Show Response: DeliaDelia! The flat chested witch!
by Patrick Denney
“I love this D-I-Y Performance Space,” trills DeliaDelia, the titular character of Amando Houser’s latest solo show DeliaDelia! The Flat Chested Witch, “It reminds me of my childhood.” This is an apt comparison. Brick Aux comes across as a cross between a spacious living room and that classic crucible of childhood performance: the cafetorium. “It reminds me of… my trauma,” they proclaim, defining the parameters of what is about to come. For a less nuanced performer, what unfurls might be described as cringe, but in Houser’s capable hands, their creation becomes an experienced musician, playing forever just in front of or behind the beat.
DeliaDelia may look like Elphaba, but their demeanor is one of a glitched Glinda. Their voice is bright but clipped, punctuated by a Mickey Mouse chordal that tactically denies the audience the reassurance of a smooth narrative flow. The moment the audience teeters on the brink of comfort, Houser explodes with jarring aggression. After anxiously polling the audience about their relationship status, the earnest witch zeroes in on a single man in the audience. A reluctant back and forth with this paramour ensues. The exchange teeters on the verge of teeth-pulling. Several beats past a natural conclusion, something snaps inside DeliaDelia. The timidity falls away and they erupt at the audience member: “What are you, a f*ggot?” The room is clearly jarred by the outburst, some unsettled by twinges of pained familiarity, others by ally-inflected outrage. Others still seem irked by the guilty reminder that anyone old enough to call themselves a 90s kid was privy to the extended death rattle of “that’s so gay” as a socially acceptable insult, and perhaps, a shield. The sunnier side of DeliaDelia quickly returns after this blip. The beau-to-be consents to come on stage and an innocent ball game ensues, accented by Houser’s machismo-tinged dribbling skills. Once something has been released, though, it is almost impossible for it to be forced into a box again.
The show unfolds in this vein through a series of distilled childhood exercises. To be someone’s “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” the words need only to be spoken and they are true. These honorifics become a kind of dress-up clothes — things to be put on, twirled about, and cavorted in before being cast off in favor of something shiny and/or new. Of course there is a sweetly sapphic pillow fight that flows into a pivotal moment of sexual self-discovery. “I think, I think I might like girls?” floats DeliaDelia with the sense that the slightest hesitation could cause them to retreat back to their swampy closest. No hesitation comes.
This discovery flows into a musically motivated glow-up. Houser produces a new dress from behind a screen. The opening strains of Roger and Hammerstein’s “I Enjoy Being a Girl” begins and DeliaDelia mouths along. Throughout, they remove their old frock in favor of the more-detailed, perhaps grown-up option. In this routine, the scars of a double mastectomy are clearly seen. Perhaps the trauma they mentioned at the top, the trauma of carrying a pair of public reminders that the body you’re born into did not necessarily match the person growing inside of it. To add another wrinkle, though, is it still possible to enjoy being a girl while longing for something else? Houser seems to think so, showcasing with deep depth the ability to hold this contraction within themselves. In one of the final moments of the show conflation this new DeliaDelia combines a cable kid’s show kookiness and frat house masculinity, to perform a kind of keg stand. Supported by an uneasy audience member, DeliaDelia drains a radioactive can of Mountain Dew through a beer bong. They seem to enjoy being a boy, or at least, to throw on the costume of stereotyped gender play.
Houser’s character evokes a visceral kind of energetic awkwardness. DeliaDelia seems like an extra-committed Girl Scout on the brink of belting out a tuneless version of “Defying Gravity” for some musical theater merit badge. There is something deeply private about it. This kind of intensity is the purview of basements and bedrooms: secluded, domestic pockets of discovery. In this world, there is only the performer, the cast recording, and the lovingly mongrel mash-up of those two worlds colliding. Off-kilter and earnest, the high notes cannot and will not be hit. It doesn’t matter, though. The space between is glossed over by the specific kind of deep affection borne out of hyper-fixation. A brash, bold choice is the only choice imaginable. Every stumble creates the possibility of stumbling into a deeper sense of self. Close enough is enough, warts and all.
DeliaDelia! The flat chested witch! ran at Brick Aux March 1st - 2nd 2024.
Photo by Arin Sang-urai