Regional premiere of ‘Ride the Cyclone’ is a bumpy but thrilling musical journey

If you don’t like what’s happening in Ride the Cyclone, just wait a minute. Much like Colorado weather, the show will shift drastically — and frequently. That ever-changing energy, paired with genre-hopping musical numbers and strong direction by first-time director Jennifer Schmitz, is exactly what makes this musical tick.

Now playing at Vintage Theatre through June 8, Ride the Cyclone is a scrappy, strange and sometimes stunning musical that embraces the weird with open arms. Though largely unknown to mainstream audiences, Ride the Cyclone has developed a cult following among younger theatre fans, especially on TikTok, where clips of its musical numbers have gone viral and helped propel its popularity far beyond its Canadian origins.

The plot follows six teenagers: Ocean, Constance, Jane Doe, Mischa, Ricky and Noel, who die in a freak roller coaster accident and are given a chance to plead their case for a second shot at life through song and dance. A sentient fortune-telling machine named Karnak judges their worth.

Yes, it’s as bizarre as it sounds. Think of it as Willy Wonka meets The Addams Family with the irreverence of something you might see in a late-night Fringe Festival performance. And Vintage’s regional premiere mostly succeeds in capturing that tone, even if a few sections feel more like a rickety kiddie ride than a thrill coaster.

A carnival of chaos and style

The show benefits from a strong visual and conceptual approach. Schmitz and her design team — lighting designer Emily Maddox and sound designer Russ Kirby, in particular — create a vivid, immersive world.

The Nickelson Auditorium is transformed into an eerie, abandoned carnival space that feels simultaneously decayed and alive. As you enter, ambient carnival sounds fill the air, giving the impression you’ve wandered into a haunted attraction where something has gone deeply wrong.

Smoke pours across the stage, lights shift dramatically from sequence to sequence and the immersive pre-show soundscape of distant carnival rides sets the tone before the first line is even delivered.

The musical itself is a showcase of stylistic whiplash: Each character gets their moment in the spotlight through a number that reflects their personality and worldview. One minute, the show is delivering Soviet-style rap; the next, it’s launching into an operatic jazz ballad about decapitation. If you don’t like the current vibe, another will arrive in less than five minutes.

That kaleidoscopic quality is both a strength and a challenge for music director Jerimiah Otto and the company. When it works, it’s thrilling. When it doesn’t, it can feel like the emotional throughline has been completely derailed.

The cast, overall, is game for the demands of the show, but the vocal performances are a mixed bag. There are a fair number of cracked notes, dropped sustains and moments where a lack of confidence undermines otherwise well-staged scenes.

A mixed bag of performances

That inconsistency is most noticeable in some of the show’s early moments. Laila Aniyah, in the role of Ocean O’Connell Rosenberg, has the first solo, “What the World Needs,” a sharp, satirical number meant to establish her as a take-no-prisoners overachiever. But Aniyah’s performance lacks the stage presence to sell the character’s biting edge. Ocean is supposed to be a commanding force, a Heather Chandler-style queen bee, but without the necessary swagger the role demands from Aniyah, her dominance over the group never quite feels earned.

Isaac Dechtman fares better as Ricky Potts, the previously mute teen whose fantasy life about sexy space cats bursts forth in “Space Age Bachelor Man,” a technicolor glam rock sequence. He commits to the character’s dreamy detachment, but his vocals don’t quite soar as needed, leaving the number more tepid than transcendent.

Similarly, Samuel Wersch brings strong physicality to Noel Gruber, a drama-loving loner with a flair for French decadence, but his voice wobbles at key moments in his solo, “Noel’s Lament,” which undercuts the number’s theatrical punch.

The strongest performances come from Megan Schraeder, Sabrina Patten and Silas Vazquez, who each bring distinct energy, humor and emotional clarity to their characters.

Schraeder, as the affable and long-overlooked Constance, is the show’s emotional core. Her vocals are steady and resonant, and she delivers one of the most satisfying arcs of the night, transforming from shy sidekick to someone who finds self-worth on her own terms. Schraeder has a natural comedic touch and grounds her performance in authenticity. It’s a standout turn and Schraeder’s voice shines in her solo, “Jawbreaker.”

Patten’s Jane Doe, a haunting figure who was decapitated in the crash and never identified, is magnetic in every moment. Her showpiece, “The Ballad of Jane Doe,” is chilling and technically impressive, complete with light-up umbrella choreography and a jazz-inflected belt that chills. Her comedic timing also shines — she’s unsettling and hilarious in equal measure.

And then there’s Vazquez, a charismatic powerhouse as Mischa, the tough-but-tender Ukrainian. Vazquez brings both humor and heart to the character. Their performance radiates charm, and they fully embrace the role’s contradictions — one minute posturing with aggressive bravado, the next softly singing about love and vulnerability.

While not quite a standout, Daevon Robinson’s portrayal of the animatronic fortune teller Karnak is serviceable. The role calls for a combination of menace, deadpan wit and omniscient presence, but Robinson’s approach is so restrained that it barely registers, and Karnak’s jokes frequently land with a thud due to Robinson’s mechanical stiffness in delivering his lines.

Weirdness wins

That said, the ensemble’s energy is undeniable. Carrie Colton’s choreography is full of TikTok-style punch and youthful chaos, and Schmitz keeps the pace tight throughout the show’s 90-minute runtime. There’s a sense of joyful experimentation in the staging — each number feels like its own short story, vividly told through shifting visual languages and musical genres.

That variety could easily have made the show feel disjointed, but Schmitz holds it together by rooting every choice in character. Even when the production wobbles vocally, it rarely loses its sense of emotional grounding. The strongest scenes are the quietest ones, where we glimpse each teen’s longing — for love, legacy or simply to be seen. These moments cut through the camp and chaos with surprising clarity.

Despite its rough patches, this is exactly the kind of show that smaller companies like Vintage should be producing: ambitious, weird and unafraid to alienate more conservative audiences.

It’s not a glossy crowd-pleaser, and that’s the point. This musical will never play the Buell, Arvada Center or probably even the Aurora Fox just up the road, and it probably shouldn’t.

But for those looking to see something new, quirky and packed with heart, Ride the Cyclone is well worth the ticket.