Opinion: WU Theatre’s ‘Ride the Cyclone’ was an emotional rollercoaster

The members of Uranium’s St. Cassian’s chamber choir take their last ride on the show’s titular Cyclone. Top to bottom, from left: Brayden Fanthorp (‘28), Otis Perrone (’27), Kiele Jarnagin (’27), Tabi Momeyer (’27) and Nick Zimmerman (’27). Photo courtesy of KJ Photography, taken on Oct. 30, 2025

This fall, Willamette University Theatre took on “Ride the Cyclone,” written by Jacob Richmond and Brooke Maxwell and directed by Willamette University music department’s Hannah Penn. The show has developed a cult fan base over the past couple of years, due to its darkly comedic tone and thoughtful ruminations on personal identity and the meaning of life. Both members of the cast and crew at Willamette have been fans of the show for a long time, which was evident in the effort put into this production.

“So much work went into this show. And along with that work, so much passion,” Assistant Stage Manager Cordelia Roberts (’28) said. “Because collectively, so many of us just love this show so deeply.”

This love was clear from the first glimpse of the set, a dingy amusement park that prominently featured the titular Cyclone, the large metal loops of the roller coaster track twisting around the stage. The scale was even more striking considering it was made by students. “Everything you see is built from the ground up,” Roberts said. 

The show began on the aforementioned Cyclone. All of the characters, members of a high school choir in the small Canadian town Uranium, died on the rollercoaster. 

Under the guidance of a fortune-telling machine called The Amazing Karnak, played by Pollox Geissinger (’28), the characters were offered a chance for one of them to be brought back to life. Throughout the show, each character made a case for why they should be brought back, preempted by a brief introduction and photo montage from The Amazing Karnak. 

All of the pictures used in the montages were the actors’ real childhood photos, which made the show feel more grounded. While it was clear the actors were playing heightened versions of high school archetypes, the excellent casting lent each character an emotional honesty. 

Beyond the play itself, many cast members revealed a personal connection to their character. Kiele Jarnagin (’27), who played Ocean O’Connell-Rosenburg, shared Ocean’s role as the class president, her drive and her zeal for extracurriculars, she said. Even Jane Doe, the one member of the choir left without an identity — and a head — in the accident, was given humanity by her actress, Lily Walsh (’26). 

Despite Jane Doe’s spooky presentation, with a doll head and stilted movements, Walsh played the character as someone defined by a relatable urge: her need for connection. “A lot of the comedy comes from me scaring people,” Walsh said. “But for Jane, I’m not playing things to be funny. I’m playing things in the moment. I’m trying to make this connection, and it doesn’t quite work, which reads as comedic to the audience a lot of the time.”

This balance between comedy and tragedy, the archetypical nature of many of the characters and their raw vulnerability, was what made the show so special. Over the course of the show, characters initially defined by superlatives, a quintessential part of high school identity formation, go on to understand themselves and each other as far more than that. 

Ocean is the most successful girl in town. Noel, Otis Perrone (’27), is the most romantic boy in town. Misha, Nick Zimmerman (’27), is the angriest boy in town. Ricky, Brayden Fanthorp (’28), is the most imaginative boy in town. Constance, Tabi Momeyer (’27), is the nicest girl in town. Even Jane Doe is trapped by a label, defined by her nothingness.

Ocean, the unlikeable but persistent go-getter, started the show making her case to be brought back to life in an explosion of self-congratulatory bravado that would be perfectly at home on a LinkedIn page. It was expected, an expression of an interior world that aligned with her exterior presentation. 

Noel’s song reflected on his challenge of being one of the only out gay men in his small town. He retreated into his fantasies of a world where he was better understood, where he was tragic in a dramatic way, rather than tragic via the mundane evils of a fast food job and solitary existence. His performance was lent humor by the melodrama of his fantasy, a kind of lustful naivete that comes from reading about a life you have not lived.

The theme of defining oneself beyond an archetype continued with Misha and Ricky’s songs. Misha, a Ukrainian immigrant, felt isolated and uncared for. Shackled by the confines of traditional masculinity, he turned his sadness into anger, exuding machismo as his rap star alter ego.

Ricky also dreamt of a world where he was centered, rather than sidelined. He was mute when he was alive, turning all his energy inwards and becoming consumed by science fiction. In his mind, he was a space age bachelor man, tasked with saving a race of sexy cat women on a planet called Zolar, where he was finally a hero. These songs highlighted the creativity of the characters despite the limitations of their lives.

The former characters’ songs contrasted with Jane and Constance's numbers. Jane didn't have an identity she needed to escape. She didn’t have an identity at all. Her song was the most haunting, particularly intensified by Walsh’s incredible vocal range.

Constance also reckoned with identity in her number. Long defined by her niceness, her meekness in comparison to the abrasive Ocean, in her performance, she was finally able to embrace her small town and its simple joys. “Her song is all about appreciating life and loving all the little moments and being grateful for everything,” Momeyer said of her character. “I’ve had a really similar experience with this show, just kind of learning to slow down and appreciate everything.” 

This was the concluding message of the show, the one that led Ocean to make her final choice about who was brought back to life. Since the beginning of the show, Ocean was only in it for herself. The majority of her altruistic actions were for her own ego, but as she watched the rest of the choir bond and learned more about their interiority, Ocean appeared to have a change of heart. In the end, she concluded that she’d rather do it all again than not have a life at all. 

That’s why Jane got to live. Jane, who had no sense of self or memories of a life. She got a chance to take it all, all of the pain and the joy and the messiness of life. In another show, this message could sound trite. Preachy and cliche. But in “Ride the Cyclone,” it was downright cathartic. As Jane boarded the cyclone, it felt like a triumph, not just for her but for the whole group. For the audience.

Jarnagin put the message plainly: “The world right now is in such shambles, and we're all just trying to survive and dig out of it. To be able to have a performance where the big takeaway is just to live life, I think we could all use that right now.”