What’s that odd white building along the Cry Baby Hill route, with the geometric fountain, big circle window, and double staircases? That’s Bruce Goff’s Riverside Studio, also known as the Tulsa Spotlight Theater, which has hosted weekly showings of The Drunkard and The Olio since November 1953. This past weekend the show celebrated its—what? how?—70th anniversary. I’m a native Tulsan but I’d never been, so this seemed like the time to check out both the historic space and the enduring production.
The building itself is something to behold: when you walk in, you enter a different time. First you come to the box office, then a bold celestial-style carpet gives way to two more mirrored staircases up to the theater. The walls of the lobby are a seafoam-ish teal, and there’s a small concession stand with big black-and-white tiles fancying up the floor.
If you don’t know the story of The Drunkard, it’s a temperance play about a miller-turned-tavern/hotel owner, Simon Slade. Basically, Slade tries to make a better living than he could at the mill—but his career change brings the evils of alcohol into his small town of Cedarville.
Tulsa is small, and it was none other than my high school environmental science teacher, John Beasley, emceeing the event. Beasley, the board chair of this historic venue, was charming and candid. He set the tone of the night: playful but respectful, classy but casual.
Something I learned: The Olio is not part of the play’s title. It actually refers to the opening acts, which that night were Harponix, a duo made up of a harpist and a vocalist (the pair also performed in the play), and Shawna Blake, a local comedian. There were two whole—brief—shows before the show.
Before, after, and during pauses in the play were audience singalongs to traditional songs like “I’ve Been Workin’ on the Railroad” and “Bicycle Built for Two,” among others my partner and I might have been too young or too ignorant to recognize. Bill Rowland (who also plays for Circle Cinema’s second Saturday silent films) accompanied us on piano, keeping us on track so we could at least sing the final line of each stanza.
The Drunkard calls for audience participation, which might seem scary, but you’re only one in a crowd. We were coached to “boo, hiss” the villain (the dude with the twisty mustache and long face, duh) and applaud the heroes. Old-fashioned, sure, but you might find it worth it when you’re asked to throw plush tomatoes during a particularly villainous scene.