by James Judd
The lights come up. A rock band kicks in. Cynthia Kaplan straps on a guitar and starts dismantling thousands of years of history with jokes, power chords, and one blisteringly funny song after another.
So, what exactly is Cindy of Arc? This season, it’s one of the most unusual shows in Provincetown—a political comedy concert wrapped inside a theatrical event, 10 original rock songs deep, and built to feel less like a night at the theater than a night at a show you can’t quite categorize. As Kaplan puts it, “It’s really a comedy show with rock music.” No lecture podium, no folding chairs, no polite applause between talking points—just a band, a mic, and 65 minutes that move fast.
Kaplan isn’t doing stand-up with a backing track. She’s fusing comedy, music, and storytelling into a single narrative about the history of misogyny and patriarchy—and she’s betting that a joke will land where a lecture never could. “Comedy is a wonderfully sneaky way to deliver difficult ideas,” she says. “If people laugh, they’ve already understood the point.” The songs, she’s careful to note, aren’t interludes. “They don’t interrupt the narrative—they move it forward.”
This isn’t a show she threw together for the moment. Cindy of Arc has been road-tested for years, developed in comedy clubs and workshopped repeatedly at Naked Angels in New York. Kaplan describes the process of hearing her own writing performed for the first time as a kind of reckoning: “The first time you hear your work performed is really the first time you hear it as a writer.” Suddenly, you’re sitting in the audience thinking, “I don’t need that line. This section drags,” according to Kaplan. “Every production teaches me what works, what doesn’t, and what I need to rewrite.”
One the show’s big breaks arrived courtesy of the pandemic. With theaters shut down, Kaplan worked with director Dani Davis to hire a barn where they could safely (and spaciously) film the show. “We borrowed lights, borrowed cameras, found musicians, and everybody got tested for Covid,” Kaplan recalls. They shot the show in sections over two and a half days, and the resulting footage went on to screen at film festivals. But the awards weren’t the point. “The most valuable part wasn’t the awards. It was finally seeing the piece on its feet.”
Ask Kaplan what makes the show tick, though, and she’ll point past the script to the band. “Playing with a great band behind you is one of the greatest feelings there is,” she says. “That’s why people want to be rock stars.” Her musicians aren’t hired guns running through charts—they’re collaborators. “When another musician walks in with a riff or arrangement I never imagined, it’s thrilling.”
Why bring it to Provincetown? Kaplan doesn’t overthink the fit. “Provincetown is obviously a natural fit because it’s full of politically engaged people,” she says. Then she immediately widens the frame: “Men love the show, too. Nobody comes away feeling attacked. I honestly don’t think there’s one perfect audience.” A town fluent in cabaret, drag, and theatrical risk-taking is exactly the vibe she’s chasing. “I think Provincetown will absolutely get it.”
The title has an origin story of its own. Years ago, while designing the cover of one of Kaplan’s comedy albums, a friend Photoshopped her face into a Joan of Arc painting—horse, halo, dog trailing behind. “I looked at it and suddenly thought, Cindy of Arc,” she says. The name stuck, and over the years it’s taken on more weight than a pun. The show now ends with Kaplan recruiting the audience into an army of sorts. Not literally, but as a reminder that change requires participation—voting and showing up to demand our rights.
What she wants most is a shared experience. “Music is incredibly unifying,” she says. “I ask audiences to sing with me. I want people to leave having had a fantastic time—laughing their heads off—but also feeling energized enough to act.” She’s not shy about what that action might look like: vote, volunteer, show up. And then, because she can’t resist undercutting her own seriousness, she adds: “If you’re not into nonviolence, you can always donate to my PAC for the care of my horse.”
Whatever Cindy of Arc is, Kaplan insists it isn’t the thing you’re picturing. “It isn’t a lecture. It isn’t a TED Talk. It’s still Cindy.” Which is to say: funny, loud, a little unruly, and set to a live rock score.
Kaplan doesn’t promise audiences answers. She promises laughter. She promises a terrific band. She promises stories you’ve never heard told quite this way. In her own words: “It’s a really funny political event.”
Cindy of Arc will be performed Wednesday, August 5, 7:15 p.m. at The Wilde at Gifford House, 9 Carver St., Provincetown. For tickets ($33.69 – $44.43) and information visit Gifford.House/events or call 508.487.0688. For more about the show, visit CindyOfArc.com.
