Christine Jorgensen may not be a household name today, but back in the early 1950s, she became “the world’s first internationally recognized transgender celebrity,” as the program notes for The Christine Jorgensen Show tell us. There had been what was then known as “sex change” or “sex reassignment” procedures performed decades before that, but Jorgensen, a former soldier who traveled to her parents’ native Denmark for her surgery, gained notoriety when one of her private letters was leaked to the press; she then found fame as a performer in nightclubs, television and radio.
This new play with music, by Donald Steven Olson, presents Jorgensen as a most reluctant star. Played by rising trans actress Jesse James Keitel, she is prim almost to the point of seeming wooden; wearing a succession of dresses (designed by Suzanne Chesney) that suggest Donna Reed more than a fledgling diva, Keitel clasps her hands together and literally clutches the pearls that circle her neck. In early scenes, in fact, the actress delivers many of her lines so stiffly that it can be hard to tell whether the character or the actress is more uptight.
There are no such issues with Keitel’s sole co-star. Beloved cabaret veteran Mark Nadler, who also composed songs for this one-act piece with Olson, is cast as Myles Bell, the more experienced song-and-dance man who was part of Jorgensen’s act and played a key role in crafting it. Olson and directors Michael Barakiva and Zoë Adams were clearly keen to depict Myles as Christine’s earthy, extroverted foil, and Nadler obliges them—singing the period-savvy original tunes in full belt, dancing nimbly and, as he gets to know Christine, playing the gregarious, sometimes coarse old pro to her tightly wound novice.
Olson’s dialogue can be quite obvious, and hoary at times. Myles initially chafes at the prospect of playing coach and second banana to an unproven talent, and he and Christine continue to clash intermittently as they collaborate. “Stop talking to me like we’re in a locker room,” she huffs at one point, to which he responds, “Aren’t you man enough to take it?” “No,” she says, obviously wounded, “I’m woman enough to resent it.”
Myles encourages Christine to trade more on her sex appeal, but she repeatedly resists; her notion of womanhood is one of demure elegance, as opposed to exhibitionism. When he does finally coax her into showing a little leg, Myles seems, as Nadler conveys rather touchingly, to get a little flustered himself; later, in a scene where he teaches her to waltz, the rapport between them appears more charged, and it’s suggested that their growing bond may be luring both into uncharted territory.
The Christine Jorgensen Show doesn’t take the liberty of actually going there, though; the focus remains on how its two characters support and help liberate each other as friends, and artists. The final and most engaging portion of the show reveals them in the act—of performing, trading jokes and harmonies as they revel in mutual gratitude.
It’s here that Keitel lets herself go more, at least hinting at the charm and wit that likely enabled Jorgensen to build a fan base even in a less enlightened time. And like Jorgensen in old photos, readily available online, she does look just fabulous in those costumes.
The Christine Jorgensen Show opened February 14, 2024, at 59E59 and runs through March 3. Tickets and information: 59e59.org
