he will cut you in the name of Jesus.
My first memory of Bon Qui Qui was the same as every other pre-teen navigating middle school in 2007. Anjelah Johnson’s mouthy, gold nailed King Burger character debuted in her MADtv sketch on YouTube and I, along with my peers, thought it was possibly the most hilarious thing ever to grace the Internet.
I remember quoting her screeching “SACURRITY” catchphrase and attempting to imitate her voice to my friends in fits of giggles at the lunch table.
Fast forward a few years and my second memory of Bon Qui Qui was when my little sister performed the YouTube star’s sketch in her own middle school talent show — an instance that neither I nor my family will ever let her live down. (For the record, she just graduated from high school, and her dreams of performing on Broadway have thankfully replaced her preference for sketch comedy.)
The video was uploaded almost 10 years ago, and I wish I could say that Anjelah Johnson’s comedy in her show “Gold Plated Dreams” has evolved past the YouTube glory days that launched her name in the comedy world.
But it hasn’t.
Although Johnson’s stand-up carried her through the first third of the show, it was clear that the majority of the audience wanted to hear the same, recycled jokes I had already seen on YouTube shortly after Bon Qui Qui’s debut.
She recited her most well known bits, much to the middle-aged audience’s delight, including the ever-popular “Nail Salon.” I found myself wanting to laugh out of pure nostalgia, but couldn’t because I realized my craving for fresh material from someone I had admired in seventh grade would be unmet.
I will say her best stand-up bits came through when she discussed her faith and her marriage to her husband Manwell and lead musical act, underscoring the changes inherent in sharing a life with a significant other.
Her best relationship advice to Knoxville (and to me): If you’re going to play Pandora when you’re having “sexy time,” upgrade to the commercial free version.
I also praised her honesty when she stated she was both a Christian and a comedian, but must not be mistaken for “Christian comedian.” Because she will, to use her own words, “cut a ho in the name Jesus.”
Although I’ve always thought the best stand-up draws from a comedian’s life experiences, Johnson only used her stand-up days as an interlude into what became a circus performance for her loud-mouthed alter ego. Even the accompanying musical act, Group1Crew, led by Johnson’s husband, served more to hype up an already ecstatic crowd than entice them with musical talent.
While the group performed, my eyes darted between the flashing neon, bedazzled costumes, twerking dancers and the MTV-esque music videos playing on a monitor behind the band. Between the vague electronica-pop sound and the uninspired lyrics, Bon Qui Qui’s musical act fell flat with its cheesy display despite Manwell’s obvious affection for the band members and the fans.
The breaks in the musical acts were buffered with video clips of Bon Qui Qui (recently fired from her second job at a high fashion boutique) sitting in a dressing room as she filled the audience in on her life since leaving King Burger.
In what I assume was supposed to be a filler piece, a clip from a wedding ceremony showed Bon Qui Qui telling off a cheating groomsman in classic Bon Qui Qui form. The only problem was that the video cut off, forcing Manuel and his band to ad lib the dialogue in absence of the audio. While their music left me unimpressed, I could admire one thing about Group1Crew — they clearly loved working with Anjelah Johnson and stepped in to save a show’s momentum that had already derailed.
The audience’s response was, once again, undeniably electric and it easily became the most entertaining moment of the night.
It was all too soon washed away by Bon Qui Qui’s rapping persona who spent the last third of the show performing singles all inspired from the MADtv sketch that started it all.
Don’t get me wrong — giving Bon Qui Qui a record deal is admittedly a hilarious idea. But when the whole parody failed to shake any laughter out of me, it proved that the show would have been infinitely better if Johnson had relied more on her sketch comedy roots to develop her well-loved character in place of flashy dance numbers and exhausted punchlines.
When I walked out of the Bijou, grimy disappointment sank in when I realized that some acts, no matter how nostalgic, just can’t catapult beyond one-hit wonder status.
Once outside the theater, my friend Savannah and I ended up laughing about the gradual plummet of the show’s quality, and considered all the possible ways in which the performers could have spiced up their acts.
But if there’s one thing that one aisle-dancing, hip-shaking 50-year-old fan girl taught me, it’s that a show works best when a performer and audience are energized interchangeably by each other.
Johnson’s character may boil down to little more than over-the-top makeup and cheesy jokes, but her fans love her for it and refuse to forget the women who got their big break at King Burger.
