Some shows take pride in convolutions, but not Saturday Church. Adapted from the film of the same name, this pop-house musical with the subtlety of a cannonball landed at the off-Broadway New York Theatre Workshop with pulsing beats, flashing colors, and a truly moving storyline. Black Jesus, blessing us in the shape of the inimitable J. Harrison Ghee, spells it out right off the bat: welcome to a full-body workshop of collective love, joy, and healing.
Casting directors Nicholas Petrovich and Erica A. Hart must have had a stroke of genius putting four-chair-turning The Voice contestant Bryson Battle in the shoes of Ulysses, an endearing youth straddling two worlds represented by his two families, cleverly spun in and out with a revolving stage (set design by David Zinn). The character hails from a Christian household consisting of a mother (Amara, played by Kristolyn Lloyd) working around the clock to make ends meet, and a church-choir-directing aunt (Rose, played by Joaquina Kalukango) who deems him too “flouncy” to participate. Both women are mourning the loss of Ulysses’ father, from whom our protagonist inherited his angelic voice. A chance encounter on the D Train with his love interest Raymond (Jackson Kanawha Perry) sweeps him into the neon-lit world of Saturday Church, part kiki house and part mutual aid network for “kids that just want a meal and kids with no place to live.” Everything’s fun and exciting until it’s not, and Ulysses is left wondering if he can actually “have the best of both worlds,” or lose all that’s dear to him.
For a show that’s all about the community, Saturday Church sets the scene with nuanced and realistic depictions of isolation in individual lives, which points to more systematic segregation in society. Aunt Rose makes it a personal mission to instill some fatherly influence in Ulysses’ life, beseeching Pastor Lewis (also played by Ghee) to teach him “about what it means to be a man.” Both of them grew up in a world where “graceful” boys were walking targets, so in their perhaps well-meaning attempt to shelter Ulysses, they end up clipping his wings and unintentionally feeding into bigoted stasis. Amara would readily take a bullet for her child and sees him as “magical,” but survival dictates she can find no time for grief, self-care, or bonding with the growing Ulysses. Pain is not manufactured or futile, but rather a result of people slipping through the cracks, even when they try their best.
Yet there is abundant hope in fluidity, in expansion, in flipping a switch. This manifests in both casting decisions and the plot itself. The duality of a man of God who gets carried away with his own rhetoric preaching about “[comporting oneself] in a righteous way,” played by the same actor who minces no words as Black Jesus resplendent in all their campy glory, feels like a resounding cry of how much can be up to interpretation. The other characters share not just Ulysses’ journey but also his growth, from Amara physically being there for him and Aunt Rose moving past her fears, to Ebony ( Saturday Church matriarch played by the formidable B Noel Thomas) learning to honor her loved one’s legacy by living her own life to the fullest. Even the two daughters Heaven (played by viral TikTok series Gaydar host Anania) and Dijon (played by Caleb Quezon) feel fully developed and enacted way past comic relief: from the sassiest eye rolls to affectionately reading each other to filth, these are big personalities you would nonetheless bump into working out at the gym or picking up groceries. This is representation done right, with creatives telling perfectly relatable stories, and no need to lean on tired clichés.
Even as online forums are abuzz with rightful comparisons to the cult classic RENT, this new musical appears quite comfortable inhabiting a critical niche. The singers, many of whose ranges span from baritone to soprano, depart from the tradition of rock ‘n’ roll rebellion, instead delivering on the big, beautiful songs characteristic of SIA, as well as the fierce house tracks of Honey Dijon that serve as irrefutable proof of how joy is resistance. While RENT boasts “La Vie Bohème,” a song that rattles off a list of “anything taboo” against the backdrop of the raging AIDS epidemic, where literally only “now” and “here” were guaranteed, the latter is set in a present where discrimination and otherness are coded differently but still omnipresent. When dying young was the norm, living fast was the only actionable route. Saturday Church extends from an urgent plea for our youths to stay with us and for our community to celebrate each other, to share a blueprint of radical acceptance and concrete action for current and future allies. Adam Honoré’s pulsing strobe lights thrust us right into the cage that is Ulysses’ existence, letting us experience the disorienting dilemma firsthand. The result is a story that takes up space for the vast number of Black and femme folks in the cast and creative team without compromising resonance for a larger audience within and beyond the queer community.
Though occasionally erring on the side of idealism, Saturday Church lives up to the promise of musical theater, where we come to be filled with wonder at the triple threats as well as the message. It presents love as transformative but grounded in reality, disrupting false dichotomies of faith and identity. Bring lots of tissues and a friend, so you can tell them “I LOVE YOU!!!!”
Saturday Church runs at New York Theatre Workshop through October 19, 2025. Tickets are available at nytw.org/show/saturday-church/tickets.
