Matilda The musical: Is Matilda the Musical Supposed to Be This Good?
Listen to the full episode here:
Theater used to mean quiet plays, soft lights, and one bored actor pretending to cry. Not anymore. Now it's loud music, fast dances, and 14 kids running wild on stage. Community theaters are doing full musicals with no budget, no sleep, and no one getting paid.
And somehow, it works. Matilda the Musical at Gaslight-Baker Theatre is the perfect example. It's bold, messy, funny, and might cause minor emotional damage in the best way.
At the heart of this madness is Beth James, the brave (or cursed) soul directing the whole thing. She's fixing lights, managing kids, and acting like it's fine.And the Wormwoods? Total chaos. Fake glam, real delusion, Jack Baziuk and Savannah Cervantez bring them to life with hilarious energy. Savannah also handles the music, somehow teaching 30 people to sing without screaming.
Cynthia Cruser, fully in character as Miss Trunchbull, shouts like a gym coach with rage issues in a short but unforgettable cameo. Xander Bien choreographed dances after teaching English all day now that’s dedication.
You'll learn about the cast and crew who brought this beast to life in this article. You'll see how they cast too many kids, built crazy sets, survived tech week, and somehow made magic. You'll hear from the director, the musical boss, the dance boss, and some parents who probably need naps.
How Matilda the Musical Almost Exploded but the Director Stayed Cool
Beth James, director of Matilda the Musical, clearly enjoys pain. Why else would she direct a show with 14 kids, unpaid adults, and lights that flash like a haunted disco?
First, Who the Hell Is She?
Beth directed many plays, including 9 to 5, Misery, and Harvey. She lives at the theater. She moved from San Marcos to San Antonio and got pulled into the Gaslight-Baker Theatre after someone saw she could direct without crying.
Why Pick Matilda?
She wanted to do it years ago, but another theater snatched it. This year, she finally got her shot. She ditched cheap light tricks and chose real "in-your-face" magic. Think glitter, chaos, and sets that scream "Roald Dahl on acid."
Casting Chaos
69 kids auditioned
14 made the cast
The script only needed 9, but Beth kept extras because she "couldn't say no."
She broke 55 little hearts and said, "But look how colorful the set is!"
Some kids came from Austin, San Antonio, and Kyle. Others were locals. One even gets stage-bullied by his real mom, who plays Miss Trunchbull. Therapy, aisle three.
All-Volunteer Mayhem
Nobody gets paid. Not the actors. Not the musicians. Not even Beth, who's pulling 12 jobs and fixing lights at midnight. Sometimes 100 people audition, but only one person shows up to move props. Guess who has to smile anyway? Yep. Beth.
Live Band or Bust
They've got an 8-piece live band. Real instruments. Real humans. Real chaos. The kids even have a monitor to follow the music director's cues, like tiny Broadway pros.
What's Beth scared of? Lighting glitches and missed cues.
What's she pumped for? A full house laughing, clapping, and realizing these kids are good.
Go watch it. Laugh. Tip. Then send wine.
Why Do the Wormwoods Think Matilda the Musical Is About Them?
Meet Harry and Zinnia Wormwood: proud parents, fashion disasters, and walking proof that anyone can raise a genius by accident.
Fame? Of course, they saw it coming
Zinnia said it best; she always knew she'd be famous. Just thought it'd be from ballroom dancing, not parental failure. She's still salty that she didn't make Dancing with the Stars.
Apparently, Ilhan Omar stole her spotlight. Harry? He's thrilled to run Wormwood Motors in Spain, where no one checks the fine print.
Parenting style? Absolute chaos with glitter
They claim they "took parenting seriously."
Translation: They insulted their kid's brain and shipped her off like unwanted Amazon furniture.
Did Matilda want to leave? Yes.
Did they fight to keep her? Not even a little.
Do they think they're the heroes? 100%.
They now live their best lives in Spain, where Harry naps and Zinnia ogles Rodolfo's abs. Rodolfo, by the way, is "just a dance partner." Sure. And tequila's just juice.
Netflix ruined their story (according to them)
The Wormwoods are furious. The Netflix version barely gave them screen time. Zinnia was cut entirely. Harry showed up just long enough to be shady. In their words, it's "the worst version ever." Justice for the Wormwoods, anyone? No? Thought so.
Internet fame and TikTok glory
They've become Halloween costumes, meme material, and TikTok sounds. Do they love it? Obviously. Zinnia calls herself a "woman of culture." Harry's just glad people know his name even if they spell it wrong.
Final message to Matilda?
After all that drama, all that glitter, and one child raising herself, their heartfelt message was:
"I'm sure you're enjoying your success."
Wow. Warm fuzzies all around. Parents of the year, folks. Buy them a trophy made of guilt.
Matilda the Musical Has Harmonies and Headaches, Says the Musical Director
Let's meet the musical director, who also plays Mrs. Wormwood. She sings, she teaches, she probably cries in her car. A lot.
So, Who Is This Human Superwoman?
She plays Mrs. Wormwood, the hair-dye-obsessed, book-hating mom who thinks lipstick > literacy.
She also trains every cast member to sing like their lives depend on it. Which, in this show, they kind of do.
And she doesn't just wave her hands and shout "Louder!" No, no. She breaks down harmonies, fixes vowels, and deals with the fact that Texans don't open their damn mouths when they sing.
Tag Team Music Mayhem
Luckily, she's not doing it all alone. Ben Cook, the band director, handles the instruments while she focuses on vocals. Together, they make music magic happen. She's been teaching kids music for ten years, so she knows how to wrangle chaos. Still, this cast, almost 30 people, is her biggest yet.
Cast breakdown:
12 little kids
5 or 6 "middle-aged" kids (weird label, but okay)
12 adults with surprisingly decent pitch
Herding Cats with Sheet Music
The challenge? Experience varies. Adults pick it up quickly. Kids? Not so much.
So she has to repeat, repeat, and repeat again, without boring the grown-ups to death. She splits the group, runs separate practices, and somehow still hears when one kid sings like a dying goose. It's impressive.
Is Opening Night Ready?
Almost. She says they're tired, but the magic is real. Even the cast freaks out when they see the stage effects. Audience energy will push them through.
But she warns: get your tickets now.
This thing's hotter than a middle school cafeteria on nacho day. If you wait too long, Grandma will beat you to it. And she bites. So yeah. Come see the damn show.
Miss Trunchbull Thinks Matilda the Musical Is Her Personal Boot Camp
Interviewing Miss Trunchbull is like poking a bear with a sharp stick while it's bench-pressing children.
Right out of the gate, she screamed, "GET OUT OF MY FACE!" So yes, a lovely warm welcome from everyone's favorite child-tossing headmistress. She didn't even wait for the question.
Just roared, accused people of being from "the authorities," and shouted "GET OUT OF MY SCHOOL!" with the energy of a drill sergeant who hasn't had lunch.
Key Takeaways (before we ran for our lives):
She does not like guests or cameras or kindness.
She assumes everyone is a cop.
She barks and dances like she's training for war, not musical theater.
She might actually live at the gym. Or in a prison.
There were no answers. No reflection. Just shouting, stomping, and a dance count so aggressive, it felt like cardio from hell.
Would we interview her again? No. Absolutely not. We barely survived the first attempt.
But should you come watch her throw fictional children across the stage like dodgeballs?
Oh, absolutely.
She's terrifying. She's hilarious. She's the reason Matilda feels like a musical and a hostage situation in one. Don't miss it. And don't make eye contact.
Matilda the Musical Dances Because the Choreographer Said So
Xander Bien isn't just a choreographer. Xander is also a high school teacher. So naturally, when someone said, "Want to choreograph a full-blown musical with 15 kids, unpaid?" Xander said, "Sure. Sounds relaxing."
From Skateboard Dumb Trick to Dance Dictator
Xander first showed up in 9 to 5, did a tiny role, and danced well enough to catch the director's eye. Next thing you know, they were hired to choreograph Matilda. Lesson: Never dance too well if you want free time.
They started prepping a year ago. Not kidding. By February, they were locked in a room, listening to Revolting Children 700 times while dancing in front of a mirror like a sleep-deprived raccoon.
Dance Skills: Real, Not Pretend
Started dancing at age 5
Did ballet, hip-hop, jazz, tap, all the dance flavors
Taught tiny kids in college
Also teaches English to high schoolers (yes, and does grammar for fun)
They never planned to choreograph a musical. But here they are, making small humans twirl in sync without punching each other.
The Real Challenge: Space and Sanity
Choreographing sounds glamorous until you realize:
The stage is small
Kids are loud
Half your moves don't fit the set
And the other half confuses the cast
So they had to simplify, change, and panic, all while pretending it was "part of the process."
Why Do It?
Because art. And madness. And because theater people get weird joy from torturing themselves for applause. No one's getting paid. But they're all in, sweaty, stressed, and somehow smiling. So come see the damn show. Laugh. Clap. And maybe Venmo someone a coffee. They earned it.
CONCLUSION:
Look, Matilda the Musical isn't just some fluffy-ass community play. It's a goddamn miracle that a bunch of unpaid people managed to pull off this crazy circus.
These poor souls gave up sleep, sanity, and probably some friendships to make something so damn good you'll forget it's volunteer theater.
Watching this show is like seeing a glitter bomb explode on a chaotic playground. You've got kids running wild, adults barely holding it together, and a director who looks like she's been surviving on caffeine and sheer stubbornness.
The truth? Theater isn't about fancy costumes or perfect lines. It's about sweat, panic, and the kind of magic that hits you right in the guts.
These folks do it because they love it, not because someone's throwing cash at them. So, show some damn respect. Go laugh, cheer, and if you can, throw a few bucks their way. They deserve it.
Because at the end of the day, this messy, loud, slightly insane show reminds us all why we need art: to remind us we're human, flawed, and perfectly fucked up. And that's beautiful.
