The sheer volume of Glee alum on the stages of New York City keeps growing by the day, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy considering that show’s focus on the city, especially in seasons 4 and 5. McKinley graduate Heather Morris, one half of iconic TV couple Brittana, showcases her immaculate interpretive dance moves in TikTok friendly, 11 to Midnight. This is an off-Broadway engagement that will probably work best for the teenage bracket. Though I was definitely not in that target audience, there’s a special magic in experiencing the sheer energy and vibes that each of these individual performers bring to the stage. That intense energy grows admittedly exhausting by the halfway mark. By the time we get to a cell-phone lit staging of “digital Jesus,” it was hard not to check out. 11 to Midnight is less a full-scale show and more of a tightly choreographed Broadway dance party, both for better and for worse.
Conceived and fully choreographed by viral TikTok duo Cost ‘n’ Mayor (Austin & Marideth Telenko), 11 to Midnight hides nothing about its intentions. The experience feels immersive from when you step into the ancient Orpheum Theater, from the Post-Its everywhere in the auditorium, to the hallways lined with tacky decor that recalls a bachelorette party. Even in the minutes leading up to beginning of the show, a few of the dancers came out to interact with the audience. They chose one person to come onstage with them to learn a dance move that would become important to re-teach later in the show. Audience interaction continues throughout, and in fact, is encouraged. This is the only show I’ve seen that allows both non-flash photography and video recording, albeit sparingly.
The incredibly thin storyline pretty much goes as follows: a couple faces trials and tribulations at a New Year’s Eve apartment party in the minutes leading up to midnight, surrounded by some friends who added a much-needed burst of personality to the proceedings. These character’s names should be the first red flag when it comes to depth. Austin and Marideth play “The Husband” and “The Wife;” His Cousin (Melissa Becraft), His Single Friend (Tyson Hill), Her Former Roommate (Morris), Her Friend From Work (Kati Simon), and Our Famous Friend (Ache Richardson) round out the cast. Unfortunately, these monikers are pretty much the extent of development. By the end of the mercifully quick hour-and-ten-minute runtime, very little has changed. It’s hard to garner genuine emotion without real names, or any type of interactions that don’t feel generic or overly simplistic. Connecting to the material may be easier for a younger audience. The quick vignette style, punctuated by a bizarre mixture of nostalgic 90s references clashing against modern tunes, feels tailor-made for the TikTok crowd. For this viewer, rarely do these elements gel into a cohesive whole.
Another rather distracting part of the show: imaginary props and campy sound bites for nearly every interaction. This can be as silly and superfluous as clinking together two invisible wine glasses, and as serious as the obnoxious creaks of an engagement ring case, also invisible. That is made all the stranger by the fact that there are actual real props mixed in with the nonexistent ones. Rather than commit to the no-prop decision, the show attempts to have its cake and eat it too. It was a puzzling decision that makes little sense. Set design, though minimal, is pretty fun, with various bits and bobs being illuminated, or book shelves acting as the ticking hands of a clock counting down. Some characters (not all) receive one-note New Years Eve resolutions that they put in post-its; those selected get to fulfill their destiny of sorts—this is a great concept in theory. In execution? Not so much.
Thankfully, the dance element is nearly flawless, making major strides to account for the lack of story and character texture. Group choreography remains tight and seamless throughout, while the solo ones are more distinct. It’s hard to shake the feeling of pretentiousness from a wide swath of interpretive dance; however, that might just be a personal preference issue. Morris feels right at home in this dance world, albeit far removed from her scene-stealing Brittany S. Pierce persona in Glee. Overall, 11 to Midnight is a very mixed bag. The dancing is fun, the high-strung energy a little much at times, and the characters incredibly threadbare. The performers try their darndest to sell the material, but there’s little meat on the show’s proverbial bones. If you’re looking to watch a Glee alum on stage, there are far better options on Broadway right now. However, younger kids might have a blast here, and prefer the freestyle party angle uniqueness of 11 to Midnight.
11 to Midnight dances through time, now playing performances at the Historic Orpheum Theater. For ticketing information, please head over to the official website.
