Nocturnal Omissions—A Theatrical Fever Dream with Glitter, Grit, and Questionable Morals

If there’s one thing ‘Nocturnal Omissions’ does well, it’s proving that performance art can be many things—provocative, chaotic, oddly profound, and, at times, an existential crisis wrapped in a Madonna-Phantom mashup. Led by a charismatic and very good looking former porn star, Jonah Wheeler and his equally dynamic and sensual boyfriend, John Coons this show is a cocktail of raw talent, unapologetic queerness, and just the right amount of well-placed absurdity.

The duo describes themselves as a “designer drug: style and substance,” and while they certainly deliver on that promise, the side effects may vary depending on the viewer’s tolerance for off-color humor, spontaneous pit-sniffing, and intimate reflections on depression sandwiched between songs about, well, everything. One moment, the audience is being serenaded with melancholic musings on love and sorrow, and the next, they’re chanting along to a song about making out with boys. It’s a rollercoaster, and there are no seat belts.

In a particularly self-aware moment, one of them quipped, “If I had known I’d be singing dirty songs in a Mexico bar with a porn star boyfriend, I would have skipped grad school.” The irony is delicious—because despite the raunchy humor and “no standards” philosophy they cheekily declare, the level of artistry and vocal talent in this show is undeniable. If you strip away (no pun intended) the sex jokes and playful jabs at straight culture, what remains is a deeply personal and impressively theatrical performance.

But let’s be clear—this isn’t a show for the faint of heart, nor for the easily offended. References to the Bible are handled with irreverence, love songs for “faggets” (their word, not mine) are designed to make straight people squirm, and at one point, the stage turns into a makeshift Q&A session about the realities of doing porn. The experience is somewhere between a late-night cabaret, an avant-garde therapy session, and a fever dream induced by too many espresso martinis.

Despite the outrageousness, there are genuine moments of brilliance. Lines like “All the joy I give is the sadness I feel” cut through the comedy with unexpected depth, reminding the audience that beneath the glitter and chaos lies real human emotion. And in their final piece of wisdom, they urge us to “go look at the sea and find out”—perhaps a subtle invitation to reflect on our own nocturnal omissions, whatever they may be.

So, should you see ‘Nocturnal Omissions’? If you’re a Christian lady with traditional values, perhaps not. But if you’re open to an evening of electric talent, fearless storytelling, and the occasional shirtless moment, then buckle up. This show doesn’t just push boundaries—it cartwheels over them while singing about steam rooms and pits.