SOme's show wins new fans. Some just satisfy what already exists. British drag racing champion Ginger Johnson's latest work might fall into the latter category. If you're excited about TV success, this run-of-the-mill comedy show/parody magic act might be enough to be a genuine close-range hit. The rest of us have little to offer. Yes, Ginger sings victory songs (“What's it like to be in front of the big guys?”), weaves into the crowd, and performs daredevil feats inspired by the human cannons she saw as a child. When you show your boisterous charm. . But while any of these acts may work well in a cabaret context, an hour-long solo show at a Soho theater makes them feel overexposed.
It doesn't have to be such a big deal that Johnson's tricks (lighting farts, playing Russian roulette with confetti cannons) aren't all that confusing. But it puts more pressure on the comedy than her crass attitude can withstand. “This show is all about farts,” she told us at one point, which was disappointingly close to the truth. Ginger's brand of drag is closer to Les Dawson on the edge of a pier, in a sequin catsuit than the sophisticated sass and glamor usually associated with this art form. Think scatological pantodames rather than burlesques of femininity. “I’m such a sucker, no one’s going to flush me out,” she barks.
It's not subtle, but the shortcomings of the light touch are rectified by Jen Smethurst, who plays the quiet role of Ginger's long-suffering stage manager. The final “emotional ballad” “How the Fuck Did I End Up Here?” hits some introspective beats. But like assembling a story about a childhood love of derring-do, Johnson (Donald Marshall when he takes off the catsuit) can't help but mug it all up and send it on. Drag Race fanatics and fart aficionados may find plenty to enjoy at this late-night, unapologetically silly time at Tara Circus Theatre. For the rest of us, Blows Off! – much like Ginger's human cannonball heroine made her fatal final flight all those years ago – falls a little short.
