Booked & Scene

SpeakEasy Stage’s Lizard Boy tells the tale of Trevor, a man living with green scales after a childhood incident involving dragon blood. Haunted by his past and isolated from the world, he finds himself on a first date with Cary, an unexpected connection that begins to change how he sees himself and his place in the world. Along the way, the mysterious Siren enters the picture, blurring the line between fantasy and reality as Trevor discovers what it means to embrace his own uniqueness. Directed by Lyndsay Allyn Cox, the story unfolds through a mix of humor, heart, and indie rock music that invites audiences into Trevor’s journey of self-discovery and acceptance.

It’s Not Easy Being Green 

Keiji Ishiguri brings depth to Trevor, both as the show’s narrator and emotional anchor. His performance captures Trevor’s anxious and self-deprecating nature while still making him lovable and relatable. Keiji’s delivery of “Things I Worry About” stands out for how earnestly it taps into Trevor’s inner monologue. His musicality is also a strong point, switching seamlessly between cello and guitar while weaving his narration through the music. The “Recess” retelling, performed with the full cast, is a highlight that balances trauma and playfulness beautifully. 

Cary-ing the Show

Peter DiMaggio is the clear standout of this production as Cary. From the moment he appears, his charisma fills the stage. His ability to act, sing, beatbox, and play multiple instruments, sometimes all at once, is extraordinary. “Cary’s Song” is a showstopper that blends humor and vulnerability, giving the audience a glimpse into who Cary really is beneath the sarcasm. His chemistry with both Keiji and Chelsie feels natural and nuanced, and his comedic timing lands every single time. What is most impressive is how he evolves Cary from a Grindr hookup into someone genuinely caring and complex. Peter delivers a performance that is both hilarious and heartfelt, and his musicianship is exceptional. I’ve seen Peter in numerous pieces of theater now and he continues to be a rising star in the New England theater scene and one to absolutely continue to watch as he grows. 

Sound the Siren 

Chelsie Nectow is a powerhouse as Siren. Her stage presence is magnetic, and her vocals are absolutely electric. She commands attention from her first entrance and keeps it throughout, especially during “A Terrible Ride,” where her mix of menace and charm is irresistible. Chelsie also shines in her inventive musicianship, including a clever moment where she uses a guitar case as percussion. Her comedic instincts are sharp, and she balances the character’s chaotic energy with moments of surprising vulnerability. As the only woman in the trio, she brings fierce energy and depth, holding her own effortlessly and making Siren both captivating and unpredictable.

A Harmony of Heart & Humor

This show is fast, funny, and heartfelt, keeping you hooked from start to finish. At a crisp 90 minutes, there is never a lull. The staging by Lyndsay Allyn Cox is creative, especially in how instruments are passed among the cast. It feels fluid and intentional, almost like choreography. One especially memorable image is when Chelsie lifts the guitar from Keiji and hands it to Peter, a small gesture that visually mirrors the connection between the characters. The ensemble chemistry is excellent, and it is clear that a sense of trust was built in rehearsal, especially during the more intimate moments, thanks to intimacy choreography by Shira Helena Gitlin.

Scales That Need Polishing

The biggest challenge lies in the tone and target audience of the piece itself. While it begins with a Grindr date, much of the humor and dialogue feels written for a younger audience, almost like a story that might resonate most with teenagers or college-age young adults who are still figuring out who they are. It sits in a bit of a strange middle ground: too mature for kids given the sexual references and emotional complexity, but a bit too surface-level for older adults who are looking for deeper nuance. Because of that, it can be hard to know exactly who the show is speaking to. The combination of real-world references like Grindr and the fantastical lore of dragon blood and scales adds to that confusion. The message about self-acceptance and embracing who you are is important, but by the end it feels a bit overstated, almost as if the show doesn’t fully trust the audience to get it.

Technically, the lighting design detracted from the experience. There were several times when the actors were poorly lit, partially hidden by shadows, or missing their light entirely. Some cues were late, which broke the rhythm of key moments, and the repeated use of bright spotlights pointed directly into the audience was more distracting than effective.

Finally, the physical portrayal of Trevor as the “lizard boy” didn’t land. The makeup and costuming choices felt minimal, with only a few green scales along his temple, arms and legs. Since Trevor spends much of the show singing about how different he is and how hard it is to live in his skin, the visuals didn’t support that feeling of otherness. The green makeup also appeared to be smudging and running down his face under the lights, which unfortunately made it look less like scales and more like melting face paint. It weakened the impact of his identity struggle, which is central to the story. With a more deliberate design choice, something that more visually emphasizes the idea of being marked or visibly “other”, his self acceptance could have felt much more powerful.

Final Molt

Lizard Boy is a refreshing and offbeat addition to the Boston theater scene, offering something genuinely different. It is quirky, heartfelt, and full of talent, anchored by three incredibly skilled performers who sing, act, and play their hearts out. Even if the story itself does not land perfectly for everyone, the performances absolutely do. You may leave unsure how you feel about dragons and destiny, but you will definitely leave talking about how impressive this trio is. Lizard Boy runs through November 22. 

📸: Benjamin Rose Photography