Beau – 26 October 2025

When I last saw Beau at Theatre 154 (to read that review, click here), I remember being struck by the immersive creativity of the set (Daniel Allen). When I walked into this latest iteration at St. Luke’s Theatre, the total envelopment of The Distillery felt more alive than ever. This story about a boy getting to know his estranged grandfather, told through music and memory, is still deeply moving as it pounds through its new space. Even under vastly different (and more beautiful) lighting (Japhy Weideman), this heartwarming story felt lovingly familiar, and revisiting it in a space with different sightlines and a few new cast members was simply delightful.

I found myself just as taken with the character of Ace Baker, deftly played by a Matt Rodin who has clearly become more deeply entrenched in Ace’s skin than ever before. It seemed as though the other characters faded into the background more than I remembered, perhaps because the shape of the space forced actors into the audience where they were less visible. The music arrangements were heard much more clearly, yet the vocal arrangements seemed to be mixed down so that soloists popped out more and we never heard the full power of the harmonies in the ensemble. The incredible musicianship, particularly of Miyuki Miyagi, was a highlight. Jeb Brown was a wonderful addition to the cast in the role of Beau, and he seemed to inhabit the character like a second skin, particularly with his smooth guitar playing.

Beau is fundamentally a show about support, and as a queer audience member experiencing this show with my father beside me, I really felt held and seen by this show. I am no stranger to escaping into my music and my writing, making more of a romantic fling than it is, and trying to find the strength to become who I am meant to be. This is Ace’s journey. The privilege of Douglas Lyons’ writing is that the audience gets to see more perspectives than just the protagonist. The memories and flashbacks are an extremely effective storytelling device, and they give us intergenerational insight by showing the mother, Raven (Amelia Cormack)’s memories, as well as Beau’s. These moments gave a sense of the adult Ace having come to understand more than he was told in his youth, and solidified his sense of purpose in rehashing some of his most painful moments.

Beau is in equal parts a celebration and a lesson. While it can be viewed as a celebration of a young man coming out as gay and finding acceptance, it is also a story about a woman who couldn’t forgive her father for being homosexual but then comes to love her homosexual son. It’s also a story of aforementioned father coming to forgive himself and the queer community at large for not having space for him and breaking his heart. The whole world of Beau is a journey of acceptance, but also acknowledgement. It shows that we are all connected by hurt and heartbreak, in addition to love and joy. Beau bravely asserts that not all queer coming out stories are good—certainly Ace, Beau, and Ferris (Max Sangerman) dealt with a lot of pain and violence turned inward. The way out posited in the show is, “take care of that music, and it will take care of you.” The same sentiment can be generalized to any art form, any hobby—even relationships. Take care of what you love, and allow yourself to be taken care of. Towards the end, Ace sings, “Runnin’”, a song about running away from himself. The rest of Beau shows us the community that Ace is running towards, with all of its lessons and love. It’s a wonderful show that gives the audience a little piece of those lessons and love, in addition to its incredible performances, encapsulating design elements, and thoughtful writing. I stand by my initial impression when I first saw this show this past June: Beau is beautiful.

I attended this performance on a press pass from The Press Room.