In the midst of the bustle and busyness of several stunning song-and-dance routines in Some Like It Hot, beautifully directed and choreographed by Casey Nicholaw, we witness a transformation.

Of course, transformation is what this show—and the classic Billy Wilder film on which it’s based—is all about. You know the story: two jazz musicians in Prohibition-era Chicago—both of them male—are forced by dangerous circumstances to disguise themselves as women in order not to be murdered by the mob.

The transformation in question comes as the two are on the run from South-side gangsters and scurrying to save their own hides by hiding their identities—luckily while hiding in a speakeasy dressing room full of garish outfits. While Joe and Jerry—played by Matt Loehr and Tavis Kordell—evade the killers and the band plays and the choreography is nailed and the show goes on, they also transform right in front of our eyes.

Loehr’s Joe—a classic old-timey wisecracker who’d have fit right in with Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis in the original movie, or even in the Depression days when both shows are set—becomes Josephine, whose unnatural unease in his new ‘fit mirrors the tone of the ‘50s Hollywood production and makes him the butt of running commentary and jokes by the rest of the cast.

And Kordell’s Jerry becomes Daphne—a role which J. Harrison Ghee originated and for which they won their second Tony. Loehr and Kordell’s chemistry as a song, dance, and comedy duo is right-on from the start, with Loehr, as I said, being the goofier of the two and Kordell being the straight man with the more traditional, physical leading man looks. Then, right before our eyes, Kordell transforms into stunning Daphne.

Both of these transformations happen as smoothly as Loehr and Kordell’s terrific tap-dancing, so practiced and so part of the production that we don’t even notice. Until we do notice that Joe and Jerry are now Josephine and Daphne, and safe from danger… for a bit, anyway. But it’s that one moment—among many amazing moments in this production—that really stunned me, that really seemed magical. In fact, it was like one of those magic tricks when the magician tells the audience what they’re going to do—and then stun the audience with the magic they just supposedly explained away. The audience of Some Like It Hot knows the story that’s about to play out. They know the transformation that needs to happen. But when it does happen, it’s still surprising to see it.

While the whole show hinges on this one moment, all that comes before and after makes for a wonderful evening at a show, too. As I said, Nicholaw’s choreography is killer. The entire ensemble can dance—from railway station numbers to nightclub high-leg kicks to an uproarious piece in a hotel lobby led by Edward Juvier, the audience could hardly hold back their delighted applause until each song’s finish.

The cast of Some Like It Hot at Cadillac Palace

Tarra Conner Jones—a relative newcomer to the stage, as she spent more than two decades as a schoolteacher—commands the attention of the audience, and of the fictional ladies’ band she conducts, as Sweet Sue.

And Leandra Ellis-Gaston takes on perhaps the most daunting role in the production, playing Sugar Kane. Tasked with filling such high heels as those originally worn by Marilyn Monroe in the Wilder film, Ellis-Gaston makes Sugar her own—beautiful as a leading lady in the show and in the show’s traveling band, but also vulnerable and approachable, both qualities displayed in the tender nostalgia of “At the Old Majestic Nickel Matinee.”

Some Like It Hot is an absolute joy—brimming with sharp wit, hilarious moments, and timeless charm. This production is full of tender nostalgia—with its setting in an era none of us were ever alive to know and its adoption and adaptation of a beloved cinema classic. But it’s also a very honest and modern take, using the past to address the present. It’s all of these things, it does them all well, and you can see them happen in Some Like It Hot, running now through November 3rd at the Cadillac Palace Theatre.