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Bridget Everett: Rock Bottom

  • Music, Cabaret and standards
  • 4 out of 5 stars
  • Recommended

Time Out says

4 out of 5 stars

Bridget Everett: Rock Bottom. Joe’s Pub (Off Broadway). By Bridget Everett. Music and lyrics by Everett, Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman. Directed by Wittman. With Everett. Running time: 1hr 40mins. No intermission.

Rock Bottom: In brief

The astonishing, totally fearless Amazon of alt cabaret and raunchy comedy (Inside Amy Schumer) returns to Joe's with a new show commissioned for the venue. Cocreated with Broadway's Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman (Hairspray) and Beastie Boy Adam Horovitz, this is full-contact New York magic, and not to be missed.

Rock Bottom: Theater review by David Cote

I was a Bridget Everett virgin before Rock Bottom, so yes, there was some blood. There was also lots of spilled chardonnay, sweat and a few other fluids I’d rather not name. In other words, it was all flavors of crazy, and I loved every second.

How is it possible that for years I’ve missed Everett’s vaginacentric shock comedy and rafter-splitting rock belt? Fear, if we’re being truthful. I’d seen the pictures, heard the titles and assumed she was too much woman to handle. Still, her latest cabaret act—with songs cowritten by Broadway vets Marc Shaiman and Scott Wittman (Hairspray), as well as with Adam “Ad-Rock” Horovitz and Matt Ray­—is a nice way to ease, semi-lubed, into the Everett aesthetic.

Between a ditty about sampling international dong, “Tell Me (Does This Dick Make My Ass Look Big?),” and a nearly scatological dalliance with a British film star, “A Man So Fine,” Everett works the room like a pro, making customers squirm in their seats as she draws attention to her fulsome attributes, which loll indolently under tissue-thin costumes. (Larry Krone’s gauzy frocks float on air.) On the night I attended, Everett brazenly goaded an elderly audience member, making him lick whipped cream from her nethers. Other laughs were triggered by references to sopping panties, multiple abortions and that old standby, finger-banging from a special-needs kid.

It’s not all raunch and taboo. Everett brings the house way down with a ballad to her dead father, “Get Over You.” And while she doesn’t preach, she does flaunt her body, sexual appetites and love of buttery, oaky wine. This train wreck is bound for glory.—Theater review by David Cote

THE BOTTOM LINE The alt-cabaret goddess must be worshipped.

Follow David Cote on Twitter: @davidcote

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Event website:
$35 plus $12 minimum
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