Nightingale Alley Musical World Premiere Theatre Review (One Yellow Rabbit Performance Theatre)

by Amora Sun, MA, CCC, CCC-S

More than a play on words, and far more than the usual sex worker tropes and stereotypes, Nightingale Alley by One Yellow Rabbit Performance Theatre is a tender reflection of sex work as more than merely a trade to survive.

In the past 10 years, with the rise of pornhub and chaturbate, we have seen the emergence of a more “ethical” public recognition of the person behind the sweaty glittering body penetrating or fleshlighting their genitals for our amusement and co-arousal.

We have observed people working for themselves in selling panties, creating independent cartoon porn, and couples collectively performing various forms of sex acts outside the bounds of heteronormativity or traditional gender roles.

The days where gonzo porn dominated all porn searches, has seemingly died, although I did read a medium article with a compelling argument that the degrading stuff of my youth is still imprinted on the timeless pages of some lost porn site, but simply harder to find or immediately pull up.

With this dwindling in saturation of the old guard making room for new expressions of attraction more inclusive of women’s, trans and non-binary pleasure, so Nightingale Alley reflects the dissolution of the Madonna-whore complex, and the sex workers share their stories of growing up in the country, how they at times revel in their work, look forward to the peaks and valleys of their sighs as they approach orgasm with some of their clients. With others, they deluge their faces with their wetness, so much so that the men’s wigs are drenched and must be removed half way through. This stirring portrait was sung in a song I’m fairly certain was titled, “Citadel,” (Denise Clark) and it is an image that will make me chuckle for months into the future, I can tell you.

The cadences of voices, blending and harmonies were luscious as were the violin solos and accompanying piano scores. The circling and reflection of women in their mirroring of one another, bickering and teasing of each others’ foibles or particular obstacles, is like a series of sacred religious rights.

I often recount how the very first sex workers in ancient civilizations were actually considered holy in their ability to transfigure and transform the lives of leaders and dignitaries, warriors and prisoners through the power of psycho-spiritual-sexual healing. In this play, I think of the characters bringing us into their world with such intelligence and exclusivity, as high-priestesses with the humour and absence of shame that is finally free to be sung about again (it is 2023, after all). Another memorable song was the audience-participatory “My Rose.” I am reminded of the reality that it is not only straight women and gay men who enjoy being penetrated, and the potential political act of encouraging the straight men in the audience sing about their rose, is a good one for normalizing pegging for all who enjoy it.

The audience I was part of hesitated to clap at the first few numbers, unsure of what could be laughed at and what should be revered, or examined through silence, or both.

The vulnerability in tone and execution reflected in this production as well as the sensitivity and unique characterization of the Christine-from-Phantom-of-the-Opera inspired glissando (Allison Lynch), to the over-50 worker (Denise Clarke) who solemnly removes her wig, to the pregnant mother (Jamie Konchak) who simply wants to know what to do, was glorious.

The Arts Commons is hosting this production in its “Big Secret Theatre,” until April 23, and I was thrilled to see its first public performance.