It's a simple enough tale: on a midsummer night in Sweden, a night celebrating the longest day of the year, with dancing and merry-making and lovemaking, the count's daughter, Julie, and his footman, John, fall in love, and she asks him to run away with her. The count returns to find that John has also robbed him, in addition to seducing his daughter. John, realizing, as does Julie, that all is lost, hands Miss Julie a razor, and she exits to take her life.
Director Strasberg sees the play as a ``pathetic comedy'' and not, as usually played, a ``hate-filled battle of the sexes.'' This interpretation certainly makes the play more intriguing but, needless to say, there is little or no comic relief in a Strindberg play, except, perhaps, like much of Chekhov, the comedy of human foibles rather than tragic character flaws. Strindberg had an early life of poverty (he was one of 12 children) and experienced marital strife all his life. He undoubtedly identified closely with John in his class and sexual battles.
Nastasia Many was an appealing, kittenish Miss Julie, and made it quite easy to believe that the footman could want his mistress for his mistress -- forgetting his pious Lutheran servant girlfriend -- especially given the way Miss Julie was leading him on. However, Many's strong accent was at times hard to understand and her voice at times too soft to be heard. She moved well and had some good moments that showed promise, but at times she seemed uncertain about this demanding role. Michael Griffiths, on the other hand, was completely in control of his footman role and seemed right on target throughout a strong performance. Dominique Borel was a convincing Christine. Khir Van Ryck, Lee Bidgood, and Catherine Dudley -- who also played a mean violin -- played the other servants. James L. Vermeulen's lighting was appropriate; George Xenos designed a very good set, and Christine Darch's costumes were fine.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 2
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Dudley Stone
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In a lurid sort of way, the libretto for this play makes sense for a flamenco opera, which this is and isn't (it doesn't have enough musical numbers). The story certainly couldn't survive without some layer(s) of irony, which Diaz attempted to provide in the form of flamenco guitar and dance accompaniment and performance in Spanish costume. Was it irony or was it elaborate camouflage for the bullfighter's gay sexual predilections?
He also distanced the material by deconstructing the characters, so that, for instance, Rosie appeared as three actresses -- one young, one middle-aged, and one old. They seemed to be three fragments of the original Rosie, perhaps broken off into schizoidal personalities by the trauma of rejection. There were also two bullfighters (Diaz and Vincent Moreau) and a ghost of Rosie (Monte Montalalou). The cast was rounded out with La Coja (Marco Antonio Matute) and a spirit (Montserrat Llado).
The three Rosies (Gloria Harper, Sandra A. Garcia, and Jules Cazedessus) began with a long, expository incantation, in which they appeared to goad the spirits of the audience from their torpor (``You are the cholesterol in my veins ... You are the sewage surrounding me...''). The verse lacks the poetic spark that, for instance, infuses Lorca's work and makes the long speeches in Blood Wedding both memorable and tolerable. Endless couplets rhyming ``Spain'' and ``pain'' seem to make the point that Spain is so repressed only a masochist would want to live there, but at the peril of fatally alienating the audience. And so dominating the soundscape as to upstage all the other material.
If Diaz's intention was to make fun of the Spanish, or even of New Jersey -- an easy target -- he didn't succeed; it's hard to make fun of something without having some fun in the process. And the material and its presentation were very unfunny.
When the pressure of incantation seemed too great, begging for a dramatic interlude in which characters would actually have at each other -- which is what plays are all about, after all -- a dramatic scene between Rosie and one of the bullfighters came along. But the dialog (``Rosie, I must leave you. I must go fight another bull'') was so colorless, and woodenly delivered, that the scene fell flat. (In general, the acting style was gestural and unsubtle.)
Diaz put a lot of work into casting performers who could handle the Spanish aspects, particularly the flamenco dances and songs, and collected some costumes that worked on a short budget. And the risers that served as a stage made a perfect sounding board for the dancers' feet. (Diaz also put all the available spaces in the gallery to good use as acting areas.) Matute was quite distinctive as La Coja, with his chubby features and stubbled chin, although it wasn't clear whether she was the villain of the piece or an unfortunate participant in a love triangle.
But the concept didn't come across the footlights (mercifully there to help out the art-gallery lighting).
Box Score:
Book + lyrics 0/Music 1
Directing 1
Acting 0/Song + Dance 1
Set 0
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 0
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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One thing is certain, Katherine is willing to let Jobey back into her pants (he died at sea and saw himself rot and fall apart into a thousand pieces, some -- like his head -- taken by sharks). But she is not willing to let him throw her certificates of validation to the wind, burn down the cannery, and incite riot among the citizens of Cannery Row, or whatever they call their benignly dictatorial country. But somehow they all end up with bullets in them -- bullets that kill them but keep them in a suspended, dreamlike state. In which state they go on at some poetic, and often amusing, length. (In act two, too much length. Indeed, the only fault of the writing seems to be that the playwright falls in love with the sound of his own voice and keeps singing some time after his song has come to an end -- an understandable, and in this case minor, flaw in a bravura poetic piece.)
What makes this opaque fantasy so attractive is its surreal internal logic, a logic not held back by a desire to correspond to much outside the world of the play. The characters are sort of futuristic New England Mormons, deeply into meditation on the sayings of the Founder (``Though you see not its oarlocks, its wooden planks, you know you're deep in a lifeboat adrift.'' Or some such.). And deeply into the products of His cannery, known mostly by number (as in ``a can of Number 9'').
Ayun Halliday gave a Hepburnish performance as Katherine, using the stiffness of the character as a counterpoint to her sexuality and willingness to kill to protect her ``things,'' not to mention her future with the Founder. Bill Coelius as Jobey, mostly covered in oilskins as he must have been at his demise, brought to his character a demented thousand-yard stare into the horrors and fascination of the maelstrom. And Sven Holmberg as the Mailman tried to keep pace with the others in their fantasy world, while all he really wanted to do was deliver a piece of mail without getting in trouble.
None of the above would have been possible without dialog that cast off casual sparks of poetry while it went about its secretive tasks -- like ``...kelp dancing chorus-line style to the unseen rhythm of an underwater stream,'' which Jobey sees in his descent into the abyss.
The set (Jesse McDonald), a workmanlike rendition of a seaside livingroom, and down-to-earth (and -sea) costumes (Atelier Jambo) accomplished their appointed tasks without fuss and with more aplomb than expected in the wilds of Ludlow Street. The lighting (Ian Hill) was unsurprisingly intimate in the small space but flowed to the moods of the piece as Jobey's parts did to the tides.
Not to leave unmentioned the jokes, which, while hardly something Jay Leno would use to split the sides of the country at 11:30 p.m., kept the audience rolling like a softly boiling pot of the Founder's best tomato soup.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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In the story, the Jews of Prague circa 1600 are faced by a a pogrom at the hands of the Christians. The emperor (the witty but cruel Michael Rattray) has been of some use in keeping the persecutors at bay, but his interest in the Jews doesn't extend much beyond their abilities to raise cash for war with the Turks. It seems up to rabbi Judah Loew (effectively played by Mischa Kischkum, also the composer of the incidental music and the lyricist for the songs), spiritual leader of the Prague Jews, to defend his people by creating a golem -- a superman -- from clay, a kabbalistic recipe, and prayer.
Ordover brings the story to life with human connections: Issac Katz (the energetic Jeff Broitman), the rabbi's intended son-in-law-to-be, who is full of the recent discoveries by Copernicus and others and wants to go to Italy to become an astronomer -- and whose putative father-in-law-to-be doesn't approve of his intellectual independence (nor of his shaving his beard); Mordecai Meisel (Dov Hassan), the worried banker; the rabbi's daughter Rachel (Karen Wright), in love with Issac but torn between him and loyalty to her father and the traditional way of life; Meisel's daughter Gittl (Katie Byxbe Pessin), at that age where she giggles about anything remotely to do with sex -- but is innocent until some Christians rape her, at which time her father disowns her; the rabbi's other daughter, Leah (Nancy Gartlan), now called Maria and living as a Christian, and glad to be away from the endless trouble it is to be a Jew; and, popping in and out to offer counsel, the rabbi's dead wife, Perl -- a touch that sounds corny in retrospect but that worked at the time, which is what counts. The cast was rounded out by Travis Shakespeare as the sleazily adroit Bishop of Prague; Kevin Carter and Rob Harriell as Christian rabble; Jonathan Uffelman as Leah's Christian baker husband; and of course by the golem himself, with Will Simmons as a ringer for the Russian boxer from the Rocky movie -- the threat of strength, certainly, but alertness and perception in every (mute) move.
Suffice to say, the Christians start acting like the Ku Klux Klan and the Jews have to mobilize, which the rabbi does singlehandedly by making a golem. The Jews make the rabbi send the golem out to kill their enemies, but it develops -- in a touching scene between the rabbi and his dead wife -- that the rabbi must make a choice. He can choose to conquer the goyim, even to drive them from the face of the earth; but if he does so, God will forget his chosen people. Or he must be willing to accept the price tag -- the Holocaust to come, to the tune of six million victims, where your average pogrom was measured in thousands at worst.
Unfortunately, if that choice was the dramatic turning point of the play, it was watered down by further developments, notably a powerful seder scene where Issac wishes all the plagues of Egypt on the goyim. There is a problem in the writing that made the second act seem too long.
Kevin Brainerd's costumes and minimal set were a joy. Everyone looked like an Old Master. John Tees III's lighting created some consistent shadows but literally brought many scenes to vivid life.
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 2
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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That casting problem in this rare production of The Wood Demon (a sketch for Uncle Vanya) exacerbated an already difficult situation in New York: that vast pool is not highly populated with middle-aged men, and membership companies attract less than their statistical fair share of that precious species. And so it was left to the audience to figure out how old the actors were supposed to be (aided by a little makeup here and there). Identifying a character -- both by family relationship and age -- was like a treasure hunt. Much of Chekhov is difficult to follow anyway; the casting made it doubly so.
The story concerns the patronizing attitude of some rich layabouts to a doctor, Krushchov (Marek Kruszelnicki), who is intensely concerned about the ecology. The chief layabout, Alexander Serebryakov (Richard Clark), an old scholar who is the cultural leader of the region and who married the daughter of another local family (Helen, née Voynitsky, played by Nicola Kraus) decides to sell his estate so his family can retire and live off the reinvested capital, totally ignoring the needs of George Voynitsky (well-played as an earnest worrywart by Adam Ernster), who has managed the estate for 25 years on little salary. (In typical Chekhovian fashion, George shoots himself.) Chekhov paints a picture of a rural Russia that is a hothouse of frustrated or misplaced emotions, and the doctor, whom the other characters mockingly call the Wood Demon for his love of forests, is a hothead totally out of place among them.
Kruszelnicki did well as the doctor, fighting a noticeable Polish regionalism and winning with his sincerity and intensity. Another standout was Charles Waters as the dilettante neighbor Waffles, so named for his apparently psychosomatic skin disease (unless it was hidden by his stubble), a director's blessing: in the constant directorial campaign for concentration, energy, and focus, Waters could serve as the poster boy. J. Keith Doherty also did well as the nervously intense Leonid Zheltukhin. P.J. King communicated a clear and energetic vision of the unpleasant would-be manipulator Theodore. Stephen Lima was the apparent oldest of the cast, though not old enough for Ivan Orlovsky, godfather-to-everyone, but he blustered well and fit in as one of the layabouts. Heidi Wallace's Helen (Serebryakov's wife) showed grace and bearing appropriate to her station. Jennifer Leigh Jones, as Julia, lent a demure presence. Bernadette Daly fared less well as Mrs. Voynitsky, being far too young for a tiny part that nevertheless is on stage a lot. It was not clear whether Nicola Kraus's Sonya-as-Valley Girl (Serebryakov's daughter) was a good idea, or just a bright one. Ruben Roiné deserved good tips for assiduous bustling back and forth with drinks and dishes.
Beginning director Marion did a good job within the limitations, and policed traffic on the small stage briskly. Uncredited costumes were ``anything that looks old,'' but worked for the most part. The lighting (Matthew Putnam), despite filling out the Impact's complement with rented instruments, did little toward its prime goal -- letting the actors be seen. Marion's sound design of classical chamber music was apt. The scenic design and painting (David Shohan/Terry Rectra) -- trees painted on the walls -- supported the text without overpowering it.
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 0
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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Thor's Day brings together successful, 40ish insurance salesman Philip (James A. Walsh) and his dream trick, Buck (Blake Robbins), who meet in the parking lot of a porno-video store while Philip's wife is in the hospital for some elective surgery. Philip hasn't thought of gay sex since his boyhood friend died in a car accident for which Philip feels guilty -- though he hasn't thought of that since boyhood, either.
Buck works on loosening Philip up, finally getting him to give Buck a blowjob. In the play's cruelest moment, Philip, shorn of toupee after the vigorous head action and exhilarated at finally accepting his sexual identity, tears off his own clothes, only to find Buck putting his clothes back on. From now on, Buck becomes the trick from hell, forcing Philip to suck on a gun barrel, even getting him to agree to leave his own house -- because now, as a faggot, he doesn't belong there. In an especially gruesome but fascinating moment, Buck tells how he killed a man in self-defense and had an orgasm while doing so -- an orgasm topped off by pissing on the corpse (``If I could have dropped a load on him I would've''). Buck represents the elemental force seen in lightning, thunder, and tornado, which can kill but also brings life to the earth.
After all this degradation, mysticism, and excitement, Buck finally gets to the point. He killed his own wife earlier that day, because she had an incurable disease. He wants Philip to shoot him, and in fact forces him to do so. Philip goes down on Buck for one last, dying orgasm.
All the above sounds rather implausible, baldly stated, but it wasn't. Each transition, from opening the first beer to pulling the final trigger, had its own psychological logic -- a sign of complete commitment by playwright, director, and actors. But it's not a show for the faint of heart, the squeamish, or the hardcore heterosexual. (It was surprising that the Glines, noted for presenting comedies, got behind this one.)
Walsh's Philip was totally believable, in his thick glasses, wig, Wisconsin accent, and tight physical mannerisms. Robbins's Buck, dressed to a T as the midnight cowboy, also was perfectly cast and was entirely credible in the role. (He needed more projective strength in his voice, though.)
David M. Mead's set, a sparely furnished living room with beautiful window frames hanging from wires, raised the question of where Philip was when he was behind the upstage wall (really black scrim material, it turned out; the scrim was underused). Was he getting the beers and pretzels from the porch? The lighting (Garth Reese) was intimate and subtle and changed with the play's argument. Carla Gant's job as costume designer was less demanding than for many productions, but she supported the actors' characterizations well. Thomas Hasselwander's sound design (country, blues, and thunder) appropriately set up the mood of the play and rendered the storm.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 2
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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Needless to say, nobody's perfect, and Nellie's no exception. Her story starts with her leaving Pittsburgh, where she has been a successful reporter for the Dispatch, to seek fortune in the big time -- New York. By the time she has broken down the doors of Joseph Pulitzer's World, become one of the boys, and written ground-breaking exposés of conditions on Riker's Island and Blackwell's Island (an asylum), her story's dramatic value is spent. Unfortunately, Act Two has still to follow.
Lee's book struggles to maintain tension through the second act by artificial devices that merely suspend animation until the next scene (like the line, ``Think about it''). It might have been better to expand Act One to encompass all of Act Two, ending in Nellie's dramatic rescue from Blackwell's Island and marriage proposal from her editor, perhaps followed by a montage of all her glorious exploits to follow, and historical accuracy be damned. Curtain.
Much of the music was pretty, intricate, and very listenable, just dying for more dance steps (choreography, Andrea Andresakis). The lyrics varied in quality, especially in the sometimes erratic rhyme scheme (surprise/prize, identity/away from me). The dialog tended toward the melodramatic, both as written and acted. There wasn't much subtlety about either. The strongest voices were shown by Nellie (Jeanine Serralles) and, perhaps surprisingly, her mother (Veronica Burke), who represents one of the forces holding Nellie back from her place in history. (Seralles showed a good ``belt'' but found harder going in an intimate, lyrical number.) The other principal was Timothy Estin, who gave a very credible performance, crusty and warm at the same time, as Nellie's editor/lover.
Most of the actors played multiple roles, in an expertly whipped-up whirlpool of constant action. Casting of the numerous character parts was superb, showing the range possible in a New York Equity showcase, especially in the older parts. The larger scenes were mounted as nonmusical chorus numbers (could musicalization of these numbers be intended, not far down the developmental road?). Some of the verse/dialog in these numbers tended toward doggerel, but they worked excellently to show the passage of time and the reaction of the man in the street to Nellie's exploits. (And to change scenes, of which there were many.) Priority was clearly -- and rightly -- on storytelling rather than music.
Scenery (Nadine Charlsen, who also designed the lighting) consisted mostly of painted rehearsal cubes and related shapes, which fit together to create set pieces. The lighting was varied and expressive, although it occasionally lurched in transition from one area of focus to another. Costumes (Bill Lewk) were a marvelous assemblage of period pieces. Musical director James Mironchik, who presumably also accompanied at the piano, extracted some good choral work, some in not easy harmony. Ian Smith's sound design blended popular songs with street sounds. (The rest of the ensemble comprised Jessica Bowen, Oliver Buckingham, George Cambus, Sara Jo, Jane Lowe, Charlotte Parsons, Kirsten Peck, Lorca Peress, Garrison Phillips, John Quilty, Jerry Rago, John Sacco, and Christopher Williams.)
Box Score:
Book + lyrics 1, Music 2
Directing 2
Performance 1
Set 1
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 2
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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A Hand Witch of the Second Stage has three inquisitors threatening an accused witch (the amusingly uncontrite Angela Roberts). They are ready to torture a confession out of her prior to burning her. She gets the better of them by admitting that she is a creature of the Devil and threatening them if they don't let her go. For some reason, Barnes tacks on an altogether unnecessary coda in which the woman explains how she got the better of her accusers. (Also featuring Ray Atherton as an easily outwitted priest, Richard Edward Long in an amusing drunk role, and Jack Luceno as the confused but otherwise very professional torturer.)
From torture-chamber to deathbed and from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance, From Sleep and Shadow shows the disturbing effect on a bereaved husband (the talented Tony Cormier) of a visit (in his dead wife's body) from his previously deceased wife, who is jealous. Erika Rolfsrud amusingly handled both the dead woman returned in the body of her rival and the reappearance of the younger woman, finally recalled into her own body. Harry Peerce played, of all things, a rabbi who did the trick of getting the spirits to come back. While cast well as a purveyor of rabbinical irony and bemusement, some lines (``As my bones whiten....) suggest that the part should have been cast considerably older.
In a later century still, three more rabbis comprise the dramatis personae of The Night of Simhat Torah. After much bellyaching about the problems of being faithful in a secular world -- and some amusing professional one-upmanship -- the three decide to put God himself on trial. They discover some unpleasant truths, among them that God isn't around any more and that nobody else can tell the difference. The three rabbis (David Rosenbaum, who currently ``can be seen in the recurring role of Hon. Alan Berman on NBC's Law and Order,'' Jerome Koenig, and Bill Roulet), made a fine trio, as warmly tuned as a couple of vaudeville comedians. If anything, they could have put their act a little more over the top.
Set design (Kristen Maynard) did triple duty for torture chamber, deathbed, and night sky. Lighting (Christopher Brown) was unobtrusive while ensuring that everyone in each of the areas was appropriately illuminated. Costumes (Sarah Beers), from torturer's hood to prayer shawls, paid far more attention to detail than normally shown at this level. (The program credits give some hint of the legwork that goes into making a production good but not too expensive: ``the TDF Costume Collection ... Village Temple ... Rabbi Dennis Math, Cantor Elliot Levine, The Young Israel of Canarsie....'')
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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Writing: 1 Acting: 2 Directing: 1
Kathryn Paulsen's Soulmates (directed by Alan Wynroth) is the story of a modern friendship, among Veronica (Valerie Blackmoor), Aaron, her former boyfriend now in a gay relationship (Chris Brady), and Aaron's jock lover, John. Aaron helps Veronica get over the lapse in her sex life by finding her a lover among John's rock-climbing friends.
Most of the action takes place off-stage and is told in a precious, undramatic style that enervates what little inherent conflict the situation has. There's a concept here that might make for amusing comedy, but it hasn't quite emerged yet. (Rick Ross was cute as the rock-climber.)
Writing: 0 Acting: 1 Directing: 1
The Hard Sell by Audre Johnston (directed by Michael Lasswell) made much fun of three salesmen trying to land a choice account. Two (Michael John Walters and Timothy J. Macht) are in an adjoining room, getting the customer drunk; the other (John Flaherty) is trying to get some shut-eye before his big presentation. His idea of shut-eye comes close to marital rape, and his wife (Teresa Kelsey) gives him a shiner that can be heard in the next room. The three sleazes outwit the customer and the aggrieved wife in a forced ending that suggests she gave up some I.Q. points when she married.
Kelsey showed good stage deportment. Walters snuck delightfully. A squeak in Macht's voice undercut his otherwise solid performance.
Writing: 1 Acting: 1 Directing: 1
Chocolate Morning, by Bill McMahon (directed by James Alexander Bond), offers two characters at a crossroads: Melanie (Karen Leeds), an undisciplined slob, is on the way out; Cindy (Gabrielle Gibbs) is on the way up -- over Melanie's dead (so to speak) body.
Melanie pulls off a last-minute blackmail attempt. The premise--that anyone in an ad agency caught fooling around is fired--is implausible. Leeds and Gibbs played amusing stereotypes.
Writing: 0 Acting: 1 Directing: 1
In Faithfully Presented, by Chris Weikel (directed by Warren Kelley), Tess (Terry Kaye), a flower of the true South, picks up Hank (Christopher Lewis) on their way to their engagement party. It becomes clear from their dialog that, not only does he not want her, but he prefers the company of young men. While the sketch seemed a little forced in its instant psychoanalysis, it was plausibly told.
Writing: 1 Acting: 2 Directing: 2
In Kevin Brofsky's The Heart of Texas (directed by Craig Rhyne), a has-been playwright of the Southwest, ``Texas Ranger,'' meets Q. B. Martin (Clyde Kelley) the director of a film he wrote. The two gave a wryly comic portrayal of two queens who have given the American public its vision of ideal manhood and intend to do so again, although their current star is not up to Texas's standards of soulfulness. As if on cue, washed-up actor Walter Duffy (Bob Bucci) appears, desperate to audition for the part--which he gets, after much doubt by Texas.
It turns out that Ranger has put Duffy up to the late-night visit, even coaching him in his truly wonderful audition piece (which sounded like Tennessee Williams at his most purple).
This play didn't put a foot wrong.
Writing: 2 Acting: 2 Directing: 2
All: Set: 1 Costumes: 1 Lighting/Sound: 1
Box Score:
Writing 0
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 2
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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Nevertheless, Tim somehow set his fear aside, spending the next well-directed hour regaling a Duplex audience on the subject of his search for a larger and ever more elastic hole. Yes, that hole. Along the way he encounters a mentor, Joan, a Lower East Side ``healer,'' who, in tones both grave and prophetic, warns young Tim to ``learn to let go down there ... let go of your anus ... your whole life will open up.'' Shades of Obi Wan Kenobi, no? Well, what would Joseph Campbell say?
Opening up is not entirely a metaphysical thing for Tim, perhaps not even primarily. Anal perestroika might also mean greater acceptance from his recalcitrant community, which chiefly includes a motorcycle cop from Staten Island, and a rubber phallus purchased in the basement of the Leatherman. And Mr. Driscoll does seem to believe, with Freud and without much irony, in the mystical connection between self-actualization and self ... uh... sphincterization. Alone on his bed, dildo at the ready, Driscoll at last confronts his fear and bravely takes the plunge, after of course first setting the mood with vanilla candles and the soundtrack to The Piano.
A small victory is won, but the battle is far from over. Returning to his healer, Tim this time finds Ms. Kenobi sitting close to the floor ``so she can take in energy through her vagina.'' (Mr. Driscoll is at his best when recounting satiric moments like these.) Noting that Tim is an aspiring dancer, she reminds him, and all of us, that our best dancing will always be done alone, in our own bedrooms.
This last admonition Mr. Driscoll seems not to have taken to heart. He instead courageously invited an audience into his bedroom, where they were treated to an evening of oft-funny anecdotes, Mr. Driscoll's oft-spread legs, and a few interesting -- though far from profound -- insights on the gay cultural moment. But Mr. Driscoll is better than his material, an appealing, talented performer with an eye for the wacky situation and the bravery to tackle provocative subjects. Would that anal relaxation was truly one of those subjects.
Sourceworks Theatre has given this material an effective production, with soft, warm lighting by Thomas Honeck and costuming by Travis Brock. As stated, the directing is proficient, and as a performer at home with profane and unsettling material, Mr. Driscoll can't be topped. Or can he?
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Scott Vogel
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Following Trip (Sheik Mahmud-Bey) and Franklin (Mark Gorman)'s friendship from 1972 through 1990, the audience seldom heard a conversation with regular sentences. The characters talk at, rather than to or with, each other. This made it difficult to comprehend what they said, which in turn made it difficult to understand why they became friends. It was also hard to appreciate the bond between the friends because they were not onstage together much in the first act, when the bond was presumably forming. The other key incident in Act I -- Franklin's infatuation with a woman, which causes the first rupture in the friendship and plunges him into alcoholism and aimlessness -- was underdeveloped and unconvincing.
Another ill-conceived aspect of the script were the frequent retorts which were supposed to be funny but weren't, and which sounded out of character since they often came at serious moments. An example: ``That was a surprise,'' Trip's wife (Michele Persley) comments after Franklin disrupts her and Trip's romantic dinner; Trip, in the depths of anger and frustration with his friend, replies, ``So was Pearl Harbor.''
The performances in The Big Trees were fine; Mahmud-Bey and Persley, in fact, made an attractive couple who would be better served by a love story in which they're the main characters. The 1970s hairstyles and costumes were good too. But this play about the profound issues of friendship and race didn't say anything interesting or poignant about either topic. The intensity of Trip and Franklin's friendship was felt only during the final minutes of the play, and the few racial tensions in the story were forced. (Also featuring Charles Chessler, Alison Spada and Sally Winters. Production design, Deborah R Rosen; lighting, David Alan Comstock; sound, Becca Blackwell.)
Box Score:
Writing 0
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Adrienne Onofri
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Mixed Up Too bills itself as ``another evening of music, dance, and comedy.'' What it actually was was a showcase consisting of a one-act musical, two one-act plays, and a short dance piece.
The first piece of the evening was Back Back Back, a musical by Neil Genzlinger. The plot concerns Gordon Pendleton, a middle-aged man who is being sued by his grown daughter Emily because he was a bad father to her after he and his wife divorced when she was very young. Emily is being encouraged in this endeavor by her mother Katherine, who is currently married to an extremely wealthy man who, to the distress of the other characters, has too many names.
The second piece of the evening was Lunch In The Afternoon, a short play by Gordon Osmond about a self-absorbed businessman, Mik, who has just been ditched by his live-in girlfriend. He then asks his ex-girlfriend's twin sister to lunch in order to convince her to move in with him.
Next was the dance piece, The Beginning of the Mutant Message, choreographed by Alexandra Tejeda Rieloff. The evening ended with Papered Over, a short play by Steve Shack and George Gustines, about Jeff, a would-be reporter, who is ditched by the woman he calls his wife (who is actually his live-in girlfriend). In order to avoid the advances of his lecherous boss Maureen, Jeff claims to be gay, and involved with his truly gay friend Rich.
Of the four pieces that made up Mixed Up Too, the most successful was the dance piece. Perhaps this is because it was short, simple, and was well-danced by Ms. Rieloff, and Sheila Anozier, who both wore rather tiny costumes. Of the three plays, none were completely satisfying. The best of the lot is Back Back Back, which contained some clever lyrics. Unfortunately, its book did not fare as well. As for the other two plays, both have interesting premises, but neither held up over the course of 15 to 20 minutes.
On the performance side, Emily Genzlinger was quite enjoyable as Young Emily in Back Back Back. Her father, author Neil Genzlinger, was also fairly good as George in his own play.
While Mixed Up Too was clearly showcase theatre at its most basic, everyone involved in such a production should be commended for their effort, and encouraged to strive for a higher level of production next time around.
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 0
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Attanas
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There is enough here for several plays, and the director did a creditable job with the material, ensuring pace and quick scene changes, and generally good, well-controlled performances. Unfortunately, the many short scenes, sometimes little more than tableaux, made it difficult to build up real dramatic power and genuine movements. The absence from the play of Lucrezia's father, Pope Alexander, was also felt. Hearing so much about this man to whom Lucrezia was, it was said, daughter, wife and daughter-in-law, makes an audience want to meet him, the most notorious of the Renaissance popes.
Rich Stone, as Machiavelli, narrated the play well, showing the kind of humor and political savvy to be expected from the author of The Prince. Dean Storm Bradshaw (Cesare Borgia) both looked and acted the part of someone with whom you would always have to ``watch your back,'' and with whom it would be inadvisable to ``do lunch.'' Chris Andersson (Vecellio, the alchemist) provided sly humor and a delightful comic relief. Trey Burvant did very nice work as Lucrezia's true love, Alfonso, and Kevin Keaveney was a convincing warrior as Duke of Mantua.
As Lucrezia Borgia, Quiche Kemble's performance was something of a tour de force: she was on stage for almost the entire play. As playwright, Ms. Kemble has emphasized how little is really known about Lucrezia. Perhaps she was not the monster most people seem to have believed her to be, perhaps she was. This ambivalence is reflected in the play and to some extent in Ms. Kemble's performance. Her acting, nonetheless, was solid and authoritative throughout, and her too-short dance was very good indeed.. Costumes (Jeanette Anne Ryan), set (Gang of Two), and lighting (Kimberley Patterson) were all fine, and the music (uncredited) was very well-chosen.
There are so few historical plays written nowadays that we should be grateful for them. This one provided an enjoyable evening of theatre from a uniformly good cast who were very well spoken, too -- due, maybe, to the work of the ``Script Nazis'' listed in the program.
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Dudley Stone
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Director Sharon Kellogg assembled a consistently excellent cast and paired them up with some truly divine cakes -- kudos to Kellogg and Sharon Mansur for these fabulous props. Sister Vivien Leigh Cleary (Pamela Johnson), a nun in lay clothes, has a simple on the outside, decadent on the inside chocolate cheese-cake. Archeologist Taylor Abbot (Doug Barron) has a whimsical pyramid-shaped wonder, and Martha Britch (Gabra Zackman), owner of a natural-foods cafe, showcases a carrot cake made from all-natural ingredients. But visually, they are all beaten to a pulp by a late arrival, Augusta Connors Secord (Susan Mansur) and her enormous three-tiered wedding cake, complete with colorful plastic decorations representing moments from the lives of the happy couple. Or, rather, the couple that is currently less than happy because mummy is about to enter their wedding cake into this embarrassing contest.
Suspense looms over whether daughter Tiffany (Lillian Langford) will be able to persuade mom to give the cake back. Drama hovers around whether the upright (and uptight) den mother Ruby Abel (Sharita Hunt) will triumph over her nemesis Martha, whose unconventional personality, clothing, and job make her thoroughly suspect to the Ruby Abels of the world. And Romance makes its appearance in the form of Sister Vivien's sudden (and dreadfully unexpected) passion for the lone male cakewalk contestant, providing a wonderful (if chaste) love story to offset the sparring.
Suspense, Drama, Romance. . . Not to mention comedy, for someone is stealing cakes right and left. Could it be one of the contestants? And cakes and people keep getting locked in the supply cabinet. It's all quite silly, but it was all quite fun as well. The entire ensemble brought depth to their characters, and by the end the audience wanted them all to win. And ultimately, they all do, to the cheers of the audience.
Neil Jacobson designed the soundscape that connected the contestants with the events of the fair on which their destinies depended. Mike Bahr provided the voice of the fair's master of ceremonies, which came through the loudspeaker. Lighting design was by Stan Tracy and John Page Spears. No need for a set. The theatre's actual church basement setting provided all that was needed.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Sarah Stevenson
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As everyone knows, HMS Pinafore was in part a parody of 19th-century opera, which makes Hollywood a burlesque of a burlesque, a two-tiered riot. Kaufman greedily appropriated not only Sullivan's music but Gilbert's plot and characters, plopping modernized versions of each into the offices of Pinafore Pictures. Thus Captain Corcoran, who never, never sinks at sea, becomes Director Mike Corcoran, who ``never ever has a flop.'' What, never? ``No, never.'' And so on.
What would Kaufman have felt about Theatre Ten Ten's revival of this trifle? After opening on Broadway in 1945, the show was not again seen in New York until -- you guessed it -- this May. The book, never published, was only available in excerpts, while various full versions lay dormant in university libraries. Cheers to Theatre Ten Ten and director Fuller for rediscovering Hollywood, then, not to mention kicking the dust from its pages.
That said, the cast of this Pinafore often seemed at sea -- pardon that -- sent adrift by the script's fiendish requirements on singing actors. Sullivan's pre-existing melodies must have made Kaufman's lyric-writing task easier; those same melodies spell doom for singers not trained for the music's rigorous demands. In the present cast, only a few voices possessed the strength to tackle the dual challenges of operetta and a loud, criminally loud, piano accompaniment. Happily, these were the romantic leads. As Brenda Blossom, Judith Jarosz received well-deserved bravas for her aria on the relative merits of men both wealthy and impoverished, i.e. studio heads and writers. Douglas Purcell's gorgeous tenor voice, as Ralph Rackstraw, well-nigh obliterated any momentary concerns about his acting. In the Buttercup role, the show again scored with Cristiane Young as the redoubtable Louhedda Hopsons, gossip columnist (``little Butter-up ... the pages she'll clutter up, mush she will utter up...'' The ensemble choral work was also inspired, precise and crisply sung.
The acting in Hollywood was a mixed bag. There were a few wonderful performers, notably the effervescent Christopher Sutton; whether propelling his nimble body through vaudevillian timesteps or using his foot as hatrack for a bowler, Mr. Sutton was a perpetual joy (not to mention a great exponent of Hal Simons's amusing choreography).
Director Fuller is to be commended simply for directing traffic; this 21-member cast had a very small playing area on which to strut. John Scheffler's set cleverly depicted the Hollywood studio as a ship of fools, its balusters -- in the shape of dollar signs, no less -- broadly announcing the direction in which this vessel heads. Melanie Schmidt's costumes were brightly period, and Ned Levy's musical direction (with the above caveat) was first-rate.
All in all, Hollywood Pinafore is a forgotten chestnut fully deserving of a revival, and Theatre Ten Ten's effort was never, ever less than exceptional. What, never? No, never. What, never? Well ... hardly ever.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Scott Vogel