I first saw Propeller Theatre Company at BAM in New York in 2007, when they presented Twelfth Night and Taming of the Shrew. Propeller is a UK-based all-male Shakespearean repertory troupe, and as I pointed out four years ago, their graceful and delicate handling of the play belies the all-male casting. Indeed, the actors are so skillful that after a few minutes, you almost forget they’re all men. These aren’t simpering drag queens or men bent on making a point about gender relations; they are simply very, very good actors.
Also very, very funny actors.
Comedy of Errors is one of those lesser Shakespearean works, “lesser” in the sense that it relies heavily on those old comedy chestnuts, mistaken identities and bumbling servants. (And those were chestnuts 400 years ago.) We have identical twins separated at birth, both with the same name—Antipholus—who have identical twin servants separated at birth, both named Dromio. Got that? So when they find themselves in the same city, the two identical twin brothers and their identical twin servants, with the same names no less, naturally everyone mistakes one for the other and high jinks ensue. Each pair is blissfully unaware of the other’s existence, until the very end of the play, when they are all reunited with their missing brothers and parents. In between, there are a lot of double-takes, pratfalls, and at least one naked man with a lit sparkler in his ass. (No, really.)
It’s to Propeller’s credit that they never stoop to making jokes about men in drag, and that they don’t allow the physical comedy to overshadow the complex Shakespearean language. Their production is set “south of the border,” in a modern-day version of a Three Amigos Mexican town; with graffiti-covered sheet-metal walls, haphazardly-strung Christmas lights, and sombreros. The best part of this concept is that the cast doubles as an impromptu mariachi band; in fact, should their acting careers ever lapse, I daresay these guys could make a decent living as a mariachi band. The pace is crisp, the ensemble is tight, there’s just enough shtick to keep the audience amused (but not so much that we start rolling our eyes). Director Edward Hall is to be commended for perfectly balancing the production on that particular tightrope.
Propeller is running Comedy of Errors in repertory with Richard III. I didn’t get a chance to see Richard III, but I have no doubt it’s just as good, and innovatively staged, as their Comedy of Errors. Propeller has become my new favorite Shakespearean troupe; at this point, I’d pay to watch them dramatize the phone book.
Written by William Shakespeare; adapted by Edward Hall and Roger Warren
Directed by Edward Hall
With Richard Clothier (Duke), John Dougall (Aegeon), Dugald Bruce-Lockhart (Antipholus of Syracuse), Sam Swainsbury (Antipholus of Ephesus), Richard Frame (Dromio of Syracuse), Jon Trenchard (Dromio of Ephesus), Robert Hands (Adriana), David Newman (Luciana), Wayne Carter (Balthasar), Thomas Padden (Angelo), Dominic Tighe (Officer), Kelsey Brookfield (Courtesan), Tony Bell (Pinch), and Chris Myles (Aemilia)
Design: Michael Pavelka
Lighting Design: Ben Ormerod
Original Music: Jon Trenchard
Running Time: Two hours and fifteen minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
Boston University Theatre, Huntington Theatre Company, 264 Huntington Avenue, Boston, MA
Tickets begin at $25
Presented in repertory with Richard III; schedule varies
May 18 – June 19, 2011
Showing posts with label theatre. Show all posts
Showing posts with label theatre. Show all posts
Monday, May 23, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Theatre review: Afterlife: A Ghost Story
"You can’t reckon with me."
--The Ocean
“There’s something about looking at what’s left.”
--Connor
Steve Yockey’s Afterlife: A Ghost Story at New Repertory Theatre in Watertown, MA, has a pitch-perfect first act. The second act is so different as to be almost an entirely separate play.
I loved the first act. Connor (Thomas Piper) and Danielle (Marianna Bassham) are a young married couple, boarding up their beach house before a big storm. We know something is very wrong—Danielle is brittle and strange, Connor desperate to draw her out of her shell but failing on every level. Slowly, we figure out that their three-year-old son has recently drowned—in the very ocean their house overlooks. They’re boarding it up largely because Danielle can’t bear to live there anymore. And as she starts hearing her son’s cries on the wind, we fear she’s losing it altogether.
The production gets the grief exactly right, both in the couple’s tension and their raw emotionality. That’s how deep grief feels—the world seems fantastically remote. You can’t engage on any level with anything meaningful, and yet everything feels raw. Every emotion gets buried out of sight, pushed away, because if one strays and gets to the surface, the fountain of grief will erupt. Danielle holds it together because she’s largely anesthetized herself. Connor, however, wants to reengage with the world; Danielle resists because she knows how much that will hurt. The act is a tug of war between them, and eventually, that fountain of grief and anger does erupt, just as the storm hits.
Oh, but then. The second act.
For the second act, the carefully constructed realism disappears (both literally and figuratively, as the house set is rolled back). The stage is divided into three playing areas, consisting of a young man who may be the grown-up version of Connor and Danielle’s drowned son; a blindfolded and immobile Connor, washed up on some snowy beach; and Danielle, who has found her way from a storm into the home of two strange ladies, one who sews constantly and the other who drinks a lot of tea. The three of them (Connor, Danielle and son) are each in some separate, individual, timeless version of purgatory, I suppose. The son tries to write letters to his parents, but the postman rips them up every day; Connor is visited by a giant talking black bird, who urges him to “let go”; and Danielle realizes the tea-drinking old woman is actually the embodiment of the ocean that took her son. And they’re all trapped in their own spheres, with no way to move on or find the others.
Got all that?
I appreciate what playwright Yockey is trying to convey, and I also appreciate the lyrical language and lush, dreamy imagery of the play. But I would have much rather seen a longer version of the first act. He seemed to do so much better with characters and a story grounded in realism. The second act, with barely anything to anchor it to the first act, offered nothing in the way of either character or story development, and felt fractured from the start.
That being said, it’s worth sitting through the second act just to see the first. It’s been a while since I’ve seen such a moving and accurate portrayal of anguish. Actors Thomas Piper and Marianna Bassham have a great chemistry together, and director Kate Warner keeps that first act on a razor’s edge. The set, lighting and sound designs (Cristina Todesco, Karen Parsons, and David Remedios) are all equally lush and dreamy, providing a beautiful counterpoint to the heavy emotion of the first act and keeping the second act from being completely nonsensical. Dale Place as the mysterious Postman, is also noteworthy as the giant black bird (using an ingenious giant puppet designed by Pandora Andrea Gastelum).
Overall, I enjoyed the play. It was my first time at New Rep, and I loved the space. (Free parking didn’t hurt.) I’m excited to see their next offering, Theresa Rebeck’s DollHouse beginning February 27th.
Afterlife: A Ghost Story Written by Steve Yockey
Directed by Kate Warner With Marianna Bassham (Danielle), Adrianne Krstansky (The Proprietress), Georgia Lyman (The Seamstree), Karl Baker Olson (Young Man), Thomas Piper (Connor) and Dale Place (Postman/Black Bird)
Set Design: Cristina Todesco
Lighting Design: Karen Parsons
Sound Design: David Remedios
Costume Design: Frances Nelson McSherry
Running Time: Two hours with one fifteen-minute intermission
New Repertory Theatre, at the Arsenal Center for the Arts; 321 Arsenal St, Watertown, MA
Tickets begin at $28
Thursday 7:30 pm, Friday 8 pm, Saturday 3 pm and 8 pm, Sunday 2 pm
January 16 – February 6, 2011
--The Ocean
“There’s something about looking at what’s left.”
--Connor
Steve Yockey’s Afterlife: A Ghost Story at New Repertory Theatre in Watertown, MA, has a pitch-perfect first act. The second act is so different as to be almost an entirely separate play.
I loved the first act. Connor (Thomas Piper) and Danielle (Marianna Bassham) are a young married couple, boarding up their beach house before a big storm. We know something is very wrong—Danielle is brittle and strange, Connor desperate to draw her out of her shell but failing on every level. Slowly, we figure out that their three-year-old son has recently drowned—in the very ocean their house overlooks. They’re boarding it up largely because Danielle can’t bear to live there anymore. And as she starts hearing her son’s cries on the wind, we fear she’s losing it altogether.
The production gets the grief exactly right, both in the couple’s tension and their raw emotionality. That’s how deep grief feels—the world seems fantastically remote. You can’t engage on any level with anything meaningful, and yet everything feels raw. Every emotion gets buried out of sight, pushed away, because if one strays and gets to the surface, the fountain of grief will erupt. Danielle holds it together because she’s largely anesthetized herself. Connor, however, wants to reengage with the world; Danielle resists because she knows how much that will hurt. The act is a tug of war between them, and eventually, that fountain of grief and anger does erupt, just as the storm hits.
Oh, but then. The second act.
For the second act, the carefully constructed realism disappears (both literally and figuratively, as the house set is rolled back). The stage is divided into three playing areas, consisting of a young man who may be the grown-up version of Connor and Danielle’s drowned son; a blindfolded and immobile Connor, washed up on some snowy beach; and Danielle, who has found her way from a storm into the home of two strange ladies, one who sews constantly and the other who drinks a lot of tea. The three of them (Connor, Danielle and son) are each in some separate, individual, timeless version of purgatory, I suppose. The son tries to write letters to his parents, but the postman rips them up every day; Connor is visited by a giant talking black bird, who urges him to “let go”; and Danielle realizes the tea-drinking old woman is actually the embodiment of the ocean that took her son. And they’re all trapped in their own spheres, with no way to move on or find the others.
Got all that?
I appreciate what playwright Yockey is trying to convey, and I also appreciate the lyrical language and lush, dreamy imagery of the play. But I would have much rather seen a longer version of the first act. He seemed to do so much better with characters and a story grounded in realism. The second act, with barely anything to anchor it to the first act, offered nothing in the way of either character or story development, and felt fractured from the start.
That being said, it’s worth sitting through the second act just to see the first. It’s been a while since I’ve seen such a moving and accurate portrayal of anguish. Actors Thomas Piper and Marianna Bassham have a great chemistry together, and director Kate Warner keeps that first act on a razor’s edge. The set, lighting and sound designs (Cristina Todesco, Karen Parsons, and David Remedios) are all equally lush and dreamy, providing a beautiful counterpoint to the heavy emotion of the first act and keeping the second act from being completely nonsensical. Dale Place as the mysterious Postman, is also noteworthy as the giant black bird (using an ingenious giant puppet designed by Pandora Andrea Gastelum).
Overall, I enjoyed the play. It was my first time at New Rep, and I loved the space. (Free parking didn’t hurt.) I’m excited to see their next offering, Theresa Rebeck’s DollHouse beginning February 27th.
Afterlife: A Ghost Story Written by Steve Yockey
Directed by Kate Warner With Marianna Bassham (Danielle), Adrianne Krstansky (The Proprietress), Georgia Lyman (The Seamstree), Karl Baker Olson (Young Man), Thomas Piper (Connor) and Dale Place (Postman/Black Bird)
Set Design: Cristina Todesco
Lighting Design: Karen Parsons
Sound Design: David Remedios
Costume Design: Frances Nelson McSherry
Running Time: Two hours with one fifteen-minute intermission
New Repertory Theatre, at the Arsenal Center for the Arts; 321 Arsenal St, Watertown, MA
Tickets begin at $28
Thursday 7:30 pm, Friday 8 pm, Saturday 3 pm and 8 pm, Sunday 2 pm
January 16 – February 6, 2011
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Theatre review: R. Buckminster Fuller: The History (and Mystery) of the Universe
If you’ve ever been to Epcot, you’re familiar with the work of R. Buckminster Fuller, inventor of the geodesic dome. Fuller, though not a household name, was one of the great scientific minds of the twentieth century. He was a bit of a Renaissance man, which may be why he’s not a household name—he simply did too much to become truly famous in any one area. He was a writer, philosopher, mathematician, geometer, poet, architect, designer, environmentalist, and inventor. Though he invented the geodesic dome, he taught poetry at Harvard—after being kicked out twice in his youth.
He was probably sixty years or more ahead of his time in his one true passion—eliminating waste, and protecting the earth from the ravages of men. He invented a showerhead that gave a full-body cleansing with only one cup of water, a fuel-efficient car that sat 11, and an energy-efficient, inexpensive pre-fab house. He wrote and lectured extensively on sustainability, before the concept really existed.
So, okay, a pretty interesting guy by all accounts. If, like me, you’re new to R. Buckminster Fuller, you’re probably wondering if this show is a good introduction to the man. (So many one-man shows can be more about the actor in question than the subject.) To which I can offer you an unqualified yes.
For me, ART’s production was a more whimsical and much more delightful sort of documentary on the man, less about presenting facts and more about presenting the true nature of Fuller. Actor Thomas Derrah plays Fuller with a cheeky, subversive sense of humor (his abrupt “I have to go to the bathroom” as intermission segue brought the house down). He perfectly captures Fuller’s manic energy and constantly spinning brain, and utilizes that energy to push the show at a breathless pace. Though it clocks in at over two hours, hefty for a one-man show, the time flies by.
The exquisite design aids in that pacing, while paying tribute to the design capabilities of Fuller. David Lee Cuthbert’s set is anchored by a circular platform, covered with a dreamy blue spiral, underneath a geodesic-inspired proscenium arch, with an absurdly tall ladderback chair. Around that are Fuller’s classroom accoutrements—a chalkboard, an overhead projector, a table with a scroll of paper. Derrah moves effortlessly between the real elements and the surreal ones (sometimes literally—Fuller was apt to dance publicly in strange ways in his later years), while Jim Findlay’s video design gives us an integrated look at Fuller’s drawings and plans. Overall, it’s a production rich in sensory detail.
I do wish there’d been a little more about the man’s non-geodesic dome inventions. But that’s an incredibly minor quibble about what was otherwise an intellectually and visually stimulating play. It made me want to run out and read a book about R. Buckminster Fuller, buy his Dymaxion globe, and live in his energy-efficient house. Not a bad result for an evening’s entertainment.
R. Buckminster Fuller: The History (and Mystery) of the Universe
Written and directed by D.W. Jacobs
Performed by Thomas Derrah
Set and Lighting Design: David Lee Cuthbert
Composer and Sound Design: Luis Perez
Costume Design: Darla Cash
Video Design: Jim Findlay
Running Time: Two hours and fifteen minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
American Repertory Theater; Loeb Drama Center, 64 Brattle Street, Cambridge MA
Tickets begin at $25
Tuesdays through Sundays at 7:30 pm; Saturdays and Sundays at 2:00 pm
January 14 – February 5, 2011
He was probably sixty years or more ahead of his time in his one true passion—eliminating waste, and protecting the earth from the ravages of men. He invented a showerhead that gave a full-body cleansing with only one cup of water, a fuel-efficient car that sat 11, and an energy-efficient, inexpensive pre-fab house. He wrote and lectured extensively on sustainability, before the concept really existed.
So, okay, a pretty interesting guy by all accounts. If, like me, you’re new to R. Buckminster Fuller, you’re probably wondering if this show is a good introduction to the man. (So many one-man shows can be more about the actor in question than the subject.) To which I can offer you an unqualified yes.
For me, ART’s production was a more whimsical and much more delightful sort of documentary on the man, less about presenting facts and more about presenting the true nature of Fuller. Actor Thomas Derrah plays Fuller with a cheeky, subversive sense of humor (his abrupt “I have to go to the bathroom” as intermission segue brought the house down). He perfectly captures Fuller’s manic energy and constantly spinning brain, and utilizes that energy to push the show at a breathless pace. Though it clocks in at over two hours, hefty for a one-man show, the time flies by.
The exquisite design aids in that pacing, while paying tribute to the design capabilities of Fuller. David Lee Cuthbert’s set is anchored by a circular platform, covered with a dreamy blue spiral, underneath a geodesic-inspired proscenium arch, with an absurdly tall ladderback chair. Around that are Fuller’s classroom accoutrements—a chalkboard, an overhead projector, a table with a scroll of paper. Derrah moves effortlessly between the real elements and the surreal ones (sometimes literally—Fuller was apt to dance publicly in strange ways in his later years), while Jim Findlay’s video design gives us an integrated look at Fuller’s drawings and plans. Overall, it’s a production rich in sensory detail.
I do wish there’d been a little more about the man’s non-geodesic dome inventions. But that’s an incredibly minor quibble about what was otherwise an intellectually and visually stimulating play. It made me want to run out and read a book about R. Buckminster Fuller, buy his Dymaxion globe, and live in his energy-efficient house. Not a bad result for an evening’s entertainment.
R. Buckminster Fuller: The History (and Mystery) of the Universe
Written and directed by D.W. Jacobs
Performed by Thomas Derrah
Set and Lighting Design: David Lee Cuthbert
Composer and Sound Design: Luis Perez
Costume Design: Darla Cash
Video Design: Jim Findlay
Running Time: Two hours and fifteen minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
American Repertory Theater; Loeb Drama Center, 64 Brattle Street, Cambridge MA
Tickets begin at $25
Tuesdays through Sundays at 7:30 pm; Saturdays and Sundays at 2:00 pm
January 14 – February 5, 2011
Friday, August 6, 2010
Theatre review: A Midsummer Night's Dream
"What fools these mortals be!"
--Puck
I remember doing a bastardized version of Midsummer Night’s Dream in high school. One of the English teachers rewrote the basic plot in “plain” English, cut it down to ninety minutes, and cast most of the senior class as fairies. The big hit of the event was the star quarterback playing Thisbe, having to wear a wig and a dress and kiss another football player onstage.
Well, that’s the beauty of Shakespeare, isn’t it? That his plays are so infinitely malleable. That quarterbacks and cheerleaders can half-heartedly muddle through one of his comedies, and it’s still funny. That a lighthearted piece of frivolity like Midsummer can stand the test of time, that it can still be enjoyable and relevant 400 years later.
The general plot is probably familiar; Theseus, the duke of Athens, is getting ready to marry Hippolyta, and needs entertainments for his four-day celebration. Egeus, a nobleman, brings his daughter Hermia to Theseus. He wants her to wed Demetrius; she is in love with Lysander. Theseus threatens to have her executed if she doesn’t obey her father, so she and Lysander make plans to run away and marry elsewhere. She tells her friend Helena of their plans; Helena, who is desperately in love with Demetrius, who wants nothing to do with her.
The four lovers end up in the woods outside of Athens. Also in the woods are a straggling band of actors, rehearsing a play for Theseus; and fairies; their queen, Titania, and king, Oberon. Oberon sends Puck to drip a love potion in Titania’s eyes, making her fall in love with the first thing she sees upon waking. He wants her to fall in love with him, but instead, she falls for one of the actors, Bottom, whose head Puck has transformed into the head of a donkey. Puck also gets some love potion on Lysander, who falls in love with Helena and abandons Hermia. Then Demetrius gets some, and also falls in love with Helena.
Eventually, it all gets straightened out. Demetrius and Helena wed, Lysander and Hermia wed, Titania and Oberon wed, and Theseus and Hippolyta wed. The actors present their play, “Pyramus and Thisbe,” with Bottom’s proper human head restored. And all is well.
It’s been a summer of Shakespeare here in San Diego; three plays of his at the Old Globe, and now Midsummer at La Jolla Playhouse. This is definitely the prettiest production of Midsummer I’ve ever seen. Visually, it’s somewhere between Alice in Wonderland and Cirque du Soleil, fully of sparkle and whimsy. There are even acrobats. The furniture flies (including the piano, which turns end over end in a stunt reminiscent of Tommy Lee’s drum set), the fairies cavort in massive upside-down chandeliers, mirrors become pools of water. What appears to be a large Victorian drawing room becomes a forest of chandeliers and window panes; the furniture and curtains fly away, the maids turn into fairies, the butler becomes Puck. There’s an onstage orchestra, playing selections from Mendelssohn’s “Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
David C. Woolard’s costumes are easily the most stunning element. Some of them are literally upside-down, to mirror the furniture; Hippolyta’s skirt and Bottom’s donkey head are elaborate woven golden cages. Each one is beautiful and carefully crafted and unique, and these costumes combined with Neil Patel’s set design make the play.
The actors aren’t nearly as good. As you might expect, Bottom (Lucas Caleb Rooney) and Puck (Martin Moran) are the most engaging cast members. They keep the entire production from spinning off into mere spectacle. The lovers, I’m afraid, are a bit of a dud—Hermia (Amelia Campbell) and Helena (J. Smith-Cameron) are shrill, Demetrius (Sean Mahon) and Lysander (Tim Hopper) are dull. I had a hard time believing anyone could love any of them. And their period Victorian costumes are equally dull. Daniel Oreskes as Theseus and Oberon and Charlayne Woodard as Hippolyta and Titania have a commanding stage presence, and the fairies are nimble and acrobatic. But I found myself more interested in the set and costumes than in the actors, or the story.
But it’s still a great evening. The music, the costumes, the acrobatic feats, all the visual surprises and delights more than make up for the rest. Production-heavy plays often become mere spectacle, overshadowing the text and the talent; but in La Jolla Playhouse’s Midsummer, the production is the talent. All the elements tie together to become a fantasy, not just a spectacle--surely what Shakespeare must have imagined when he wrote it.
Written by William Shakespeare
Directed by Christopher Ashley
With Kyle Anderson, Ken Berkeley, Amelia Campbell, Cate Campbell, Maggie Carney, Maritxell Carrero, Matthew Cusick, Matthew Patrick Davis, Sara Garcia, Zachary Harrison, Tim Hopper, Sean Mahon, Jonathan McMurtry, Hugo Medina, Martin Moran, Amanda Naughton, Daniel Oreskes, Tatyana Petruk, Christopher Douglas Reed, Lucas Caleb Rooney, J. Smith-Cameron, Anne Stella, Charlayne Woodard, and Bowman Wright
Set Design: Neil Patel
Lighting Design: Howell Binkley
Sound Design: Leon Rothenberg
Costume Design: David C. Woolard
Music: Mark Bennett and Felix Mendelssohn
Running Time: Two hours and fifteen minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
La Jolla Playhouse, 2910 La Jolla Village Drive, San Diego; (858) 550-1010
Tickets $31 - $66
Tuesdays and Wednesdays at 7:30 pm; Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 8 pm; Sundays at 7 pm; Saturday and Sunday matinees at 2 pm
July 20 – August 22, 2010
--Puck
I remember doing a bastardized version of Midsummer Night’s Dream in high school. One of the English teachers rewrote the basic plot in “plain” English, cut it down to ninety minutes, and cast most of the senior class as fairies. The big hit of the event was the star quarterback playing Thisbe, having to wear a wig and a dress and kiss another football player onstage.
Well, that’s the beauty of Shakespeare, isn’t it? That his plays are so infinitely malleable. That quarterbacks and cheerleaders can half-heartedly muddle through one of his comedies, and it’s still funny. That a lighthearted piece of frivolity like Midsummer can stand the test of time, that it can still be enjoyable and relevant 400 years later.
The general plot is probably familiar; Theseus, the duke of Athens, is getting ready to marry Hippolyta, and needs entertainments for his four-day celebration. Egeus, a nobleman, brings his daughter Hermia to Theseus. He wants her to wed Demetrius; she is in love with Lysander. Theseus threatens to have her executed if she doesn’t obey her father, so she and Lysander make plans to run away and marry elsewhere. She tells her friend Helena of their plans; Helena, who is desperately in love with Demetrius, who wants nothing to do with her.
The four lovers end up in the woods outside of Athens. Also in the woods are a straggling band of actors, rehearsing a play for Theseus; and fairies; their queen, Titania, and king, Oberon. Oberon sends Puck to drip a love potion in Titania’s eyes, making her fall in love with the first thing she sees upon waking. He wants her to fall in love with him, but instead, she falls for one of the actors, Bottom, whose head Puck has transformed into the head of a donkey. Puck also gets some love potion on Lysander, who falls in love with Helena and abandons Hermia. Then Demetrius gets some, and also falls in love with Helena.
Eventually, it all gets straightened out. Demetrius and Helena wed, Lysander and Hermia wed, Titania and Oberon wed, and Theseus and Hippolyta wed. The actors present their play, “Pyramus and Thisbe,” with Bottom’s proper human head restored. And all is well.
It’s been a summer of Shakespeare here in San Diego; three plays of his at the Old Globe, and now Midsummer at La Jolla Playhouse. This is definitely the prettiest production of Midsummer I’ve ever seen. Visually, it’s somewhere between Alice in Wonderland and Cirque du Soleil, fully of sparkle and whimsy. There are even acrobats. The furniture flies (including the piano, which turns end over end in a stunt reminiscent of Tommy Lee’s drum set), the fairies cavort in massive upside-down chandeliers, mirrors become pools of water. What appears to be a large Victorian drawing room becomes a forest of chandeliers and window panes; the furniture and curtains fly away, the maids turn into fairies, the butler becomes Puck. There’s an onstage orchestra, playing selections from Mendelssohn’s “Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
David C. Woolard’s costumes are easily the most stunning element. Some of them are literally upside-down, to mirror the furniture; Hippolyta’s skirt and Bottom’s donkey head are elaborate woven golden cages. Each one is beautiful and carefully crafted and unique, and these costumes combined with Neil Patel’s set design make the play.
The actors aren’t nearly as good. As you might expect, Bottom (Lucas Caleb Rooney) and Puck (Martin Moran) are the most engaging cast members. They keep the entire production from spinning off into mere spectacle. The lovers, I’m afraid, are a bit of a dud—Hermia (Amelia Campbell) and Helena (J. Smith-Cameron) are shrill, Demetrius (Sean Mahon) and Lysander (Tim Hopper) are dull. I had a hard time believing anyone could love any of them. And their period Victorian costumes are equally dull. Daniel Oreskes as Theseus and Oberon and Charlayne Woodard as Hippolyta and Titania have a commanding stage presence, and the fairies are nimble and acrobatic. But I found myself more interested in the set and costumes than in the actors, or the story.
But it’s still a great evening. The music, the costumes, the acrobatic feats, all the visual surprises and delights more than make up for the rest. Production-heavy plays often become mere spectacle, overshadowing the text and the talent; but in La Jolla Playhouse’s Midsummer, the production is the talent. All the elements tie together to become a fantasy, not just a spectacle--surely what Shakespeare must have imagined when he wrote it.
Written by William Shakespeare
Directed by Christopher Ashley
With Kyle Anderson, Ken Berkeley, Amelia Campbell, Cate Campbell, Maggie Carney, Maritxell Carrero, Matthew Cusick, Matthew Patrick Davis, Sara Garcia, Zachary Harrison, Tim Hopper, Sean Mahon, Jonathan McMurtry, Hugo Medina, Martin Moran, Amanda Naughton, Daniel Oreskes, Tatyana Petruk, Christopher Douglas Reed, Lucas Caleb Rooney, J. Smith-Cameron, Anne Stella, Charlayne Woodard, and Bowman Wright
Set Design: Neil Patel
Lighting Design: Howell Binkley
Sound Design: Leon Rothenberg
Costume Design: David C. Woolard
Music: Mark Bennett and Felix Mendelssohn
Running Time: Two hours and fifteen minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
La Jolla Playhouse, 2910 La Jolla Village Drive, San Diego; (858) 550-1010
Tickets $31 - $66
Tuesdays and Wednesdays at 7:30 pm; Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 8 pm; Sundays at 7 pm; Saturday and Sunday matinees at 2 pm
July 20 – August 22, 2010
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Theatre review: The Taming of the Shrew
Petruchio: Come, come, you wasp, i’faith you are too angry.
Katherine: If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
Petruchio: My remedy is then to pluck it out.
Katherine: Ay, if the fool could find where it lies.
Petruchio: Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail.
Katherine: In his tongue.
Petruchio: Whose tongue?
Katherine: Yours, if you talk of tales, and so farewell.
Petruchio: What, with my tongue in your tail?
The Taming of the Shrew is the Old Globe’s third repertory production this summer, rounding out King Lear and The Madness of George III. We’re all familiar with the basic story, having been made into such other plays as Kiss Me Kate and movies like 10 Things I Hate About You. Katherine is a sharp-tongued, obdurate woman whose younger sister Bianca is desperate to marry. But their father won’t let Bianca marry until her older sister Katherine is married off first. Enter smooth-talking rogue Petruchio, who marries Katherine and “tames” her through a series of psychological torments (like withholding food, sleep and sex), until she’s as biddable and compliant as her giggly younger sister. Who then promptly marries.
Yes, it’s wildly misogynistic. But, also funny. It’s one of Shakespeare’s bawdier comedies, and while there are plot holes you could drive a truck through, no one cares with all the raunchy jokes and pratfalls. It’s a nice change of pace from the somber seriousness of King Lear and The Madness of George III.
Stylistically, this production is muddled. While ostensibly “period,” in the sense that the costumes and props are (mostly) sixteenth-century Elizabethan, there are several jarring touches, including a neon “The Taming of the Shrew” sign blazoned across the stage. The male leads are all dressed like gaudy Renaissance pimps—one with designer sunglasses—and the male ensemble members all look like Gumby the Village Idiot from early Monty Python sketches. There are several strange dances involving the ensemble and very long sticks, and a couple of dumb shows involving a horse costume (which handily defecates onstage). There’s a lot of the wink-wink slapstick comedy that sustained Shakespeare’s plebian audiences. So kudos to director Ron Daniels for upholding the play’s brash comedic authenticity, at least. While I appreciate the clever double-entredre wordplay around words like “bush” and “tail,” I could have done without the fake horse poop and the stick dances. And the neon sign.
Fortunately the actors know their stuff. With a lesser cast, this production might easily have devolved into a lot of sequined sound and fury, signifying nothing. This Petruchio and Katherine have a palpable chemistry together, which is often lacking, and this cast is the most energetic of the three plays. Jonno Roberts as Petrucio is as happily charming and charismatic as you might expect; Emily Swallow’s Katherine is strong and acerbic, almost too much so—her capitulation to Petruchio’s charms seems forced, like she’s waiting until they’re alone offstage to kill him. I can’t say that I’d blame her. But hey, it’s not often we get to enjoy a strong Shakespearean female lead (or at least one that doesn’t have to resort to cross-dressing somewhere in the play).
Written by William Shakespeare
Directed by Ron Daniels
With Michael Stewart Allen (Tranio), Shirine Babb (Widow), Donald Carrier (Hortensio), Craig Dudley (Tailor, Vincentio), Charles Janasz (Pedant, Curtis), Joseph Marcell (Gremio), Jordan McArthur (Biondello), Jonno Roberts (Petruchio), Adrian Sparks (Baptista Minola), Emily Swallow (Katherine), Bruce Turk (Grumio), Bree Welch (Bianca) and Jay Whittaker (Lucentio) with Andrew Dahl, Grayson DeJesus, Ben Diskant, Christian Durso, Kevin Hoffman, Andrew Hutcheson and Steven Marzolf (Ensemble)
Set Design: Ralph Funicello
Lighting Design: Alan Burrett
Sound Design: Christopher R. Walker
Costume Design: Deirdre Clancy
Original Music: Shaun Davey
Running Time: Two hours and fifty minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
The Old Globe; 1363 Old Globe Way, San Diego; 619-23-GLOBE
Tickets $29 - $78
Schedule varies
June 16 – September 26, 2010
Katherine: If I be waspish, best beware my sting.
Petruchio: My remedy is then to pluck it out.
Katherine: Ay, if the fool could find where it lies.
Petruchio: Who knows not where a wasp does wear his sting? In his tail.
Katherine: In his tongue.
Petruchio: Whose tongue?
Katherine: Yours, if you talk of tales, and so farewell.
Petruchio: What, with my tongue in your tail?
The Taming of the Shrew is the Old Globe’s third repertory production this summer, rounding out King Lear and The Madness of George III. We’re all familiar with the basic story, having been made into such other plays as Kiss Me Kate and movies like 10 Things I Hate About You. Katherine is a sharp-tongued, obdurate woman whose younger sister Bianca is desperate to marry. But their father won’t let Bianca marry until her older sister Katherine is married off first. Enter smooth-talking rogue Petruchio, who marries Katherine and “tames” her through a series of psychological torments (like withholding food, sleep and sex), until she’s as biddable and compliant as her giggly younger sister. Who then promptly marries.
Yes, it’s wildly misogynistic. But, also funny. It’s one of Shakespeare’s bawdier comedies, and while there are plot holes you could drive a truck through, no one cares with all the raunchy jokes and pratfalls. It’s a nice change of pace from the somber seriousness of King Lear and The Madness of George III.
Stylistically, this production is muddled. While ostensibly “period,” in the sense that the costumes and props are (mostly) sixteenth-century Elizabethan, there are several jarring touches, including a neon “The Taming of the Shrew” sign blazoned across the stage. The male leads are all dressed like gaudy Renaissance pimps—one with designer sunglasses—and the male ensemble members all look like Gumby the Village Idiot from early Monty Python sketches. There are several strange dances involving the ensemble and very long sticks, and a couple of dumb shows involving a horse costume (which handily defecates onstage). There’s a lot of the wink-wink slapstick comedy that sustained Shakespeare’s plebian audiences. So kudos to director Ron Daniels for upholding the play’s brash comedic authenticity, at least. While I appreciate the clever double-entredre wordplay around words like “bush” and “tail,” I could have done without the fake horse poop and the stick dances. And the neon sign.
Fortunately the actors know their stuff. With a lesser cast, this production might easily have devolved into a lot of sequined sound and fury, signifying nothing. This Petruchio and Katherine have a palpable chemistry together, which is often lacking, and this cast is the most energetic of the three plays. Jonno Roberts as Petrucio is as happily charming and charismatic as you might expect; Emily Swallow’s Katherine is strong and acerbic, almost too much so—her capitulation to Petruchio’s charms seems forced, like she’s waiting until they’re alone offstage to kill him. I can’t say that I’d blame her. But hey, it’s not often we get to enjoy a strong Shakespearean female lead (or at least one that doesn’t have to resort to cross-dressing somewhere in the play).
Written by William Shakespeare
Directed by Ron Daniels
With Michael Stewart Allen (Tranio), Shirine Babb (Widow), Donald Carrier (Hortensio), Craig Dudley (Tailor, Vincentio), Charles Janasz (Pedant, Curtis), Joseph Marcell (Gremio), Jordan McArthur (Biondello), Jonno Roberts (Petruchio), Adrian Sparks (Baptista Minola), Emily Swallow (Katherine), Bruce Turk (Grumio), Bree Welch (Bianca) and Jay Whittaker (Lucentio) with Andrew Dahl, Grayson DeJesus, Ben Diskant, Christian Durso, Kevin Hoffman, Andrew Hutcheson and Steven Marzolf (Ensemble)
Set Design: Ralph Funicello
Lighting Design: Alan Burrett
Sound Design: Christopher R. Walker
Costume Design: Deirdre Clancy
Original Music: Shaun Davey
Running Time: Two hours and fifty minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
The Old Globe; 1363 Old Globe Way, San Diego; 619-23-GLOBE
Tickets $29 - $78
Schedule varies
June 16 – September 26, 2010
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Theatre review: The Madness of George III
“What do you know of my mind?...I’m not going out of my mind. My mind is going out of me!”
--George III
"The state of monarchy and the state of lunacy share a frontier."
--Dr. Willis
King George III would be a historical footnote, were it not for the fact that he caused the American Revolution. Best known for his short-sighted tax policies which sparked the Revolution (and the Boston Tea Party), he was also clinically insane for long stretches of his sixty-year reign. (Perhaps the Revolution was a direct result of his insanity?)
When not insane, or pissing off American colonists, he was a sober, steadfast monarch. He remained faithful to his queen during their long and arranged marriage, producing 15 children (Queen Victoria was his granddaughter). Alan Bennett’s 1991 play The Madness of George III (which became the 1994 award-winning film adaptation, The Madness of King George) chronicles George III’s mysterious illness and dramatic mental decline five years after the end of the Revolution (now thought to be the result of porphyria).
George fought tooth and nail to retain both his sanity and his throne. His son, the Prince of Wales, was waiting anxiously for his father to die, and made no attempt to hide his hunger to rule. George’s court was ill-equipped to handle his mental instability, no policies having been made to handle a temporary transfer of power. England’s government devolved into petty power struggles; the minority party allied itself with the Prince of Wales and plotted to overthrow George, his Prime Minister William Pitt, and their majority party while trying to get the Prince named as regent. Meanwhile, Queen Charlotte brought in a host of ineffective doctors, laboring under the uninformed medical practices of the time. George was treated with blistering and purges and finally with an early form of behavior modification therapy, but nothing helped. Eventually the disease abated on its own, and George was able to return to the throne.
The play is less about George III specifically as it is about the boundaries between order and chaos, sanity and madness, good government and bad, and about the general human inability to control ourselves. How can we control millions if we can’t control ourselves? It’s also a thought-provoking companion piece to another of the Old Globe’s repertory season, King Lear. Both kings go mad; both lose power, at least temporarily; both are the subject of complicated plots to seize that power.
Lear is a more nuanced production; the supporting players in George III are often little more than caricatures in a vintage political cartoon. Miles Anderson as George is by far the best of the bunch, with the rest of the ensemble sadly one-dimensional. Even with Lear as a bookend, this George III is a victim of its own exaggeration. The subtleties of the various power struggles are often lost. The Prince of Wales (Andrew Dahl) is a fat buffoon, the doctors are bumbling idiots, William Pitt (Jay Whittaker) is apparently incapable of any emotion outside ruthless efficiency.
That being said, it’s not often performed, and it’s a fascinating look into a royal life few Americans are familiar with. While I’d recommend Lear over George III, it’s worth it to see both for their overlapping views on the downfalls of absolute monarchy—and, by extrapolation, the downfalls of government in general.
--George III
"The state of monarchy and the state of lunacy share a frontier."
--Dr. Willis
King George III would be a historical footnote, were it not for the fact that he caused the American Revolution. Best known for his short-sighted tax policies which sparked the Revolution (and the Boston Tea Party), he was also clinically insane for long stretches of his sixty-year reign. (Perhaps the Revolution was a direct result of his insanity?)
When not insane, or pissing off American colonists, he was a sober, steadfast monarch. He remained faithful to his queen during their long and arranged marriage, producing 15 children (Queen Victoria was his granddaughter). Alan Bennett’s 1991 play The Madness of George III (which became the 1994 award-winning film adaptation, The Madness of King George) chronicles George III’s mysterious illness and dramatic mental decline five years after the end of the Revolution (now thought to be the result of porphyria).
George fought tooth and nail to retain both his sanity and his throne. His son, the Prince of Wales, was waiting anxiously for his father to die, and made no attempt to hide his hunger to rule. George’s court was ill-equipped to handle his mental instability, no policies having been made to handle a temporary transfer of power. England’s government devolved into petty power struggles; the minority party allied itself with the Prince of Wales and plotted to overthrow George, his Prime Minister William Pitt, and their majority party while trying to get the Prince named as regent. Meanwhile, Queen Charlotte brought in a host of ineffective doctors, laboring under the uninformed medical practices of the time. George was treated with blistering and purges and finally with an early form of behavior modification therapy, but nothing helped. Eventually the disease abated on its own, and George was able to return to the throne.
The play is less about George III specifically as it is about the boundaries between order and chaos, sanity and madness, good government and bad, and about the general human inability to control ourselves. How can we control millions if we can’t control ourselves? It’s also a thought-provoking companion piece to another of the Old Globe’s repertory season, King Lear. Both kings go mad; both lose power, at least temporarily; both are the subject of complicated plots to seize that power.
Lear is a more nuanced production; the supporting players in George III are often little more than caricatures in a vintage political cartoon. Miles Anderson as George is by far the best of the bunch, with the rest of the ensemble sadly one-dimensional. Even with Lear as a bookend, this George III is a victim of its own exaggeration. The subtleties of the various power struggles are often lost. The Prince of Wales (Andrew Dahl) is a fat buffoon, the doctors are bumbling idiots, William Pitt (Jay Whittaker) is apparently incapable of any emotion outside ruthless efficiency.
That being said, it’s not often performed, and it’s a fascinating look into a royal life few Americans are familiar with. While I’d recommend Lear over George III, it’s worth it to see both for their overlapping views on the downfalls of absolute monarchy—and, by extrapolation, the downfalls of government in general.
Written by Alan Bennett
Directed by Adrian Noble
With Michael Stewart Allen (Fox), Miles Anderson (George III), Shirine Babb (Lady Pembroke), Donald Carrier (Sheridan), Andrew Dahl (Prince of Wales), Grayson DeJesus (Ramsden), Ben Diskant (Greville), Craig Dudley (Dundas), Christian Durso (Braun), Robert Foxworth (Dr. Willis), Kevin Hoffmann (Duke of York), Andrew Hutcheson (Fortnum), Charles Janasz (Thurlow), Joseph Marcell (Sir George Baker), Steven Marzolf (Captain Fitzroy), Jordan McArthur (Papandiek), Brooke Novak (Margaret Nicholson), Ryman Sneed (Maid), Adrian Sparks (Sir Lucas Pepys, Sir Boothby Skrymshir), Emily Swallow (Queen Charlotte), Bruce Turk (Dr. Richard Warren), and Jay Whittaker (William Pitt) with Catherine Gowl, Aubrey Saverino and Bree Welch (Ensemble)
Set Design: Ralph Funicello
Lighting Design: Alan Burrett
Sound Design: Christopher R. Walker
Costume Design: Deirdre Clancy
Original Music: Shaun Davey
Running Time: Two hours and forty minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
The Old Globe; 1363 Old Globe Way, San Diego; 619-23-GLOBE
Tickets $29 - $78
Schedule varies
June 19 – September 24, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Theatre review: King Lear
I’ve seen a lot of productions of Lear over the years; perhaps most memorably the one where Ian McKellan got bare-ass naked during the mad scene. But this is the first one I’d seen directed by Adrian Noble, former artistic director of the Royal Shakespeare Company. He’s directing two of the three offerings at the Old Globe’s 2010 Shakespeare Festival in San Diego.
Like all of Shakespeare’s plays, Lear involves a number of subplots. But the main story is the most poignant. Lear, an aging king, wants to divide up his kingdom among his three daughters. But he asks them to prove which loves him the most. The oldest two, Goneril and Regan, offer pretty and flattering speeches; the youngest, Cordelia, merely says she has no words to describe how much she loves him. Lear flies into a rage and disowns her. Goneril and Regan begin to scheme and plot to undermine what little authority remains to Lear. Without his favorite, Cordelia, and unable to handle the betrayal of his other daughters, Lear goes mad. At the end of the play, when he discovers Cordelia has been hanged, his heart breaks, and he dies in her arms.
Refreshingly, Noble didn’t try to set the play in Nazi Germany, or Stone Age-era Ireland, or France during the Revolution, or Cold War-era Russia, or anywhere else that I’ve seen directors try to place Shakespeare. He let Lear be Lear. Which is entirely appropriate for an outdoor festival; in an outdoor setting, artifice is just that—artifice.
Because of the production’s simplicity, the acting shines. This is an ensemble that’s done its homework (as one would expect under Noble’s tutelage), that understands every word, every nuance of Shakespeare’s elevated language. I especially enjoyed Bruce Turk as an uncharacteristically melancholy Fool; Jay Whittaker and Jonno Roberts as Edgar and Edmund, the feuding half-brothers; and Charles Janasz as Gloucester. They were every bit as riveting as Lear himself (Robert Foxworth). He was very regal, if slightly unconvincing as a madman.
Ralph Funicello’s set is a simple wooden platform, set on a platform deep with fallen leaves. Two wooden staircases stand to either side; two enormous Japanese-style sliding wooden doors in the back. That’s it. And that’s really all you need. Lighting (Alan Burrett) and music (sound design, Christopher R. Walker and original music, Shaun Davey) take care of the rest, differentiating the various locations. Even the famous storm scene is relatively low-tech, mostly fierce storm sounds punctuated with swirling snow. (But the snow is really beautiful.) Deirdre Clancy’s costumes are simple but lush; the three daughters’ dresses in the opening scene are her best.
While most of the country swelters under a heat wave, San Diego’s weather remains constant. Between 65 and 75 degrees, all year round. However, as befits a semi-arid desert climate, the nights get chilly—even in June. At the opening night outdoor performance of Lear, most of the audience was bundled into blankets, braving 59-degree evening temperatures. But no one fidgeted, no one left, even as the blanket supply ran out. Animal sounds from the nearby San Diego Zoo provided an eerie soundtrack of their own. Despite the chill, it was one of the most enjoyable outdoor performances of Shakespeare I’ve seen. Just remember to bring a blanket.
Directed by Adrian Noble
With Robert Foxworth (Lear), Emily Swallow (Goneril), Aubrey Saverino (Regan), Catherine Gowl (Cordelia), Donald Carrier (Albany), Michael Stewart Allen (Cornwall), Ben Diskant (France), Christian Durso (Burgundy), Charles Janasz (Gloucester), Jay Whittaker (Edgar), Jonno Roberts (Edmund), Joseph Marcell (Kent), Bruce Turk (Fool), Andrew Dahl (Oswald), Steven Marzolf (Curan), Adrian Sparks (Old Man), Craig Dudley (Doctor); and Ensemble, Shirine Babb, Andrew Dahl, Grayson DeJesus, Ben Diskant, Craig Dudley, Christian Durso, Kevin Hoffman, Andrew Hutcheson, Steven Marzolf, Jordan McArthur, Brooke Novak, Ryman Sneed, Adrian Sparks and Bree Welch
Set Design: Ralph Funicello
Lighting Design: Alan Burrett
Sound Design: Christopher R. Walker
Costume Design: Deirdre Clancy
Original Music: Shaun Davey
Running Time: Three hours with one fifteen-minute intermission
The Old Globe; 1363 Old Globe Way, San Diego; 619-23-GLOBE
Tickets $29 - $78
Schedule varies
June 12 – September 23, 2010
Like all of Shakespeare’s plays, Lear involves a number of subplots. But the main story is the most poignant. Lear, an aging king, wants to divide up his kingdom among his three daughters. But he asks them to prove which loves him the most. The oldest two, Goneril and Regan, offer pretty and flattering speeches; the youngest, Cordelia, merely says she has no words to describe how much she loves him. Lear flies into a rage and disowns her. Goneril and Regan begin to scheme and plot to undermine what little authority remains to Lear. Without his favorite, Cordelia, and unable to handle the betrayal of his other daughters, Lear goes mad. At the end of the play, when he discovers Cordelia has been hanged, his heart breaks, and he dies in her arms.
Refreshingly, Noble didn’t try to set the play in Nazi Germany, or Stone Age-era Ireland, or France during the Revolution, or Cold War-era Russia, or anywhere else that I’ve seen directors try to place Shakespeare. He let Lear be Lear. Which is entirely appropriate for an outdoor festival; in an outdoor setting, artifice is just that—artifice.
Because of the production’s simplicity, the acting shines. This is an ensemble that’s done its homework (as one would expect under Noble’s tutelage), that understands every word, every nuance of Shakespeare’s elevated language. I especially enjoyed Bruce Turk as an uncharacteristically melancholy Fool; Jay Whittaker and Jonno Roberts as Edgar and Edmund, the feuding half-brothers; and Charles Janasz as Gloucester. They were every bit as riveting as Lear himself (Robert Foxworth). He was very regal, if slightly unconvincing as a madman.
Ralph Funicello’s set is a simple wooden platform, set on a platform deep with fallen leaves. Two wooden staircases stand to either side; two enormous Japanese-style sliding wooden doors in the back. That’s it. And that’s really all you need. Lighting (Alan Burrett) and music (sound design, Christopher R. Walker and original music, Shaun Davey) take care of the rest, differentiating the various locations. Even the famous storm scene is relatively low-tech, mostly fierce storm sounds punctuated with swirling snow. (But the snow is really beautiful.) Deirdre Clancy’s costumes are simple but lush; the three daughters’ dresses in the opening scene are her best.
While most of the country swelters under a heat wave, San Diego’s weather remains constant. Between 65 and 75 degrees, all year round. However, as befits a semi-arid desert climate, the nights get chilly—even in June. At the opening night outdoor performance of Lear, most of the audience was bundled into blankets, braving 59-degree evening temperatures. But no one fidgeted, no one left, even as the blanket supply ran out. Animal sounds from the nearby San Diego Zoo provided an eerie soundtrack of their own. Despite the chill, it was one of the most enjoyable outdoor performances of Shakespeare I’ve seen. Just remember to bring a blanket.
Directed by Adrian Noble
With Robert Foxworth (Lear), Emily Swallow (Goneril), Aubrey Saverino (Regan), Catherine Gowl (Cordelia), Donald Carrier (Albany), Michael Stewart Allen (Cornwall), Ben Diskant (France), Christian Durso (Burgundy), Charles Janasz (Gloucester), Jay Whittaker (Edgar), Jonno Roberts (Edmund), Joseph Marcell (Kent), Bruce Turk (Fool), Andrew Dahl (Oswald), Steven Marzolf (Curan), Adrian Sparks (Old Man), Craig Dudley (Doctor); and Ensemble, Shirine Babb, Andrew Dahl, Grayson DeJesus, Ben Diskant, Craig Dudley, Christian Durso, Kevin Hoffman, Andrew Hutcheson, Steven Marzolf, Jordan McArthur, Brooke Novak, Ryman Sneed, Adrian Sparks and Bree Welch
Set Design: Ralph Funicello
Lighting Design: Alan Burrett
Sound Design: Christopher R. Walker
Costume Design: Deirdre Clancy
Original Music: Shaun Davey
Running Time: Three hours with one fifteen-minute intermission
The Old Globe; 1363 Old Globe Way, San Diego; 619-23-GLOBE
Tickets $29 - $78
Schedule varies
June 12 – September 23, 2010
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Theatre review: Surf Report
The stereotype of Southern California is that everyone is blonde, everyone is a professional surfer, everyone smokes pot, and that life is one big ongoing episode of Entourage. In reality, the San Diego-Los Angeles megapolis is far more intellectual than most people realize. It's a scientific and engineering hub; oceanography, biotechnology, computing, with world-renowned research centers. Playwright Annie Weisman grew up in San Diego, and when she moved East, she realized that the image of California in popular culture extended no farther than Malibu Barbie. That realization stuck with her, and became the genesis for her latest play, Surf Report.
In Surf Report, Bruce (played by Gregory Harrison) is a very wealthy venture capitalist specializing in biotechnology. His assistant Judith (Linda Gehringer) is his right hand. She's been working for him for so many years that she knows every detail of his life. She's an excellent manager, but a bit obsessive. She's so fixated on making Bruce's life run smoothly that she's neglected her own family: husband Hal (Matthew Arkin) and adult daughter/aspiring visual artist Bethany (Zoe Chao), who now lives in Brooklyn and hates her mother and her SoCal upbringing with a passion.
Naturally, worlds collide. Hal's failing health forces Judith to re-examine her priorities, while bringing Bethany back home for a few days. Bethany is desperate to return to New York where she's gunning for a prestigious internship with an internationally famous photographer, but finds separating from her roots is harder than she thought. Especially when Jena (Liv Rooth), an old acquaintance from high school, insists on becoming her friend. When Judith comes to Bruce with a proposal, she's shocked to discover that she's somehow crossed a line, and that she isn't indispensable after all.
Interwoven into this is a careful and lovingly textured view of surf culture: the daily surf report, Bruce's obsession with surfing, Bethany's old high school boyfriend who taught her how to read the waves. The play is more character than plot driven, focusing on how the worlds of the various characters overlap and collide, and what happens when they do. A metaphor for the two sides of SoCal—laidback surfer culture vs. the high-stakes business world. It's a dark play, without the rapier satire of Weisman's earlier hit, Be Aggressive. It is, however, quietly beautiful and an excellent snapshot of modern Southern California.
The actors make a fine ensemble. Gregory Harrison stands out as the eerily charismatic Bruce, as does Liv Rooth as Jena who is a breath of fresh air and a charaxcter I wanted to see more of. While meant to be comic relief, Jenna is also Bethany's exact opposite and as such the only person capable of helping her realize that she's not such a misfit after all. Harrison's Bruce and Linda Gehringer's Judith have a great chemistry together. Their story is heartbreaking. Judith wants so much to be a guiding force in Bruce's life and to be as powerful in her own way as he is in his. Becausev Bruce is completely self-absorbed we know from the beginning that he will never see Judith as anything more than an assistant, and it's sad to see Judith struggle to arrive at that same conclusion, realizing that so many years of her life were spent for nothing.
Director Lisa Peterson does a great job of highlighting the play's complicated emotions. But the star of the show, as far as I was concerned, was the production itself. Rachel Hauck's set managed to be both lush and spare at the same time; a large mural of a breaking wave, bisected by a stark modern balcony staircase with an undulating blue-green wave-pattern floor. It could have been the lobby of a high-end condo building, or a plastic surgeon's office, or almost anywhere in Southern California. John Gromada's sound design was similarly expressive and lingering.
Surf Report deals with a number of weighty issues, but Annie Weisman is a fine writer and able to capture the complexities of life in Southern California in a way no one else can. You might need a martini before and after this play, but it's definitely worth it.
Written by Annie Weisman
Directed by Lisa Peterson
With Linda Gehringer (Judith), Gregory Harrison (Bruce), Matthew Arkin (Hal), Liv Rooth (Jena) and Zoe Chao (Bethany)
Set Design: Rachel Hauck
Lighting Design: Ben Stanton
Sound Design: John Gromada
Costume Design: David Zinn
Running Time: Two hours and five minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
La Jolla Playhouse; 2910 La Jolla Village Drive, La Jolla, CA; 858-550-1010
Tickets $31-$66
Tuesdays and Wednesdays at 7:30 pm; Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 8 pm; Sundays at 7 pm. Matinees on Saturdays and Sundays at 2 pm
June 15 — July 11, 2010
In Surf Report, Bruce (played by Gregory Harrison) is a very wealthy venture capitalist specializing in biotechnology. His assistant Judith (Linda Gehringer) is his right hand. She's been working for him for so many years that she knows every detail of his life. She's an excellent manager, but a bit obsessive. She's so fixated on making Bruce's life run smoothly that she's neglected her own family: husband Hal (Matthew Arkin) and adult daughter/aspiring visual artist Bethany (Zoe Chao), who now lives in Brooklyn and hates her mother and her SoCal upbringing with a passion.
Naturally, worlds collide. Hal's failing health forces Judith to re-examine her priorities, while bringing Bethany back home for a few days. Bethany is desperate to return to New York where she's gunning for a prestigious internship with an internationally famous photographer, but finds separating from her roots is harder than she thought. Especially when Jena (Liv Rooth), an old acquaintance from high school, insists on becoming her friend. When Judith comes to Bruce with a proposal, she's shocked to discover that she's somehow crossed a line, and that she isn't indispensable after all.
Interwoven into this is a careful and lovingly textured view of surf culture: the daily surf report, Bruce's obsession with surfing, Bethany's old high school boyfriend who taught her how to read the waves. The play is more character than plot driven, focusing on how the worlds of the various characters overlap and collide, and what happens when they do. A metaphor for the two sides of SoCal—laidback surfer culture vs. the high-stakes business world. It's a dark play, without the rapier satire of Weisman's earlier hit, Be Aggressive. It is, however, quietly beautiful and an excellent snapshot of modern Southern California.
The actors make a fine ensemble. Gregory Harrison stands out as the eerily charismatic Bruce, as does Liv Rooth as Jena who is a breath of fresh air and a charaxcter I wanted to see more of. While meant to be comic relief, Jenna is also Bethany's exact opposite and as such the only person capable of helping her realize that she's not such a misfit after all. Harrison's Bruce and Linda Gehringer's Judith have a great chemistry together. Their story is heartbreaking. Judith wants so much to be a guiding force in Bruce's life and to be as powerful in her own way as he is in his. Becausev Bruce is completely self-absorbed we know from the beginning that he will never see Judith as anything more than an assistant, and it's sad to see Judith struggle to arrive at that same conclusion, realizing that so many years of her life were spent for nothing.
Director Lisa Peterson does a great job of highlighting the play's complicated emotions. But the star of the show, as far as I was concerned, was the production itself. Rachel Hauck's set managed to be both lush and spare at the same time; a large mural of a breaking wave, bisected by a stark modern balcony staircase with an undulating blue-green wave-pattern floor. It could have been the lobby of a high-end condo building, or a plastic surgeon's office, or almost anywhere in Southern California. John Gromada's sound design was similarly expressive and lingering.
Surf Report deals with a number of weighty issues, but Annie Weisman is a fine writer and able to capture the complexities of life in Southern California in a way no one else can. You might need a martini before and after this play, but it's definitely worth it.
Written by Annie Weisman
Directed by Lisa Peterson
With Linda Gehringer (Judith), Gregory Harrison (Bruce), Matthew Arkin (Hal), Liv Rooth (Jena) and Zoe Chao (Bethany)
Set Design: Rachel Hauck
Lighting Design: Ben Stanton
Sound Design: John Gromada
Costume Design: David Zinn
Running Time: Two hours and five minutes with one fifteen-minute intermission
La Jolla Playhouse; 2910 La Jolla Village Drive, La Jolla, CA; 858-550-1010
Tickets $31-$66
Tuesdays and Wednesdays at 7:30 pm; Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays at 8 pm; Sundays at 7 pm. Matinees on Saturdays and Sundays at 2 pm
June 15 — July 11, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Theatre review: The Language Archive
I totally forgot to post my review of Julia Cho's new play at South Coast Rep, The Language Archive! We saw it last weekend.
So, this'll be a quick review. I like Julia Cho's work, and she just won the Susan Smith Blackburn prize for female playwrights for this play. I'm pretty sure I saw her Architecture of Loss at New York Theatre Workshop. While at times the pacing of SCR's production was a bit slow for me, it was a lovely play, with great actors and a really gorgeous set. I'll link to the OC Register's review because I'm lazy, and because my brain has been too full of wedding nonsense lately to hold much else. Sorry.
So, this'll be a quick review. I like Julia Cho's work, and she just won the Susan Smith Blackburn prize for female playwrights for this play. I'm pretty sure I saw her Architecture of Loss at New York Theatre Workshop. While at times the pacing of SCR's production was a bit slow for me, it was a lovely play, with great actors and a really gorgeous set. I'll link to the OC Register's review because I'm lazy, and because my brain has been too full of wedding nonsense lately to hold much else. Sorry.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Theatre review: In A Garden
When I was a theatre critic in New York, I saw a lot of plays. A lot. Many of them were good, but many more of them were bad. I mean baaaaaaad. One of the things I learned by seeing all those bad plays was that you should never, ever, under any circumstances, see a play which features the words "Israeli-Palestinian conflict" in the press release. Last night I saw In A Garden by Howard Korder at South Coast Rep, and I can honestly say this is the first play I've ever seen that's even vaguely about the Middle East that didn't make me want to stab myself in the eye with a fork.
I know it doesn't sound like high praise, but writing about the Middle East is tricky. You run the risk of alienating part of the audience and boring another part to tears. It's very difficult to write about objectively--everyone has an opinion on this topic--and so it's very difficult to end up with a play that's not delivered from the top of a soapbox. Plus, who keeps up with the news these days? Even in New York, audiences aren't really on top of either current events, or the intricate and tortured histories that led up to current Middle Eastern events.
So In A Garden was surprisingly...adept, for lack of a better word. An American architect is summoned to a fictional Middle East country by the Minister of Culture, who wants to commission a small private summer house. The Minister is worldly, sophisticated, diplomatic, and seems to have his country's best interests at heart. In true political fashion, he seems unable (or unwilling) to answer a question directly, and so their conversations, which begin in 1989 and range up to 2004, are fascinatingly oblique. As they both dance around the design for the summer house, current events, the history of the country, and the country's current leader, the architect is gradually exposed to a wealth of secrets. The last scene of the play, as one might expect given the subject matter, is conducted between the architect and an American soldier in 2004, in the bombed-out former Ministry of Culture.
Perhaps because the two main characters never address "The Middle East and Its Issues" directly, the play never descends into pedantry. The audience is presented with the same tantalizing bits of information as the architect, and so we are free to draw our own conclusions. It's a great way to back into the subject matter, and because the play's country is fictional (although an obvious amalgamation of real countries), it doesn't run the risk of offending anyone or becoming immediately outdated.
The scene transistions were a little long for my taste, but whatever. I really enjoyed getting out of the house and getting some culture. Who would have thought I had to move to California to finally see a good play about the Middle East?
I know it doesn't sound like high praise, but writing about the Middle East is tricky. You run the risk of alienating part of the audience and boring another part to tears. It's very difficult to write about objectively--everyone has an opinion on this topic--and so it's very difficult to end up with a play that's not delivered from the top of a soapbox. Plus, who keeps up with the news these days? Even in New York, audiences aren't really on top of either current events, or the intricate and tortured histories that led up to current Middle Eastern events.
So In A Garden was surprisingly...adept, for lack of a better word. An American architect is summoned to a fictional Middle East country by the Minister of Culture, who wants to commission a small private summer house. The Minister is worldly, sophisticated, diplomatic, and seems to have his country's best interests at heart. In true political fashion, he seems unable (or unwilling) to answer a question directly, and so their conversations, which begin in 1989 and range up to 2004, are fascinatingly oblique. As they both dance around the design for the summer house, current events, the history of the country, and the country's current leader, the architect is gradually exposed to a wealth of secrets. The last scene of the play, as one might expect given the subject matter, is conducted between the architect and an American soldier in 2004, in the bombed-out former Ministry of Culture.
Perhaps because the two main characters never address "The Middle East and Its Issues" directly, the play never descends into pedantry. The audience is presented with the same tantalizing bits of information as the architect, and so we are free to draw our own conclusions. It's a great way to back into the subject matter, and because the play's country is fictional (although an obvious amalgamation of real countries), it doesn't run the risk of offending anyone or becoming immediately outdated.
The scene transistions were a little long for my taste, but whatever. I really enjoyed getting out of the house and getting some culture. Who would have thought I had to move to California to finally see a good play about the Middle East?
Monday, January 25, 2010
Theatre review: Whisper House, or, A Critic Goes Bicoastal
Almost five months ago, I moved myself from New York to San Diego. During my decade in New York, I saw (and reviewed) thousands of plays. In my heyday I was reviewing three or four plays a week, and that’s not counting the ones I saw that I wasn’t reviewing. Since moving to San Diego, I’ve seen one--Noah Haidle’s Saturn Returns at South Coast Rep in Costa Mesa.
Last night I went to my first play in San Diego; Duncan Sheik’s Whisper House at the Old Globe. Yes, that Duncan Sheik, of Spring Awakening fame. It was disconcerting to say the least, watching off-Broadway theatre so far off-Broadway.
In New York, I saw all manner of plays and playhouses. I saw shows on Broadway and at BAM, packed to the gills; I sat in leaky basements in the East Village where I was one of three audience members. I’ve seen plays in cars (yes, in cars), in churches, in the subway, in apartments, in parks, in the street, and in innumerable basements. More often than not, I was watching theatre in a repurposed space--I saw plays in an actual theatre maybe 35% of the time. I’ve sat on folding chairs, backless benches, church pews, boxes, floor mats, and the grass. Comfortable seating was a luxury, as was a coat check. Occasionally there was a folding table set up where I could purchase $6 beer or box wine.
Now, I didn’t always live in New York. I’ve seen plenty of community and regional theatre, so it’s not like the concept of free parking at the theatre is completely unheard-of. But it is very unfamiliar. The Old Globe has free parking. Lots of it. And a valet. More importantly, I drove to the theatre; no subway required. (I’ve missed plays because of subway delays and snafus. No worrying about that here!) The Old Globe also has a year-round outdoor pub. Let me just restate that--year-round. Outdoors. Their theatres have cushy seats, and wide aisles. My knees didn’t automatically hit the back of the seat in front of me for the first time in--well, nearly a decade. Best of all, I didn’t have to swing back out into the aisle and perform a couple of advanced yoga moves in order to cross my legs.
The last play I saw in New York was Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, at the Public, an incredibly subversive and hilarious musical. The theatre (the Public’s black box space) was about the size of three corner offices. Not one audience member was over 40, and there couldn’t have been seating for more than 50 people, tops. The play started at 10 PM. I sat in a folding chair, with my coat on my lap. I took the subway there, and back again to Brooklyn. If I remember correctly, it was about 45 degrees outside.
Fast forward several months to San Diego. Whisper House is also a subversive musical, by a guy who made his name in New York. The Old Globe was enormous, and beautiful, and seated 600. I drove there, and parked for free. It was 70 degrees outside; despite that, there was a coat check. My seat had a cushion, and ample leg room. Granted, when I saw Spring Awakening on Broadway, the weather was lovely and I had a coat check and a cushy seat then, too. Duncan Sheik plays well on both coasts, it seems. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
It helped that I was viewing a familiar name; musicals have never been my forte, but Spring Awakening is one of the few that I actually like. Duncan Sheik is becoming a force to be reckoned with, I think; while this show is stylistically very different from Spring Awakening, Sheik still shows his characteristic musical insouciance.
While fellow reviewer Evan Henerson wasn’t thrilled with Whisper House, (see his review here) I thought it was perfect for my own personal reentry into the theatre world. I agree with much of his review--the book was pretty thin--but atmospherically, I felt the evening was exceptional. The play’s soundtrack was very nearly a cross between The Killers and a moody James Bond theme song; the lighting and fog usage were eerie and mournful without being overwrought; the acting was excellent; the set was architecturally interesting; and the audience was happily mixed, both old and young alike. And the piece was, for good or ill, recognizably Duncan Sheik.
Last night I went to my first play in San Diego; Duncan Sheik’s Whisper House at the Old Globe. Yes, that Duncan Sheik, of Spring Awakening fame. It was disconcerting to say the least, watching off-Broadway theatre so far off-Broadway.
In New York, I saw all manner of plays and playhouses. I saw shows on Broadway and at BAM, packed to the gills; I sat in leaky basements in the East Village where I was one of three audience members. I’ve seen plays in cars (yes, in cars), in churches, in the subway, in apartments, in parks, in the street, and in innumerable basements. More often than not, I was watching theatre in a repurposed space--I saw plays in an actual theatre maybe 35% of the time. I’ve sat on folding chairs, backless benches, church pews, boxes, floor mats, and the grass. Comfortable seating was a luxury, as was a coat check. Occasionally there was a folding table set up where I could purchase $6 beer or box wine.
Now, I didn’t always live in New York. I’ve seen plenty of community and regional theatre, so it’s not like the concept of free parking at the theatre is completely unheard-of. But it is very unfamiliar. The Old Globe has free parking. Lots of it. And a valet. More importantly, I drove to the theatre; no subway required. (I’ve missed plays because of subway delays and snafus. No worrying about that here!) The Old Globe also has a year-round outdoor pub. Let me just restate that--year-round. Outdoors. Their theatres have cushy seats, and wide aisles. My knees didn’t automatically hit the back of the seat in front of me for the first time in--well, nearly a decade. Best of all, I didn’t have to swing back out into the aisle and perform a couple of advanced yoga moves in order to cross my legs.
The last play I saw in New York was Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, at the Public, an incredibly subversive and hilarious musical. The theatre (the Public’s black box space) was about the size of three corner offices. Not one audience member was over 40, and there couldn’t have been seating for more than 50 people, tops. The play started at 10 PM. I sat in a folding chair, with my coat on my lap. I took the subway there, and back again to Brooklyn. If I remember correctly, it was about 45 degrees outside.
Fast forward several months to San Diego. Whisper House is also a subversive musical, by a guy who made his name in New York. The Old Globe was enormous, and beautiful, and seated 600. I drove there, and parked for free. It was 70 degrees outside; despite that, there was a coat check. My seat had a cushion, and ample leg room. Granted, when I saw Spring Awakening on Broadway, the weather was lovely and I had a coat check and a cushy seat then, too. Duncan Sheik plays well on both coasts, it seems. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
It helped that I was viewing a familiar name; musicals have never been my forte, but Spring Awakening is one of the few that I actually like. Duncan Sheik is becoming a force to be reckoned with, I think; while this show is stylistically very different from Spring Awakening, Sheik still shows his characteristic musical insouciance.
While fellow reviewer Evan Henerson wasn’t thrilled with Whisper House, (see his review here) I thought it was perfect for my own personal reentry into the theatre world. I agree with much of his review--the book was pretty thin--but atmospherically, I felt the evening was exceptional. The play’s soundtrack was very nearly a cross between The Killers and a moody James Bond theme song; the lighting and fog usage were eerie and mournful without being overwrought; the acting was excellent; the set was architecturally interesting; and the audience was happily mixed, both old and young alike. And the piece was, for good or ill, recognizably Duncan Sheik.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Theatre review: Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson
Ah, Andrew Jackson. Our seventh president and the star of the first High School Musical.
While you probably never pictured Andrew Jackson as a singing, dancing emo maverick, you probably never thought of populism as hot and sexy, either. In Les Freres Corbusier’s latest production, now playing at the Public (for only $10!), you can see both.
Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, while packed with enough history to be an erstwhile history lesson, is more akin to Spring Awakening. The songs are raw and fierce (“Why wouldn’t you go out with me in high school?”), the characters throb with adolescent angst, and Andrew Jackson is, oddly, a natural choice for the play’s star—he was, after all, the country’s first experiment with electing a president based on his charisma and personality, rather than on his ability to lead.
History remains undecided about Jackson—was he a great military leader and uniter? He brought modern-day Louisiana, Georgia, Alabama and Florida into the union, more than doubling the size of the US, and rousted British troops permanently from American soil. Or was he an American Hitler? He conquered and killed thousands of Native Americans, and signed the legislation that led to the Trail of Tears—in which the entire remaining Cherokee population east of the Mississippi was forcibly marched into Oklahoma, killing nearly a third along the way. His presidency was the first that championed the common man, and he was the first president not from the political elite. He created the Democratic party, and consolidated presidential power, transforming it into the most powerful branch of government.
Oh, and he was hot and sexy. Played by the equally hot and sexy Benjamin Walker, Jackson is equal parts High School Musical, “Saturday Night Live,” and Animal House. While he’s emo to the core (“emo” being both a rock genre and a lifestyle dedicated to wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve), he’s also insouciant and defiant, taking pleasure in aggravating the Washington fat cats while he courts the populace—while singing and dancing, of course. His Oval Office is decorated with his initials separated by a lightning bolt, in an obvious homage to AC/DC, and at political rallies, his fans hold up signs that say “Jax Rox” (in sparkles) and “EMOcracy.” Need I say more?
Les Freres Corbusier is known for their insouciant productions, including an adaptation of Hedda Gabler involving robots. Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson does not disappoint—the ensemble is one of the finest in New York right now, and they’re all as happily hormonal and outré as Jackson himself. Look for finely caricatured performances of James Monroe (Ben Steinfeld), Henry Clay (Bryce Pinkham), Martin Van Buren (Lucas Near-Verbrugghe), John Quincy Adams (Jeff Hiller) and John Calhoun (Darren Goldstein). A delightfully cluttered set by Donyale Werle and extremely loud guitar (Justin Levine) and drums (Kevin Garcia) complete the party atmosphere.
Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson is the most fun I’ve had at a play this year, and at $10, is the best bargain in town. If only all our presidents could be as entertaining.
Written and directed by Alex Timbers
Music and Lyrics by Michael Friedman
With David Axelrod, James Barry, Darren Goldstein, Greg Hildreth, Jeff Hiller, Lisa Joyce, Lucas Near-Verbrugghe, Bryce Pinkham, Maria Elena Ramirez, Kate Cullen Roberts, Ben Steinfield, Benjamin Walker and Colleen Werthmann
Set Design: Donyale Werle
Lighting Design: Justin Townsend
Sound Design: Bart Fasbender
Costume Design: Emily Rebholz
Running Time: 90 minutes with no intermission
A collaboration between Center Theatre Group and the Public Theatre in association with Les Freres Corbusier, at The Public Theatre; 425 Lafayette Street, 212-967-7555
Tickets $10
Tuesday at 7 pm; Wednesday through Friday at 8 pm; Saturday at 2 pm and 8 pm; and Sunday at 2 pm and 7 pm
May 5 – 24, 2009
While you probably never pictured Andrew Jackson as a singing, dancing emo maverick, you probably never thought of populism as hot and sexy, either. In Les Freres Corbusier’s latest production, now playing at the Public (for only $10!), you can see both.
Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, while packed with enough history to be an erstwhile history lesson, is more akin to Spring Awakening. The songs are raw and fierce (“Why wouldn’t you go out with me in high school?”), the characters throb with adolescent angst, and Andrew Jackson is, oddly, a natural choice for the play’s star—he was, after all, the country’s first experiment with electing a president based on his charisma and personality, rather than on his ability to lead.
History remains undecided about Jackson—was he a great military leader and uniter? He brought modern-day Louisiana, Georgia, Alabama and Florida into the union, more than doubling the size of the US, and rousted British troops permanently from American soil. Or was he an American Hitler? He conquered and killed thousands of Native Americans, and signed the legislation that led to the Trail of Tears—in which the entire remaining Cherokee population east of the Mississippi was forcibly marched into Oklahoma, killing nearly a third along the way. His presidency was the first that championed the common man, and he was the first president not from the political elite. He created the Democratic party, and consolidated presidential power, transforming it into the most powerful branch of government.
Oh, and he was hot and sexy. Played by the equally hot and sexy Benjamin Walker, Jackson is equal parts High School Musical, “Saturday Night Live,” and Animal House. While he’s emo to the core (“emo” being both a rock genre and a lifestyle dedicated to wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve), he’s also insouciant and defiant, taking pleasure in aggravating the Washington fat cats while he courts the populace—while singing and dancing, of course. His Oval Office is decorated with his initials separated by a lightning bolt, in an obvious homage to AC/DC, and at political rallies, his fans hold up signs that say “Jax Rox” (in sparkles) and “EMOcracy.” Need I say more?
Les Freres Corbusier is known for their insouciant productions, including an adaptation of Hedda Gabler involving robots. Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson does not disappoint—the ensemble is one of the finest in New York right now, and they’re all as happily hormonal and outré as Jackson himself. Look for finely caricatured performances of James Monroe (Ben Steinfeld), Henry Clay (Bryce Pinkham), Martin Van Buren (Lucas Near-Verbrugghe), John Quincy Adams (Jeff Hiller) and John Calhoun (Darren Goldstein). A delightfully cluttered set by Donyale Werle and extremely loud guitar (Justin Levine) and drums (Kevin Garcia) complete the party atmosphere.
Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson is the most fun I’ve had at a play this year, and at $10, is the best bargain in town. If only all our presidents could be as entertaining.
Written and directed by Alex Timbers
Music and Lyrics by Michael Friedman
With David Axelrod, James Barry, Darren Goldstein, Greg Hildreth, Jeff Hiller, Lisa Joyce, Lucas Near-Verbrugghe, Bryce Pinkham, Maria Elena Ramirez, Kate Cullen Roberts, Ben Steinfield, Benjamin Walker and Colleen Werthmann
Set Design: Donyale Werle
Lighting Design: Justin Townsend
Sound Design: Bart Fasbender
Costume Design: Emily Rebholz
Running Time: 90 minutes with no intermission
A collaboration between Center Theatre Group and the Public Theatre in association with Les Freres Corbusier, at The Public Theatre; 425 Lafayette Street, 212-967-7555
Tickets $10
Tuesday at 7 pm; Wednesday through Friday at 8 pm; Saturday at 2 pm and 8 pm; and Sunday at 2 pm and 7 pm
May 5 – 24, 2009
Theatre review: A Play on Words
A Play on Words is—well, a play on words (not to get too cute about it). It’s almost more of a discussion on semantics than it is a play. Fortunately, playwright Brian Dykstra and Mark Boyett are good enough actors to keep the heady dialogue from feeling bogged down.
There’s not much of a story. Two suburban neighbors greet each other and then spend the next ninety minutes debating various points of language: does axiom mean the same as maxim? From whence does the phrase “I don’t give a hang” come? Did Rusty (Mark Boyett) mean entomology or etymology? They both seem to thrive on the give and take; Rusty especially seems the garrulous type we all know, who’ll spend hours working a crossword puzzle or beating his friends at Scrabble with completely obscure words. While the entire play is essentially a discussion on semantics, it’s snappier than it sounds. The pace is quick, the exchanges are often humorous, and it turns out Max (Brian Dykstra) has an ulterior motive, involving an upcoming political rally.
Dykstra and Boyett have a great chemistry; they’ve obviously worked together before, and their energy keeps the play aloft. Director Margarett Perry has worked with the two before, as well; these three make a great ensemble, and I’m sorry I missed their previous efforts.
But while Brian Dykstra has a deft hand with dialogue, the play ultimately feels more like a clever classroom exercise. There’s not much weight to it, and even at ninety minutes it’s too long. Clever, yes; significant, no. Fortunately not every play needs to be meaningful. This one is content to be entertaining, and it does its job well.
Written by Brian Dykstra
Directed by Margarett Perry
With Brian Dykstra (Max) and Mark Boyett (Rusty)
Set Design: Kelly Syring
Lighting Design: E.D. Intemann
Sound Design: Nate Richardson
Costume Design: Hannah Kochman
Running Time: 90 minutes with no intermission
A Twilight Theatre Company presentation of a Kitchen Theatre Company production at 59E59 Theatre; 59 East 59th Street, 212-279-4200
Tickets $18
Tuesday at 7:30 PM, Wednesday - Saturday at 8:30 PM and Sunday at 3:30 PM
May 13 – May 30, 2009
There’s not much of a story. Two suburban neighbors greet each other and then spend the next ninety minutes debating various points of language: does axiom mean the same as maxim? From whence does the phrase “I don’t give a hang” come? Did Rusty (Mark Boyett) mean entomology or etymology? They both seem to thrive on the give and take; Rusty especially seems the garrulous type we all know, who’ll spend hours working a crossword puzzle or beating his friends at Scrabble with completely obscure words. While the entire play is essentially a discussion on semantics, it’s snappier than it sounds. The pace is quick, the exchanges are often humorous, and it turns out Max (Brian Dykstra) has an ulterior motive, involving an upcoming political rally.
Dykstra and Boyett have a great chemistry; they’ve obviously worked together before, and their energy keeps the play aloft. Director Margarett Perry has worked with the two before, as well; these three make a great ensemble, and I’m sorry I missed their previous efforts.
But while Brian Dykstra has a deft hand with dialogue, the play ultimately feels more like a clever classroom exercise. There’s not much weight to it, and even at ninety minutes it’s too long. Clever, yes; significant, no. Fortunately not every play needs to be meaningful. This one is content to be entertaining, and it does its job well.
Written by Brian Dykstra
Directed by Margarett Perry
With Brian Dykstra (Max) and Mark Boyett (Rusty)
Set Design: Kelly Syring
Lighting Design: E.D. Intemann
Sound Design: Nate Richardson
Costume Design: Hannah Kochman
Running Time: 90 minutes with no intermission
A Twilight Theatre Company presentation of a Kitchen Theatre Company production at 59E59 Theatre; 59 East 59th Street, 212-279-4200
Tickets $18
Tuesday at 7:30 PM, Wednesday - Saturday at 8:30 PM and Sunday at 3:30 PM
May 13 – May 30, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
Theatre review: People Without History
If you don’t do your research before you see Richard Maxwell’s People Without History, you’ll have the same response that most of the audience did on the night I saw it: “What was that play actually about?”
You can’t really deduce the setting or meaning from just watching the play, so reading about it beforehand achieves a new level of importance. The play is ostensibly set during the 15th century Battle of Shrewsbury, but it has a much more anonymous and timeless feel. The Battle of Shrewsbury is the linchpin of Shakespeare’s Henry IV Part I, which Maxwell directed at BAM five years ago. Soldiers Owain, Mendace and Rhobert march their prisoners Blunt and Sheriff to a makeshift prison after a devastating battle. They try to piece together their memories of the battle, but they’ve either forgotten or suppressed most everything. Enter Alice, a healer, who cannot heal what ails these men.
But from simply viewing the play, all you know is that these men, dressed in chain mail and red long johns, have just been through a battle of some sort, that some of them are prisoners, and that their speech and syntax resembles that of PTSD sufferers. The language is not 15th century English, French or Welsh, it’s a stunted version of modern American English (typical for Maxwell’s plays). There are no references to landmarks, historical personages, the time frame, or anything else that might ground this play in the concrete. In a sense, it’s a strangely accurate way of portraying what 15th century Englishman must have felt like after a battle—unmoored, lost, lacking basic information like whether they even won or lost, and too tired to care. Lara Furniss’s design, consisting of three wheeled scrims that serve alternately as backdrops and prison walls, highlight the physical and spiritual barrenness at the center of this play. The small cast exhibits an oddly moving empathy for their characters; their collective humanity is what keeps this from being a play about automatons.
Richard Maxwell (Caveman, Boxing 2000) is known for his brief, atonal plays, usually about the dead, numbed center of everyday life, about a Beckettian existential despair. (In fact, the soldiers’ endless querying and emotional detachment is very Waiting for Godot.) People Without History fits neatly into the Maxwell oeuvre, albeit in a historical context. It’s best not to get too caught up in the actions or the meaning of the play, because you’ll leave feeling slightly confused and empty. Instead, enjoy the subtle arrhythmic poetry of Maxwell’s dialogue, the centerpiece of all his plays.
Written by Richard Maxwell
Directed by Brian Mendes
With Tory Vasquez (Alice), Rafael Sanchez (Anonymous), Bob Feldman (Blunt), Tom King (Owain), Alex Delinois (Sheriff), Jim Fletcher (Rhobert) and Pete Simpson (Mendace)
Design: Lara Furniss
Running Time: 90 minutes with no intermission
New York City Players at The Performing Garage, 33 Wooster Street; 212-479-0808
Tickets $20
Thursday through Sunday, 8 pm
March 19 – April 5, 2009
You can’t really deduce the setting or meaning from just watching the play, so reading about it beforehand achieves a new level of importance. The play is ostensibly set during the 15th century Battle of Shrewsbury, but it has a much more anonymous and timeless feel. The Battle of Shrewsbury is the linchpin of Shakespeare’s Henry IV Part I, which Maxwell directed at BAM five years ago. Soldiers Owain, Mendace and Rhobert march their prisoners Blunt and Sheriff to a makeshift prison after a devastating battle. They try to piece together their memories of the battle, but they’ve either forgotten or suppressed most everything. Enter Alice, a healer, who cannot heal what ails these men.
But from simply viewing the play, all you know is that these men, dressed in chain mail and red long johns, have just been through a battle of some sort, that some of them are prisoners, and that their speech and syntax resembles that of PTSD sufferers. The language is not 15th century English, French or Welsh, it’s a stunted version of modern American English (typical for Maxwell’s plays). There are no references to landmarks, historical personages, the time frame, or anything else that might ground this play in the concrete. In a sense, it’s a strangely accurate way of portraying what 15th century Englishman must have felt like after a battle—unmoored, lost, lacking basic information like whether they even won or lost, and too tired to care. Lara Furniss’s design, consisting of three wheeled scrims that serve alternately as backdrops and prison walls, highlight the physical and spiritual barrenness at the center of this play. The small cast exhibits an oddly moving empathy for their characters; their collective humanity is what keeps this from being a play about automatons.
Richard Maxwell (Caveman, Boxing 2000) is known for his brief, atonal plays, usually about the dead, numbed center of everyday life, about a Beckettian existential despair. (In fact, the soldiers’ endless querying and emotional detachment is very Waiting for Godot.) People Without History fits neatly into the Maxwell oeuvre, albeit in a historical context. It’s best not to get too caught up in the actions or the meaning of the play, because you’ll leave feeling slightly confused and empty. Instead, enjoy the subtle arrhythmic poetry of Maxwell’s dialogue, the centerpiece of all his plays.
Written by Richard Maxwell
Directed by Brian Mendes
With Tory Vasquez (Alice), Rafael Sanchez (Anonymous), Bob Feldman (Blunt), Tom King (Owain), Alex Delinois (Sheriff), Jim Fletcher (Rhobert) and Pete Simpson (Mendace)
Design: Lara Furniss
Running Time: 90 minutes with no intermission
New York City Players at The Performing Garage, 33 Wooster Street; 212-479-0808
Tickets $20
Thursday through Sunday, 8 pm
March 19 – April 5, 2009
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Theatre review: 1984
“They’ll shoot me I don’t care down with Big Brother. Thoughtcrime does not entail death: thoughtcrime is death.”
--Winston Smith
1984 has been turned into a play a number of times, and at least once into a movie. I’m pretty sure this is the first production of it I’ve seen, although several years ago I reviewed Animal Farm as part of The Orwell Project. Godlight Theatre Company’s production of 1984 is best when it’s simplest. The chemistry between Winston and Julia in their love scenes and Winston’s brutal interrogation and subsequent betrayal are the core of this adaptation of Orwell’s famous novel. Unfortunately, the rest of the piece lags, bogged down by too many actors, scenes and sound effects.
I almost wish they’d skipped the first part of the story; 1984 seems so ubiquitous by now, it’s hard to imagine there are people who need the backstory. Winston Smith is Joe Average, an Everyman trapped in a soulless dystopian future. Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength run the slogans. Human emotion has been almost crushed out of existence, but Winston is determined to harbor some small shred of humanity. He begins an illicit love affair, starts a diary, tries to seek out like-minded citizens who also hate Big Brother. Unfortunately, his efforts come to a vicious and sudden stop; the authorities arrest him and, not satisfied with mere torture, are determined to completely reprogram his traitorous brain.
The production, while visually appealing, is almost too crowded for the tiny space at 59E59. The four women, who play the omnipresent Telescreens (used to spy on the populace), move around the playing square and station themselves at the four corners, thereby breaking the stage’s continuity. An actual screen would have more effective. There are short scenes to introduce various secondary characters, which break up the central Winston/Julia arc, and the lighting and sound effects—while innovative and completely in tune with the spirit of the play—often overpower the human element. An apt metaphor, I realize, but still distracting.
Again, the piece is best when it’s simplest. When the production is stripped of the extra people, the extra effects, and it’s just two people in a cramped space, attempting to connect on any human level—well, that’s the metaphor that counts. Gregory Konow as Winston and Enid Cortes as Julia have a simple and lovely chemistry onstage. Dustin Olsen as O’Brien is the other standout; his torture scene with Winston is far more effective, and powerful, than all the narrative and backstory leading up to it. In fact, the message of the novel and the play can be derived from that one scene alone. Torture scenes are obviously difficult, especially now, with all the talk of waterboarding in the news. But this particular torture scene is well-balanced; emotionally compelling without being graphic. The two men never even touch.
I realize cutting the backstory from a play that runs 85 minutes is a little extreme. But the directorial business became too distracting during the narrative scenes. Too many characters, too much of an effort to compress a lot of information into the smallest possible amount of time. But these are small quibbles for what is ultimately an accurate rendering of the novel’s spirit.
Based on the novel by George Orwell
Adapted by Alan Lyddiard
Directed by Joe Tantalo
With Gregory Konow (Winston Smith), Dustin Olson (O’Brien), Enid Cortes (Julia), Aaron Paternoster (Syme), Nick Pagliano (Parsons), Michael Tranzilli (Charrington), Michael Shimkin (Goldstein), and Deanna McGovern, Katherine Boynton, Sammy Tunis and Scarlett Thiele as the Telescreens
Original Music and Sound Design: Andrew Recinos
Production Design: Maruti Evans
Choreographer: Hachi Yu
Running Time: 85 minutes with no intermission
Godlight Theatre Company, 59E59, 59 East 59th Street; 212-279-4200
Tickets $25
Tuesday 7:30 pm, Wednesday through Friday at 8:30 pm, Saturday 2:30 and 8:30 pm, Sunday 3:30 pm
March 13 – April 19, 2009
--Winston Smith
1984 has been turned into a play a number of times, and at least once into a movie. I’m pretty sure this is the first production of it I’ve seen, although several years ago I reviewed Animal Farm as part of The Orwell Project. Godlight Theatre Company’s production of 1984 is best when it’s simplest. The chemistry between Winston and Julia in their love scenes and Winston’s brutal interrogation and subsequent betrayal are the core of this adaptation of Orwell’s famous novel. Unfortunately, the rest of the piece lags, bogged down by too many actors, scenes and sound effects.
I almost wish they’d skipped the first part of the story; 1984 seems so ubiquitous by now, it’s hard to imagine there are people who need the backstory. Winston Smith is Joe Average, an Everyman trapped in a soulless dystopian future. Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength run the slogans. Human emotion has been almost crushed out of existence, but Winston is determined to harbor some small shred of humanity. He begins an illicit love affair, starts a diary, tries to seek out like-minded citizens who also hate Big Brother. Unfortunately, his efforts come to a vicious and sudden stop; the authorities arrest him and, not satisfied with mere torture, are determined to completely reprogram his traitorous brain.
The production, while visually appealing, is almost too crowded for the tiny space at 59E59. The four women, who play the omnipresent Telescreens (used to spy on the populace), move around the playing square and station themselves at the four corners, thereby breaking the stage’s continuity. An actual screen would have more effective. There are short scenes to introduce various secondary characters, which break up the central Winston/Julia arc, and the lighting and sound effects—while innovative and completely in tune with the spirit of the play—often overpower the human element. An apt metaphor, I realize, but still distracting.
Again, the piece is best when it’s simplest. When the production is stripped of the extra people, the extra effects, and it’s just two people in a cramped space, attempting to connect on any human level—well, that’s the metaphor that counts. Gregory Konow as Winston and Enid Cortes as Julia have a simple and lovely chemistry onstage. Dustin Olsen as O’Brien is the other standout; his torture scene with Winston is far more effective, and powerful, than all the narrative and backstory leading up to it. In fact, the message of the novel and the play can be derived from that one scene alone. Torture scenes are obviously difficult, especially now, with all the talk of waterboarding in the news. But this particular torture scene is well-balanced; emotionally compelling without being graphic. The two men never even touch.
I realize cutting the backstory from a play that runs 85 minutes is a little extreme. But the directorial business became too distracting during the narrative scenes. Too many characters, too much of an effort to compress a lot of information into the smallest possible amount of time. But these are small quibbles for what is ultimately an accurate rendering of the novel’s spirit.
Based on the novel by George Orwell
Adapted by Alan Lyddiard
Directed by Joe Tantalo
With Gregory Konow (Winston Smith), Dustin Olson (O’Brien), Enid Cortes (Julia), Aaron Paternoster (Syme), Nick Pagliano (Parsons), Michael Tranzilli (Charrington), Michael Shimkin (Goldstein), and Deanna McGovern, Katherine Boynton, Sammy Tunis and Scarlett Thiele as the Telescreens
Original Music and Sound Design: Andrew Recinos
Production Design: Maruti Evans
Choreographer: Hachi Yu
Running Time: 85 minutes with no intermission
Godlight Theatre Company, 59E59, 59 East 59th Street; 212-279-4200
Tickets $25
Tuesday 7:30 pm, Wednesday through Friday at 8:30 pm, Saturday 2:30 and 8:30 pm, Sunday 3:30 pm
March 13 – April 19, 2009
Monday, March 23, 2009
Theatre review: Rambo Solo
You don’t have to be a fan of the Rambo movies or of Sylvester Stallone to enjoy Rambo Solo, but it certainly helps.
Rambo Solo is a one-man homage to Rambo: First Blood, the movie adaptation of the pulp novel starring Stallone. You never knew there was a novel version, did you? Neither did Zachary Oberzan’s character, until he fell in love with the movie as an eleven-year-old and subsequently discovered the paperback in his local grocery store. He promptly fell in love with it, beginning a life-long obsession with the story.
Oberzan describes the events of the book, as compared to the events and depictions in the movie, in an eerily accurate Stallone impression. Backing him are three separate movie screens, each showing a very slightly different filming of Oberzan relaying the same words and actions in his 220-square-foot Manhattan loft studio. Most of the charm in this piece derives from the dichotomy between live Oberzan and filmed Oberzan (times three); each movie version has him with slightly different facial hair, with slightly different movements, with slightly different timing; turning on a light, for example, might have a one-second delay across the three screens. To keep up with the various home movies, he takes his cues from an earpiece.
It’s a literal blow-by-blow retelling of the story, complete with many vacant pauses—the “uh”s and “um”s and “you know”s are some of the funniest moments, as you can almost see Oberzan’s fanatic fan brain whirring along at high speed, often getting ahead of his tongue. Only a true fanatic would find value in telling us the entire story of Rambo, and his fan love is evident and abundant. Overall, it’s whimsical, with several moments of unrestrained laughter. It does drag a bit between the laugh-out-loud sections. The best part came at the very end, with a fake movie trailer for Oberzan’s very real movie homage, entitled Flooding With Love for the Kid (taken from the last line of the book)—DVDs are available after the show for $10. In the film, he plays all the characters, complete with costumes and fake moustaches, and shoots the entire story again within the confines of his 220-square-foot studio—a sort of extended version of the one-man show. Only, you know, not a soliloquy.
Like most plays, it would be better if it were shorter. Brevity is the soul of wit, after all, and Oberzan’s doofy characterization begins to wear thin after the first hour. At this point, a shared enthusiasm for Rambo would come in handy. The seating is not the most comfortable, either—audience seating for this is on pillows, scattered across a thick shag rug (a few chairs are available if needed), so dress appropriately. But Peter Nigrini’s design and video are first-rate, as are co-directors Pavol Liska and Kelly Copper, and SoHo Rep’s familiar layout has been completely turned around in a very amusing way. Nature Theater of Oklahoma is one of New York’s hottest avant-garde troupes, and this is a one-of-a-kind show—and believe me, that phrase is hard to come by in New York theater.
Conceived and directed by Pavol Liska and Kelly Copper
Featuring Zachary Oberzan
Design and Video: Peter Nigrini
Running Time: 85 minutes with no intermission
SoHo Rep, 46 Walker Street; 212-352-3101
Tickets $25
Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday at 7:30 pm; no performance on Sunday, March 22
March 19 – April 12, 2009
Rambo Solo is a one-man homage to Rambo: First Blood, the movie adaptation of the pulp novel starring Stallone. You never knew there was a novel version, did you? Neither did Zachary Oberzan’s character, until he fell in love with the movie as an eleven-year-old and subsequently discovered the paperback in his local grocery store. He promptly fell in love with it, beginning a life-long obsession with the story.
Oberzan describes the events of the book, as compared to the events and depictions in the movie, in an eerily accurate Stallone impression. Backing him are three separate movie screens, each showing a very slightly different filming of Oberzan relaying the same words and actions in his 220-square-foot Manhattan loft studio. Most of the charm in this piece derives from the dichotomy between live Oberzan and filmed Oberzan (times three); each movie version has him with slightly different facial hair, with slightly different movements, with slightly different timing; turning on a light, for example, might have a one-second delay across the three screens. To keep up with the various home movies, he takes his cues from an earpiece.
It’s a literal blow-by-blow retelling of the story, complete with many vacant pauses—the “uh”s and “um”s and “you know”s are some of the funniest moments, as you can almost see Oberzan’s fanatic fan brain whirring along at high speed, often getting ahead of his tongue. Only a true fanatic would find value in telling us the entire story of Rambo, and his fan love is evident and abundant. Overall, it’s whimsical, with several moments of unrestrained laughter. It does drag a bit between the laugh-out-loud sections. The best part came at the very end, with a fake movie trailer for Oberzan’s very real movie homage, entitled Flooding With Love for the Kid (taken from the last line of the book)—DVDs are available after the show for $10. In the film, he plays all the characters, complete with costumes and fake moustaches, and shoots the entire story again within the confines of his 220-square-foot studio—a sort of extended version of the one-man show. Only, you know, not a soliloquy.
Like most plays, it would be better if it were shorter. Brevity is the soul of wit, after all, and Oberzan’s doofy characterization begins to wear thin after the first hour. At this point, a shared enthusiasm for Rambo would come in handy. The seating is not the most comfortable, either—audience seating for this is on pillows, scattered across a thick shag rug (a few chairs are available if needed), so dress appropriately. But Peter Nigrini’s design and video are first-rate, as are co-directors Pavol Liska and Kelly Copper, and SoHo Rep’s familiar layout has been completely turned around in a very amusing way. Nature Theater of Oklahoma is one of New York’s hottest avant-garde troupes, and this is a one-of-a-kind show—and believe me, that phrase is hard to come by in New York theater.
Conceived and directed by Pavol Liska and Kelly Copper
Featuring Zachary Oberzan
Design and Video: Peter Nigrini
Running Time: 85 minutes with no intermission
SoHo Rep, 46 Walker Street; 212-352-3101
Tickets $25
Wednesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday at 7:30 pm; no performance on Sunday, March 22
March 19 – April 12, 2009
Monday, March 9, 2009
Theatre review: The Unseen
Valdez: “Is this what you think about when we're not talking?”
Wallace: “No, this is what I think about when you're talking.”
The Unseen is a Kafkaesque (and, one imagines, Guantanamo-esque) drama, set in an unnamed political prison. Two prisoners, Wallace and Valdez, are daily and systematically beaten and tortured. They’ve been there for ten years, held without being charged with any crime. They have no valuable information to offer, and indeed, the guards stopped asking them for information years ago, simply torturing them and then sending them back to their respective cells. Their sole comfort in life is talking to each other through the wall; they’ve never laid eyes on each other, or for that matter, on anyone in the prison other than the aptly-named guard, Smash.
Wallace and Valdez manage to keep from going insane by weaving elaborate fantasies and speculating as to the actual nature of the prison. How is it constructed? How many other people are being held prisoner? Is there a third prisoner in the cell between theirs? Smash has his own spiritual and psychological issues with the regular cycle of pain and torture, though he is more immune to it than he thinks. Ultimately his feeble conscience wins out, enabling a meeting for Wallace and Valdez in a completely unexpected way.
The small cast does an excellent job, especially Thomas Ward as Smash. He has just enough doubt and fear to be dangerous; any less, and he’d be a soulless automaton. His brutal physicality, full of yelling and stomping and spitting, is the perfect backdrop for his limited sort of moral exploration. Sarah Brown’s set is somewhat loftier than you’d expect for a prison, but still a fine embodiment of the endless twists and turns Wright mentions.
My only quibble with the production is that it is far more concerned with the particularities of daily prison life than the subject matter would suggest. Kafka’s The Castle, for instance, worked largely because there were no particularities—the lack of detail, of specificity, both made the tale more maddening and more universal, because any regime/government/bureaucracy could be seen to fit. The same holds true for other existential works, like Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. The Unseen has that same maddening lack of specificity; we don’t know any more about the prisoners’ crimes or fates than they know. But director Lisa Denman has chosen to highlight the few details that exist in the prison—the seemingly random buzzers, the tin plates and spoons, the lighting, the pattern of stonework, the bloody work that precedes Smash’s inarticulate rage. The actors, too, channel their search for detail into Wright’s precise language; trapped as the characters are, the actors aren’t able to explore any range of motion, other than Wallace’s fiddling with random scrounged objects and Valdez’s aimless wandering. This makes the play less a commentary on political prisoners and the corruption of power than a simple story of two men who have largely given up. It’s a fine story, to be sure, but this production lacks the broader context the script hints at.
Written by Craig Wright
Directed by Lisa Denman
With Steven Pounders (Wallace), Stan Denman (Valdez), and Thomas Ward (Smash)
Set Design: Sarah Brown
Lighting Design: Travis Watson
Costume Design: Carl Booker
Sound Design: Dustin Chaffin
Running Time: 85 minutes with no intermission
Cherry Lane Theatre, 38 Commerce Street; 212-239-6200
Tickets $45
Tuesdays through Sunday at 8 pm, Saturdays at 2 pm, Sundays at 3 pm
March 5th – 28th, 2009
Wallace: “No, this is what I think about when you're talking.”
The Unseen is a Kafkaesque (and, one imagines, Guantanamo-esque) drama, set in an unnamed political prison. Two prisoners, Wallace and Valdez, are daily and systematically beaten and tortured. They’ve been there for ten years, held without being charged with any crime. They have no valuable information to offer, and indeed, the guards stopped asking them for information years ago, simply torturing them and then sending them back to their respective cells. Their sole comfort in life is talking to each other through the wall; they’ve never laid eyes on each other, or for that matter, on anyone in the prison other than the aptly-named guard, Smash.
Wallace and Valdez manage to keep from going insane by weaving elaborate fantasies and speculating as to the actual nature of the prison. How is it constructed? How many other people are being held prisoner? Is there a third prisoner in the cell between theirs? Smash has his own spiritual and psychological issues with the regular cycle of pain and torture, though he is more immune to it than he thinks. Ultimately his feeble conscience wins out, enabling a meeting for Wallace and Valdez in a completely unexpected way.
The small cast does an excellent job, especially Thomas Ward as Smash. He has just enough doubt and fear to be dangerous; any less, and he’d be a soulless automaton. His brutal physicality, full of yelling and stomping and spitting, is the perfect backdrop for his limited sort of moral exploration. Sarah Brown’s set is somewhat loftier than you’d expect for a prison, but still a fine embodiment of the endless twists and turns Wright mentions.
My only quibble with the production is that it is far more concerned with the particularities of daily prison life than the subject matter would suggest. Kafka’s The Castle, for instance, worked largely because there were no particularities—the lack of detail, of specificity, both made the tale more maddening and more universal, because any regime/government/bureaucracy could be seen to fit. The same holds true for other existential works, like Beckett’s Waiting for Godot. The Unseen has that same maddening lack of specificity; we don’t know any more about the prisoners’ crimes or fates than they know. But director Lisa Denman has chosen to highlight the few details that exist in the prison—the seemingly random buzzers, the tin plates and spoons, the lighting, the pattern of stonework, the bloody work that precedes Smash’s inarticulate rage. The actors, too, channel their search for detail into Wright’s precise language; trapped as the characters are, the actors aren’t able to explore any range of motion, other than Wallace’s fiddling with random scrounged objects and Valdez’s aimless wandering. This makes the play less a commentary on political prisoners and the corruption of power than a simple story of two men who have largely given up. It’s a fine story, to be sure, but this production lacks the broader context the script hints at.
Written by Craig Wright
Directed by Lisa Denman
With Steven Pounders (Wallace), Stan Denman (Valdez), and Thomas Ward (Smash)
Set Design: Sarah Brown
Lighting Design: Travis Watson
Costume Design: Carl Booker
Sound Design: Dustin Chaffin
Running Time: 85 minutes with no intermission
Cherry Lane Theatre, 38 Commerce Street; 212-239-6200
Tickets $45
Tuesdays through Sunday at 8 pm, Saturdays at 2 pm, Sundays at 3 pm
March 5th – 28th, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Theatre review: Tales of an Urban Indian
“Choice is the only thing you never lose.”
--Simon Douglas
Tales of an Urban Indian is the story of Simon, who grew up on a reservation in central British Columbia, as told by Darrell Dennis. Stories told from a Native American standpoint are rare, it’s true, but this show feels less about a Native American coming of age than it does about anyone’s coming of age in impoverished surroundings. Replace the word “reservation” with “South Central LA” or “Appalachia” or “Detroit” and Simon’s story would still ring true.
The first part of the show covers Simon’s childhood and adolescence, growing up dirt poor while the white kids around him either ignored him or made fun of him. The second part covers his early career as an actor and drug and alcohol addiction, and his first attempts at rehab. This part of the show could be called Tales of an Addict, since his Indian heritage is no longer really an element. Strangely, for a show about assimilation, there’s a lot of stereotyping—whites are uptight, West Coast inhabitants are perpetually stoned, cockroaches speak in Mexican accents, and God is Jackie Mason. Much of it is intentional, but still.
Dennis is a sincere and heartfelt performer, and he manages to almost pull off the completely clichéd ending—in less sincere hands, it would degenerate into maudlin schmaltz. I’d love to sit down with him and hear more of his story over a cup of coffee, but the play almost feels like he’s trying to be a stand-up comedian, completely with wacky characters and impersonations. He should just be himself; he can completely charm an audience with his forthright honesty, no impersonations required.
Written and performed by Darrell Dennis
Directed by Herbie Barnes
Set Design: Beowulf Boritt
Lighting Design: Russell H. Champa
Costume Design: Fritz Masten
Sound Design: Matt Hubbs
Running Time: 85 minutes with no intermission
The Public Theatre, 425 Lafayette Street; 212-967-7555
Tickets $10
Tuesday at 7pm; Wednesday - Friday at 8pm; Saturday at 2pm & 8pm; Sunday at 2pm & 7pm; No Performance/Unavailable: Sat 2/21 at 2pm, Sun 2/22 at 7pm
February 20 – March 15, 2009
--Simon Douglas
Tales of an Urban Indian is the story of Simon, who grew up on a reservation in central British Columbia, as told by Darrell Dennis. Stories told from a Native American standpoint are rare, it’s true, but this show feels less about a Native American coming of age than it does about anyone’s coming of age in impoverished surroundings. Replace the word “reservation” with “South Central LA” or “Appalachia” or “Detroit” and Simon’s story would still ring true.
The first part of the show covers Simon’s childhood and adolescence, growing up dirt poor while the white kids around him either ignored him or made fun of him. The second part covers his early career as an actor and drug and alcohol addiction, and his first attempts at rehab. This part of the show could be called Tales of an Addict, since his Indian heritage is no longer really an element. Strangely, for a show about assimilation, there’s a lot of stereotyping—whites are uptight, West Coast inhabitants are perpetually stoned, cockroaches speak in Mexican accents, and God is Jackie Mason. Much of it is intentional, but still.
Dennis is a sincere and heartfelt performer, and he manages to almost pull off the completely clichéd ending—in less sincere hands, it would degenerate into maudlin schmaltz. I’d love to sit down with him and hear more of his story over a cup of coffee, but the play almost feels like he’s trying to be a stand-up comedian, completely with wacky characters and impersonations. He should just be himself; he can completely charm an audience with his forthright honesty, no impersonations required.
Written and performed by Darrell Dennis
Directed by Herbie Barnes
Set Design: Beowulf Boritt
Lighting Design: Russell H. Champa
Costume Design: Fritz Masten
Sound Design: Matt Hubbs
Running Time: 85 minutes with no intermission
The Public Theatre, 425 Lafayette Street; 212-967-7555
Tickets $10
Tuesday at 7pm; Wednesday - Friday at 8pm; Saturday at 2pm & 8pm; Sunday at 2pm & 7pm; No Performance/Unavailable: Sat 2/21 at 2pm, Sun 2/22 at 7pm
February 20 – March 15, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Theatre review: Fire Throws
“I thought that was how I could control my story—to die. A martyr for a cause. But what did my sacrifice achieve?”
--Antigone
Fire Throws is not quite a dance piece and not quite a play. The players are not dancers, but actors who dance; the dance pieces are narrative where they shouldn’t be and interpretive in places that need more narrative; and there’s far too much use of the color red. It’s a very pretty piece, but ultimately it feels like a well-done senior year Juilliard project. It lacks depth, and despite the heavy use of red and orange, it also lacks any real warmth.
Adapted from Sophocles’ Antigone, Fire Throws weaves the story of the classical Antigone with her modern, 2400-year-old counterpart. The modern Antigone looks back on her story, on her younger self, and attempts to make sense of it all. Of course, in a modern setting, her story doesn’t make much sense. Martyrdom for any cause is no longer fashionable, especially for a cause like burying your brother. It’s a noble gesture, and standing up to Creon’s megalomania is admirable, but it’s hardly worth dying for, and on some level Antigone knows that—especially measured by what her life could have become. She could have been a queen, could have had children, known love. Instead she died, chained in a cave, victim of her own youthful stubbornness.
The production is a swirl of competing imagery, dances, colors and sounds. At times it is stark, with Ingmar Bergman-like black-and-white video projections and long shadows; at other times it is a riot of color and light and long red silk scarves. Again, it’s a very pretty show, and almost technically brilliant. But it ultimately felt cold to me. The characters never really came alive for me, caught as they were in their own stilted, 2400-year-old language and intricate dance pieces that failed to reveal any real information. At times it seemed the director was more concerned with the conflicting colors and shapes, the dichotomy between the dances and the video projections, than in telling a story. I don’t think Antigone came to any real epiphany about her story or her place in history, and certainly the other characters were there merely to support her own internal explorations. Perhaps Antigone just wasn’t meant to be an interpretive dance piece.
Written and directed by Rachel Dickstein
With Erica Berg, Laura Butler, Kiebpoli Calnek, John Campion, Kimiye Corwin, Juliana Francis-Kelly, Paula McGonagle, Leajato Amara Robinson, Jorge Rubio and Caesar Samayoa
Set Design: Susan Zeeman Rogers
Lighting Design: Tyler Micoleau
Costume Design: Oana Botez-Ban
Sound Design: Jane Shaw
Video and Projection Design: Maya Ciarrocchi
Running Time: 75 minutes with no intermission
3LD Art & Technology Center, 80 Greenwich Street; 212-352-3101
Tickets $25
Wednesday through Sunday at 8pm
February 18 – March 28, 2009
--Antigone
Fire Throws is not quite a dance piece and not quite a play. The players are not dancers, but actors who dance; the dance pieces are narrative where they shouldn’t be and interpretive in places that need more narrative; and there’s far too much use of the color red. It’s a very pretty piece, but ultimately it feels like a well-done senior year Juilliard project. It lacks depth, and despite the heavy use of red and orange, it also lacks any real warmth.
Adapted from Sophocles’ Antigone, Fire Throws weaves the story of the classical Antigone with her modern, 2400-year-old counterpart. The modern Antigone looks back on her story, on her younger self, and attempts to make sense of it all. Of course, in a modern setting, her story doesn’t make much sense. Martyrdom for any cause is no longer fashionable, especially for a cause like burying your brother. It’s a noble gesture, and standing up to Creon’s megalomania is admirable, but it’s hardly worth dying for, and on some level Antigone knows that—especially measured by what her life could have become. She could have been a queen, could have had children, known love. Instead she died, chained in a cave, victim of her own youthful stubbornness.
The production is a swirl of competing imagery, dances, colors and sounds. At times it is stark, with Ingmar Bergman-like black-and-white video projections and long shadows; at other times it is a riot of color and light and long red silk scarves. Again, it’s a very pretty show, and almost technically brilliant. But it ultimately felt cold to me. The characters never really came alive for me, caught as they were in their own stilted, 2400-year-old language and intricate dance pieces that failed to reveal any real information. At times it seemed the director was more concerned with the conflicting colors and shapes, the dichotomy between the dances and the video projections, than in telling a story. I don’t think Antigone came to any real epiphany about her story or her place in history, and certainly the other characters were there merely to support her own internal explorations. Perhaps Antigone just wasn’t meant to be an interpretive dance piece.
Written and directed by Rachel Dickstein
With Erica Berg, Laura Butler, Kiebpoli Calnek, John Campion, Kimiye Corwin, Juliana Francis-Kelly, Paula McGonagle, Leajato Amara Robinson, Jorge Rubio and Caesar Samayoa
Set Design: Susan Zeeman Rogers
Lighting Design: Tyler Micoleau
Costume Design: Oana Botez-Ban
Sound Design: Jane Shaw
Video and Projection Design: Maya Ciarrocchi
Running Time: 75 minutes with no intermission
3LD Art & Technology Center, 80 Greenwich Street; 212-352-3101
Tickets $25
Wednesday through Sunday at 8pm
February 18 – March 28, 2009
Friday, February 20, 2009
Theatre review: That Pretty Pretty; or, The Rape Play
I have no idea how to explain or define this play.
I loved it, that’s certain. It’s definitely one of the most fun, most seemingly random, and most high-energy shows I’ve ever seen. I laughed out loud more than I do at stand-up comedy routines, and I could not have predicted anything that happened in this play to save my life (which is a good thing). But it’s hard to say what actually happened, and what that meant.
That Pretty Pretty; or, The Rape Play could be seen as a feminist polemic against men, male power, and the “boys will be boys” mentality, but any attempt at a unifying theme is really an afterthought. Two ex-strippers go on a cross-country rampage, killing men at pro-life conventions and then blogging about it; later a male screenwriter, together with his friend Rodney (“The Rod”) use their story as inspiration for a war movie. But the lines of reality are distinctly hazy in this play; Jane Fonda (in full aerobic mode) appears as muse and heroine several times, there’s a dream sequence involving a dinner party gone awry, and there’s even full-blown Jell-O wrestling. Props to the hair metal soundtrack; only Def Leppard, Bon Jovi and Whitesnake could do justice to the play’s blatant and unabashed sexuality. Playwright Sheila Callaghan called it “a wild ride through a certain male psyche,” and it’s definitely a romp through the dark corners of someone’s psyche, male or otherwise. She also said that, “It’s critiquing the images at the same time it’s trafficking in them,” and that may be the statement that best summarizes this play.
Don’t expect it to make sense—just sit back and enjoy the ride. In the very last scene, the pieces start to tie together, but only in a basic way. Nevertheless, it’s ribald, shameless, and exuberant. The cast is fantastic; I particularly enjoyed watching Lisa Joyce again (Red Light Winter, Blackbird) and Annie McNamara as the chirpy but slightly clueless Jane Fonda. Director Kip Fagan has done a fine job of shaping what could be an imagistic mess into a play with momentum and power. And the designers have done a great job of keeping a props, lights and transitions-heavy piece as fluid as possible; the scene changes have been built into the action in some very clever ways. Particularly clever was the transformation of a hotel room desk into a dining room table and then into a Jell-O wrestling pit.
13P, a collective of working downtown playwrights, are known for producing offbeat plays (Have You Seen Steve Steven?, The Penetration Play), but this may be the strangest yet. Which just makes me want to see more, both of Sheila Callaghan’s work and 13P’s in general—which may ultimately be the highest compliment anyone can give to a play.
Written by Sheila Callaghan
Directed by Kip Fagan
With Joseph Gomez, Lisa Joyce, Greg Keller, Annie McNamara and Danielle Slavick
Set Design: Narelle Sissons
Lighting Design: Matt Frey
Costume Design: Jessica Pabst
Sound Design: Eric Shim
Running Time: 95 minutes with no intermission
Rattlestick Playwrights Theater, 224 Waverly Place; 212-868-4444
Tickets $40
Wednesday through Saturday at 8 pm, Sunday at 3 pm
February 10 – March 15, 2009
I loved it, that’s certain. It’s definitely one of the most fun, most seemingly random, and most high-energy shows I’ve ever seen. I laughed out loud more than I do at stand-up comedy routines, and I could not have predicted anything that happened in this play to save my life (which is a good thing). But it’s hard to say what actually happened, and what that meant.
That Pretty Pretty; or, The Rape Play could be seen as a feminist polemic against men, male power, and the “boys will be boys” mentality, but any attempt at a unifying theme is really an afterthought. Two ex-strippers go on a cross-country rampage, killing men at pro-life conventions and then blogging about it; later a male screenwriter, together with his friend Rodney (“The Rod”) use their story as inspiration for a war movie. But the lines of reality are distinctly hazy in this play; Jane Fonda (in full aerobic mode) appears as muse and heroine several times, there’s a dream sequence involving a dinner party gone awry, and there’s even full-blown Jell-O wrestling. Props to the hair metal soundtrack; only Def Leppard, Bon Jovi and Whitesnake could do justice to the play’s blatant and unabashed sexuality. Playwright Sheila Callaghan called it “a wild ride through a certain male psyche,” and it’s definitely a romp through the dark corners of someone’s psyche, male or otherwise. She also said that, “It’s critiquing the images at the same time it’s trafficking in them,” and that may be the statement that best summarizes this play.
Don’t expect it to make sense—just sit back and enjoy the ride. In the very last scene, the pieces start to tie together, but only in a basic way. Nevertheless, it’s ribald, shameless, and exuberant. The cast is fantastic; I particularly enjoyed watching Lisa Joyce again (Red Light Winter, Blackbird) and Annie McNamara as the chirpy but slightly clueless Jane Fonda. Director Kip Fagan has done a fine job of shaping what could be an imagistic mess into a play with momentum and power. And the designers have done a great job of keeping a props, lights and transitions-heavy piece as fluid as possible; the scene changes have been built into the action in some very clever ways. Particularly clever was the transformation of a hotel room desk into a dining room table and then into a Jell-O wrestling pit.
13P, a collective of working downtown playwrights, are known for producing offbeat plays (Have You Seen Steve Steven?, The Penetration Play), but this may be the strangest yet. Which just makes me want to see more, both of Sheila Callaghan’s work and 13P’s in general—which may ultimately be the highest compliment anyone can give to a play.
Written by Sheila Callaghan
Directed by Kip Fagan
With Joseph Gomez, Lisa Joyce, Greg Keller, Annie McNamara and Danielle Slavick
Set Design: Narelle Sissons
Lighting Design: Matt Frey
Costume Design: Jessica Pabst
Sound Design: Eric Shim
Running Time: 95 minutes with no intermission
Rattlestick Playwrights Theater, 224 Waverly Place; 212-868-4444
Tickets $40
Wednesday through Saturday at 8 pm, Sunday at 3 pm
February 10 – March 15, 2009
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
