I’ve known Rory Davis since 2002, when he danced in my company and lugged a bust of Caesar cross-country. Since then, he’s become a true San Francisco icon, co-creating the all-male burlesque sensation Baloney at the now-closing Oasis nightclub. He’s worked with everyone from Jennifer Tilly to Bob the Drag Queen. As Baloney takes its final bow this December (26th-31st), Rory looks back on a decade of outrageous spectacle, sexy kink, and high-camp brilliance.

For those who’ve never experienced it—what is Baloney?
Baloney started 10 years ago in San Francisco when drag queens Heklina and D’Arcy Drollinger reopened Oasis, a legendary nightclub. It’s a beautiful Vaudeville-style stage with proscenium lights. My creative partner Michael Phillis and I pitched a show—since everything else was so drag-centered—that would be “for the boys.” We pitched a show like Chippendales meets SNL—clothes off, storytelling through dance and sketches.

Our first show sold out and we became artists-in-residence at Oasis, performing quarterly. The show has evolved, but it’s always been this mix of humor, sexiness, queerness, and storytelling—told mostly without dialogue.

You were already choreographing before Baloney, right?
Yeah, I’d worked with Peaches Christ for years doing pre-show tributes at the Castro Theatre. That’s how I met D’Arcy and Heklina. I pitched a dance for the Heathers pre-show, and from there it spiraled into this whole world of queer theater, drag, and storytelling. I’ve played everything from Alma the hearing-impaired nun for Latrice Royale to Alec Baldwin for Bianca Del Rio’s Beetlejuice. I’ve burned Jinkx Monsoon at the stake!

Baloney isn’t exactly circuit boys or burlesque or drag—it kind of breaks those binaries.
Exactly. People ask all the time, “What is Baloney?” And even after 10 years, it’s hard to define. We open the show by saying it’s sketches, dance, theater, burlesque—and it’s all male. But really, it’s none of those things. It’s queer storytelling, mostly told through movement.

Some scenes are absurd, and others are emotionally raw. One example: we use the opening notes of Bush’s “Comedown” and when the curtain opens, there are two twin beds on stage. A college guy is studying alone. Slowly, he walks over, picks up his roommate’s jockstrap, and sniffs it—just as the roommate walks in. He tosses the jock back, sits down. The gay roommate is clearly in love; the straight one knows it and leans into the power dynamic. Baloney walks this line: it starts as wild and fun, but as the night unfolds, it starts to go deeper. We want people in the parking lot afterward asking, “What was that scene? What did it mean?”

Baloney seems to offer a completely different kind of fantasy than what we usually see in male-focused performance. Was breaking those binaries the intention from the beginning?
Absolutely. From the beginning, we wanted it to feel unmistakably San Francisco. Yes, we present the show as “all male,” but it’s always been a bit of a bait and switch. We’ve had non-binary performers, women, bears, and guys in their 60s. One of our most beloved performers is in his 60s—totally irreplaceable. What we try to show is that talent and humor are way more important than abs.

There’s this Argentinian guy in the cast—total wildcard. He moves like nothing you’ve ever seen. Someone once said, “He looks like a Wells Fargo banker.” But onstage, he’s wild and fearless, and audiences love him. He’s become this unlikely sex symbol. That’s what we want: for someone in the audience to think, “Wait… I’d fuck that guy.”

We push that even further in a scene we just retired. It was a grungy dom-sub setup—I pour beer over a guy in tighty-whities, then three cast members come out holding options: whipped cream, chocolate, or a jug of Boston baked beans. The audience votes by cheering. Every single time—except once—they go for the beans. It’s loud and chaotic as I present the options like I’m on The Price Is Right.

I was going to say, it’s very Price Is Right.
Oh my god, totally. The boys come out all, “Ooh, ah, ooh,” like game show models. I dump the beans, they drip into his underwear, and the crowd goes wild. One dancer’s boyfriend found a baked bean in his ear hours later. He’s a beautiful, inked-up Guatemalan guy, and for him, the roar of 200 people cheering is worth crawling into a janitor’s mop sink to rinse off afterward.

In San Francisco, this number is legendary. Sister Roma sees me on the street and says, “You and those goddamn baked beans.” But we did it in Provincetown once, and the next day these Boston guys came up to us and said, “Why would you do that? It was disgusting.” And we said, “Exactly. That’s the point. You might’ve had whipped cream in bed—but never baked beans.” We thought, “Maybe we really are best suited for San Francisco.”

Baloney is rooted in San Francisco queer culture—does it still resonate when you tour places like Palm Springs or Provincetown?
It’s quintessentially San Francisco—but I’ve learned it can resonate elsewhere. In Provincetown, I met this French guy after the show who barely spoke English. He just kept thanking me. Then he said, “This show is universal. You’re telling stories with music. I didn’t need to understand the words.”  And I thought, “Okay. I hope they have baked beans in Paris. Let’s go.”

Well, baked beans on toast is popular in the UK. The closing of Oasis is clearly a huge loss—not just for Baloney, but for the whole queer nightlife scene. How are you feeling?
It’s complicated. I’ve been telling myself I’m fine—but I don’t think I am. The last night Oasis will be open is New Year’s Eve. After that, who knows? This place has been my life and it’s not just Baloney. The drag community is going to feel this. There’s a Saturday party called Princess run by Tito Soto, where Alaska and Willam perform to packed houses. Its the kind of venue just doesn’t exist elsewhere in the city.

We’ve had other venues offer, but Baloney was built for Oasis. I know that building in my bones. I literally have dreams set there. If we do something new, it’ll be under a different name—“From the makers of Baloney”—so people don’t expect the same show. It would be something original, made for a new space. We’ll find the right place. San Francisco always finds a way.

A few years ago, the documentary Baloney came out—how did that project happen?
The movie came about because I had started filming our rehearsals. I had this thought that the process was more interesting than people realized. The show is very polished, and it’s all very glamorous by the time we hit the stage, but our rehearsal process is a mix of working through movement, laughing, panicking, trying new things, building intimacy. I just kept the camera rolling. And then we brought in Joshua Guerci and he was like, “There’s a film here.” What’s amazing is that the movie captures that spirit of Baloney—it’s sexy and funny, yes, but also about connection, transformation, queer community, and vulnerability. It screened at Frameline, Outfest, and even the Grammy Museum. My mom hasn’t watched it, but she’s mad I’m not in it more. I told her, “You raised me well—I didn’t have a tragic backstory to tell!” 

There’s clearly thought and craft behind these scenes—underneath the sex, they’re emotionally charged.
Totally. One of our most controversial numbers starts with a guy playing video games to the Mario Brothers dungeon theme. He gets bored, pulls out an old Honcho or Drummer magazine, and starts masturbating in time to the music. Then someone walks in. We never say who’s who, but the power dynamic is clear.The older guy tells the younger one to pull his pants down. It builds into a slow, intense spanking scene set to Fleetwood Mac’s “Hypnotized.”By the end, it’s clear the younger guy is into it—there’s consent. But people still freak out. I always say: stay after. Come talk to us.

We also have a “Submit a Fantasy” feature on our site. People send in everything—from the doable to the deranged. One wanted hungry dogs and racks of meat. Another suggested a guy in a tunnel who could only communicate by knocking—two for yes, three for no. We tried to stage it, but we were like, “This is more MFA thesis than theater.”

Maybe I’ll steal that meat idea!
Please! But some suggestions do make it in. Someone said, ‘Have ChatGPT write a sketch’—so we did. It gave us this saccharine fantasy about two elves falling in love by a magical river.They kiss, fall in love… and we thought, ‘This is boring.’  So we rewrote it. Same elves, same setup—until M3GAN the killer doll storms in and murders them. One of our dancers came out in full M3GAN drag, wig, dress, everything. The timpani hit. Death. Applause. That’s what our audience wants. Not a wholesome elf story. They want blood.

Maybe people will catch something like that at the final shows?
Our final run is December 26th through the 31st. New Year’s Eve is already almost sold out. Some performers we haven’t worked with in years are coming back. We’ve worked with maybe 60 or 70 people total, and almost all of them will be in the audience that night. We’re doing a mix of fan-favorites and new pieces to mark the moment and go out with a bang.

If Mariah Carey came to a Baloney show, what number would you perform for her?
We have a holiday number set on a San Francisco Muni bus that breaks down—and suddenly you hear the opening notes of “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” The passengers groan. Then Mariah-demons appear at the windows. Red eyes. Chaos. She’d love it. Or… I could do my “Vision of Love” pointe number. I performed it once and my babysitter choreographed it. There was a smoke machine. If I meet Mariah, I’ll have my pointe shoes ready.

Follow Rory Davis    Tickets (December 26th-31st): BALONEY: The Final Load

Interview by George Alley  Photos: Nicole Fraser Herron