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For those not familiar with Florence Foster Jenkins, she happened to be a real life, archetypical example of what would become a very popular comedic stereotype in American culture. As imported from European (and especially British) high society, she epitomized the women of our own country's nouveau riche beau monde. These wealthy (and often somewhat ditzy) matriarchs of the new world's Social Register strived to attain all things associated with old world high culture. By 1900 in England, these high dowagers of titled society had already been publicly lampooned up and down via the many pompous, rotund, contraltos characters in the wildly popular Gilbert & Sullivan operas.

In the U.S., numerous camp caricatures of Jenkins and her kind were created by our early entertainment industry that still resonate in televisions reruns and camp pop culture today. Perhaps most notable are the grand dame characters created by Margaret Dumont for the Marx Brothers films. Then there are the many pigeon-breasted society matrons lampooned in innumerable Three Stooges shorts. Golden age television also parodied the Jenkins' breed of woman with a rainbow of silly, rich comic characters ranging from Margaret Drysdale in The Beverly Hillbillies to Ms. Thurston “Lovey” Howell on Gilligan's Island to Ms. Chatsworth Osborne Sr. of Dobie Gillis. Upper crust fuddy-duddies all, these wealthy supporters of the arts would swoon with aesthetic giddiness whenever in the presence of “high art,” especially opera.

For gay men, a certain aura of drag queen/over-the-hill diva appeal hovers over a personage like Jenkins that is immediately recognizable to us. We enjoy her outrageous theatrical performance costume gowns, her outwardly clueless “dumb old broad” nature and her fearless gumption to perform (even if talentless).

Gays have always held a festive affinity for, and have even shared identity with, all the superficial trappings of diva-ness. From our own culture's many years of imprisoned emotions and forbidden identity, we can understand, perhaps better than most, that if one can't actually achieve one's dreams, one can at least act the part with flare.

Souvenir's action takes place in the year 1964, (a full 20 years after La Jenkins's death), in a Greenwich Village, NYC supper club. It can be taken for granted that there is a gay piano bar atmosphere to the setting.

Here McMoon is the resident pianist, and in between renditions of his own, somewhat creaky, big band era songs, interrupts himself periodically to reminisce about his relationship with the legendary “Socialite Soprano” Jenkins.

From the outset of the play, McMoon's homosexuality is a given, revealed by him to the audience in a kind of pre-Stonewallian innuendo that so characterized the gay social world of the past. Gayness among gays in the gentlemanly homosexual culture of America's jazz-age and World War eras was not yet shouted out loud, but rather “insinuated” as one might almost refer to a kind of private club. Watching it re-enacted conversationally in Souvenir is historically interesting – even quaint.

Here and there, McMoon drops us hints about “bars,”“dinner parties” and cute military serviceman on leave. One reason he accepts the artistically distasteful job of accompanying the tone-deaf Jenkins is because he needs rent money, now that his “roommate moved out due to issues of monogamy.” There are many references to his artsy, genderless “music” friends teasing him about his stint as Jenkins accompanist.

There is a poignant, bittersweet quality to McMoon's mixed-feeling recollections of his many years with Jenkins. It becomes revealed that he is somewhat of a failed songwriter himself, and thus his work with Jenkins has to be accepted as not only the high point of his career, but also the main way he will be remembered in posterity.

As a kind of “memory play”, Souvenir includes all of the most interesting factual tidbits surrounding Jenkins' and McMoon's real lives, including the many notable people and places that figured in their careers.

Most touching about this show is how it highlights the uniquely cherished relationship that can occur between a gay man and a (often older) woman. History, especially in the field of arts and culture, is full of such extraordinary gay male-to-female bondings, and it's very satisfying for an example of this endearing kind of mutual affection to be presented here in Souvenir.

For those brave and free thinking fans of operatic singing who are curious and daring enough to want to actually hear the real Florence Foster Jenkins, you are in luck. She actually made several recordings with Cosme McMoon accompanying (they sold quite well in her time). Check out The Glory of the Human Voice – now available on CD.

Get more info at the official website

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