A Brilliantly Chaotic Celebration of Queer Identity
There’s something special about a show that doesn’t just tell a story but invites you in, makes you feel part of something. A Divine Comedy, performed by Sam Buttery alongside two other fantastic actors, is exactly that—a funny, chaotic, and deeply personal tribute to Harris Glenn Milstead, better known as Divine. It’s a mix of biopic and autofiction, blending truth with performance, and it thrives in that space between reality and storytelling. This isn’t a neatly polished West End production, and that’s precisely why it works. It’s messy, loud, and full of heart—just like Divine.
With only three performers, the show feels intimate in a way bigger productions often don’t. Buttery is brilliant, carrying the piece with a mix of charm, mischief, and vulnerability, but the other two cast members bring just as much to the table. Their comedic timing is razor-sharp, and the chemistry between them all makes every scene feel alive. The fact that this is a work-in-progress performance only adds to the fun—when things don’t go quite to plan, the cast leans into it, making those moments even funnier. Whether it’s a slight stumble over words or a moment of unexpected laughter, they embrace it, and it just makes the characters feel even more real and enjoyable.
Comedy is at the heart of the show, but underneath all the laughs, there’s something deeper. The music, the storytelling, the personal moments—it’s all about self-acceptance, about being as honest with yourself as you dare to be. There’s strong trans representation both in the cast and in the stories being told, and that feels important. A Divine Comedy isn’t just about Divine as an individual; it’s about what he represents—fearless self-expression, pushing boundaries, and making space for the next generation of queer artists.
What really stood out was the feeling that this performance was unique. The work-in-progress nature of the show only added to that—it wasn’t overly rehearsed or predictable, which made it even more engaging. It felt like a conversation rather than a scripted performance, and that kind of authenticity is rare.
Ultimately, A Divine Comedy is a celebration—of Divine, of queer resilience, of storytelling itself. It’s loud, ridiculous, and packed with personality, proving that the best theatre isn’t always the most polished—it’s the stuff that makes you feel something.