Immovable Beast
Produced by: Ochre House Theatre
Written and Directed by: Matthew Posey
Audience Rating: R
Running Time: 2 hours and 15 minutes with a 15 minute intermission
Accessible Seating: Available
Hearing Devices: Available
Sensory Friendly Showing: Not Available
ASL Showing: Available May 23
Sound Level: Comfortable volume, some effects may be loud for some patrons
Audio/Visuals to Prepare For: violence, use of stage weaponry, murder depiction,
unsettling images.
Reviewed by Tim Bass
One of the great joys of being a theatregoer is encountering something wholly original. While I love enjoying familiar works, there is a particular thrill in stepping into a story that is entirely new, unpredictable in form, tone, and imagination. That experience is all but guaranteed at Ochre House Theatre, whose self-described “Suavant Garde” approach to theatre continues to produce bold, unconventional storytelling. With Immovable Beast, the company once again delivers a production that is as odd as it is excellent.
Much of that creative spark can be attributed to Ochre House founder Matthew Posey, who serves here as writer, director, and performer, among other things. Having long admired Posey’s work, I find myself continually fascinated by the creative novelty of his artistic vision. If there were ever a way to step inside another artist’s mind, Posey’s would undoubtedly be among the most curious and captivating landscapes to explore. His work on Immovable Beast is no exception. As Baron Leopold McDoogal, a tyrannical ruler lording over a decaying wasteland of his own making, Posey crafts a character who is both menacing and pitiful, an embodiment of unchecked narcissism consuming everything in its orbit, including the Baron himself.
The play’s satirical backbone follows the Baron’s rise and inevitable unraveling, but what begins as a sharp political allegory quickly expands into a wildly inventive theatrical journey. The script is wickedly funny and unafraid to take aim at recognizable figures and dynamics in contemporary culture. Yet beneath the biting humor lies a deeper exploration of power, humanity, and consequences, lending the piece an emotional and thematic resonance amidst its surreal presentation.
As with any production operating within this heightened theatrical style, success hinges on the ensemble’s total commitment, and this cast delivers unequivocally. There is not a weak link among them. Polly Maynard is particularly compelling as Shithouse Hattie, one of three victims plotting revenge against the Baron. Her performance is at once razor sharp and unrestrained, using every available tool, from striking physicality to Carey-esque facial expressions, to create a character both grotesque and magnetic. Maynard’s contributions extend beyond performance; as the show’s songwriter and lyricist, she proves brilliant at shaping its musical identity. Lauren Massey leaves a lasting impression as Perilous Pearl, delivering what is perhaps the production’s most haunting musical moment with clarity and emotional depth. In a show that consistently prompts laughter and reflection, her performance introduces a welcome poignancy, achieving the elusive trifecta of making an audience laugh, think, and feel. Cassie Bann rounds out the vengeful trio with effortless presence and razor-sharp wit as Murderous Maive, completing a dynamic, cohesive, and unquestionably bizarre sisterhood.
Rudy Lopez brings exceptional physical storytelling to his role as Jack Clabber. He wears many hats in the production, including the narrator and one half of the Baron’s throne. If that sentence seems odd, it fits perfectly in this production. His precision and control make his every role in the show purposeful and compelling. In addition to playing the other half of the throne, Omar Padilla plays Bautista Bronya, injecting particularly the second act with energy and momentum while his strong comic instincts assist in driving the story toward its conclusion. Ben Bryant lends seasoned skill to Dr. Bjork Tokkle, the Baron’s sycophantic physician, providing consistent laughs while stewarding the Baron even as he is clearly unravelling.
The production’s musical component is both unconventional and effective. Performed by Matthew McNabb, Esperanza Scott, and Aaron Gonzales, the trio provides not only live accompaniment but also an integrated presence within the world of the play. Their contributions gleefully ignore the line between musicians and characters, adding texture, commentary, and at times direct interaction with the narrative. Scott’s Stabby Abby and McNabb’s Bampot McGregor, in particular, contribute to the play’s layered, immersive quality. They are among the play’s most memorable components.
Technically, Immovable Beast is equally impressive. The seamless interplay of lighting, sound, and design elements creates a cohesive and immersive environment that supports the production’s bold aesthetic choices. Ryan Matthieu Smith’s costumes are especially noteworthy, striking a careful balance between the bizarre and the purposeful, while Kevin Grammer’s lighting design helps sculpt the show’s shifting tonal landscape. The use of lighting and shadow to convey key plot elements works brilliantly, and the rotating stage element is a stellar adaptation for an intimate space, providing scenes a spatial depth that would otherwise prove difficult.
This is not a traditional musical, nor does it make any attempt to be. Long stretches without song, combined with its experimental structure, may challenge audiences expecting a more conventional theatrical experience. But for those who would embrace its unapologetically unconventional approach, Immovable Beast offers a richly rewarding journey, one filled with sharp satire, inventive staging, and deeply committed performances.
Ochre House Theatre continues to carve out a unique space in the DFW theatrical landscape, and Immovable Beast stands as a shining example of its fearless creativity. The production runs through May 30th, and for anyone seeking theatre that pushes boundaries and rewards curiosity, it is not to be missed.
To the Explorers of the Soul,
Tim Bass
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