If you have ever loved “Our Town” (and who hasn’t?), be prepared to fall in love all over again. Huntington Theater Company’s holiday gift is a stunning re-imagining of Thornton Wilder’s groundbreaking play. This January 25th will be the 75th anniversary of the out-of-town pre-Broadway tryout opening of “Our Town” at the Wilbur Theater in Boston, which went on to win Wilder his second of three Pulitzer Prizes, becoming a perennial classic and perhaps the most beloved American work for many a theatergoer, including this critic. Thus it was a courageous risk for Director David Cromer to revive it off-Broadway in 2009 with a startlingly different approach. That production not only ran for over six hundred performances (its longest run ever), it won an Obie for Best Direction by Cromer, as well as Lucille Lortel awards for Best Revival and Direction. It was generally regarded as a truly revolutionary re-thinking of an extraordinary play. In its original production, it was acclaimed for its return to the basics of drama, with virtually no scenery and few props to distract from the fundamental issues on view; Wilder felt that “the spectator restages it inside his own head”, and that he could more effectively present “the life of a village vs. the life of the stars”. By setting this iteration in about the smallest venue imaginable, with the audience on three sides of the playing space, with action that takes place all around them, the creators of this version have made the audience a real part of the story, with the emphasis on that word “imaginable”.
In this production, which preserves the three-act structure of the play as originally written, the cast consists of thirty-two actors, twenty-nine of whom are local performers. In the original, Wilder himself played the part of the narrator (Stage Manager) for a few weeks of its Broadway run; in this version, Cromer repeats that feat (until December 30th). Also repeating their contributions from the 2009 production are the technical crew of Scenic Designer Stephen Dobay, Costume Designer Alison Siple, and Lighting Designer Heather Gilbert. It remains the deceptively simple story of 1901 Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire (“just across the Massachusetts line”), and what happens between and among its residents, primarily next-door neighbors and sweethearts George Gibbs (Derrick Trumbly) and Emily Webb (Therese Plaehn), both totally natural and believable. Also featured in prominent roles are Mrs. Gibbs (Melinda Lopez) and Dr. Gibbs (Craig Mathers) and their other child Rebecca (Emily Skeggs), Mr. Webb (Christopher Tarjan) and Mrs. Webb (Stacy Fischer), and the Choirmaster Simon Stimson (Nael Nacer). There isn’t a clinker in the bunch. Other townfolk include Mrs. Soames (Marianna Bassham), Joe Stoddard (Dale Place), Professor Willard (Richard Arum), Sam Craig (Nicholas Carter), Constable Warren (Paul D. Farwell), Farmer McCarty (Douglas Griffin), Irma (Kathryn Lynch), Joe Crowell, Jr. (Jay Ben Markson), Howie Newsome (Alex Pollock), Wally Webb (Eliott Purcell), and Si Crowell (Ryan Wenke). It’s hard to picture a better cast or a more effective fresh approach to what might be considered an old chestnut; they prove you can indeed go home again, and rediscover what we all might’ve taken too much for granted. It’s a revelation.
Wilder stated that his play was “not offered as a picture of life in a New Hampshire village, or as a speculation about the conditions of life after death”, but “an attempt to find a value above all price for the smallest events in our daily life”, having “set the village against the largest dimensions of time and place”. In the end, he believed that “each individual’s assertion to an absolute reality can only be inner, very inner” and that “our claim, our hope, our despair, are in the mind…not in things, not in ‘scenery’.” Cromer respects this view, although he jolts us with a third-act surprise that’s unforgettable. While honoring the source material, he manages, in his complex performance and his pitch-perfect direction, to reveal not only the sentimental side of the work but also its darker one, its personal impact as well as its universality.
The struggle between the commonplace and the universal dimensions of human experience is perhaps best expressed in the mini-logue of George’s younger sister Rebecca at the end of the first act when she refers to a letter send to her friend from her pastor: “On the envelope the address was like this: It said: Jane Crofut; the Crofut Farm; Grover’s Corners; Sutton County; New Hampshire; United States of America…Continent of North America; Western Hemisphere; the Earth; the Solar System; the Universe; the Mind of God”….“and the postman brought it just the same”. Right on. Or, perhaps, Amen.
12/11/2012
New Rep's "Holiday Memories": 'Tis a Gift To Be Simple
Every year at the holidays there’s that dreaded moment when arriveth those banes of human existence: the holiday fruitcake, the overtly and overly sentimental stories, and regional theater productions involving elves, animals and urchins (preferably orphans) that threaten to put a sprig of holly straight through a cynical theatergoer’s heart. Amazingly, although it includes all of the above, New Rep’s offering this year is a happy exception, that surprise under the Douglas fir that delights one mostly because it was so unexpected. Based on two much beloved and largely autobiographical Truman Capote short stories based on his own Alabama childhood, “The Thanksgiving Visitor” (1967) and “A Christmas Memory” (1956), and televised several decades ago with an incandescent performance by Geraldine Page, the basic story is hardly an unfamiliar one. The current version is called “Holiday Memories”, as adapted for the stage by Russell Vandenbroucke, and, yes, there is fruitcake (consider yourselves aptly warned) and sentiment (but not sentimentality), an orphan of sorts (more or less “posited”, as Capote wrote, with non-adoring relatives), and a dog. (More about that dog later). But it has much more than that; in what might very accurately be described as the true spirit of the holidays, it’s about life in the country in the Depression of the 1930’s, friendship, and the joy of giving; what keeps it from curdling is that it’s also about loneliness and loss.
The story is a simple one wherein two social outcasts, seven year old Buddy (played convincingly and uncloyingly by New Rep newcomer Michael John Ciszewski) and his older cousin and best friend Miss Sook (warmly enacted by frequent New Rep contributor Adrianne Krstansky) prepare a turkey-centric dinner for the immediate world, collect fallen pecans and buy whiskey for said fruitcake, and make one another their annual favorite Christmas gifts, kites. As directed by Michael Hammond in this production, also featuring a narrator named Truman (Marc Carver) and two actors playing multiple roles identified as Man (Jesse Hinson) and Woman (Elizabeth Anne Rimar), one couldn’t ask for a more effective and less pretentious cast, most certainly including the aforementioned canine Queenie (per the program, played by Queenie herself). Attention must be paid to such a dog; rarely is an animal actor so well-trained, so well-behaved, so unobtrusively present.
The technical crew deserves very special mention. The Scenic Design as imagined by Jon Savage, is what would be worthy of Louise Nevelson if she’d grown up in Alabama, not only amazingly functional but visually stunning (with what fittingly appears to be pecan wood in flooring, walls and furniture). The Costume Design by Molly Trainer (appropriately based on the Depression era world of the South), and the Lighting Design by Chris Brusberg and Sound Design by Edward Young all coalesce into a smooth telling of Capote’s tale, managing to cover a number of brief episodic scenes fluidly, also utilizing evocative projections. One scene will indelibly remain in this theatergoer’s memory: the nightlong vigil spent by Queenie guarding the Christmas tree with her gift, a huge five cent bone wrapped in the comics, sitting near the very top of the tree. (Queenie later buries her present where, as the narrator notes, she too will be “buried one year hence”). This team doesn’t strike a single false note, or bark, in telling Capote’s story.
What sets Capote‘s storytelling apart is its poignancy, its universality, and above all, its simplicity. Its morals are also true, usually as expressed by the also simple (in several meanings of the term) Miss Sook, (shy except in the company of complete strangers) such as “the only unpardonable sin is deliberate cruelty” and “I’ll always be here in your memories” and the disappointment of not being “able to give someone else what they want to have”. She also opines that “there’s never two of anything”, and her life surely perpetuated that theme. The way Capote expressed the moment of her death says it all: “When that happens, I know it. A message saying so merely confirms a piece of news some secret vein had already received, severing me from an irreplaceable part of myself, letting it loose like a kite string. That is why, walking across a school campus on this particular December morning, I keep searching the sky. As if I expected to see, rather like hearts, a lost pair of kites hurrying towards heaven”. What could be more moving and seasonably warming than an evening spent with two such unforgettable kite runners?
The story is a simple one wherein two social outcasts, seven year old Buddy (played convincingly and uncloyingly by New Rep newcomer Michael John Ciszewski) and his older cousin and best friend Miss Sook (warmly enacted by frequent New Rep contributor Adrianne Krstansky) prepare a turkey-centric dinner for the immediate world, collect fallen pecans and buy whiskey for said fruitcake, and make one another their annual favorite Christmas gifts, kites. As directed by Michael Hammond in this production, also featuring a narrator named Truman (Marc Carver) and two actors playing multiple roles identified as Man (Jesse Hinson) and Woman (Elizabeth Anne Rimar), one couldn’t ask for a more effective and less pretentious cast, most certainly including the aforementioned canine Queenie (per the program, played by Queenie herself). Attention must be paid to such a dog; rarely is an animal actor so well-trained, so well-behaved, so unobtrusively present.
The technical crew deserves very special mention. The Scenic Design as imagined by Jon Savage, is what would be worthy of Louise Nevelson if she’d grown up in Alabama, not only amazingly functional but visually stunning (with what fittingly appears to be pecan wood in flooring, walls and furniture). The Costume Design by Molly Trainer (appropriately based on the Depression era world of the South), and the Lighting Design by Chris Brusberg and Sound Design by Edward Young all coalesce into a smooth telling of Capote’s tale, managing to cover a number of brief episodic scenes fluidly, also utilizing evocative projections. One scene will indelibly remain in this theatergoer’s memory: the nightlong vigil spent by Queenie guarding the Christmas tree with her gift, a huge five cent bone wrapped in the comics, sitting near the very top of the tree. (Queenie later buries her present where, as the narrator notes, she too will be “buried one year hence”). This team doesn’t strike a single false note, or bark, in telling Capote’s story.
What sets Capote‘s storytelling apart is its poignancy, its universality, and above all, its simplicity. Its morals are also true, usually as expressed by the also simple (in several meanings of the term) Miss Sook, (shy except in the company of complete strangers) such as “the only unpardonable sin is deliberate cruelty” and “I’ll always be here in your memories” and the disappointment of not being “able to give someone else what they want to have”. She also opines that “there’s never two of anything”, and her life surely perpetuated that theme. The way Capote expressed the moment of her death says it all: “When that happens, I know it. A message saying so merely confirms a piece of news some secret vein had already received, severing me from an irreplaceable part of myself, letting it loose like a kite string. That is why, walking across a school campus on this particular December morning, I keep searching the sky. As if I expected to see, rather like hearts, a lost pair of kites hurrying towards heaven”. What could be more moving and seasonably warming than an evening spent with two such unforgettable kite runners?
12/07/2012
Lyric Stage's "Chinglish": Ancient Chinese Joke Only Funny Virgin
That might qualify as a “Chinglish” mistranslation of the phrase “oft-repeated Chinese jokes are only funny the first time”. The 2011 play by David Henry Hwang (“M Butterfy”, “Golden Child”), now presented by Lyric Stage Company, is full of such malapropisms, arguably too full of them. The incongruent phrases are projected via surtitles, a device that’s clever if not particularly original; the same gimmick was used quite a few years ago in another play about Pidgin Chinese being mangled by a group of well-meaning missionaries (the name of which is lost to memory). This play concerns more mercenary ends, namely how an American businessman Daniel Cavanaugh (Barlow Adamson) aims to get in on the growth potential of a Chinese province, hiring a cultural consultant and a translator to transmit his message. Sometimes hilarious phrases lost in the translation provide truly comic moments as the unworldly businessman attempts to make the sale. The first act consists mostly of these misfires, with pretty much all of the humor confined to the surtitles; the script may well read funnier than it plays.
The second act has fewer comedic lines but a little more dramatic interest in some of the players. The role of Xi Yan (extremely well performed by Celeste Oliva), the only well developed character in the play, turns out be more complex than first thought. It seems that there is more agenda at work here and that she, as several others, is not quite what she appeared to be. Ironically, too, it’s only when the occidental salesman is found to have been deeply involved in the Enron scandal that the potential oriental customers express enthusiasm for his project, which involves producing various forms of commercial signage (not a very subtle point). In that scene, Hwang comes perilously close to more than mere political incorrectness, as the Chinese characters become caricatures. Even more egregious is the portrayal of a minor Chinese sycophant as an offensive homosexual stereotype (a misstep Hwang was also guilty of in his re-writing of the book for a 2002 revival of “Flower Drum Song”). In any case, as directed by Larry Coen, the rest of the cast performs admirably in roles that, given the audience’s need to read above their heads first, require a special kind of timing. Included in the cast are Alexander Platt, Tiffany Chen, Michael Tow, Chen Tang and Liz Eng (some doubling roles). The Scenic Design by Dahlia Al-Habieli, Costume Design by Emily Woods Hogue, Lighting Design by Matthew Whiton and Sound Design by Arshan Gailus are all first-rate, managing quite well without duplicating the rotating stage device of the Broadway version.
Time Magazine called that version one of 2011’s ten best Broadway plays, and the reviews, while not unanimous, were generally pretty favorable. One’s enjoyment of the work might well depend on your tolerance for the repetitious and the constant need to keep your extra set of eyes on the surtitles, as it is there that, as previously noted, most of the comedy takes place, and there’s not much real drama happening on stage. Having digested this version of the play, this critic had a subsequent craving, a few hours later, for more theater.
The second act has fewer comedic lines but a little more dramatic interest in some of the players. The role of Xi Yan (extremely well performed by Celeste Oliva), the only well developed character in the play, turns out be more complex than first thought. It seems that there is more agenda at work here and that she, as several others, is not quite what she appeared to be. Ironically, too, it’s only when the occidental salesman is found to have been deeply involved in the Enron scandal that the potential oriental customers express enthusiasm for his project, which involves producing various forms of commercial signage (not a very subtle point). In that scene, Hwang comes perilously close to more than mere political incorrectness, as the Chinese characters become caricatures. Even more egregious is the portrayal of a minor Chinese sycophant as an offensive homosexual stereotype (a misstep Hwang was also guilty of in his re-writing of the book for a 2002 revival of “Flower Drum Song”). In any case, as directed by Larry Coen, the rest of the cast performs admirably in roles that, given the audience’s need to read above their heads first, require a special kind of timing. Included in the cast are Alexander Platt, Tiffany Chen, Michael Tow, Chen Tang and Liz Eng (some doubling roles). The Scenic Design by Dahlia Al-Habieli, Costume Design by Emily Woods Hogue, Lighting Design by Matthew Whiton and Sound Design by Arshan Gailus are all first-rate, managing quite well without duplicating the rotating stage device of the Broadway version.
Time Magazine called that version one of 2011’s ten best Broadway plays, and the reviews, while not unanimous, were generally pretty favorable. One’s enjoyment of the work might well depend on your tolerance for the repetitious and the constant need to keep your extra set of eyes on the surtitles, as it is there that, as previously noted, most of the comedy takes place, and there’s not much real drama happening on stage. Having digested this version of the play, this critic had a subsequent craving, a few hours later, for more theater.
11/30/2012
Luminarium's "Mythos:Pathos": Illuminating
Luminarium (literally, a body that emits light), which recently ended its season with the final iteration of its work “Mythos:Pathos”, performed at the Oberon complex in Cambridge, is a contemporary dance company founded two years ago by two Mount Holyoke alumnae, Merli V. Guerra and Kimberleigh A. Holman. Their intent was to provide a new entity for performing arts, a space in which they hoped to merge dance with other visual and aural elements such as projection, video, film, lighting design and music. In so doing, they are attempting to shed light on issues and enlighten audiences as a self-described “think tank, museum, and gallery for contemporary dance and for contemporary ideas”. Thus it was supremely ironic that the event was held in Cambridge, concurrent with two external events, one unpredictable, one predictable. The former was a power outage that left significant parts of Cambridge, including the campuses of Harvard and MIT, in complete darkness (but not the Oberon); the latter was a full moon. Luminarium, as its name suggests, hopes to heighten the senses of its audience.
Often contemporary dance is perceived as somewhat abstract exercises that emphasize the beauty of graceful movement and precise athleticism, concentrating on a viewer’s intellectual appreciation while not particularly affecting her or his emotional involvement. In the case of “Mythos:Pathos”, as the name suggests, there are intentional and easily discernible allusions to Greek mythology as having resonance for an audience today with themes that are timeless. This work attempts to do this in the form of nine related pieces. “Now we are here” (a solo performed by Kara Fili), “Of good, evil” (with Virginia Byron, Guerra, Amy Mastrangelo and Katie McGrail), “A voice without a tongue” (featuring Akshaya Tucker and Fili), “Seiren” (represented by Rose Abramoff, Jess Chang, Melenie Diarbekirian, Guerra and Mastrangelo, with the sailor performed by Mark Kranz), “The passing storm (Nephelae)” with Byron, Fili, Jessica Jacob and McGrail), “Andromeda” (danced by Diarbekirian), “Hubris” (with Abramoff), and two segments identified by their suffixes, “-us”, the first being “Icarus” (with Kranz along with Abramoff) and the second being “Prometheus” (featuring Chang as well as Kranz). The choreography for the whole work was split between the co-founders and artistic directors, Guerra (who also created an accompanying film segment) and Holman, with the lighting designed by Brandon Bagwell and Matthew Breton. The music sources are about as eclectic as one could imagine, perhaps chosen precisely to emphasize the universality of the ideas presented throughout.
It isn’t absolutely necessary to follow the segments too specifically as they segue from one to another more or less seamlessly, but the more familiar one is with their mythological origins, the more the work impacts. This reviewer was fortunate enough to have had formal classes in mythology as well as acting, music and dance, even if some of this foundation is a little rusty. Those less familiar with the ancient archetypes could still find significant enjoyment in the company’s fluidity and seemingly effortlessness. That effortlessness is, of course, the fundamental illusion at work here; in order to seem so free, so spontaneous, a great deal of painstaking study, work and rehearsal is essential. It helps as well that the performing space was so flexible and the technical elements so well coordinated. What might not have helped some in the rear of the space were the imperfect sight lines; much of what took place in the work was on the floor, which can hardly be easily visible from that vantage point. At times, there might have been a bit more light on the subjects in order to discern who was in which segment, but perhaps again universality rather than individuality was the intent.
This is a young company which has managed in an incredibly brief lifetime to make its unique mark on the local dance scene and promises to enlarge that audience if it maintains the standards of quality and effort evidenced in this work. Pathos is defined as the power of life experiences to affect us emotionally, something this company is well on its way to attaining.
Often contemporary dance is perceived as somewhat abstract exercises that emphasize the beauty of graceful movement and precise athleticism, concentrating on a viewer’s intellectual appreciation while not particularly affecting her or his emotional involvement. In the case of “Mythos:Pathos”, as the name suggests, there are intentional and easily discernible allusions to Greek mythology as having resonance for an audience today with themes that are timeless. This work attempts to do this in the form of nine related pieces. “Now we are here” (a solo performed by Kara Fili), “Of good, evil” (with Virginia Byron, Guerra, Amy Mastrangelo and Katie McGrail), “A voice without a tongue” (featuring Akshaya Tucker and Fili), “Seiren” (represented by Rose Abramoff, Jess Chang, Melenie Diarbekirian, Guerra and Mastrangelo, with the sailor performed by Mark Kranz), “The passing storm (Nephelae)” with Byron, Fili, Jessica Jacob and McGrail), “Andromeda” (danced by Diarbekirian), “Hubris” (with Abramoff), and two segments identified by their suffixes, “-us”, the first being “Icarus” (with Kranz along with Abramoff) and the second being “Prometheus” (featuring Chang as well as Kranz). The choreography for the whole work was split between the co-founders and artistic directors, Guerra (who also created an accompanying film segment) and Holman, with the lighting designed by Brandon Bagwell and Matthew Breton. The music sources are about as eclectic as one could imagine, perhaps chosen precisely to emphasize the universality of the ideas presented throughout.
It isn’t absolutely necessary to follow the segments too specifically as they segue from one to another more or less seamlessly, but the more familiar one is with their mythological origins, the more the work impacts. This reviewer was fortunate enough to have had formal classes in mythology as well as acting, music and dance, even if some of this foundation is a little rusty. Those less familiar with the ancient archetypes could still find significant enjoyment in the company’s fluidity and seemingly effortlessness. That effortlessness is, of course, the fundamental illusion at work here; in order to seem so free, so spontaneous, a great deal of painstaking study, work and rehearsal is essential. It helps as well that the performing space was so flexible and the technical elements so well coordinated. What might not have helped some in the rear of the space were the imperfect sight lines; much of what took place in the work was on the floor, which can hardly be easily visible from that vantage point. At times, there might have been a bit more light on the subjects in order to discern who was in which segment, but perhaps again universality rather than individuality was the intent.
This is a young company which has managed in an incredibly brief lifetime to make its unique mark on the local dance scene and promises to enlarge that audience if it maintains the standards of quality and effort evidenced in this work. Pathos is defined as the power of life experiences to affect us emotionally, something this company is well on its way to attaining.
11/27/2012
New Rep's "Chesapeake": Retrieving the Existence of Dog
If one were to pick a bone with New Rep’s production of “Chesapeake”, it would be to wonder why it took so doggone long to appear on the company’s schedule. The 1999 play by Lee Blessing, best known for his 1987 work, “A Walk in the Woods” (nominated for a Tony as Best Play and a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in Drama), is a marvelous piece of theater. In the current mode of such works as “ART”, “Bakersfield Mist”, “Red”, and “Pitman Painters”, “Chesapeake” is an examination of the nature of art and the reliable judgment as to its worth (and, in the case of Blessing’s play, the consequent justification of its appropriateness for public funding). What could keep these dramas from becoming great art themselves is the fact that they share the same danger of potentially distancing an audience in that they are all more intellectually than emotionally involving. As political polemics, each must depend on the author’s gift of powerful speech and the actors’ equal gift of powerful interpretation. In the wrong hands, any of these plays could be a dull and pedantic diatribe. In the right hands, they can produce theatrical dynamite.
To criticize this play for this lack of emotional heft would be barking up the wrong tree. What sets this work apart is that it is basically a piece of performance art about a piece of performance art threatened with being defunded. The title refers to a Chesapeake Retriever, variously referred to as “Rat” or “Lucky”, owned by one Senator Therm Pooley (insert here “Strom Thurmond”, “Jesse Helms”, or your favorite conservative flavor of the month), who has attained political power largely based on his opposition to NEA (National Endowment for the Arts) funding for the artist Kerr (rhymes, not coincidentally, with “cur”). The first act sets up the conflict between the Senator and the artist, as well as the roles of the Senator’s wife, aide, and that canine. It ends with a literal cliffhanger. The second act, a lengthy shaggy dog story, becomes fantastic in both senses of the term, indescribable without this critic’s being guilty of one of theater’s all-time spoilers. Suffice it to say that the entire cast is fabulous, again in both senses of this term.
That entire cast happens to consist of one Georgia Lyman. As directed by Doug Lockwood, (who ironically performed in New Rep’s “ART” last season), she’s a one woman powerhouse. As the audience members first take their seats, she’s found sitting quietly on the sidelines, then gradually interacts with them, drawing them into her storytelling. The plot is based in part on the real-life experiences of the artists who in 1990 became known as the NEA Four, having had their funding revoked. If this sounds too heavy or pedestrian, rest assured that Blessing, Lockwood and Lyman manage to build, especially in the second act, a series of hilarious scenes. Lyman has never had such a golden plum of a role, which she gleefully inhabits. She’s aided by the extremely effective Lighting Design by Deb Sullivan (also responsible for the simple set involving a canvas floor cloth), perfectly timed Sound Design by David Reiffel, and appropriately versatile Costume Design by Adrienne Carlile.
At one point, Blessing has Kerr refer to the concept of “neoteny”, or physiological maturation that is slowed or delayed, later more specifically alluded to as childlikeness. Without sounding too, uh, dogmatic, isn’t that what good theater often brings out in all of us, as we experience the impact of role-play? And how terrific is it when we’re also motivated to ponder life’s mysteries. (For example, is there a dog?). Amidst all the (all too) familiar typical holiday fare of Dickensian urchins, rodent monarchs and ubiquitous caroling, you’d do well to unleash your inner non-seasonal theater fan and get thee to New Rep. Dog forbid you should miss this one.
To criticize this play for this lack of emotional heft would be barking up the wrong tree. What sets this work apart is that it is basically a piece of performance art about a piece of performance art threatened with being defunded. The title refers to a Chesapeake Retriever, variously referred to as “Rat” or “Lucky”, owned by one Senator Therm Pooley (insert here “Strom Thurmond”, “Jesse Helms”, or your favorite conservative flavor of the month), who has attained political power largely based on his opposition to NEA (National Endowment for the Arts) funding for the artist Kerr (rhymes, not coincidentally, with “cur”). The first act sets up the conflict between the Senator and the artist, as well as the roles of the Senator’s wife, aide, and that canine. It ends with a literal cliffhanger. The second act, a lengthy shaggy dog story, becomes fantastic in both senses of the term, indescribable without this critic’s being guilty of one of theater’s all-time spoilers. Suffice it to say that the entire cast is fabulous, again in both senses of this term.
That entire cast happens to consist of one Georgia Lyman. As directed by Doug Lockwood, (who ironically performed in New Rep’s “ART” last season), she’s a one woman powerhouse. As the audience members first take their seats, she’s found sitting quietly on the sidelines, then gradually interacts with them, drawing them into her storytelling. The plot is based in part on the real-life experiences of the artists who in 1990 became known as the NEA Four, having had their funding revoked. If this sounds too heavy or pedestrian, rest assured that Blessing, Lockwood and Lyman manage to build, especially in the second act, a series of hilarious scenes. Lyman has never had such a golden plum of a role, which she gleefully inhabits. She’s aided by the extremely effective Lighting Design by Deb Sullivan (also responsible for the simple set involving a canvas floor cloth), perfectly timed Sound Design by David Reiffel, and appropriately versatile Costume Design by Adrienne Carlile.
At one point, Blessing has Kerr refer to the concept of “neoteny”, or physiological maturation that is slowed or delayed, later more specifically alluded to as childlikeness. Without sounding too, uh, dogmatic, isn’t that what good theater often brings out in all of us, as we experience the impact of role-play? And how terrific is it when we’re also motivated to ponder life’s mysteries. (For example, is there a dog?). Amidst all the (all too) familiar typical holiday fare of Dickensian urchins, rodent monarchs and ubiquitous caroling, you’d do well to unleash your inner non-seasonal theater fan and get thee to New Rep. Dog forbid you should miss this one.
11/26/2012
Trinity Rep's "Christmas Carol": Three Ghosts Walk into a Bar.....
Trinity Rep’s “A Christmas Carol” is a family-friendly version of the Dickens classic that young folks, and the young of heart, will love, especially if they share a considerable tolerance for broad humor. As adapted decades ago by Adrian Hall and Richard Cumming, this production presents the familiar story in five “staves”, a curious use of the term, which normally means verses of a poem. In fact, the tale does seem at first to be just that, rather like an operatic recitative, but this musical device is, fortunately, discarded early into the play. It starts out with an unusual (but not particularly effective) flashback as told to a group of Victorian urchins by “The Reader”, as enacted by Tom Gleadow. As anyone who hasn’t been holed up in a cave for the past couple of centuries knows by now, it portrays the miserly Scrooge as he spends a Christmas Eve visited, as in the title above, by three ghosts. (Full disclosure here: this reviewer used the same line when reviewing another local production of the classic yuletide tale a few years ago, but then what can one say new about this chestnut?)
In the current revival under the direction of Tyler Dobrowsky, any trace of subtlety is lost in the transition to this ninety minute work. Truth to tell, subtlety is lacking even in the original Dickens, but his gift with storytelling made up for this with a considerable dollop of whimsy and feeling. The same cannot be said for this production, though the cast works hard at punching home this atypically funny approach. The Set Design by Eugene Lee, fairly monochromatic, is authentically Dickensian in spirit, and allows for some truly ingenious entrances and exits. The Lighting Design by John Ambrosone, Sound Design by Peter Sasha Hurowitz, and Costume Design by Alison Walker Carrier, all contribute consistency to this television sitcom effort.
This year the cast includes Timothy Crowe revisiting his role as Ebenezer Scrooge, the aforementioned Mr. Gleadow as Mr. Fezziwig, Stephen Thorne as Marley, Mauro Hantman as Bob Cratchit, Mia Ellis as the Ghost of Christmas Past, three actors (Elliott Peters, Daniel Duque-Estrada and Joe Wilson, Jr.) as various stages (or staves?) of the Ghost of Christmas Present, Leicester Landon as the Ghost of Christmas Future, and the alternate (“Green”) cast of young thespians, all of them believable, with standout performances by Lily Clurman as Martha and Phineas Peters as Tiny Tim. All seemed to be having a swell time.
So did the audience, for that matter. If you’re tired of the same old treacle-filled versions you’ve seen in the recent and/or distant past, this laugh-filled production is just what Santa ordered. For those more traditional folks like this reviewer, an annual reading of the original masterpiece (for example, in a worn old forty-five-cent paperback copy) will fill the bill.
In the current revival under the direction of Tyler Dobrowsky, any trace of subtlety is lost in the transition to this ninety minute work. Truth to tell, subtlety is lacking even in the original Dickens, but his gift with storytelling made up for this with a considerable dollop of whimsy and feeling. The same cannot be said for this production, though the cast works hard at punching home this atypically funny approach. The Set Design by Eugene Lee, fairly monochromatic, is authentically Dickensian in spirit, and allows for some truly ingenious entrances and exits. The Lighting Design by John Ambrosone, Sound Design by Peter Sasha Hurowitz, and Costume Design by Alison Walker Carrier, all contribute consistency to this television sitcom effort.
This year the cast includes Timothy Crowe revisiting his role as Ebenezer Scrooge, the aforementioned Mr. Gleadow as Mr. Fezziwig, Stephen Thorne as Marley, Mauro Hantman as Bob Cratchit, Mia Ellis as the Ghost of Christmas Past, three actors (Elliott Peters, Daniel Duque-Estrada and Joe Wilson, Jr.) as various stages (or staves?) of the Ghost of Christmas Present, Leicester Landon as the Ghost of Christmas Future, and the alternate (“Green”) cast of young thespians, all of them believable, with standout performances by Lily Clurman as Martha and Phineas Peters as Tiny Tim. All seemed to be having a swell time.
So did the audience, for that matter. If you’re tired of the same old treacle-filled versions you’ve seen in the recent and/or distant past, this laugh-filled production is just what Santa ordered. For those more traditional folks like this reviewer, an annual reading of the original masterpiece (for example, in a worn old forty-five-cent paperback copy) will fill the bill.
11/15/2012
Huntington's "Betrayal": The Pause That Refreshes
Harold Pinter remains the king of silence; no one wrote pauses as well as he did. Over his lengthy career he wrote over fifty works for the theater and screen, few so universally praised as his 1978 play, “Betrayal”, one of his so-called “memory plays”. This was a revealing effort at the time, since Pinter himself was then involved in an extra-marital affair with a British journalist. “Betrayal”, which plays in reverse chronology from 1977 to 1968, is about a seven year long affair encompassing several layers of betrayal. The original 1980 Broadway production lasted a mere 170 performances. It was first seen in a Boston production that same year, at the Charles Playhouse Theater, with Jenny Agutter, Paul Benedict, and Richard Jordan; the film version in 1983 starred Jeremy Irons, Ben Kingsley and Patricia Hodge. Those are impressive acts to follow.
The current revival by Huntington Theater Company features Alan Cox (Jerry), Mark H. Dold (Robert), Gretchen Egolf (Emma), and Luis Negron (Waiter), impeccably directed by Huntington favorite Maria Aitken (“39 Steps”, “Private Lives”), who even overwhelms with a striking final blackout, which will not be disclosed here. This is a complicated story, not merely because of its time reversal or economy of dialogue. As with most Pinter works, much emotional baggage is hidden and motivations are at first unclear. There is a great deal of self-centered banter disguising fundamental issues with guilt, honesty and deception (including self-deception). As the play evolves in nine spare scenes, we gradually understand just how complex the relationships are; Emma may need both men at times, but the two men also need each other, and for a while all their individual betrayals keep them afloat. There is as much meaning in what is not said but merely implied as there is in what is spoken and explicit. What’s truly surprising is how much humor, albeit brittle, lies just beneath the surface; equally surprising, despite the paucity of verbiage, is attention to details (such as the purchase of a Venetian tablecloth) that come to have more meaning as we discover the truths at the core of the story.
Cox, Dold and Egolf are all wonderful players, and even Negron adds some color in his brief scene. Cox, in perhaps the most complex role as the romantic Jerry, is especially moving; Egolf is his perfect foil as the more practical and realistic Emma; and Dold excels in the least showy role as the uptight cuckold Robert who only once lets us see the buttoned down core underneath his very stiff British upper lip. Each has that absolutely essential ability to deliver Pinter’s sparse dialogue that paradoxically speaks volumes. That minimalism is echoed by the nuanced Scenic Design by Allen Moyer, the subtle Costume Design by Nancy Brennan, and the stark Lighting Design by Philip S. Rosenberg and Sound Design by John Gromada (including original music). The use of the cinematic “iris-in” device is very effective in segueing from scene to scene. And there’s that finale, with all the shared baggage this trio has accumulated over the course of their interrelated lives.
Seldom does one get treated to this exalted level of wit and profound depth of meaning. Too often playwrights who create a three character plot suffer from diarrhea of words and constipation of thought. When a writer like Pinter is at the top of his form, and is presented in such a terrific production, theater can be astonishing. In less capable hands, this seventy-two minute work might seem a pointless trifle. In these professional hands, this becomes an extraordinary piece of theater and proves yet again that less is more.
The current revival by Huntington Theater Company features Alan Cox (Jerry), Mark H. Dold (Robert), Gretchen Egolf (Emma), and Luis Negron (Waiter), impeccably directed by Huntington favorite Maria Aitken (“39 Steps”, “Private Lives”), who even overwhelms with a striking final blackout, which will not be disclosed here. This is a complicated story, not merely because of its time reversal or economy of dialogue. As with most Pinter works, much emotional baggage is hidden and motivations are at first unclear. There is a great deal of self-centered banter disguising fundamental issues with guilt, honesty and deception (including self-deception). As the play evolves in nine spare scenes, we gradually understand just how complex the relationships are; Emma may need both men at times, but the two men also need each other, and for a while all their individual betrayals keep them afloat. There is as much meaning in what is not said but merely implied as there is in what is spoken and explicit. What’s truly surprising is how much humor, albeit brittle, lies just beneath the surface; equally surprising, despite the paucity of verbiage, is attention to details (such as the purchase of a Venetian tablecloth) that come to have more meaning as we discover the truths at the core of the story.
Cox, Dold and Egolf are all wonderful players, and even Negron adds some color in his brief scene. Cox, in perhaps the most complex role as the romantic Jerry, is especially moving; Egolf is his perfect foil as the more practical and realistic Emma; and Dold excels in the least showy role as the uptight cuckold Robert who only once lets us see the buttoned down core underneath his very stiff British upper lip. Each has that absolutely essential ability to deliver Pinter’s sparse dialogue that paradoxically speaks volumes. That minimalism is echoed by the nuanced Scenic Design by Allen Moyer, the subtle Costume Design by Nancy Brennan, and the stark Lighting Design by Philip S. Rosenberg and Sound Design by John Gromada (including original music). The use of the cinematic “iris-in” device is very effective in segueing from scene to scene. And there’s that finale, with all the shared baggage this trio has accumulated over the course of their interrelated lives.
Seldom does one get treated to this exalted level of wit and profound depth of meaning. Too often playwrights who create a three character plot suffer from diarrhea of words and constipation of thought. When a writer like Pinter is at the top of his form, and is presented in such a terrific production, theater can be astonishing. In less capable hands, this seventy-two minute work might seem a pointless trifle. In these professional hands, this becomes an extraordinary piece of theater and proves yet again that less is more.
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