When Charlie Josephine wrote Cowbois for the RSC at the Royal Court, a generous helping of history and subtext was up for grabs.
Like movie fans worldwide, my image of cowboys is steeped in the beautifully clean pantsuits and wide-brimmed hats of Golden Age Hollywood, with a smattering of dirty Clint in spaghetti westerns tossed-in. Dare I say it, studying film also engendered a small crush on Gary Cooper—a gay icon destined to play opposite sexually brave, cross-dressing women such as Marlene Dietrich and Joan Crawford in ‘pre-code’ romances.
So, a play with the premise that the womenfolk have been abandoned was an interesting one. How would a lone, handsome stranger entering a saloon (in homage to the 1953 film Shane?), dramatically upset the social applecart of this world and provide enough fodder for sexual politics?
All is very tame among the four women of the saloon for the first ten minutes. When Jack, a known bandit played by Vinnie Heaven, saunters in, it soon becomes clear that the women have never "known a man like that before." Because Jack was a woman who now dresses and identifies as a man. As the women unanimously lust after the stranger, a relationship strikes up between him and wife of the proprietor, Miss Lillian, played by Sophie Melville.
As love continues to blossom, one gutsy woman in the sorority restyles herself as a cowboy and declares their passion for another of the abandoned women. Costume changes abound as the community switches dark plaid for Technicolor and the Sheriff changes his jeans in favour of a spangled white skirt and matching rhinestone jacket. The transformation in aesthetic is consummated by live vocals, delivered by the cast down microphones that magically appear. Every newly found voice has its moment in the spotlight.
The experience of Cowbois is not unlike attending The Rocky Horror Show. Directors Charlie Josephine and Sean Holmes have ensured that an established genre swiftly turns into an orgy of queer cabaret. As such, it is a fun show—moments of pure variety pop-up as each character describes their coming-out moment and experience of repression in a shell that doesn’t reflect a sense of self. This story particularly clicks into gear when the menfolk unexpectedly return, resulting in much patriarchal carousing and, finally, a showdown with pistols across the pioneer era set.
The storytelling is as clear as the messages of this piece, which are a familiar cornerstone of our current narratives around queerness and gender: love is love and be who you feel yourself to be rather than what history has assigned to biology.
It is the clear boldness of this familiar messaging that inclines the piece towards the obvious and predictable. However, what’s also clear is that the subtextual campery of the Wild West rides again… in this contemporary vision of the genre.