— camp, teeth, and a killer good time
Open the doors and the doo-wop hits you first—those tight, girl-group harmonies that make the Lower East Side feel close enough to touch. Little Shop of Horrors is, at heart, a pulp parody—part murder-mystery send-up, part sci-fi B-movie wink—about a flower shop on “Skid Row” and a hungry plant with a voice and opinions. The show keeps the plot cards close to the vest (no spoilers here), but know this: a certain Venus flytrap’s appetites grow… unconventional, and the laughs get darker as the stakes get brighter.
City Theatre’s opening night was a smashing success, buoyed by a stellar ensemble and singers who clearly love this score. Special shout to Tatyana Smith (Crystal): what a voice, and what range. Word in the aisle was she works part-time at Central Market South; if she’s singing behind the counters there, anyone who hasn’t seen her on stage might catch a whiff of that talent while picking up produce. The trio’s blend hits that irresistible street-corner shimmer the show is famous for.
For the uninitiated: the stage musical’s book and lyrics are by Howard Ashman, with music by Alan Menken, riffing on the cult 1960 Roger Corman movie. Stylistically, it sits somewhere between the 1940s–50s grit and early-’60s pop polish—the era when “Skid Row” really meant downtown, the Lower East Side of Manhattan. As the wry lyric goes, “Uptown you cater to a million jerks”—and yes, the line still lands like a perfectly folded paper airplane. (Skid Row may be a fable here, but the neighborhood DNA is real: CBGB bloomed a few blocks west in the 1970s; the New Museum anchors the Bowery now. Old ghosts, new gloss.)
Aaron Matijasic plays Seymour with a sweet, schlumpy humor that makes you root for the kid even when fate starts dealing from the bottom of the deck. Lauren Beach gives Audrey that tender, tremulous glow—though, for most of the night, I genuinely struggled to hear her. I was sitting in the front row. The band (otherwise tight and tasty) ran a bit hot for the room and often drowned out the vocals. This is one of those houses where body mics (or at least boosted reinforcement) would transform clarity without sacrificing vibe. The vocal harmonics themselves? Excellent—when you could catch them.
Jeff Phillips (Mr. Mushnik) practically conducts subtext with his eyebrows; the micro-expressions are their own punchlines. And for the deranged, sadistic dentist Orin (and the cascade of other characters he plays), Kevin Anderson chews scenery with relish—his numbers pop, and the lyric “leader of the plaque” is silly in the best, dental-groaner way.
About that plant: Audrey II is the fabulous green engine of the evening, a glam-grotesque Venus flytrap whose presence turns the show into a carnival of temptation. This production leans into the satire without losing the heart; the puppet work and vocal attitude give the plant genuine star power. Little Shop only really works when you can feel the plant’s charisma—and you can.
A little lineage for those keeping score at home: yes, someone quipped to me, “The play was written in the 1960s,” and its spirit certainly smells like newsprint and neon. Ashman & Menken bottled that feeling and shook it over Motown, doo-wop, and Broadway brass. The latter film with Steve Martin put it on a pop-culture billboard, but on stage is where this story’s pulse lives—tight, and just a little wicked.
What gives City Theatre’s take its extra zing is texture. Director/design whiz Andy Berkovsky threads the jokes with thrift-store romance and back-alley longing; he understands that the show’s veritable miracle is how it lets losers sing like winners for two hours. The set whispers downtown without leaning on clichés, and the pacing keeps the comedy crisp.
And because I promised you my New York family spice: this Skid Row is the block my immigrant grandparents would’ve called “the gutter”—not as an insult, but as simple, exact geography: the street. The prying-from-the-cracks kind of life. When Seymour and Audrey dream of better, you can smell the “dirt” (soil) on their hands, not just the moral kind the plot likes to juggle. That’s why Little Shop keeps blooming decade after decade: it’s a scrappy fairy tale about wanting more when the rent’s due, about love sprouting where the sun barely hits.
City Theatre delivers a lively, funny, and knowingly campy Little Shop. Turn the band down a notch and mic the leads, and this production goes from very good to killer. Until then, go for the harmonies, the plant, and Tatyana Smith’s star-turn sparkle. Stay for the downtown heart that still beats beneath the jokes.
Info: Little Shop of Horrors at City Theatre
Runs through September 14, 2025
Call 512.470.1100 or email info@citytheatreaustin.org for tickets and details.