The second annual Frederick Pride Parade was held in the streets of downtown Frederick, Md. on Friday, June 26.

(Washington Blade photos by Michael Key)

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‘Please Underestimate Me’
Through July 12
Olney Theatre Center
at Mulitz-Gudelsky Theatre Lab
2001 Olney-Sandy Spring Rd.
Olney, Md.
$47-$101
Olneytheatre.org

Carla Hall gained celebrity status from Bravo TV’s “Top Chef.” She was funny and fun, and with her kooky signature catch phrase “Hooty hoo” and the southern-inspired recipes she lovingly cooked, Hall stood out in a kitchen crammed with contestants. 

Now the D.C.-based Hall is taking revisiting her earliest love with the world premiere of her solo show “Please Underestimate Me,” currently running at Olney Theatre Center’s intimate and revamped Mulitz-Gudelsky Theatre Lab. 

In the 90-minute piece (written by Hall, Lori Kaye, and Kaye’s partner Leslie Thomas; and directed by Lili-Anne Brown), Hall leads with food but quickly swerves into her personal and other aspects of her professional life. Built around an immersive fictional TV cooking show, her new play draws on experiences from her seven seasons (2011-2019) co-hosting cooking/chat show “The Chew”an ABC daytime proving ground, and her heady years on “Top Chef.” (2008, 2010). 

Born and raised in Nashville, Hall wanted to attend Boston University to major in theater, but was rejected. Instead, she went to Howard University at her mother’s urging, where she ultimately majored in accounting. After graduating in 1986, she donned a bespoke business suit and briefly worked as a CPA for Price Waterhouse. 

Business wasn’t for Hall. Tall and slender, she walked the runways in Paris for a while before ultimately finding her niche as a chef. Cooking seemed to come from her heart, something she learned from her grandmother who not incidentally bankrolled Hall’s way through culinary school.  

Now she’s bringing the vibrancy and good humor that made her a “Top Chef” fan favorite and a popular TV host to the stage with “Please Underestimate Me.” 

WASHINGTON BLADE: You seem a natural live performer. Were at all you nervous about doing this? 

CARLA HALL: Anytime you step outside of what you’re known for you have to take a risk and make it happen. I’d been working on this the idea for seven years. I decided that I really wanted to do a variety show and really wanted to step back into my original love of theater. 

I didn’t know what that looked like so I was asking a lot of people, actors and friends, about how to break into it. Can they see me as more than a chef? So, I told my agency to book me for voice overs, cameo roles. I got an acting coach and I was seeing a lot of single person shows. I literally embodied the thing that I wanted.

BLADE: Have you always been a vocal and public ally of the queer community?

HALL: For me, it’s natural. I came from the theater and dance world. I have a lot of gay and queer friends. 

There’s something about people being gay and queer that goes with a need to be authentic to yourself. I think that’s why you find a lot of queer people in the arts. Dare to be you. Dare to be different, right? I like that. 

BLADE: Long ago, I remember stopping by a Safeway in Wheaton to grab a sheet cake for a party. Your second or first episode of “Top Chef” had just aired. I wanted to yell “Hooty hoo” across the aisles, but was too shy. 

CARLA HALL: My catering kitchen was near that Safeway.You should have yelled. I’d have given you a hug. I’ll hug almost anyone. 

BLADE: Thanks. I think. You hear actors saying there’s nothing quite like TV fame because you’re invited into people’s living rooms. What were those days like when you started being recognized?

HALL: I like people. I tell Matthew [Matthew Lyons, Hall’s husband of 20 years], when fans say hello it’s my chance to get to learn about them. I owe them a lot; without them I wouldn’t be working.

BLADE: At Olney, Lauren M. Nichols’ surprise-filled set and Kelly Colburn’s projections of your personal snapshots from over the years are really wonderful. 

HALL: It becomes really emotional. At the end of the show, I see 12-year-old me. I’m looking at that girl, and they did a put a little crown on my head, and I’m living her dream 50 years later.

BLADE: Is the pace hard?

HALL: Seven shows a week isn’t easy. I used to say “Top Chef” was my most grueling experience…well, that was before I did this. 

BLADE: And is it gratifying?

HALL: At the end of the day, yes. Look, this play is filled with personal highs and lows and emotionally it’s exhausting. It’s also rewarding. Two weeks before the show started, I wasn’t sure I could do this. 

BLADE: But of course, you are doing it. And you’re doing it so well. 

HALL: A while back, I reached out to the executive producer of “The Chew” and thanked him for being the messenger of my lessons. Without those experiences I wouldn’t be here now doing “Please Underestimate Me.” My confidence has definitely grown. I’m a firm believer that everything that happens to you is for you. 

There’s something about horror films that makes them particularly apt as a vehicle for allegory. Vampires, zombies, ghosts, or seemingly death-proof serial killers can all easily be seen as metaphors for some lurking threat from the “dark side” of our own collective psyche, and stories about them are almost always cautionary tales that remind us that it’s the “dark side” of our own nature that we must confront in order for the danger to be eliminated.

This subtext has always been present in the genre, of course; but with the so-called “renaissance” of horror cinema that has taken place across the past decade or so, modern filmmakers in the genre have made increasingly bold choices with regard to how “sub” it is. “Get Out” or “Sinners” need no explanation to get across their allegorical points about racism, nor does “The Substance” require an expert to recognize its satirical observations about the toxic cultural obsession with youth and beauty. These are movies that wear their proverbial hearts on their sleeves, instead of masking them behind layers of cliched and “coded” plot tropes.

The same can definitely be said of “Leviticus,” the debut feature from Australian writer/director Adrian Chiarella, which not only hinges on a conceit that has obvious associations with its not-so-hidden themes but tips off the whole thing by its very choice of title – a reference to the Old Testament book frequently cited by fundamentalist bigots as so-called proof of God’s condemnation of homosexuality, which sets up exactly what we are in for before the opening credits even begin to roll.

Set in a conservative rural town (in the Australian state of Victoria, though it will feel distinctly familiar to anyone who grew up in similar communities anywhere else in the world), it centers on Naim (Joe Bird), a teen boy newly transplanted by his mother (Mia Wasikowska) – who has ties to a fundamentalist Christian enclave there – after the death of his father. Their new life – like seemingly everything else in the community – is tied directly to the church, which makes it doubly inconvenient when Ryan (Stacy Clausen), son of the town’s presiding preacher, invites him for an after-school “hangout” which leads to a furtive make-out session in the town’s deserted mill. 

Though the boys promise each other to keep it secret, they are both soon “outed” to their parents and subjected to a ritual performed by a mysterious “deliverance healer” (Nicholas Hope), intended to “protect” them from their “sinful” impulses. Soon after, a series of mysterious and violent encounters lead them to investigate local rumors around incidents involving other local teens – and the revelation that the ritual has summoned a malevolent entity, which appears to them as the person they are most attracted to (in this case, each other) and unleashes its murderous wrath when they give in to temptation. Their only chance of staying safe is to stay apart – unless they can find a way to defeat the supernatural force that has been turned loose against them.

Yes, it’s all very obvious. There is no attempt to mask what Chiarella’s movie is really about, though the word itself – like the biblical book with which it shares a title – is never spoken aloud in the film. It’s hardly a spoiler, though, to confirm that “Leviticus” is a story about homophobia. From its obvious evocation of real-life “conversion therapy” to its more subtle exploration of the secrecy and social shaming that surrounds same-sex love for so many teens growing up in an environment of fundamentalist religious tradition, every nuance of the film’s ingenious premise announces the clear intent of its messaging: homophobia is the true evil at work here, and its deadly power lies in its ability to make queer people afraid of being who they are.

While some might argue that presenting such an “on the nose” allegory in what is ostensibly “just” a horror film is a heavy-handed choice, we suggest – in this case, at least – that it’s exactly what makes the movie work so effectively.

From the very first scenes (after a prologue that ominously hints at the arcane evil that will soon come into play), we are invested in Naim and Ryan, whose tentative-but-joyous afternoon tryst is bound to trigger our own individual memories of adolescent sexual awakening, and whom we hope will be able to navigate their way through to the other side – even before the introduction of supernatural hate demons being summoned to kill them by using their own feelings for each other as a trap. They’re almost a definitive queer “coming of age” archetype, echoing generations of treasured “first time” memories and “what if“ fantasies about what might have been; we want them to be together, to overcome the otherworldly forces deployed to keep them apart – and when their romance is distorted, inverting their natural attraction into fear and mistrust, it’s their own inability to resist the pull they feel toward each other that continues to put them in danger.

That emotional stake is the anchor of “Leviticus,” which lends an imperative to what might otherwise be a campy B-movie thriller and turns it into a genuinely engaging – and therefore terrifying – supernatural drama that is all the more powerful for playing to our hearts. Much of this effect hinges on the chemistry between its two young stars (which hits just the right pitch between irresistible hormonal urge and inseparable soul connection), but it’s also underscored by the irony of their being immersed within a culture that would rather destroy them than allow them to exist outside its traditional norms.

Nevertheless, while “Leviticus” succeeds by making us identify with its cult-crossed teenage lovers, it pays off by delivering not just a genuinely unsettling, profoundly disturbing, and unflinchingly brutal personification of religious bigotry at its most cruelly hateful, but by providing a tense and terrifying horror scenario that works on a pure “genre” level. Simply put, even setting aside any wider subtext about the deadly consequences of homophobia, it’s a creepy, nerve-wracking ride.

A critical hit as part of the Sundance Festival’s “Midnight” section earlier this year, “Leviticus” went into theatrical release on June 19, the latest in a continuing trend of fresh and inventive films that has elevated the horror movie to new levels of critical appreciation. For us, it’s worth singling out as a boldly original expression of queer experience, elegantly constructed from the reinterpreted formulas of a genre that has always had particular draw for those in our community who knew how to read between the lines.

The difference is, this time we don’t have to – the message is spelled out loud and clear, and that in itself is enough to make it feel a little bit like empowerment, at a time when we could all use as much of it as we can get.