Perhaps the most eagerly anticipated production of the season was a world premiere, Huntington Theater Company’s “M”, local luminary Ryan Landry’s take on Fritz Lang’s classic film. Those familiar with the source material, the film noir about a serial child killer, wondered how this could possibly serve as a basis for the sort of madcap comedy for which Landry is famous in Boston. The announcement that yet another local legend, Karen MacDonald, would be playing the title role, originally enacted by none other than Peter Lorre, only added fuel to the fire. Landry’s considerable fan base was fascinated at both the possibilities and potential pitfalls inherent in his access to a much larger venue, a much more conservative audience and a notably larger budget. They needn’t have worried; what has emerged is a somewhat schizophrenic amalgam of elements, which will be appealing to some and appalling to others. Whatever an individual theatergoer’s response is, this is undeniably a wild and wacky demonstration of what happens when a brilliant mind is given the keys to the candy store. Hands down, this is the most creative work seen on a Boston stage this season.
When the curtain raises, we’re informed that we’re about to see a “dramedy”, and that eight victims have already been killed. Several other murders subsequently occur, but by the end of the evening it’s quite clear what has survived the mayhem: vaudeville is certainly not dead. Without divulging too many of the endless sight gags and sly allusions, suffice it to say that in the space of what is described as “90-ish” minutes, Landry manages to skewer the musical “Annie”, the music from “Psycho”, Mickey Mouse, “Hansel and Gretel”, Dick Tracy, "Raisin in the Sun" and just about every slapstick routine and device except for a whoopee cushion. What should be essential preparation for seeing this work is viewing the original film (since Landry continually references it), which Huntington Theater has helpfully provided on its website. Meanwhile, Landry not only breaks down the theatrical fourth wall, he demolishes it, once too often, as though it was a novelty and one had never heard of Ionesco, much of absurdist theater, or even Woody Allen’s “Purple Rose of Cairo”. The humor is intentionally sophomoric, scatological and vulgar. Whether one enjoys this sort of thing will depend on one’s love (or lack thereof) of farce and puerile screwball comedy. At the opening night performance, about half of the audience (including this critic) seemed uninvolved most of the time, while the rest of the audience was convulsed with hysterical laughter. Ryan thus would appear to have succeeded at conjuring up a controversial piece of theater.
The choice of Karen MacDonald at first looks controversial too, as she has little to do for most of the play but skulk and whistle, but in the work’s final scene she comes into her own, superbly channeling the Peter Lorre performance (especially the one reenacted by him in the French version of the film). The rest of the cast, including The Woman (Ellen Adair), The Man (Paul Melendy), The Pig (Larry Coen), Fritz (David Drake), Schlitz (Laura Latreille) and Olga (Samantha Richert) are all adept at scenery chewing. The Little Girl (alternating Eva Jean Chapuran & Ava Rose Cooke) is seen briefly. Most of the cast portray other roles as well, including that of a critic, wherein Landry delivers some preemptive strikes in the likely event that his play might not be universally acclaimed. As directed by Caitlin Lowans, the cast appears to be having the bulk of the evening’s fun, joyfully digesting the amazingly clever scenery by Jon Savage. The Costume Design by Scott Martino, Lighting Design by Deb Sullivan, Music and Sound Design by David Remedios and the Puppetry Direction by Roxanna Myhrum are all marvelous to behold. Special mention should be made of the Projections Design by Garrett Herzig, so perfect it makes one believe there should be an award category for this technology.
In the end, there is a lot of both magic and mystery in this production, which is a noble effort all around. If your cup of tea is the likes of Lucille Ball, Milton Berle and a Hasty Pudding show, this will be just your (tea) bag. If not, fair warning: Ryan Landry, as usual, takes no prisoners.
4/02/2013
New Rep's "Master Class": Having a Look
If you’ve lived your whole life for opera, or if you’ve lived your whole life without it, you owe it to yourself to see Terrence McNally’s play “Master Class”, itself a masterpiece of wit, wisdom and warmth. The winner of the 1996 Tony Award as Best Play and the Drama Desk Award for Best New Play, it was a tribute to the memory of his beloved La Divina, Maria Callas, as well as a vehicle for a star turn by a series of notable theatrical divas in various productions over the years. It was also, in the guise of a master class on operatic singing and technique, a window into the process of the making of art. In New Rep’s current production, in the masterful hands of Director Antonio Ocampo-Guzman, it is all of this and more. It’s heartbreaking and hilarious, an uncanny portrayal of a larger-then-life legend.
But warmth, from Maria Callas; surely that’s an oxymoron? Ah, the clever playwright knows his subject, the tempestuous soprano, through and through, and not just from her often notorious interviews, her visible battles with operatic moguls and her famous recordings. He actually attended several master classes she conducted, and has distilled his experience into a tight, illuminating and cleverly revealing study of the untold price of art. In her own words in the play, Maria (a spectacularly flawless Amelia Broome) stresses the essential need for an aspiring artist’s having a distinctive personal visual presence. She speaks of a student, Sophie, (Erica Spyres) about to perform, as “our first victim; a little joke”. She asks, or rather demands, that the soprano “Act, no. Feel. Be.” To a second soprano, Sharon (Lindsay Conrad), she commands that she “Enter…anyone can stand there and sing. An artist enters and is.” Later she reiterates that “an entrance is how we present ourselves in life”, making it quite clear that she considers us all as members of the class. To a third student, a tenor, Tony (Darren T. Anderson) she intones that he should be aware of his “bella figura”: “a singer has to know his assets”. To all of the assembled class, (and that would include us) she declares that we must be unique and distinctive in how we present ourselves; we must all have “a…look”.
Throughout the class, self-described as “the absolute center of the universe right now”, she dominates not only her hopeful students but also her accompanist Manny (Brendon Shapiro), whom she feels also lacks that distinctive “look”, and a stagehand (Michael Caminiti). In her own view, she is incomparable (“How can you have rivals when no one else can do what you can do?”). While claiming it’s not about her, we (and she) know that it’s all about her: “You have to be like a sponge. Absorb. Absorb…This isn’t just an opera, this is your life”. Broome dominates the stage, as Callas surely did, but she is surrounded by a stellar cast, as one by one they endure her exacting standards. Spyre’s portrayal of a promising singer yet to learn how to extrapolate life’s lessons into musical feeling, Anderson’s cocky but unsure tenor with an ignorance of what he is singing about, and Conrad’s initially nervous but ultimately challenging hopeful, are all up to the task, as are the two actors in the smaller roles, Shapiro and Caminiti. Every one of them has clearly studied this piece in depth; their efforts reward us.
Special mention should be made of the amazing Set Design by John Traub; simple but stunning, it makes what could have been a rather boring rehearsal stage into a versatile wonder. Given Callas’ emphasis on having one’s own look, Stacey Stevens’ Costume Design is perfection itself, as are Chris Brusberg’s Lighting Design and David Reiffel’s Sound Design. All of their expertise reflects the collaboration between Broome and Ocampo-Guzman who have recreated a legend for the ages, one who inspires as much as she instructs, and whose presence among us for just under two hours could stand as a master class in acting and direction when they perfectly intersect, as they do here. Their Callas is a teacher whose life is itself a learning experience for all who would assume the awesome task of artistic creation.
This master teacher speaks not only to her “victims” but to all of us when she declares: “You must know what you want to do in life, you must decide, for we cannot do everything…what matters is that you use whatever you have learned wisely…the only thanks I ask is that you sing properly and honestly. If you do this, I will feel repaid. Well, that’s that”. That’s that, indeed; although, in a sense, that’s only the beginning. What we learn about the legendary artist, with all her flaws and vulnerability, with all her brilliance and mastery of her art, could fill volumes. And as she would put it: “But that’s another story”.
But warmth, from Maria Callas; surely that’s an oxymoron? Ah, the clever playwright knows his subject, the tempestuous soprano, through and through, and not just from her often notorious interviews, her visible battles with operatic moguls and her famous recordings. He actually attended several master classes she conducted, and has distilled his experience into a tight, illuminating and cleverly revealing study of the untold price of art. In her own words in the play, Maria (a spectacularly flawless Amelia Broome) stresses the essential need for an aspiring artist’s having a distinctive personal visual presence. She speaks of a student, Sophie, (Erica Spyres) about to perform, as “our first victim; a little joke”. She asks, or rather demands, that the soprano “Act, no. Feel. Be.” To a second soprano, Sharon (Lindsay Conrad), she commands that she “Enter…anyone can stand there and sing. An artist enters and is.” Later she reiterates that “an entrance is how we present ourselves in life”, making it quite clear that she considers us all as members of the class. To a third student, a tenor, Tony (Darren T. Anderson) she intones that he should be aware of his “bella figura”: “a singer has to know his assets”. To all of the assembled class, (and that would include us) she declares that we must be unique and distinctive in how we present ourselves; we must all have “a…look”.
Throughout the class, self-described as “the absolute center of the universe right now”, she dominates not only her hopeful students but also her accompanist Manny (Brendon Shapiro), whom she feels also lacks that distinctive “look”, and a stagehand (Michael Caminiti). In her own view, she is incomparable (“How can you have rivals when no one else can do what you can do?”). While claiming it’s not about her, we (and she) know that it’s all about her: “You have to be like a sponge. Absorb. Absorb…This isn’t just an opera, this is your life”. Broome dominates the stage, as Callas surely did, but she is surrounded by a stellar cast, as one by one they endure her exacting standards. Spyre’s portrayal of a promising singer yet to learn how to extrapolate life’s lessons into musical feeling, Anderson’s cocky but unsure tenor with an ignorance of what he is singing about, and Conrad’s initially nervous but ultimately challenging hopeful, are all up to the task, as are the two actors in the smaller roles, Shapiro and Caminiti. Every one of them has clearly studied this piece in depth; their efforts reward us.
Special mention should be made of the amazing Set Design by John Traub; simple but stunning, it makes what could have been a rather boring rehearsal stage into a versatile wonder. Given Callas’ emphasis on having one’s own look, Stacey Stevens’ Costume Design is perfection itself, as are Chris Brusberg’s Lighting Design and David Reiffel’s Sound Design. All of their expertise reflects the collaboration between Broome and Ocampo-Guzman who have recreated a legend for the ages, one who inspires as much as she instructs, and whose presence among us for just under two hours could stand as a master class in acting and direction when they perfectly intersect, as they do here. Their Callas is a teacher whose life is itself a learning experience for all who would assume the awesome task of artistic creation.
This master teacher speaks not only to her “victims” but to all of us when she declares: “You must know what you want to do in life, you must decide, for we cannot do everything…what matters is that you use whatever you have learned wisely…the only thanks I ask is that you sing properly and honestly. If you do this, I will feel repaid. Well, that’s that”. That’s that, indeed; although, in a sense, that’s only the beginning. What we learn about the legendary artist, with all her flaws and vulnerability, with all her brilliance and mastery of her art, could fill volumes. And as she would put it: “But that’s another story”.
4/01/2013
Lyric Stage's "By the Way...": In Vera Veritas
Lyric Stage Company’s current offering of “By the Way, Meet Vera Stark”, by Lynn Nottage (2009 Pulitzer Prize winner for “Ruined”) is full of truths (though those truths aren’t always immediately apparent). The comedy is based on an enticing story about an aspiring black actress in Hollywood in the 30’s, her subsequent career (some forty years later), and the focus of a 2003 seminar on the impact and meaning of her professional life. Off-Broadway, it earned a 2011 Drama Desk nomination for outstanding play. It’s a great vehicle for a quartet of talented actresses, as well as a golden opportunity for creative multi-media expertise. Fortunately, the cast and crew of this production rise to the occasion. From the moment the audience enters the theater, the illusion of Vera Stark as an actual film star is cleverly illustrated with stills and clips from her supposed filmography. In this prologue, as well as in other filmed and projected interludes between scenes, Film & Media Designer Johnathan Carr and Sound Designer Edward Young are particularly outstanding.
The bumpy voyage from obscurity to fame is shared by the future Mary Pickford-like “America’s Little Sweetie Pie” Gloria Mitchell (Hannah Husband), her maid in real and reel life, Vera Stark (Kami Rushell Smith), and Vera’s friends Lottie (Lyndsay Allyn Cox) and Anna Mae (Kris Sidberry). All perceive the making of the “Gone-with-the-Wind”-like “The Belle of New Orleans” as their possible springboard to more roles, celebrity and riches. They’ll stoop to anything to capture a part in the proposed epic to be helmed by Maximillian von Oster (Gregory Balla) and produced by movie mogul Mr. Slasvick (Kelby T. Akin), even when it requires mimicking the obsequious slave caricatures that these powerful white men envision. Ironically, it’s the latter roles written by the playwright for white actors, as well as the two additional roles played by Akin and Balla (respectively, Brad, a very fatuous Merv Griffin-like television host and one of his guests, Peter, a Mick Jagger-like spaced-out rocker) that come across as stereotypes. And, if you’ve noticed a lot of “-likes” herein, it’s obvious that the intent of the playwright is to parodize a number of Hollywood clichés. Even the final seminar led by Herb (Terrell Donnell Sledge) and abetted by researcher Carmen (Cox) and political activist Afua (Sidberry) manages to prolong the parody. The four actress roles are better written, as is that of Vera’s suitor and first husband Leroy (Sledge).
Director Summer L. Williams does what she can with this imbalance of fleshed-out and cardboard characters, aided by the stylish Scenic Design of David Towlun, Costume Design Tyler Kinney and Lighting Design by Franklin Meissner, Jr. But the play’s strengths (primarily in confronting us with the historical limitations imposed upon actors of color for far too long a period) may not be enough of a payoff for some theatergoers who might be put off by several cartoon-like portrayals and scenes in need of trimming and tightening.
For those willing to put up with a number of flawed elements, there is rewarding insight into the barriers that existed then (and persist today, if truth be told, if not perhaps as blatantly). There are some hilarious lines, such as Lottie’s remark about the black roles in “Belle of New Orleans” (“Slaves with lines?”) or Gloria’s self-obsessed observations (“It’s exhausting to be this fabulous”). And there’s the fundamental truth that Vera herself reveals in her televised meltdown (“Tonight I’ve crossed the bridge, and there’s no going back”), which will come as no enormous surprise if you’ve been paying attention. This work is a window into a world too many of us chose to be oblivious to, through a glass starkly, despite the evidence right there on the silver screen. “By the way”, indeed.
The bumpy voyage from obscurity to fame is shared by the future Mary Pickford-like “America’s Little Sweetie Pie” Gloria Mitchell (Hannah Husband), her maid in real and reel life, Vera Stark (Kami Rushell Smith), and Vera’s friends Lottie (Lyndsay Allyn Cox) and Anna Mae (Kris Sidberry). All perceive the making of the “Gone-with-the-Wind”-like “The Belle of New Orleans” as their possible springboard to more roles, celebrity and riches. They’ll stoop to anything to capture a part in the proposed epic to be helmed by Maximillian von Oster (Gregory Balla) and produced by movie mogul Mr. Slasvick (Kelby T. Akin), even when it requires mimicking the obsequious slave caricatures that these powerful white men envision. Ironically, it’s the latter roles written by the playwright for white actors, as well as the two additional roles played by Akin and Balla (respectively, Brad, a very fatuous Merv Griffin-like television host and one of his guests, Peter, a Mick Jagger-like spaced-out rocker) that come across as stereotypes. And, if you’ve noticed a lot of “-likes” herein, it’s obvious that the intent of the playwright is to parodize a number of Hollywood clichés. Even the final seminar led by Herb (Terrell Donnell Sledge) and abetted by researcher Carmen (Cox) and political activist Afua (Sidberry) manages to prolong the parody. The four actress roles are better written, as is that of Vera’s suitor and first husband Leroy (Sledge).
Director Summer L. Williams does what she can with this imbalance of fleshed-out and cardboard characters, aided by the stylish Scenic Design of David Towlun, Costume Design Tyler Kinney and Lighting Design by Franklin Meissner, Jr. But the play’s strengths (primarily in confronting us with the historical limitations imposed upon actors of color for far too long a period) may not be enough of a payoff for some theatergoers who might be put off by several cartoon-like portrayals and scenes in need of trimming and tightening.
For those willing to put up with a number of flawed elements, there is rewarding insight into the barriers that existed then (and persist today, if truth be told, if not perhaps as blatantly). There are some hilarious lines, such as Lottie’s remark about the black roles in “Belle of New Orleans” (“Slaves with lines?”) or Gloria’s self-obsessed observations (“It’s exhausting to be this fabulous”). And there’s the fundamental truth that Vera herself reveals in her televised meltdown (“Tonight I’ve crossed the bridge, and there’s no going back”), which will come as no enormous surprise if you’ve been paying attention. This work is a window into a world too many of us chose to be oblivious to, through a glass starkly, despite the evidence right there on the silver screen. “By the way”, indeed.
3/25/2013
Moonbox's "A New Brain": Hitting All the Bungee Chords
“A New Brain”, now being presented by Moonbox Productions, is a (very) autobiographical work from Natick native William Finn (“March of the Falsettos”, “Falsettoland”, “25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee”) who wrote the music and lyrics and co-wrote the book with long-time collaborator James Lapine. Based on Finn’s own diagnosis of an arteriovenous malformation, it’s an unusual idea for a musical, first presented as a less structured song cycle, with almost three dozen songs. Revised in a more narrative if non-linear form, it had its Off-Broadway opening in 1998, ran for five months, and was nominated for Drama Desk awards for music, lyrics and book. Intermission-less, at just shy of two hours, it’s a virtually through sung (dare one say thus operatic?) workout requiring a multi-talented cast and a fluid production. Moonbox (the name refers to a theatrical device that simulates moonlight) has provided just that in this effort, the latest in an unbroken string of critically acclaimed hits under Producer and Artistic Director Sharman Altshuler, who has assembled a cast and crew equal to the material, which is saying a great deal.
“A New Brain” concerns the crisis faced by a young Broadway composer, Gordon (Tom Shoemaker), who worries that either he won’t live to complete his most important work, or will be left incapable of doing so. He is suddenly taken ill and rushed to the hospital where, anticipating brain surgery, he begins to envision songs, hallucinating that they are being performed around him. With a fabulous cast of ten, (or eleven, if you insist, including the multitasking, deconstructing piano that plays more roles than anyone else on stage), the central story develops as “Gordo” confronts relationships with a parent, his partner, and his publicist. These would be his mother Mimi (Shana Dirik), his boyfriend Roger (Ross E. Brown), and his agent Rhoda (Shonna Cirone). And then there’s the frog-costumed Mr. Bungee (Matthew Zahnzinger), for whose children’s television program Gordo writes songs, even as his chords cause some discord. Along the way he encounters Lisa the Homeless Lady (Lori L’Italien), a fumbling minister (Peter Mill), a sassy waitress and tough nurse (both played by Allison Russell), a nice nurse (Aaron Michael Ray) and Gordo’s surgeon, Dr. Berensteiner (David Carney). Everyone of them gets her or his chance to shine in the spotlight, and it would be criminal to try to pick and choose among a group of such incredibly beautiful voices.
There are some particularly poignant moments. One of the first songs is about the “Heart and Music” needed to make a song, as sung by the ensemble, which sets the tone for the show. Then there’s a lovely number featuring Brown and Shoemaker, “Sailing”, which later becomes a metaphor (in the equally moving “Sitting Becalmed in the Lee of Cuttyhunk”) for how our protagonist must face his surgery. And the anthem sung by L’Italien about wanting “Change” (speaking of metaphors), or Brown‘s “A Really Lousy Day in the Universe”, or Dirik’s maternal lament even as “The Music Still Plays On”. Finn has provided a wonderfully varied score, with magnificently nuanced lyrics. He ends with a slight variation on that earlier number, “Heart and Music”, now altered to “Time and Music”, needed in the making of a song. Ah, the wages of synapses: witty lyrics and a heavenly score.
Allison Olivia Choat, Director and Set Designer, has created a truly unforgettable treat, above and beyond the brilliance of her conception of that scene-stealing piano. She’s ably aided by Costume Designer Fabian Aguilar, Lighting Designer Jeffrey E. Salzberg, Sound Designer Dan Costello, and Music Director Dan Rodriguez, who heads up a seven piece combo in great form (though they occasionally overwhelm some lyrics, a risk in such a limited performing space). Special note should be made of the amazing choreography by Rachel Bertone, which proves this cast has more than just singing and acting chops.
In a musical about music, creativity and artistic survival, this company shines, in daylight and moonlight. Finn himself has stated that the theme is to stop and “smell the flowers”. Thus the infant terrible who gave us the “Falsettos” musicals isn’t so terrible any more, as witnessed by this work. It’s a kinder, gentler, but no less edgy writer and composer. As our protagonist Gordo says in quoting his father, “Sometimes joy comes at a terrible cost”. What Finn endured and survived has produced a work where the music definitely still plays on. As the final song by Shoemaker and the entire cast in this sweet, enjoyable creation so aptly put it, surely every audience member left the theater singing “I Feel So Much Spring”. It’s not often theatergoers get to experience the magic of a gem this well polished. It’s as near to theatrical perfection as it gets. Even Mr. Bungee would be pleased.
“A New Brain” concerns the crisis faced by a young Broadway composer, Gordon (Tom Shoemaker), who worries that either he won’t live to complete his most important work, or will be left incapable of doing so. He is suddenly taken ill and rushed to the hospital where, anticipating brain surgery, he begins to envision songs, hallucinating that they are being performed around him. With a fabulous cast of ten, (or eleven, if you insist, including the multitasking, deconstructing piano that plays more roles than anyone else on stage), the central story develops as “Gordo” confronts relationships with a parent, his partner, and his publicist. These would be his mother Mimi (Shana Dirik), his boyfriend Roger (Ross E. Brown), and his agent Rhoda (Shonna Cirone). And then there’s the frog-costumed Mr. Bungee (Matthew Zahnzinger), for whose children’s television program Gordo writes songs, even as his chords cause some discord. Along the way he encounters Lisa the Homeless Lady (Lori L’Italien), a fumbling minister (Peter Mill), a sassy waitress and tough nurse (both played by Allison Russell), a nice nurse (Aaron Michael Ray) and Gordo’s surgeon, Dr. Berensteiner (David Carney). Everyone of them gets her or his chance to shine in the spotlight, and it would be criminal to try to pick and choose among a group of such incredibly beautiful voices.
There are some particularly poignant moments. One of the first songs is about the “Heart and Music” needed to make a song, as sung by the ensemble, which sets the tone for the show. Then there’s a lovely number featuring Brown and Shoemaker, “Sailing”, which later becomes a metaphor (in the equally moving “Sitting Becalmed in the Lee of Cuttyhunk”) for how our protagonist must face his surgery. And the anthem sung by L’Italien about wanting “Change” (speaking of metaphors), or Brown‘s “A Really Lousy Day in the Universe”, or Dirik’s maternal lament even as “The Music Still Plays On”. Finn has provided a wonderfully varied score, with magnificently nuanced lyrics. He ends with a slight variation on that earlier number, “Heart and Music”, now altered to “Time and Music”, needed in the making of a song. Ah, the wages of synapses: witty lyrics and a heavenly score.
Allison Olivia Choat, Director and Set Designer, has created a truly unforgettable treat, above and beyond the brilliance of her conception of that scene-stealing piano. She’s ably aided by Costume Designer Fabian Aguilar, Lighting Designer Jeffrey E. Salzberg, Sound Designer Dan Costello, and Music Director Dan Rodriguez, who heads up a seven piece combo in great form (though they occasionally overwhelm some lyrics, a risk in such a limited performing space). Special note should be made of the amazing choreography by Rachel Bertone, which proves this cast has more than just singing and acting chops.
In a musical about music, creativity and artistic survival, this company shines, in daylight and moonlight. Finn himself has stated that the theme is to stop and “smell the flowers”. Thus the infant terrible who gave us the “Falsettos” musicals isn’t so terrible any more, as witnessed by this work. It’s a kinder, gentler, but no less edgy writer and composer. As our protagonist Gordo says in quoting his father, “Sometimes joy comes at a terrible cost”. What Finn endured and survived has produced a work where the music definitely still plays on. As the final song by Shoemaker and the entire cast in this sweet, enjoyable creation so aptly put it, surely every audience member left the theater singing “I Feel So Much Spring”. It’s not often theatergoers get to experience the magic of a gem this well polished. It’s as near to theatrical perfection as it gets. Even Mr. Bungee would be pleased.
3/18/2013
Trinity Rep's "Social Creatures": It's the Living End
It’s the end of the world as we know it. No, it’s not the Sequester, but the Trinity Rep world premiere of “Social Creatures” by Jackie Sibblies Drury, a graduate of the Brown MFA playwrighting program, who wrote it specifically for Trinity Rep. As the end of world approaches, several survivors are holed up in the basement of a building revealed to be a theater (and an amusingly familiar one), barricading themselves against contagion and whatever else is trying to get in. “Outside” has become an unfamiliar wasteland, as all the trees are dying. The world is being decimated by some unidentified crisis, and the resultant population of zombies threatens this last remaining vestige of humanity. This small intrepid group is attempting to preserve what’s left of civilization, even as they notice one of them beginning to turn into one of “them”, the “others” who have developed an insatiable taste for the flesh of mankind.
The story begins, as all horror stories should, in the dark, as we first encounter the Joneses (Alexander Platt and D’Arcy Dersham) as they are attempting to start a generator. Keeping up with the Joneses are Mrs. Smith (Rebecca Gibel), Mr. Johnson (Timothy Crowe), Mrs. Wilson (Janice Duclos) and Mrs. Williams (Nance Williamson). If these are beginning to seem like pseudonyms to you, you’re on the right laugh track. Mr.Smith (Charlie Thurston) has gone missing. Mr. Brown (Darien Battle) arrives to complicate things, which are already rather complex, mostly due to some rigid agreed-upon rules. To divulge much more than that would be to spoil the fun. The cast of eight (surprising for a play these days) is superb, considering that a ninety-five minute running time doesn’t leave much time for the actors to (you should excuse the expression) flesh out their roles. But as directed by Trinity’s Artistic Director Curt Columbus, they’re a tight-knit ensemble. It would be difficult to determine who had the, uh, meatiest roles. The technical team are all contributive to the bizarre goings-on, from Set Designer Eugene Lee to Costume Designer Olivera Gajic to Lighting Designer Josh Epstein and Sound Designer Peter Sasha Hurowitz.
This short but not sweet comic tragedy, or “dramedy”, has some very creative elements concerning basic human nature and who the true monsters are in society. While struggling to maintain some semblance of order and normality, the characters have decided, among other regulations, not to use their real names until they find themselves able to be their old real selves. Two of them even wax nostalgically about their past lives (which itself is against their rules), revealing previous rather inconsequential roles as a plastics manager and a clay cat painter; they even share a vague feeling of “waiting for something to happen”. In this and other scenes, this novice playwright displays a sure ability for writing natural dialogue, as well as an inventive mind. Sometimes funny, sometimes thought-provoking, it’s an admirable early effort. Theatergoers’ appreciation of the play might well depend on their fondness for the drive-in B-movie zombie genre it both emulates and spoofs. That target niche will find this a thoughtful hoot, although a one-act play of such brevity doesn’t give an audience much to sink its teeth into.
The story begins, as all horror stories should, in the dark, as we first encounter the Joneses (Alexander Platt and D’Arcy Dersham) as they are attempting to start a generator. Keeping up with the Joneses are Mrs. Smith (Rebecca Gibel), Mr. Johnson (Timothy Crowe), Mrs. Wilson (Janice Duclos) and Mrs. Williams (Nance Williamson). If these are beginning to seem like pseudonyms to you, you’re on the right laugh track. Mr.Smith (Charlie Thurston) has gone missing. Mr. Brown (Darien Battle) arrives to complicate things, which are already rather complex, mostly due to some rigid agreed-upon rules. To divulge much more than that would be to spoil the fun. The cast of eight (surprising for a play these days) is superb, considering that a ninety-five minute running time doesn’t leave much time for the actors to (you should excuse the expression) flesh out their roles. But as directed by Trinity’s Artistic Director Curt Columbus, they’re a tight-knit ensemble. It would be difficult to determine who had the, uh, meatiest roles. The technical team are all contributive to the bizarre goings-on, from Set Designer Eugene Lee to Costume Designer Olivera Gajic to Lighting Designer Josh Epstein and Sound Designer Peter Sasha Hurowitz.
This short but not sweet comic tragedy, or “dramedy”, has some very creative elements concerning basic human nature and who the true monsters are in society. While struggling to maintain some semblance of order and normality, the characters have decided, among other regulations, not to use their real names until they find themselves able to be their old real selves. Two of them even wax nostalgically about their past lives (which itself is against their rules), revealing previous rather inconsequential roles as a plastics manager and a clay cat painter; they even share a vague feeling of “waiting for something to happen”. In this and other scenes, this novice playwright displays a sure ability for writing natural dialogue, as well as an inventive mind. Sometimes funny, sometimes thought-provoking, it’s an admirable early effort. Theatergoers’ appreciation of the play might well depend on their fondness for the drive-in B-movie zombie genre it both emulates and spoofs. That target niche will find this a thoughtful hoot, although a one-act play of such brevity doesn’t give an audience much to sink its teeth into.
3/14/2013
Huntington's "Raisin": What Happens to a Direction Differed?
In the theater, groundbreaking efforts can be life-affirming and lasting. When the black playwright Lorraine Hansberry presented her first play “Raisin in the Sun” in 1959, she was the youngest American, and first African American (as well as only the fifth female) to win the Drama Critics’ Circle Award as author of the Best Play of the season. She entitled it after a Langston Hughes poem (“What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?”). Though it was the first play in Broadway history with a virtually all-black cast, it was hailed for its universality, as a play that happened to feature black characters but was applicable to all people. While this was in part true then, and remains so today, the true miracle of this work is its honest depiction of a particular class of people and how they faced crises that were peculiar to them. As Hansberry herself put it: “in order to create the universal, you must pay very great attention to the specific”. While all of us may be able to identify with the its themes of retaining human values and integrity, obsession with material worth, maintaining self-respect, and difficult family relationships, there are some struggles, such as civil rights and racial awareness (and pride therein), that many of us initially encountered in our exposure to this play. Thanks to Huntington Theater Company, theatergoers could look forward to experiencing the power of Hansberry’s work once again.
But, sadly, not in this version. Theatergoers familiar with the central story from the filmed and televised versions, and perhaps even the 1974 Tony-winning Broadway musical, (all of which managed to produce profound effects on audiences of many hues), will have to look hard to find much of her insight here, primarily due to some problematic directorial choices by Leisl Tommy. Her bold decision to have the spectre of the late Walter Lee Sr. seated onstage as the play begins (thus this isn‘t a spoiler) and eventually to take on an active role, will strike audience members as either breaking brilliant new ground or a fundamentally wrong-headed and creepily distracting choice. While the memory of Walter Lee Sr. was always a profound presence, this is taking a metaphor way too literally. The main conflict was always that of the family’s move to a “white neighborhood”, Clybourne Park, and how this transforms Lena (Kimberly Scott), her son Walter Lee Jr. (LeRoy McClain), his wife Ruth (Ashley Everage), their son Travis (Cory Janvier) and Walter Lee’s sister Beneatha (Keona Welch). Things come to a head when they are visited by the (white) representative of the new neighborhood’s “Welcoming Committee”, Karl Lindner (the same character who appears in Bruce Norris’ “Clybourne Park”, being presented this month by SpeakEasy Stage Company, played here by Will McGarrahan). The saying that there is “no such thing as a ‘white folks’ neighborhood except to racists and those submitting to racism” was never truer. Making the crucial decision by Walter Lee Jr. (about Lindner’s visit) depend on the supernatural intervention by the ghost of his father destroys the inner growth that leads to the resolution of the main family crisis.
But “Raisin” is, or should be, about so much more than that. Consider Lena’s words about her son Walter Lee Jr. when he makes a critical mistake: “Have you cried for that boy today…what he’s been through and what it done to him…when do you think is the time to love somebody the most…it’s when he’s at his lowest and can’t believe in hisself…make sure you done taken into account what hills and valleys he come through”. Or pronouncements from condescending Beneatha (note the name), precursor to feminism, who, though not integral to the central plot, enables the author to comment on marriage, birth control, class barriers within the black community, the value of education and idealism vs. the upward mobility of one beau, George (Cory Allen), and the African roots and pride of her other beau, Asagai (Jason Bowen). Or the many instances where characters complain of being misunderstood, another recurring theme. Or the unforgettable iconic line from Lena: “Repeat after me, in my mother’s house there is still God.” This production also restores a poignant scene between Walter Lee Jr. and Travis that was cut from the original performances on Broadway. Unfortunately, though there are undeniably memorable moments of drama, there are several additional puzzling choices that distract from the playwright’s points. A revolving set sometimes requires that the actors awkwardly move from one room to another as they’re speaking; the lighting was occasionally harsh and strong (literally in one’s face); musical transitions were both gratingly dissonant and anachronistic; even some of the costuming (especially the loud argyles for George) was overly blatant. What this production sorely lacked was subtlety.
When first produced, this work by a young, gifted and black author both comforted the afflicted and afflicted the comfortable. Its impact should continue to resonate with contemporary audiences as much as it did when it first burst onto the stage. To interject such a real life play with a heavy dose of magical realism is a fundamental mistake. Hughes’ poem ends: “Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?” While this production doesn’t sag like a heavy load from its ill-conceived direction, it doesn’t explode with theatrical force either.
But, sadly, not in this version. Theatergoers familiar with the central story from the filmed and televised versions, and perhaps even the 1974 Tony-winning Broadway musical, (all of which managed to produce profound effects on audiences of many hues), will have to look hard to find much of her insight here, primarily due to some problematic directorial choices by Leisl Tommy. Her bold decision to have the spectre of the late Walter Lee Sr. seated onstage as the play begins (thus this isn‘t a spoiler) and eventually to take on an active role, will strike audience members as either breaking brilliant new ground or a fundamentally wrong-headed and creepily distracting choice. While the memory of Walter Lee Sr. was always a profound presence, this is taking a metaphor way too literally. The main conflict was always that of the family’s move to a “white neighborhood”, Clybourne Park, and how this transforms Lena (Kimberly Scott), her son Walter Lee Jr. (LeRoy McClain), his wife Ruth (Ashley Everage), their son Travis (Cory Janvier) and Walter Lee’s sister Beneatha (Keona Welch). Things come to a head when they are visited by the (white) representative of the new neighborhood’s “Welcoming Committee”, Karl Lindner (the same character who appears in Bruce Norris’ “Clybourne Park”, being presented this month by SpeakEasy Stage Company, played here by Will McGarrahan). The saying that there is “no such thing as a ‘white folks’ neighborhood except to racists and those submitting to racism” was never truer. Making the crucial decision by Walter Lee Jr. (about Lindner’s visit) depend on the supernatural intervention by the ghost of his father destroys the inner growth that leads to the resolution of the main family crisis.
But “Raisin” is, or should be, about so much more than that. Consider Lena’s words about her son Walter Lee Jr. when he makes a critical mistake: “Have you cried for that boy today…what he’s been through and what it done to him…when do you think is the time to love somebody the most…it’s when he’s at his lowest and can’t believe in hisself…make sure you done taken into account what hills and valleys he come through”. Or pronouncements from condescending Beneatha (note the name), precursor to feminism, who, though not integral to the central plot, enables the author to comment on marriage, birth control, class barriers within the black community, the value of education and idealism vs. the upward mobility of one beau, George (Cory Allen), and the African roots and pride of her other beau, Asagai (Jason Bowen). Or the many instances where characters complain of being misunderstood, another recurring theme. Or the unforgettable iconic line from Lena: “Repeat after me, in my mother’s house there is still God.” This production also restores a poignant scene between Walter Lee Jr. and Travis that was cut from the original performances on Broadway. Unfortunately, though there are undeniably memorable moments of drama, there are several additional puzzling choices that distract from the playwright’s points. A revolving set sometimes requires that the actors awkwardly move from one room to another as they’re speaking; the lighting was occasionally harsh and strong (literally in one’s face); musical transitions were both gratingly dissonant and anachronistic; even some of the costuming (especially the loud argyles for George) was overly blatant. What this production sorely lacked was subtlety.
When first produced, this work by a young, gifted and black author both comforted the afflicted and afflicted the comfortable. Its impact should continue to resonate with contemporary audiences as much as it did when it first burst onto the stage. To interject such a real life play with a heavy dose of magical realism is a fundamental mistake. Hughes’ poem ends: “Maybe it just sags like a heavy load. Or does it explode?” While this production doesn’t sag like a heavy load from its ill-conceived direction, it doesn’t explode with theatrical force either.
3/04/2013
SpeakEasy's "Clybourne Park": Razing in the Sun
SpeakEasy Stage Company’s production of “Clybourne Park”, by Bruce Norris, comes with quite a pedigree of much-deserved prizes: the 2011 Pulitzer Prize for Drama, the 2012 Tony as Best Play and, in its London iteration, both the Olivier and Evening Standard Awards as Best Play. Norris has fashioned an ingenious work that takes place in 1959 in the first act with seven characters, and the second act in 2009 with eight other characters. Attention must be paid to such a scheme, in order to appreciate fully his complex motifs that keep recurring among these two casts of characters. A first-time viewer could profit from a scorecard.
In the first act, homeowners Bev (Paula Plum) and Russ (Thomas Derrah), with help from their maid Francine (Marvelyn McFarlane) and her husband Albert (DeLance Minefee), are packing up their belongings after having sold their house. We soon come to realize that it’s their house that the Younger family from Lorraine Hansberry‘s “Raisin in the Sun” have bought. Bev and Russ are visited by their clergyman Jim (Tim Spears) and a neighboring couple, Karl Lindner (the sole, and soulless, white character who also appears in “Raisin”, here played by Michael Kaye) and his pregnant wife Betsy (Philana Mia), who happens to be deaf. Karl reveals that the purchasing family is black, and that he has already visited the Youngers twice in a failed attempt to buy them off. What ensues is a heated argument, which on the surface is about property values, but on a more profound level is also, as Norris has described his own work, “about race, property and territory”. The act ends with Russ burying a trunk, and the sad memories it contains from a tragedy two and a half years prior.
In the second act, the racial tension fifty years later takes a while to surface, as it’s far subtler and more insidious, subliminal and insincere, as a new cluster of people (none of whom appeared in the first act, although some of those characters would only be in their seventies and eighties in 2009) are debating the other side of the coin. Now this neighborhood, predominantly black, is becoming gentrified. The prospective new white owners, Steve (Kaye) and Lindsey (Mia), intend to raze this house which the Youngers moved into and erect a taller and larger one. Their lawyer, Kathy (Plum) who happens to be the adult daughter of the Lindners seen in the first act, negotiates with a black couple who represent the current neighborhood association with its height and historical preservation concerns, Lena (McFarlane) and Kevin (Minefee); Lena is presumably named after her great aunt, Mama Younger of “Raisin”. The other character onstage as this act begins is Tom (Spears), a single man who is also a neighbor. These six people begin their discussion fairly civilly, until some politically incorrect jokes surface, laying bare some deep-seated biases lurking under the surface congeniality. Meanwhile, a workman, Dan (Derrah), has dug up an old trunk (the one Russ buried at the end of the first act), revealing a long-forgotten tragic incident.
There will not be a quiz. A theatergoer who’s paying close attention might pick a nit about Karl’s described (second) visit to the Youngers’, when they reject his offer, which in “Raisin” occurs the day their movers have come; in this play, subsequent to Karl’s visit, Bev and Russ aren’t moving for two days. Still, it’s a clever, nay brilliant, idea that allows Norris to compare and contrast racism then and now. It’s also of interest to note that Hansberry’s original ending showed the Youngers waiting with guns for whites to attack them once they moved in. She never used that ending but chose an open-ended yet much more hopeful one, when Mama at the very last minute took her precious but pathetic plant along with her, soon to be replanted in their new home.
Director M. Bevin O’Gara magnificently helms a cast who are all, except for Derrah and Plum (both at the top of their form), making their debuts at Speakeasy. Kaye, McFarlane, Mia, Minefee and Spears are wonderful. In the first more tragic act, it is Derrah who anchors the action, mesmerizing us with his pain and bringing us to tears, and Plum whose desperation breaks our hearts. In the second hilarious act, it is Mia who bursts the hypocritical bubble of superficial harmony, making us laugh at our own prejudices and shortcomings. It should be noted here how vitally important the setting is in grasping who’s who in act two. A recent regional production with a vast open set left its audience initially clueless as to who all these people were. Fortunately, Scenic Designer Cristina Todesco’s set helps focus one’s attention on the various antagonists and their inter-relationships, immediately clarifying them. The other technical credits are all perfect, from the Costume Design by Mary Lauve to the Lighting Design by Deb Sullivan and Sound Design by Arshan Gailus.
Much of the brilliance of the play lies in its parallels between the play’s acts (the same church bells, the references to a “retarded” person, a crepe myrtle tree). The point may be that some things, and some people, never change; even racism, albeit sublimated, endures. Near the end of the play, in a flashback, Bev naively sighs: “I really believe things are about to change for the better. I firmly believe that”. Unfortunately, it is clear to us that this won’t be true. What is abundantly clear, however, is that just as Hansberry gave us insight into many defects in the American dream for her era, Norris has given us another mirror reflecting the unfulfilled promise of our own time. Fifty years from now, perhaps yet another playwright will define that dream as finally attained, the dream no longer deferred. Or not. In the interim, we should cherish this incredibly wise play, performed by a pluperfect cast, for its blazing truth and honesty.
In the first act, homeowners Bev (Paula Plum) and Russ (Thomas Derrah), with help from their maid Francine (Marvelyn McFarlane) and her husband Albert (DeLance Minefee), are packing up their belongings after having sold their house. We soon come to realize that it’s their house that the Younger family from Lorraine Hansberry‘s “Raisin in the Sun” have bought. Bev and Russ are visited by their clergyman Jim (Tim Spears) and a neighboring couple, Karl Lindner (the sole, and soulless, white character who also appears in “Raisin”, here played by Michael Kaye) and his pregnant wife Betsy (Philana Mia), who happens to be deaf. Karl reveals that the purchasing family is black, and that he has already visited the Youngers twice in a failed attempt to buy them off. What ensues is a heated argument, which on the surface is about property values, but on a more profound level is also, as Norris has described his own work, “about race, property and territory”. The act ends with Russ burying a trunk, and the sad memories it contains from a tragedy two and a half years prior.
In the second act, the racial tension fifty years later takes a while to surface, as it’s far subtler and more insidious, subliminal and insincere, as a new cluster of people (none of whom appeared in the first act, although some of those characters would only be in their seventies and eighties in 2009) are debating the other side of the coin. Now this neighborhood, predominantly black, is becoming gentrified. The prospective new white owners, Steve (Kaye) and Lindsey (Mia), intend to raze this house which the Youngers moved into and erect a taller and larger one. Their lawyer, Kathy (Plum) who happens to be the adult daughter of the Lindners seen in the first act, negotiates with a black couple who represent the current neighborhood association with its height and historical preservation concerns, Lena (McFarlane) and Kevin (Minefee); Lena is presumably named after her great aunt, Mama Younger of “Raisin”. The other character onstage as this act begins is Tom (Spears), a single man who is also a neighbor. These six people begin their discussion fairly civilly, until some politically incorrect jokes surface, laying bare some deep-seated biases lurking under the surface congeniality. Meanwhile, a workman, Dan (Derrah), has dug up an old trunk (the one Russ buried at the end of the first act), revealing a long-forgotten tragic incident.
There will not be a quiz. A theatergoer who’s paying close attention might pick a nit about Karl’s described (second) visit to the Youngers’, when they reject his offer, which in “Raisin” occurs the day their movers have come; in this play, subsequent to Karl’s visit, Bev and Russ aren’t moving for two days. Still, it’s a clever, nay brilliant, idea that allows Norris to compare and contrast racism then and now. It’s also of interest to note that Hansberry’s original ending showed the Youngers waiting with guns for whites to attack them once they moved in. She never used that ending but chose an open-ended yet much more hopeful one, when Mama at the very last minute took her precious but pathetic plant along with her, soon to be replanted in their new home.
Director M. Bevin O’Gara magnificently helms a cast who are all, except for Derrah and Plum (both at the top of their form), making their debuts at Speakeasy. Kaye, McFarlane, Mia, Minefee and Spears are wonderful. In the first more tragic act, it is Derrah who anchors the action, mesmerizing us with his pain and bringing us to tears, and Plum whose desperation breaks our hearts. In the second hilarious act, it is Mia who bursts the hypocritical bubble of superficial harmony, making us laugh at our own prejudices and shortcomings. It should be noted here how vitally important the setting is in grasping who’s who in act two. A recent regional production with a vast open set left its audience initially clueless as to who all these people were. Fortunately, Scenic Designer Cristina Todesco’s set helps focus one’s attention on the various antagonists and their inter-relationships, immediately clarifying them. The other technical credits are all perfect, from the Costume Design by Mary Lauve to the Lighting Design by Deb Sullivan and Sound Design by Arshan Gailus.
Much of the brilliance of the play lies in its parallels between the play’s acts (the same church bells, the references to a “retarded” person, a crepe myrtle tree). The point may be that some things, and some people, never change; even racism, albeit sublimated, endures. Near the end of the play, in a flashback, Bev naively sighs: “I really believe things are about to change for the better. I firmly believe that”. Unfortunately, it is clear to us that this won’t be true. What is abundantly clear, however, is that just as Hansberry gave us insight into many defects in the American dream for her era, Norris has given us another mirror reflecting the unfulfilled promise of our own time. Fifty years from now, perhaps yet another playwright will define that dream as finally attained, the dream no longer deferred. Or not. In the interim, we should cherish this incredibly wise play, performed by a pluperfect cast, for its blazing truth and honesty.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)