Gregory Fletcher

For all its aspiration, Sulfur Bottom feels more like a workshop draft than a finished play. Its mix of social indictment, family drama, and absurdist allegory never coheres, and its earnest themes collapse under the weight of muddled storytelling. As one theatergoer muttered while leaving: “What was that?!” Which, in truth, was a lot nicer than what my theater companion declared.

Morgan resurrects Maya’s voice with both reverence and playfulness. He performs Frank’s controversial Liberace rant, and later a monologue about dating called “The First Time You Go Home With Someone.” He sings three of Maya’s songs: “Polaroid Children,” “Boxes of You,” and “Mourning and Militancy,” and he also recreates signature Maya bits: an audience Q&A (for which Morgan provides pre-written questions), “Letters from Dead People” (featuring a note from Lucille Ball), and — most astonishingly — a letter from Frank himself, written to Morgan! Okay, even if it’s not true, the moment is funny, absurd, and yet moving all at once.

Name-calling, bullying, cliques, and cafeteria caste systems have always been part of teen life—and Heathers doesn’t flinch, nor does it apologize. And no trigger warnings in the pre-show announcement either. Instead, as the audience and characters experience the two-hours and twenty minutes of laughter in the darkest corners of adolescence, Veronica’s journey reminds us that acceptance isn’t about being popular—it’s about being seen, being kind. And in a world of curated identities and online validation, that’s a message that lands. If the screaming teens in the audience are any sign, Heathers is still speaking loud and clear.

The play is composed of dozens of brief seemingly disconnected scenes that resist any traditional arc. Don’t expect a protagonist’s journey or a narrative climax. What you get instead is a string of moments—each a tiny pearl—that, taken together, form a quietly resonant necklace of meaning. But be warned: those craving linear clarity may find their patience tested.

The audience is seated on three-sides of a bare stage, but Johan Kølkjær’s setting won’t remain empty for long. Representing America, the sets are gradually built upon a dirty tarp as the performance progresses. A church will be constructed, as well as a merchant store, a bank, a politician’s office, a pioneer home, a Chinese restaurant, a bar and whorehouse, a jail, and an outdoor holding pen. Oh, and a railroad track runs down the center of the stage ending at the mines. Plus, the endless props by Marie Rosendahl Chemnitz, cameras displaying live filming of scenes as they take place (video designer Rasmus Kreiner), and microphones (sound designer Ditlev Brinth). By the end, there’s so much scenery that other spectators disappear from view. Stage Manager Svante Huniche Corell and his crew notably uphold the challenging staging, allowing the pandemonium to unfold with perfection