The appearance of the panicked girl, covered in blood and begging for mercy, unstops all their unpleasant motives for watching horror movies. Two of the three overcome the third and murder the girl. After all, it's only a fantasy girl -- no one can arrest them for having a fantasy good time with her, can they? She's a metaphysical fluke, a stroke of good fortune that will never come their way again.
When they start to recover from the effects of the animal tranquilizer they casually took before watching the movie, the two fantasy ``murderers'' stagger off, swearing never to take animal tranquilizers again. The last ``gore hound'' discovers his girlfriend curled up in the TV set. It is, of course, the same girl who escaped from the snuff movie, very dead. (She visited the basement earlier, but they were so out of it they lost track of her and thought she must have left.)
Karl, Dyner, Chuck Novatka, and Samuel Ball played Hud, Alex, and Turk, respectively, to the sometimes repulsive hilt. Tracy Grinnell was appropriately scared as the snuff-movie escapee/girlfriend. The hideous set, strewn with garbage and junk, fit the text perfectly on a low budget. (The TV set's necessary bulk, down center, got in the way a bit, but management roped off the seats most blocked by it. It flickered realistically, but should have done so in color or blue.) Jason Sturm's lighting, while not elaborate, helped suggest a funky den of iniquity. Jordan Torjussen's sound often sounded as though it were coming from the wrong end of a toilet, in keeping with its supposed source, nth-generation videotape. Costumes (Meyling Kim), again, hit a grungy (but undemanding) target to a T.
If anything, the production was in too good taste. Display of a little more skin would have been more titillating and would have better served the Grand Guignol tradition to which the script seems to lean. And the director could have attempted something a little more disgusting than the genteel splattering of stage blood, mostly offstage. Then the audience could have relished its identification, or lack of it, with the gore hounds of the title and reacted to the gore with some of the same emotions the characters drew from their videos. The play could have ignited a riot -- quite a trick, in jaded NYC! (The original Théâtre du Grand Guignol, in Paris, was the birthplace of stage realism. Its fame spread as it specialized in gory effects, having, for instance, several secret recipes for stage blood. It was noted for such antics as stationing nurses in the audience, in case people fainted. Alas, it couldn't compete with Technicolor(R).)
This sort of play encourages different reactions. Two young women overheard in the elevator agreed that it was amusing; one of them mentioned that the playwright said all the right things to let the audience know that this was Art and he was not endorsing the lifestyle depicted on stage. (A sad time, indeed, when even Grand Guignol has to be politically correct! It used to be that its greatest virtue was the realistic depiction of, well, gore.) A young man, on the other hand, merely muttered, ``I'm going home to take a shower,'' before slinking off into the night.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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While Barney is not an addicted gambler, he is as much caught up in the game as his victims. Lest the audience not miss the play's point, someone says at the end, as Barney leaves with Allie Neiterman (Mike Skloot), a degenerate gambler about to be made the ultimate example for not paying his debts, ``You're alone.''
And indeed they are alone: Irving Landau (Jerry Lewkowitz), balding and middle-aged, spending all day playing gin; Jimmy the Gent (Robert Cividanes), in his natty blue suit, getting a bit of a gut, always running errands for the denizens of the club; Dominic Bufetta (Martin Gura), graying and sad, who runs the club; Stevie the Greek (Matthew Taylor), the new kid on the block who thinks he knows everything and actually likes gambling, much to the chagrin of his girlfriend, Maria Lampas (Nicola Kraus), who doesn't understand why he's always lying to her about his whereabouts when he's really off at the races or in a game or whatever; and of course Allie Neiterman and his partner Bobo Pressey (Ted Montuori), who's a bit slow. Slow enough to believe Allie's slogan, ``We're the best,'' while Allie slides with increasing velocity down the toilet. Only Zelda (Fredi Grieshaber), who doesn't say much beyond announcing the scene numbers, and Fuzzy (Joe Pitzvalty), with whom she plays cards throughout and who says even less, seem to enjoy themselves. The only violation of realism in this picture of desperate people was the lack of cigarette smoke, no doubt a concession to the audience's comfort and the actors' safety.
In the course of a long Sunday afternoon it develops that Allie stood up Barney the night before. Rule number one of gambling: never miss an appointment with your bookie. Barney gives him a break; he can bet the late game -- on credit -- even though it has started and his team has put seven points on the board already. Poor fool; his team gets swamped and fails to cover, so Barney has Allie taken outside, on a presumably one-way trip.
This long-established ensemble showed a mastery of their limited characters. Allie's bluster was no match for Barney's icy politesse; Irving and Dominic were so bored they didn't even know they were bored; Stevie came across as an intelligent kid who must be a moron to give up a nice-girl-next-door like Maria; and poor Bobo looked up to Allie with sweet desperation.
The only dramatic question that arises is, why does Allie stick around for Barney? He's already hiding from three shylocks, so maybe he just has nowhere else to go. Or he's so deep in denial he can't imagine the consequences. This is dramatically humble material, but it has its place -- and never tries to get above it.
The costumes (Mary Micari) helped subtly differentiate all the characters. The set, dominated by a cheesy TV sitting on a portable fridge (both broken by Allie in a fit of pique over a lost bet), underscored the flea-market aspirations of the participants. The lighting (George Kodar) avoided any fancy frills while providing even illumination for a very wide stage. Liebowitz controlled the pacing so that what could have been an evening of tedium instead became an absorbing, sometimes gripping, vision of other people in the grip of tedium, a harder trick to pull off than it sounds.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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Supper for the Dead shows the ugly comeuppance of Fess Oxendine (played with beady-eyed intensity by Arthur French), who starts by scoffing at the voodoo-like folk religion practised by Queenie (masterfully played by Sarallen) and espoused by his wife Vonie (Betty Neals). Queenie's ceremony required, in addition to liberal use of the smoke machine, two young girls in sinister brown hoods (Shirley Black Brown and Charlotte Brathwaite). Any audience member who didn't feel a certain frisson of horror as Queenie invoked the spirits of the departed should get a checkup with a reputable neurologist.
Quare Medicine is comic relief. Jernigan (played with just the right balance of humor and spite by Howard Atlee), who doesn't seem to contribute much to the household of his son and daughter-in-law beyond complaints, goads his son Henry (Mark J. Foley) to buy a potion from the quack Doctor Immanuel (a bit overplayed by Joe Pichette), to make her more docile. The potion works, but it turns out she took the wrong one!
Green returns to the shadows in White Dresses, in which Mary, a young black woman (luminously played by Joyce Lee) pines for the love of a white man. Her Granny (Sarallen again, in a more muted but still absorbing performance) counsels her to give up all thoughts of such a match and instead encourages the overtures of a handsome black man, Jim (portrayed, in few words, as the stoically devoted lover by David Damane). In the play's swift and almost Greek denouement, it turns out that Mary's mother also loved a white man, Henry Morgan (in a rather hurried performance by Howard Atlee), and that is why Mary's skin color is several shades lighter than the norm. Her presumed parentage provides another reason why she cannot marry Morgan's son.
The poignancy of the scene in which Granny tells Mary of the parallels in her situation with that of her mother's, including the gifts of white dresses from their intended husbands, was affecting, and the horror with which the situation unfolds compelling. Such a powerful effect is the desired payoff for plays firmly rooted in the American realist tradition.
The production values showed the challenges of adapting proscenium-based realistic plays to a more intimate medium (a typical black box). The schematic set, by Jun Maeda, combined pieces of woven sticks with sheets of cheesecloth, both of which could be reconfigured to indicate different textures. The result was a homey feel that worked whether in Fess Oxendine's cabin in the swamp or the higher-class confines of the Jernigans. But the stove, which could be configured in various ways, should have had more than a gelled lightbulb in it (it's not hard to create a flicker). The gel was even visible in one play. And when an actor puts something in the fire to burn, she should put it out of view of the audience, so it doesn't just sit there, distracting the eye. The fog machine, also, could have been used more realistically (putting it closer to the stove would have given a plausible source for the smoke). And it would have been nice to have a shotgun, as written, instead of a rifle, and maybe one that could have pretended to go off.
Costumes, by Helen Simmons, did a lot with not much. Sound design: Tim Schellenbaum.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 1
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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This production took the easy way out by casting Patrick Hillan, whose features resemble those of a classic English convict in an Ealing Studios comedy (circa 1950). But Hillan's approach to the part included bringing the audience into the act, getting them involved in his decisions -- even getting them to condone the nastinesses he had in store for his master Othello.
Jay Veduccio, as Iago's gull Roderigo, kept a straight face throughout to Iago's increasingly threadbare explanations of his get-rich-quick scheme. Robert Bowen Jr. provided a bit of campy feistiness as Brabantio, Desdemona's father. John Kooi, perfectly cast as straight man Cassio, even for the cruel joke played on him by Iago, walked into the door of fate with head high. Kenneth Cavett, as the Duke of Venice (with sash) and Ludovico (no sash) showed appropriate, if sometimes confused, nobility. Mary Alice McGuire's discovery that she, as Iago's wife Aemilia, had helped unconsciously move his plot forward against Othello, tugged at the heartstrings.
Judy Turkisher, as Desdemona, offered a heart as pure (and a skin as white) as snow, with golden ringlets to complete the angelic picture. She and Othello made a (bitter)sweet couple.
Against Hillan's earthy, almost music-hall Iago, Geoffrey Owens presented a subtle Othello, alternating rage with understatement. He was totally convincing as he was pushed down the slippery slope of jealousy -- first doting on Desdemona, then daring Iago to find evidence, then being swamped by floods of jealous fantasy alternating with rage. In his final moments, bled of jealous rage by the discovery that Iago had engineered the whole thing, he reached a cathartic epiphany.
They say 90 percent of directing is casting. If so, the lineup boded well for Thom Fudall's directorial skills, as did his pacing of the whole evening and, especially, his interpolations of little bits of business into the dialog. While the technique in extremis can be a nuisance and a visual distraction, here it provided subtle ongoing commentary on the dialog, which (God knows) needs all the visual footnoting it can get.
The most notable features of the set (Thom Fudall) were the white walls and a sort of detachable cloth pillar up center, which lent a certain variety and which could be separately lit. The walls were white so that when Othello stabbed himself, they could be suddenly flooded with red, an unexpected and thoroughly satisfying effect (lights, Jessie). Costumes (Kate Haggerty) were simple and effective.
(Also featuring Michelle Pirret, as Bianca, and Matthew Bray, as Montano.).
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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Ian is a screenwriter who has just sold his first million-dollar screenplay, an action-adventure epic with lots of blood. Gloria and Happyola drop in on him to talk him out of closing the deal and into writing ... poetry.
Ian's typist Madelyn (Jocelyn Ruggiero), looking good in less, can't see the two interlopers, and so is reduced in holding up her side of the grand debate by pouting and rubbing up against Ian, whose libido has been washing away in vats of scotch. Just as well -- she doesn't have the brains for anything more. Ian's agent, the genial Max (E.J. Morrison), stops in a couple of times to boost Ian's flagging greed and inquire after the property, which isn't quite done yet.
Intellectually the argument goes in circles. How many ways can you say that celebrating life is better (more life-affirming?) than writing action features? Many, as it turns out to author Attea's credit, though he doesn't squeeze the taste of tautology out of the argument.
Dramatically the play suffers from its intellectual underpinnings, for the dramatic argument is tied in lockstep to the philosophical one. This is a visit from the ghost of Christmas to come, over and over again, with Scrooge waffling all night.
(In an ironic twist, after Ian gives up, so does his ticker. Just because Gloria and Happyola represent life doesn't mean choosing them will help you evade death. Indeed, Gloria appeared briefly in the dark wings of the Angel of same, in a chillingly sweet prefigurement.)
Marcante, Ruggiero, and Meade were up to their epic roles as speakers for us all, and did so as the cute but weak and materialistic teddy bear (Ian), the idealistic but tender and earthy mother/daughter of the future race (Gloria), and the manic, jive proselytizer of life-affirmation (Happyola). The play might be better served reduced to a one-act.
On the night reviewed, not all had gelled between actor/director and cast, as there was some confusing blocking: for example, when a character reacted to another character who was looking the other way. But the action moved along as swiftly as its circuitous nature permitted. (In one scene, Madelyn crossed the stage, lay down on the couch, but, finding nothing to do, got up and left.)
The set (Tony Angel) was an acceptably generic Santa Monica poolside apartment -- with an impressive stone section and solid-looking patio walls -- and the scene painting (Amber Fleming Shon) showed some attention to detail in texturing. Lighting effects (Arjan Smook) included some Moon specials but could have distinguished even better between night and day. (Incidental music: Arthur Abrams.)
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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The chorus, always an important feature in Greek tragedy, were sharp, trained dancers -- and not over-used. Susan Carr, Laine Satterfield, Lyssandra Cox, Tara Orr, and Lea Pinsky performed their speeches with the precision of a synchronized-swimming act. Their gestures and sonic effects, including hissing, effectively underlined the scenes among the principals.
With one exception, the other supporting actors made a solid ensemble, with no individual performances that stood out one from another. Ruth Kulerman (Nurse), Kenneth Fuchs (Tutor), and David Fulford (Aegeus) offered the humble, unquestioning belief that anchors one end of Medea's personality. At the other, Jason (David Tillistrand) and Kreon (Roy Bacon) don't understand why Medea won't give her blessing to the obvious strategic advantages (to Jason, anyway!) of dumping her in favor of a trophy wife. Times haven't changed....
Ethan Kent did an interesting turn as an almost-speechless Messenger, and Zach Schlossberg was sympathetic as Medea's young son.
Nathalie Paulding (the exception in the ensemble) was heart-breaking as Medea's daughter, closing Act I with a lot of sniffling in the audience as the children asked whether it was their fault that Jason was breaking up the family.
Of course, no Medea can be without a Medea, and Jane Titus hit the big money in the title role. She ascended the dramatic scales from outraged queen to infanticide mother with divalike intensity in a bravura performance. (It is also a tribute to Euripides, as well as the translator and adaptor, that the pacing of this great dramatic arc happens as it does. The audience is made to wait -- and watch in horrified expectation -- for the inevitable collision of Jason's stupidity with Medea's pride -- which is visible for miles, like two trains approaching each other, at night, on a single track.)
The production values were satisfying to outstanding. The small space was redesigned as a sort of amphitheater, with tiers extending beyond the seats into the acting space, where actors could (and did) sit to comment on the main action. A parachutelike canopy of scrim hid an upstage area in which scenes (like the murders) were played out; beyond that sometimes twinkled the stars of the Greek night sky. And scaffolding not only held up the lights (Jaie Bosse) but provided a jungle gym for the chorus. (Set design, Jason Ardizzone.) Costumes (Allison Galker) were simple but effective affairs of tunics and such, in complementary colors. The sound effects and original music score (Jerome Demarque) underpinned the tumultuous mood changes throughout the play.
The gods have been good to Off-Off-Broadway, to permit such an initial production by a new group (producer, Alexandra Ornitz; associate producer, Carla Briscoe). May they continue to twinkle on the ventures of North Star Productions.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 1
Set 2
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 2
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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Something must have happened between the printing of the programs and the last (and reviewed) performance, as two actors dropped out (O bane of Off-Off-Broadway!), and the stage manager and a technical assistant were promoted to the stage (a remarkable occurrence in a city with so many unemployed, and talented, actors).
In general, the subs did okay (except that the stage manager got cornered upstage and was not very visible for most of her big scene), but other problems beset the production -- most notably a script that might have seemed fresh 40 years ago, when Claire Bloom played the leading role, but which today has lost its savor.
The story concerns Lucile (Margalit Kestin), who has the unnerving ability to distinguish between adulterers and the faithful: the former have insects or maggots crawling on them. She gets into a contest of wills with a figure representing Vice, a dissolute young man (Marcellus, played by Michael Welden) who inexplicably falls in love with her. Before realizing he is in love, though, he and his evil sidekick Paola (Diana Mari) drug her and leave her, wearing one of his hankies, in a strange bed. Her friend Armand (solidly played by Redman Maxfield) kills Marcellus in a duel; to prove her virtue still further, Lucile poisons herself.
To give Giraudoux credit, there is a logic, if only one that dissipates half-an-hour after showtime, to the actions of the play. The real problem with the story is that Vice and Virtue are set up as symbols at the very beginning, thereby eliminating the possibility of the character development so much in demand in this realism-obsessed age. Symbols are the handiwork of critics, not playwrights.
As a result, Ms. Kestin as Lucile came across as just this side of insane, with her creepy-crawly visions and absolutist morality. Mr. Welden as Marcellus, supposedly the Angel of Vice locked in mortal combat, had nothing to play from and nowhere to go, and so gave a confused performance (though he looked fine -- right off the cover of bodice-rippers gone by). And Ms. Mari played Paola over the top in a heavily accented incarnation of slime. Evidently director Israel, though he devised solid stage pictures, was unable to offer these actors any interpretive help out of the dramatic and theatrical cockpit into which they were otherwise sunk.
Munro Bonnell, as Lucile's husband, Todd Fredericks, as Joseph the waiter, Salem Ryan, as a seller of orchids, and Melania Levitsky, as Lucile's friend Eugenie, offered solid support. Max Mankind offered funny takes in three cameo roles. (Also featuring Vonder Gray.)
The sets (Farshad Shahrohki, Bob Green, William Laux) featured a pretty (but too small) couch, among other pieces, and a startling white scrim upstage whose sole purpose was to show up leaf shadows thrown on it -- and on the actors -- in the first scene. The same effect can be achieved on black drapes with patterns of white dots aimed from above. The result here was that actors' faces either merged with their own shadows or vanished into the leaf shadows themselves.
Box Score:
Writing 0
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 0
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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To rescue such unpromising material, this company chose to punch up any and all comic possibilities, to physicalize as much as possible, to add some questionable, although amusing, anachronisms, and to use an acting style that ignored the inner life of the characters (such as the sexual attraction that propels bawdy humor in the first place). The result was a bit better than a good university production of a Ben Jonson comedy.
The author, more prodigiously talented with stylized sentences than connected stories, evoked a moral Dogpatch where women use sex to gain power. Wandering through a hothouse of subplots, the play's moral went no deeper than something like: ``When we love we lose; when we're loved we can pick and choose.''
The director filled the stage with farce, rap-slap greetings, stomping on toes, passionless pawing of breasts and genitals, and pows in the kissers. The production was especially adroit in staging some extraordinary fights and swordplay choreographed by Dan O'Driscoll.
Among the authentically long-haired actors, Paul James Bowen seemed a bit immature as the hero, but well on his way to mastering the abandon suggested by his name, Sir Francis Wildlove. Anne Marie Higgins, in hot pursuit of him, revealed fewer eccentricities than the heroine, ``Miss Beauclair,'' might have used.
There were no small parts. In fact, the most enjoyable actors were among the servant class. The ever-funny Victoria Majeski and the quietly talented Neil Poynter divided six lesser roles amongst themselves. The way Mr. Poynter danced and differentiated his characters captured the production's spirit perfectly.
Also memorable was Heidi K. Eklund, playing a petulant dipsomaniac who screamed her lines and kicked men in the groin. But probably the arrogantly handsome Andrew Mendelson, pursuing his ``platonic mistress,'' came closest to acting in the proper style.
Others in the cast, literally too numerous to mention, included: Scott Ardizzone, Peter Brown, Emily Greenhill, Duncan Hazzard, Eliza Pryor Nagel, Melanie Prud'homme (in the title role), Daniell Quisenberry, and Darius Stone.
Justine Lambert's undecorated set was dutifully functional. But the elaborate lighting by Rachel Rushefsky was colorless and dreary, with inartistic shadows. The music by Ken Nowell (with help from Bach, Handel, and Anon.) was just fine.
If one sees this play, one should expect that trying to figure out who's who and what's what amongst a panoply of characters going for baroque with language can be intellectually exhausting. Nevertheless, the effort is worthwhile. The matching costumes (by Marcia Canestrano and Careen Fowles) were theatrically marvelous. And the acting and directing were quite admirable.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Marshall Yaeger
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Combining tasty (though sometimes yesterday's) one-liners, such as ``A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste,'' with some zesty images, such as a cheerleader courageously twirling a fire baton while her father holds a garden hose ``to put you out in case,'' the author built his logic of inescapable misfortune.
The director staged some nice tableaux for the splendid female ensemble. Although there were no strikingly original ideas, there was lots of TLC, such as scattered hair on the beauty salon floor, or just the right discreet crucifix over the heart of a born-again Christian.
Niki Davis played the proprietress of a Louisiana Sassoon salon where women escaping sofa-slug husbands talk trash, read Southern Hair, trade Bisquick recipes, worship Wayne Newton, and model their frosted, streaked hairdos after Princess Di or Grace.
Alicia Harding, ``poopy'' as the neophyte hair assistant, settled nicely into becoming part of the family.
Kathleen Butler, although distinguished in her own right (she created one of Albee's Three Tall Women), was eerie in her languid resemblance to Olympia Dukakis, her movie counterpart. Eerie also was Jennifer Carpiniello's Sally Fields voice.
Bernadette Cerami as the pivotal character, caught in an airtight drama, went through a transformation from bride to martyr that audibly touched many in the audience.
Loretto McNally, describing herself as looking ``like the dog's dinner,'' played a lovable codger who's ``been in a very bad mood for the past 40 years.''
All of them excelled.
The set, by Shawn ``Junior'' Robinson, was painted blush and bashful, like the Pepto-Bismol signature colors of the marrying daughter. A small, tacky Christmas tree was perfect.
Jane Cox did just fine illuminating the action in mostly Southern daytime light; and good hair and wigs were both in credible abundance, thanks to Amy Brown.
``That which does not kill us makes us stronger,'' restated the director in the program, reaching for a theme of how adversity can harden the flower of femininity to steel.
He needn't have stretched so far. For the metal of these six decent women was revealed, not forged, by the action.
The production was a lot like the play, revealing decent people doing their best, rising above less than ideal circumstances. It's gratifying, therefore, to report that this debut production, despite impossible ambitions, sailed through with as much panache and courage as its characters. There's no reason why all of them shouldn't hold their heads proud and undaunted, even against the glare of Broadway lights.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Marshall Yaeger
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Cymbeline might more accurately be called Imogen. It is she, King Cymbeline's daughter, played with more force than charm by Lynnea Benson, who serves as both matrix and maguffin of this wide-ranging tale, set in pre-Arthurian, Roman-occupied England. Imogen has secretly married Posthumus, an impoverished noble (played intelligently, if not overwhelmingly, by Terry Tocantins), soon to be exiled to Rome to give the plot time to thicken. Thereby the Queen (Vivien Landau), Cymbeline's second wife, hopes to arrange a marriage between her loutish son Cloten and the presumptively eligible Imogen. While this is complicating matters, Posthumus is adding a complication of his own in the City of the Seven Hills. There he meets Iachimo, an Iago-type more dexterous than sinister, who bets the young noble he can seduce the latter's secret bride. He then proceeds to England and returns with ``proof'' of his success. Posthumus naively believes him, swears revenge, and sets off to exact it even as Imogen, disguised as a boy, is going forth to seek him. Ultimately, of course, this being a comedy and not Othello, all ends well and happily, celebrations and comeuppances following in proper order.
The acting level ranged from community theater to something very far above it in Bryant Fraser's genuinely Shakespearean Cloten. Indeed, in the very torrent, tempest, and whirlwind of his passion, he followed Hamlet's advice and begot a temperance that gave it smoothness. Essaying several less robust parts, Michael McFadden caught the Bard's rhythms very well. Douglas Stone was not Iachimo, though he played him, but he did give evidence that in the right role he could be highly entertaining. Another who gave a sizable hint of talent on reserve was the striking and statuesque Alicia Meer. Two stage veterans, Vivien Landau as the Queen and Carolyn Sullivan-Zinn as Cymbeline's onetime lover, were well above average. Others in the cast were Aris Alvarado, Jack Rewkowski, Mervyn Haines Jr., Howard L. Laniado, Angela Bonacasa, Eric Masters, and Leone Fogle Hechler.
Ted Zurkowski's direction was for the most part crisp and brisk, and John Kelly's split-level set nicely accommodated the exits and entrances. The useful is not always the esthetic, however, and Mr. Kelly must work on his painted trees. Thomas Oatman's costumes, suggestive rather than literal, were excellent, a true brightener of stage and spirit both.
The best thing about it was that it cost not even a Shakespearean ha'penny to get in. That's inexcusable. The Bard himself asks in the person of Guiderius, ``Money, youth?'' In justice, Frog & Peach freeloaders can but answer, ``Forsooth!''
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 0
Copyright 1997 John Martin
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In the Entre'Act Theatre Company's revival of Laughing Wild, these acting tours de force belonged to Cheryl Orsini and Jay Burns, who portrayed characters named Woman and Man. That Orsini and Burns did not immediately ingratiate themselves with the audience may be a consequence of the meandering nature of their opening monologues rather than any weakness in their acting. By the end of the 90-minute play, though, the audience was cheering for both the performers and their beleaguered characters. For this Man and Woman, just surviving another day in the cold, cruel world of late-20th-century America was reason for applause.
Orsini and Burns were so natural that their monologues seemed impromptu. They built effectively to a range of emotions and didn't go over the top even when the material does. This kept their characters very palpable despite the zaniness enveloping them. They were disillusioned without being petulant, sarcastic without being catty, and as perplexed about their circumstances as the audience might be, since Durang's surreal script juxtaposes all sorts of contemporary issues.
Burns and Orsini's spirited performances anchored a sturdy production. Like other directors who work in cabaret settings, Richard Tazik had to keep the production simple in order to fit on the small stage--except for an outlandish costume designed by Bonnie M. Resinski for the Infant of Prague's scene. Tazik started the show with a nice touch: Orsini peeked out from the wings before stepping onto the stage. She seemed unsure about what to expect from the spectators, and the feeling was mutual, as the story she began to tell about an experience in the grocery store turned out to have greater implications than they'd ever imagine. Laughing Wild resembles the more somber Angels in America (which it predated) in using the AIDS epidemic and the homophobia it has engendered as the touchstone for America's zeitgeist at the millennium. The result is a wacky discourse on urban angst and interpersonal anxieties.
(Lighting/sound, Thomas Honeck)
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Adrienne Onofri
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Bold choices by director Mann kept the show visually interesting. Capitalizing on the Commedia dell' Arte tradition of the plays, Mann used stylized movement and comic bits derived from Commedia clowns. The colorful costumes by Tyler Hayes complemented a graphic black-and-white checkerboard set by Doug DeVita, enhancing the festive feel. Particularly daring (and effective) was Mann's decision to keep the ensemble on stage at all times, posing against the walls of the set, interacting when necessary, and, in spite of the small stage, never letting the stage feel overcrowded or busy.
The Imaginary Cuckold featured Sganarelle as a jealous husband who comes across his wife Martine (Marcia Iris Feldman), who happens to be admiring a locket, featuring a miniature of Lélie (Vito Settineri) which happened to have been dropped by Célie (Christine Allocca) who happens to have fainted and been caught by Sganarelle, who happens to be seen by . . . all clear so far? Suffice it to say that requisite complications ensue, and Sganarelle is given a glorious speech in which he attempts to rationalize his seeming cuckoldry: ``A plague,'' he cries, ``on the man who first invented honor and inflicted it upon mankind!''
The Flying Doctor transforms Sganarelle into a deceptively dim-witted servant who poses as a doctor (and as that imaginary doctor's imaginary brother) in order to help his master Valère (Maurice Kessler) secretly court the lovely Lucile (Robin Meyers). The falsehood is eventually seen through, but not until the ``doctor'' and his ``brother'' have a good knockdown drag out fight in the window. The pacing on The Flying Doctor was a bit slower than The Imaginary Cuckold however, and the comedy seemed at times belabored. In addition, Mullin went to great lengths to present this Sganarelle as being as stupid and driveling as possible, which made it difficult to accept his cunning triumphs.
The final piece, The Forced Marriage, turned Sganarelle into an old bachelor, having decided to give up the single life for a beautiful young thing named Dorimène (Meyers). In his quest to determine whether or not he should marry, he seeks out two exceedingly tiresome philosophers, the Aristotelian (Pizzuti) and the Pyrrhonian (Kessler). Their endless debates on such matters as the difference between shape and form were perhaps great topical satire in their day, but felt a bit plodding in 1997.
All in all, the acting and direction were more solid; the sets and costumes above average. But there was a certain spark that was lacking, and, except for a wonderful aside in which Sganarelle -- covering a scene change -- observes that, contrary to popular belief, the English invented the croissant and the French came up with the muffin, the humor seemed too studied, too serious, lacking the magic that turns a good production into a great comedy.
Also featuring Peter Ruffett, Richard Van Slyke, Jerilyn Sackler, and Don Scimé.
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 2
Acting 1
Set 2
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Sarah Stevenson
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Sex Toys and Subway Stories at first threatened to be a woman-as-victim downer, since the opening monologues dealt with sexual traumas. The second piece, titled Hey Baby, was especially depressing and too much like a therapy session. Although these monologues were not as engrossing as later scenes in the show, the acting by Amy Allison (a model who performed the first monologue) and Laurena Allan (who did Hey Baby) was as impressive as their co-stars'.
A comic highlight was The Vibrator Exchange: a woman who has failed to connect with men finds true love with a -- shall we say -- proxy. Michele Karas put an endearing spin on the well-worn role of neurotic lovelorn single. Kathryn Markey was also hilarious as a woman driven to distraction by a child's toy in Clackers. Valerie Vitale, a dancer who proved a very capable actress, unfortunately had the least interesting monologue, It's getting to the point... Writer/director Kirsten Ames saved the biggest role for herself; she was delightful as a woman trying to escape the urban jungle in LIRR. The frenetic monologue's tender ending showed the power of humanity in the midst of despair--an inspiring message for all involved with a festival dedicated to female empowerment.
There were some questionable aspects to the staging of Sex Toys and Subway Stories, such as the slides in Hey Baby and Allison's constant presence on stage. But the witty writing, phenomenal acting, and uplifting theme made it a cathartic experience for women as creators, performers and consumers of theater. (Music/Sound, Electric Mermaid)
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 1
Acting 2
Set N/A
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Adrienne Onofri
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Adrienne Onofri
The first of three plays this particular evening, Even Supermodels Get the Blues, was the shortest and most successful of the bunch. Written and performed by Jill Dalton, the piece deals with a veteran film extra who has fantasies of being the star -- and a star whose fantasies aren't always what they're cracked up to be. Short and nicely timed, with a believable actress, the piece was both funny and believable. Direction by Nicolas De Sibio was well-done.
The same could not be said for That's My Time. Starring and written by Vanessa Hollinshead, the story takes us through the life of a child growing up in the drug culture of the '60s and dealing with such problems as addiction, divorcing parents, a surrogate mother, career problems, etc. Unfortunately, none of the multiple characters Hollinshead portrayed were very interesting. Additionally, the character shifts often took place without giving the audience any introduction as to which character Hollinshead was becoming. A continuous stream of projected slides, used to indicate the passage of time, served more as a distraction than a framing technique. With a running time of about an hour, the show could easily have been cut by half. Direction by Jeanne Heaton.
The most interesting property, and the one that most failed to live up to its potential, was Live from the Milky Way ... It's Gilda Radner. Performed and written by Emma Palzere, the piece chronicles the life and career of the late comic actress from her days on TV's ``Saturday Night Live'' to her tragic death from ovarian cancer. Radner's story is fascinating, but the piece tries too hard to do too much. Milky Way is really two
stories in one: the story of Gilda Radner and a revue of Radner's comic skills (reprised excellently by Palzere). While both are fascinating to watch, combined they take away from the piece as a whole. It could also have been trimmed by at least 15 minutes. Directed by Liz Ortiz-Mackes; sound design, Bob Jewett; dance coach, Rebecca Kendal.
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Judd Hollander
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The Blue Coat Repertory Company, members of which have been performing together for the past seven years since meeting at the Colorado Shakespeare Festival, delighted with a first-rate production and the kind of ensemble playing rarely seen in New York Add to that fine direction, lovely costumes and a wonderfully spare set and it was easy to forget that a show running three hours, with intermission, is asking much of any audience, particularly in this short-attention-span age.
The play's prose style is dazzling and the wit brilliant. The plot, though, with its intricate twists and its amorous complications, cannot be summarized and, in truth, is very difficult to follow (a fact that the company recognized with a program, a plot outline, and a glossary, all on fine parchment). Director Roe, who also played the flute introduction, had a sure grasp of the production throughout, moved it along at a spanking trot, and was ably served by his excellent, beautifully spoken cast.
The set designers (Cindy Gnazzo and Mr. Roe) used both the stage and the floor area, with just a few fine pieces of furniture, and the beautifully costumed players entered through a large gold frame; sound/lighting were fine (they as well as costumes were uncredited). As for the superb cast, although it was almost impossible to single out a performance from the ensemble, Alex Brentani's Mrs. Millamant -- with fluttering eyes, lashes and fan -- was particularly well-delivered. Jason Hauser and Trent Dawson (Fainall and Mirabell) were suitably stylish and elegant gentlemen; Brandon Epland and Erik Sherr (Witwoud and Petulant) were splendid fops (their make-up, lipstick, powder, and beauty spots, and everyone else's, were splendid). Gina E. Cline's servant girl, Foible, was splendidly realized; Annalisa Hill was a lovely Mrs. Fainall; Paula Hoza's Mrs. Marwood was all elegance and style; Vivian Manning, with rolling eyes and shrieks, as the play neared its end, was nonetheless very funny in the demanding role of Lady Wishfort; and Kevin Dwyer (Sir Wilfull Witwoud) was very solid and droll -- and whether his verve as his wig fell off was rehearsed or not, it was terrific. Rounding out the great cast with well-delivered cameos as servants and footmen were Matt Bodo, Amalie Ceen, Adam Melnick, Josh Tarjan. Congratulations to all concerned!
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 2
Copyright 1997 Dudley Stone
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A simple but charming fairy tale for the Field of Dreams set, The Reluctant Man has, at its core, a series of sympathetic and engaging characters, starting with two fairly clueless guys, Mike and Bill (Ted K. Bruson and Joseph Tudisco). They're the kind of guys who hang around the bar every night and argue about topics ranging from the difference between a rabbit and a bunny to the best way to pick up girls. Mike's approach to the latter involves some excruciatingly bad pickup lines; Bill's version unfortunately seems to include chloroforming the unsuspecting date so she'll look drunk and her doorman will think he's helping her out and let him in the building. The banter between the two is natural and casual, well-written and well-acted. It was also, at times, quite funny. The same can be said for another duo, the cleaning men Juan and Jose (Will Sierra and Peter Vouras), whose irreverent interludes about Bennett and his wife provide pure comedy.
Bartels's Bennett was endearingly baffled, caught between wife and mistress. The former wants to drive him up the career ladder, orchestrating a deal for him with a Wall Street investor (Pat Dias) for his own club; the latter threatens to cause a scandal if he drops her. He wants the club, but not at the price of being indebted to Eva; he wants Lauren, but not at the price of his dignity. He is reluctant to act at all, having found a comfortable, if not truly satisfying niche behind his bar.
The Reluctant Man deftly captures a certain ``holding pattern'' feeling so common in modern life -- in which you're not really fulfilled, but chugging along, content enough, unwilling to risk it all on a dream. That the potential for the dream's realization lies in the crotchety stranger (Stan Carp), who says he left his wife for baseball, who cares just a little too much about Cincinnati's fate, and who just wants to pay his bill with a check, leads to a poignant denouement that surpasses all expectations.
The actors formed a cohesive ensemble, all giving solid performances. The set and lighting design by Pat Dias was excellent, especially in the exquisitely detailed bar setting. Only the jarring switch to ugly black flats for the only other location, Arthur's Wall Street office, was disappointing.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Sarah Stevenson