evening that will make you think while spitting out your drink.
If you hate drag, this show will make you fall in love with the art form. If you love Drag Race, this show will give you a taste of the excellent work being done beyond the glittery confines of that television show. And if you are a drag connoisseur, this is an unmissable addition to the canon of incredible drag theatre shows that hold up a funhouse mirror to society and cause us to hurt ourselves with laughter.
Ian Bowkett
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