Theatre in Review: The Christine Jorgensen Show (HERE)At a time when transgender issues have become a hot topic on the left and a hot potato on the right, now is surely the time to recall Christine Jorgensen. Born George Jorgensen, an Army veteran, she was, in 1952, an early visitor to Denmark for what was then known as sex reassignment surgery. Outed on her return, she became a reluctant celebrity, a magnet for paparazzi, and a punchline. As is often the case in America, notoriety led to a show business career; if she couldn't live quietly and peacefully, she could earn a living in nightclubs, a kind of in-joke for the in-crowd. The best thing about The Christine Jorgensen Show -- which looks at the title character nervously prepping for her stage debut -- is Jesse James Keitel in the title role. Gorgeously outfitted in a parade of early-1950s ensembles designed by Suzanne Chesney, the actress has a total grasp of period style; she could step right into any number of films, from A Letter to Three Wives to The Best of Everything. (One can equally imagine her lunching with Julianne Moore, Patricia Clarkson, and the girls in Todd Haynes' Far from Heaven.) For this two-hander, Keitel is amusingly paired with veteran cabaret star Mark Nadler as Myles Bell, her coach/accompanist/co-star, a Tin Pan Alley roughneck with a heart of brass and a career stuck in idle, ever ready to slip into a Jimmy Durante imitation or improvise a tap routine to "Ballin' the Jack." They make the oddest of couples and, based on the sheer comic contrast they evoke, the first part of The Christine Jorgensen Show should be much more fun than it is. But the early scenes poke along, telling us surprisingly little about Jorgensen's astonishing (and often appalling) experiences while pushing the implausible idea that she is determined to take the stage while remaining defiant about learning to sing or dance. Nor does Donald Steven Olson's script fully show the Christine -- Myles partnership catching fire; instead, we get a series of botched routines designed to portray Christine as a dim prospect as an entertainer. (She even has trouble learning to walk like a showgirl.) They spar, they bicker, they make up, and it's all thoroughly predictable. The fun picks up enormously in the second half, devoted to Christine's act: Taking the stage while sporting a look of sheer panic, she blossoms in full audience view, finding her home in the limelight. The act, which features original songs by Olsen and Nadler, is a delight -- calculatedly corny in a strictly 1950s way yet is perfectly shaped to show off the budding chanteuse's increasingly confident personality. (The song list includes a tribute to Copenhagen and a Your Hit Parade-ready novelty item titled "Christmas in June.") Particularly after the halting rehearsal scenes, it's a treat to see her find a way to express her unique self, winning fans in the process. Under Michael Barakiva's direction, Keitel's song-selling technique closely resembles Jorgensen's. (You can see for yourself on YouTube, although Jorgensen's real act had a rather more sophisticated, slightly naughty, undertone.) Nadler comes to life in these scenes, too, hitting the ivories with brio providing solid vocal backup, and scoring in a dramatic moment when his tap routine is stalled by a bum knee, giving Christine her first lesson in covering for an onstage partner. It's half an evening, then, but the second half just about makes up for the slowish opening. The rest of the production -- including Riw Rakkulchon's minimal nightclub set, Calvin Anderson's relatively simple lighting, and Jacqui Herter's unobtrusive sound -- are sufficient for their purposes. Both as a figure in trans history and a one-of-a-kind celebrity, Jorgensen should be written about and discussed much more. The Christine Jorgensen Show doesn't tell one nearly enough about its subject, but it gives the flavor of her personality and leaves one ready for more. --David Barbour 
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