By Guest Blogger, Dan Sanchez
Dan holds a BA in Theatre Production from the University of Delaware and has studied theatre around the world. Dan has worked extensively both onstage and behind the scenes across the Mid-Atlantic Region with theaters such as Three Little Bakers, The Candlelight Theatre, the Philadelphia Theatre Project, The Milburn Stone Theatre and Phoenix Festival Theater.
City Theater Company has unleashed a firecracker of a production with POTUS:
Or, Behind Every Great Dumbass Are Seven Women Trying to Keep Him Alive — a
high-octane farce that is as sharp as it is shameless, as outrageous as it is
observant. If you like your comedy fast, fearless, and laced with political
bite, take notice.
Written by Selina Fillinger — who was just 28 when the play premiered on
Broadway in 2022 under the direction of Delaware’s own five-time Tony Award-winner Susan Stroman — POTUS blends the mechanics of classic door-slamming
farce with distinctly modern feminist satire. Think Noises Off meets
HBO’s Veep, sharpened for an era hyper-aware of power, image, and the
labor women perform behind the scenes.
The inciting incident detonates in the first line. The unseen President
of the United States—never fully appearing onstage, in the grand comic
tradition of Vera from Cheers — has just referred to the First Lady using
a word that rhymes with “blunt” and begins with a “C.” It is jarring. It is
vulgar. It is wildly funny. And it sets off a chain reaction that traps seven
women inside the White House as they scramble to contain diplomatic, political,
and personal fallout.
A word of warning: if strong language offends you, this may not be your
evening at the theatre. The script is unapologetically bawdy, profane, and
occasionally gleefully lowbrow. But Fillinger’s vulgarity is not gratuitous; it
is surgical. She exposes how casually misogyny permeates political spaces, then
hands the women the verbal artillery to fight back. On opening night, the
Delaware Contemporary’s Black Box Theater shook with laughter — big, rolling
waves of it — punctuated by audible gasps that signaled a crowd fully on board.
Director Kristin Finger understands that farce is unforgiving. Timing is
oxygen. Miss a beat and the joke suffocates. Here, the pacing is crisp and
relentless. Doors fling open and slam with purpose. Physical comedy escalates
with cartoon precision. Characters ricochet through the space in tightly
choreographed chaos that never feels sloppy. Finger keeps the machine humming
at full throttle, trusting both the script and her cast to stick the landing.
And this cast delivers.
POTUS is not a star vehicle masquerading as an ensemble piece. It is a true
ensemble — seven women sharing narrative oxygen, each essential to the escalating
absurdity. The comedy works because momentum flows seamlessly among them; no
single character monopolizes the spotlight, even as individual performances
sparkle.
LaNeshe Miller White brings layered strength to Margaret, the First Lady.
White resists easy caricature, grounding the character’s frustration and
humiliation in carefully constructed public dignity while allowing flickers of
rage and razor wit to surface.
Mary Carpenter commands as Harriet, the high-strung bulldog Chief of
Staff. With crisp authority and finely calibrated exasperation and
obliviousness, Carpenter provides both the spine and the spinelessness of the
operation. Her Harriet is all damage control on the surface but simmering with
irritation and barely contained rage beneath it.
Jordan Fidalgo’s Chris, the working-mother journalist circling the chaos,
threads ambition with moral reckoning. Fidalgo balances sharp comedic beats
with an undercurrent of conscience and parental responsibility, giving the
character dimension beyond opportunism.
Heron Kennedy’s Dusty, the President’s dalliance — lips bluer than Jack
Dawson’s as Rose lets go — injects volatile unpredictability into every entrance.
Kennedy embraces the physicality and sensuality of the role, leaning into
heightened naïve absurdity while maintaining emotional clarity — a tricky balance
in farce, handled deftly here.
Jessica Jordan’s Jean, the cynical and oft-times paranoid Press
Secretary, slices through the script’s dense dialogue with razor precision. Her
verbal sparring is among the evening’s most satisfying, delivered with
confidence and immaculate timing.
Karen Getz as Bernadette, the President’s criminal sister, gleefully
detonates decorum. Getz understands exactly how far to push outrageous
sexuality and impropriety before snapping it back, mining each moment for
maximum comedic payoff.
And then there is Kelsey Hérbert as Stephanie, the President’s secretary.
In a cast operating at such a high level, it is no small feat to stand out — yet
Hérbert manages to do just that. Her Stephanie begins tentative, almost mousy,
clinging to professionalism and struggling to “take up space” in her career.
Over the course of the evening, Hérbert charts a beautifully controlled yet
chaotic arc of self-possession. Her performance is, without giving too much
away, “bloody” brilliant. She navigates slapstick, verbal dexterity, and even a
surprising operatic flourish with remarkable ease. While the production thrives
on collective strength, Hérbert’s performance lingers, an electric thread
running through the ensemble fabric.
What elevates the evening further is the chemistry among the cast. Jokes
land not in isolation but in carefully constructed cascades. One woman sets the
rhythm; another escalates it; a third detonates it. The audience on opening
night leaned forward, roaring with laughter as physical comedy tipped into
delicious absurdity. It is rare to feel a room so fully surrendered to a
production’s momentum.
If there is a minor critique to be made, it lies in the production
design. Rick Nedig’s set is functional within the confines of a black box space
but leaves much to the audience’s imagination regarding the inner workings of
the White House. Maura Owens’ costumes are serviceable yet lack the specificity
and polish one might expect from women operating at the highest levels of
political power. In a play that boldly embraces heightened reality, a more
distinctive visual palette might have amplified the theatricality. The design
never detracts from the action, but it does not quite match the ferocity of the
performances. Given the strength onstage, a bolder aesthetic frame may have
elevated the production from excellent to unforgettable.
Still, farce lives or dies on performance and pacing, and City Theater
Company triumphs where it matters most.
Importantly, POTUS is not about any single administration. The
President remains unseen—an amalgamation of ego, entitlement, and oblivious
privilege drawn from decades of political archetypes. The satire lands not
because it is partisan, but because it is systemic. The women in proximity to
power are tasked with cleaning up disasters they did not create, navigating
double standards with ingenuity and grit. The humor is broad; the commentary is
pointed.
By the final moments, what lingers is not simply the laughter but the
collective force of these seven women. They are messy, strategic, furious,
vulnerable, ambitious and very, very funny. Fillinger’s script allows them the
full spectrum of humanity, and this ensemble embraces it wholeheartedly.
City Theater Company’s POTUS runs through March 7 at The Delaware
Contemporary’s Black Box Theater. If you crave theatre that is smart, fast, and
unapologetically fun — comedy with teeth and impeccable timing — this is your
ticket. Gather your most politically savvy friends or your most chaos-loving
ones and prepare to laugh until your sides ache.
Take notice. These women aren’t just keeping the President alive (seriously, they aren’t). They’re keeping Wilmington theatre exhilarating. Visit city-theater.org to grab your tickets today.
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