(or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Let Satan Save My Soul)
By Justin Quinn Pelegano

True story: Satan is coming to SoHo. And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll run and pay your respects to the Big Guy. Believe me, your loyalty will not go unrewarded. That’s right, Daddy Darkness is in a deal making kind of mood. Get this: He’s selling you – us -- one full hour of breathtaking, captivating, balls-to-the-wall, spark plug in your gut synergy, energy, alchemy…the man is offering up the finest theatre to hit this joint in a good long time. And all you have to do, dear minions, is show up, open up, and grab a brew. It’s all in the Amen, people. Preach on…

…not for nothing, but I’ve been seeing theatre in NYC for twenty-four of my twenty-nine years and, look, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that the stage, or any art for that matter, comes in all shapes and sizes. Ask any lifer and they’ll tell you there’s theatre that leaves you with a good case of the chats; theatre that leaves you with an even better case of the chills; and there’s theatre that just leaves you leaves you and fast (we call that “fluff”); there’s theatre that inspires you to create; theatre that alters you in some inexplicable, subtle, and unexpected way; and then there’s theatre that’s so god awful it makes you want to race out into the street and offer yourself up to the front bumper of a speeding truck (we call that “crap”…and/or “musicals”).

This past year I’d been way too privy to the last, and it was putting me off the entire medium. So much so, in fact, that I had basically sold my hopes to HBO. Yes, I turned my back on what had long lived in my blood – live performance – because every production I sat for, every show, every play that promised to be brave, in the end, settled for lazy and safe. What had once lifted me up was now pissing me off. Or worse, boring me to…zzzz. With both feet out, I worried I’d never return to the theatre. But I said good riddance anyway. And then The Devil and Billy Markham saved my soul.