I saw that Broke-ology (the study of being broke, for those not so quick with suffixes) had gotten positive reviews, was closing soon, and kept appearing on my TDF. What better reason to go to the theatre? My $24 seat landed me on the front row, feet literally above the would-be yard (fake dirt and astro-turf).
The first thing that struck me, in the curtain-less, open acting space of the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater at Lincoln Center, was the set. It was fascinating, and I can only describe it as appearing exquisitely lived in. The show's single set, after all, is a house that is old in 1982 (during the first scene) and remarkably more so in 2009 (when the rest of the action takes place). Donyale Werle, keeper of the set, didn't just provide sufficiently dated furniture and electronics. There is, well, crap everywhere. A VHS of Independence Day pokes out from beneath a table in proximity to the TV. A basket on a shelf contains some Gold Bond powder, a single photograph, and some unidentifiable trinkets. Basically, an incredible amount of time was taken to make the space look like a real family house would look, especially if only a man was left to its up-keep. I'll stop rambling about it now, but a personal favorite touch, visible to less than 2% of the audience, was a copy of Dreams of My Father stowed in the coffee table -- how apropos.
Now to the play itself. Nathan Louis Jackson's script is very good. The script is smart (less smart than, say, Superior Donuts), and keeps a good pace. A few times I felt cliches creeping up, lurking around corners, but those fears were largely unjustified. The script is a strong tool, and the actors and Thomas Kail, the director, use it bravely.
At first, I felt that perhaps Wendell Pierce, playing head-of-household William King, was a bit too superficial in his portrayal. However, as the play progressed, I came to realize that he was giving a very honest and vulnerable interpretation of a simple but heart-wrenching character. Francois Battiste (holy shit, was he repressing a French accent the whole time?!) is excellent as self-sacrificing-but-over-it Ennis. Crystal A. Dickinson shines during her brief scenes, and even Alano Miller (as Malcolm), who bothered me for some reason, won me over by the end.
His victory over my skepticism came largely in the form of a hugely powerful scene in which Broke-ology's three men all sit together for a substantial amount of time, in silence, crying. Now I'm a pretty big wus, and the sight of one man crying gets me going, much less three. You know I lost it. But I certainly wasn't the only one. It was an extremely moving theatrical moment, one that surprised and touched me in a very meaningful way. Mad props to Kail for facilitating, and to the actors for bringing it every performance.
Overall, the play is entertaining and authentically emotional; it also provides great fodder for debate, though to raise the subsequent questions now would give away too much. Go see it and then give me a call.
through Sunday, November 22, The Mitzi E. Newhouse Theatre at Lincoln Center, 150 W 65th St
The first thing that struck me, in the curtain-less, open acting space of the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater at Lincoln Center, was the set. It was fascinating, and I can only describe it as appearing exquisitely lived in. The show's single set, after all, is a house that is old in 1982 (during the first scene) and remarkably more so in 2009 (when the rest of the action takes place). Donyale Werle, keeper of the set, didn't just provide sufficiently dated furniture and electronics. There is, well, crap everywhere. A VHS of Independence Day pokes out from beneath a table in proximity to the TV. A basket on a shelf contains some Gold Bond powder, a single photograph, and some unidentifiable trinkets. Basically, an incredible amount of time was taken to make the space look like a real family house would look, especially if only a man was left to its up-keep. I'll stop rambling about it now, but a personal favorite touch, visible to less than 2% of the audience, was a copy of Dreams of My Father stowed in the coffee table -- how apropos.
Now to the play itself. Nathan Louis Jackson's script is very good. The script is smart (less smart than, say, Superior Donuts), and keeps a good pace. A few times I felt cliches creeping up, lurking around corners, but those fears were largely unjustified. The script is a strong tool, and the actors and Thomas Kail, the director, use it bravely.
At first, I felt that perhaps Wendell Pierce, playing head-of-household William King, was a bit too superficial in his portrayal. However, as the play progressed, I came to realize that he was giving a very honest and vulnerable interpretation of a simple but heart-wrenching character. Francois Battiste (holy shit, was he repressing a French accent the whole time?!) is excellent as self-sacrificing-but-over-it Ennis. Crystal A. Dickinson shines during her brief scenes, and even Alano Miller (as Malcolm), who bothered me for some reason, won me over by the end.
His victory over my skepticism came largely in the form of a hugely powerful scene in which Broke-ology's three men all sit together for a substantial amount of time, in silence, crying. Now I'm a pretty big wus, and the sight of one man crying gets me going, much less three. You know I lost it. But I certainly wasn't the only one. It was an extremely moving theatrical moment, one that surprised and touched me in a very meaningful way. Mad props to Kail for facilitating, and to the actors for bringing it every performance.
Overall, the play is entertaining and authentically emotional; it also provides great fodder for debate, though to raise the subsequent questions now would give away too much. Go see it and then give me a call.
through Sunday, November 22, The Mitzi E. Newhouse Theatre at Lincoln Center, 150 W 65th St
