John McCrea and Mihir Kumar Photo by Mark J. Franklin

At the heart of the fuss: the notion that affixing "queer" or any of its near-synonyms to a preadolescent sexualizes them, objectifies them, and attaches to them a description that, even in this supposedly enlightened day and age, is going to carry baggage. The company of actors–Mihir Kumar, K. Todd Freeman, Rachel Crowl, N'yomi Allure Stewart, David Greenspan, and John McCrea, labeled "Performer 1" through "Performer 6," in that order–engage in a lively debate on this before delving into story. Performer 1 argues, and argues well, that society sexualizes all children, as hetero, at the outset. Kids are assumed to be straight and congratulated for it, putting more pressure on those who aren't able to hide their identities, shaming them for feelings that, let's face it, they don't just suddenly acquire in high school. Could George be among them? Can't say for sure, but Tannahill offers Prince F*ggot as a "fabulation," as he puts it, for letting the incipient monarch be what he wants to be.

McCrea plays him as not the most likable of royals. Petulant, entitled, excitable, with substance abuse issues, George is something of a problem child to William (Freeman, combining innate nobility with anxious-dad furrows of brow) and Catherine (Crowl, given little to project but concerned mom). We meet George as an 18-year-old, an art history major with a new boyfriend, Dev (Kumar), somewhat older and more sophisticated, and very conscious of how the monarchy treated his Asian ancestors. Invited to Anmer Hall, Dev cautiously submits to the mountain of vetting and press attention that go with the gig, but the pressures will grind him down. Especially the machinations of Jacqueline, the Windsors' communications secretary, in the formidable form of Greenspan–in a white pantsuit, a Carol Channing wig, and heels. He can draw a huge laugh just by turning "here" into "h'yah," and he also expertly embodies the family's gay butler, Edward II in a dream sequence, and a vapid TV journalist. We want more of David Greenspan than we get, but then, when don't we.

No, the focus is on George and Dev and the evolving dynamics of a romance of the sort the world simply hasn't seen up to now, in a time not too far into the future, and its effects on the royal family. (Charles and Camilla, in Tannahill's telling, make it into their 90s.) And the sex! Something called UnkleDave's Fight-House is credited with intimacy coordination, and whoever that is, they earned their pay. The dirty talk and steamy action are unusually frank, and McCrea and Kumar generate a persuasive sexual charge. George and Dev would like to be just your average loving young couple, but of course that's impossible, as neither can make a move without social media consequences. "You know what your parents are thinking?" Dev asks. "'Shit, we've got another Megan.'"

So most of Prince F*ggot unfolds like a double episode of The Crown from, oh, Season 30 or so, with more sex. It takes George into his early 30s and eventual marriage, commented on by Greenspan and Crown as chatty news correspondents who may be in 2045 but feel curiously contemporary; one wishes Tannahill had striven harder to imagine a future more different from the present. The narrative structure is mostly well-written-play, and it is indeed well-written; a couple of scenes between George and William, and George and Dev in a rainstorm, are particularly sharp.

There's more, though, and here's where that fourth wall comes crashing down again. Each performer has a monologue, one that sounds like that particular actor recalling an earlier-life memory related to their real-life identity: Freeman on playing Henry V as Black, Greenspan on surviving the worst days of AIDS, etc. Turns out, though, they're all Tannahill's fabrications, save for Stewart's, which Tannahill gleaned from her during rehearsal and which closes the play. I'm disappointed to learn that these asides are less than authentic, but they do comment further on the public's obsession with the royals, the racial disharmony sown by the Empire, and other relevant matters.

David Zinn's set mostly stays minimalist, leaving us to imagine the particulars of Kensington Palace and the environs, and Montana Levi Blanco's costumes feel correct without calling undue attention to themselves. The director, Shayok Misha Chowdhury, is to be commended mainly for pulling utterly persuasive performances out of everyone, and maximizing the humor, most of it stemming from the unavoidable disconnect between George's world and Dev's. Prince F*ggot might have toned down the more repellent aspects of George's personality to make him easier to root for, and may be overplaying its hand in making Dev right about virtually everything. Nevertheless, I was engaged throughout. And if you've ever yearned to hear the probable future king of England give out with "I like your big dick in my pussy, sir," here's your chance.