broadway lagniappe

fall in love

2010-06-17T00:39:00.008-04:00

Next Fall, a play by Geoffrey Nauffts, originated Off-Broadway as a production of the Naked Angels company, playing at that mecca of impressive new drama, Playwrights Horizons. The fact that it has moved onto Broadway, despite its quaint production size and lack of star power (the idolatry of the latter which everyone was flogged with mercilessly during Sunday's TONY awards) is a testament to this show's sheer brute force.

The show revolves around a gay male couple living in New York City. The twist: one is an atheist and one is a Christian. Let's stop there. As someone who reads and sees a great deal of contemporary drama, I cannot, off the top of my head, think of one single interesting, multi-dimensional, likeable Christian character. Every time a Christian is written into a play, it seems that character's sole purpose is to act as a foil to the 'enlightened', cynical, agnostic/atheistic intellectuals that the playwright so readily identifies with. Even supremely talented writers seem to get stuck in this trap -- Theresa Rebeck's Sunday on the Rocks comes to mind, as does Alan Ball's Five Women Wearing the Same Dress. The Christian is a dogmatic moron, who perhaps has a deep dark secret revealed, so maybe the audience is supposed to start to like him/her, but basically he/she is a predictable and meaningless waste of space, who fits the right wing, Tea Party Republican profile to a tee.

Enter Geoffrey Nauffts. He writes Luke, a white Christian male from Tallahassee, who happens to be a homosexual. A complex, thoughtful, intelligent, conflicted, hopeful, confused, silly, affectionate, loyal human being. ATTENTION ALL OTHER PLAYWRIGHTS: Not all Christians are hypocritical, Bible-thumping, judgmental, homophobic Republicans with only one dimension. The Christian archetype does make an appearance in Next Fall, in the person of Butch, Luke's father. However, just like Luke and every other character, Butch is written with immense compassion. His denial and bias appear infinitely more tragic juxtaposed next to his son, who has cobbled together a lifestyle that can encompass his ardent beliefs, most basic instincts, and the expectations of those around him.

As I am loath to reveal the plot trajectory or any other specifics that greet the audience like sweet surprises throughout the course of the play, I will simply say this: every performance given is awe-inspiring; surely these are real people living out their lives in front of you. The play will actually steal the breath out of your chest. It grapples with such relevant, timely, sensitive, uncomfortable issues. It breeds easy laughter, then gently flips you around to incite tears. It is so honest, so truthful, so brave, so humane, so painful, so blissful, so subtle, so jarring. It has wisdom to share and does so graciously. Hours after seeing it, I'm still replaying it in my mind and peeling off new layers of significance, realizing minute details that didn't occur to me during the performance. It is easily one of the most beautiful things I have seen on a Broadway stage, ever. Please go; life is short and, unfortunately, the Broadway shelf-life of meaningful drama is shorter.

@ the Helen Hayes Theatre, 240 W 44th St b/t 8th & Bway

End Run

2010-05-06T23:37:00.005-04:00

Dear Readers (all less than 10 of you),

I am embarrassed to say that while I have seen plenty of plays since my last post, I have been bested by life and did not actually get around to reviewing any of them. But no longer will my need for 3 hours of sleep a night reign victorious. It has taken the ill-fortune of my favorite performer's latest venture, but I am back to urge you to flock to the Broadhurst Theatre by Sunday, when Enron closes far earlier than planned.

The most important reason to see Enron: Norbert Leo Butz. Anyone who's met me knows the deep deep depths of my love for him ("Moving Too Fast" may or may not be my iPhone ringtone...) Everyone I know who's ever seen him in anything loves him. Because he is so ridiculously talented and versatile and clever and did I mention TALENTED? It is literally impossible for him not to be amazing in a role, and to see him take on a character of such intellectual and moral complexity as Jeffrey Skilling, ex-CEO of Enron, is worth the ticket price alone. He's so utterly watchable as the brilliant and brash, oafish creator of the mark to market strategy, who rises to ultimate power, wealth and acclaim, all the while tortured by the perpetuation of the dark secrets of his company's alleged success.

The show masterfully depicts the rise and fall of the company over a decade, weaving in relevant world events like September 11th. Lucy Prebble, the playwright, does a remarkable job of explaining the Enron schemes and their subsequent unraveling in layman's terms, and in illustrating the political milestones (W's inauguration, the deregulation of electricity) that set the stage. The coherence and completeness of the storytelling is impressive, especially considering that Prebble is a) British and b) 28 years old.

Not ignoring the opportunity to humanize the phenomenon, Prebble includes gems such as a monologue by an analyst, likening the belief in Enron's viability to a belief in air travel -- just because you don't understand how it works or don't think it should work doesn't mean it doesn't work, and if you stand up and question it everyone will think you're crazy. Skilling's monologue at the end of the show, post-sentencing, is also potent, especially coupled with the sobering fact of the trillions of dollars the U.S. Government has pumped into financial institutions all copying Enron's greedy strategies since that company's demise.

Director Rupert Goold does not shy away from eccentric and unconventional instruments in conveying the atmosphere of the empire. Pyrotechnics, musical interludes (note: this is a "play with music," NOT a musical, and no, Norbert does not sing, to everyone's great loss), and light sabers all appear, and justifiably so. No dialogue about soaring stock prices can adequately communicate the feeling of the execs riding inside the bubble, the traders searching for that next great high. Although initially unsure about the concept, I quickly came to appreciate the use of actors in suits and raptor heads depicting the entities created to "consume" Enron's ever-mounting debt. Watching them prowl around the basement with Andy Fastow, Enron's CFO, gave me a sick, on-edge feeling perfectly suiting the nature of the company's misdeeds.

However, the show's risks and accomplishments were part of its undoing. Tourists do not flock to see interesting, innovative theater (all the more reason they should be rounded up and poked with sticks). There are F-bombs aplenty, and Norbert has never been on "Dancing with the $#@%ing Stars". The show, having played less than four dozen previews and performances combined, was nowhere near full houses. And as much as it pains me, I can't blame everything on tourists. While this show was extremely successful in London, in the U.S., still laden with a financial industry creating bubbles then begging for bail-outs, many people undoubtedly feel like it's "too soon." As someone too young to have been aware of Enron's existence in its heyday or to have owned any stocks during its crash, the production appeared like an fascinating history lesson. For older audiences, it must be slightly less entertaining to relive the moment their retirement accounts dried up.

Coupled with a markedly unflattering review by my arch-nemisis, Ben Brantley of the NY Times, and the failure to land a Tony nom for Best Play (or, AHEM, for Norbert, though Stephen Kunken is nominated for his superb turn as Fastow), the producers have decided to take a $4 million loss rather than continue the show's run. Never mind its 5-star rating (out of 5) in Time Out New York, or other glowing reviews (I hear that Broadway Lagniappe chick really liked it). Once again, substantial theater is quickly ushered off stage left, while Jersey Boys rakes in the dough.

Enron never got around to instituting a rush ticket policy, but check out Broadwaybox.com for discounted tickets for this and pretty much every other show. Please tell me you all knew that trick already.

Through Sunday, May 9 (extra performance added 7:30 p.m. Sunday) @ the Broadhurst Theatre, 235 W 44th St between Broadway & 8th Ave

Afterthought

2009-11-29T23:09:00.012-05:00

Another show I was quite eager to see (based partially on good reviews) was After Miss Julie. Yet again, I met disappointment. More precisely, my theatre-loving friend and I both left going, "Huuhhhh?"

At first, I enjoyed the leisurely pace of the production, the time so generously spared by the director for stage business of various kinds, furthering the reality of the characters. Once the show ended abruptly after an intermission-less 90 minutes, it felt more like he was just trying to find a way to fill the time.

My main source of anticipation for this play was its playwright, Patrick Marber, who previously penned the incredibly potent Closer (for those not in the know, this was a play before it was a movie starring lots of famous sexy people). While I liked the writing in After Miss Julie, I would not say it compared.

Onto the acting: Marin Ireland is amazing. She was amazing in Reasons to be Pretty, she was amazing in this, and I imagine she is amazing at various other life functions apart from acting, such as brushing her teeth and decorating Christmas trees. I want to be her friend.

Jonny Lee Miller is also quite good. His demeanor and tone are always perfectly drawn from the life his character has led, and he has marvelous control of his emotions.

Onto the other Miller, Miss Sienna. Sienna, Sienna, Sienna....Sienna was a hot mess. It wasn't that it was physically painful to watch her act, as is sometimes the case with Hollywood actresses making their Broadway debuts (not naming names, Katie Holmes in All My Sons). As my friend so concisely put it, Sienna's entire performance was laden with an affect. "I'm being emotionally unstable!" she seemed to cry. Except that she never really cried.

Her character is supposed to be a hot mess, so the fact that she comes across as such (on multiple levels) leaves the audience with a bit of a chicken-and-the-egg scenario: where does the lame acting stop and the poor direction begin? An interesting topic for debate, but ultimately a moot point. I wasn't exactly sure what was going to happen to Miss Julie at the end of the play, and I didn't particularly care. Her poor-little-rich-girl failed to garner any sympathy, or empathy, or respect. I'm not sure what comes after Miss Julie, but I hope it's Christine (Ireland) kicking ass and taking names.

If you want to see a sexy movie star on Broadway, Hamlet is still running. Jude Law was clearly the talented (if disloyal) half of that ex-power couple.

@ the American Airlines Theatre, 227 W 42nd St

Well....ah....

2009-11-29T21:38:00.004-05:00

Fela!, the new Broadway musical based on the life of Nigerian musician and government opponent Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, has received rave reviews. I don't mean to be a dissident, but -- the show is good. It's not great.

Many parts of the show are great. The music is, as expected, invigorating and flawlessly performed. The dancers are amazing, and expertly execute the choreography. Sahr Ngaujah, who I saw perform the role of Fela (the role is double cast for some reason), was charming, talented, and engaging. But the show, with so many things going for it, seems to be missing a few things. Such as a plot. As a life study of Fela, much of Act One is consumed by exposition and anecdotal "recollections". Throughout the show, there is a noticeable lack of major milestones and advancing plotline, and as such, no satisfactory ending. One earth-shattering event proves influential, but by then (~ 2 hours in), my attention had already wandered. I will say that both me and my companion were very tired the night we attended, but with such a weak story line, not even the continuous African beats and gyrating were enough to snap us into full consciousness.

Bill T. Jones, who directed and choreographed (and was a co-conceiver and co-book writer) has won many prestigious awards for his past choreography. All I will say to those past accolades is: Spring Awakening - really? Everyone jumping up and down and rubbing their boobs? I loved it, but don't know how much it technically advanced the world of dance... As far as his work on Fela! goes -- the choreography is an essential part of this production. And it's excellent. Does that mean that the choreographer should also be the director of the entire show? In this case, it seems to be a mistake. Jones is clearly in over his head, and while the show has lots of crowd-pleasing one-liners and a dynamic cast that's not afraid to bring it, this production which celebrates revolution fails to be revolutionary.

I'm not saying don't see this show. You will be entertained, and learn about a fascinating historical figure previously obscure in the U.S. But don't believe the hype. This show could be lots of mind-blowing things, but it just isn't.

at the Eugene O'Neill Theatre, 230 W 49th St

If It Ain't Broke

2009-11-19T00:38:00.003-05:00

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

Prince Charming

2009-10-29T22:49:00.009-04:00

I forgot how many people die in Hamlet. It's the same amount as die in any other Shakespeare tragedy. A lot. Fortunately, during The Donmar Warehouse Production of Hamlet, you don't ever wish you were one of them. Which is much more than can be said for many versions of this play.

First, there's Jude Law. I would be remiss in my journalistic obligation of full disclosure if I denied that I would very much like to have his babies (I know, I know, there's a line). But not just because he's delectable. Mainly (also?) because he's talented as hell! His Hamlet is not a weeping willow, barely conjuring the energy beneath his grief to extract his revenge. Neither is he so obtuse a royal as to miss any of the proverbial wool others wish to pull over his eyes. Rather, his is a Hamlet of easy intellect, sharpened and propelled by his quest for revenge, faultlessly manipulating the lesser mortals around him and all the sadder for his hyper-sensitivity to the hypocrisy and treachery which invade his world. Law seems to sincerely grapple with the meaning and worth of life, is overcome with frustration at others' misdeeds, and handles all of Shakespeare's loftiest speeches with surprising authority and grace. He is even outfitted in a (fine cashmere) cardigan for most of the production, no doubt the founding father of sad and downtrodden emo kids everywhere. As he paddles barefoot through the snow, he at once seems to shrink and expand, to collapse and soar, beneath the weight and subsequent responsibility of his insight.

Law could easily carry the show himself, but Shakespeare does have a habit of getting heavy somewhere around the middle of Act II. The supporting cast is more than willing to help him out. Ron Cook as Polonius & 1st Gravedigger, Gwilym Lee as Laertes, and Gugu Mbatha-Raw as Ophelia are most notable. The Shakespeare spoken here slips easily off the tongue and does not confound the audience as it makes contact with their ears (an added bonus of an English production making its way across the pond). Extra points were scored for the incredibly well-staged and executed sword fight between Hamlet and Laertes.

The cavernous, chilly set is the perfect negative space to accent the bright performances. I especially loved the cold blast of air that greeted the audience every time the King's ghost appeared, or an outside door was opened. The snow bears mentioning again, and the lighting was perfect - unforgiving, focused straight down from above, and dividing each person's shadow precisely in half, so that it stained the floor to both his right and left.

While it has no relation to the show itself, I feel compelled to mention Jude Law's graciousness after the show. He was clearly and undoubtedly exhausted from emptying himself emotionally on stage for 3 hours, yet spent a solid 5+ minutes outside the stage door signing every thing that every person thrust into his hands, genuinely thanking people for their praise and attendance, and never quibbling about the incessant flashes going off inches from his face. Truly a prince.

Through December 6th @ the Broadhurst Theatre, 235 W. 44th St

angering the gods

2009-10-13T01:00:00.003-04:00

On Saturday evening, I went to see God of Carnage. After a break for summer (and yachts, I'm sure there were yachts), the original B'way cast has returned to continue the run, until one of them gets on Tony Soprano's nerves and he has them killed.

Going into the show, I knew the basic gist of the plot, the impressive cast members, and that the show had received good reviews and a slew of Tony nominations/awards.

Which is why I was so disappointed that it wasn't, ummm -- better?

A few things rubbed me the wrong way, some of which may be personal hang-ups, so let's start a list:

The play is short. About 90 minutes, with no intermission. I know nobody's supposed to have an attention span anymore, but seriously - if I make a night of going to see a show, I want it to take up a decent chunk of the night. As I said, a matter of personal preference, but for the prices being charged for these tickets, a short show can feel like a rip-off to me. More on this later. Oh, and they started the show around 8:14 (!!!) To make it seem longer? Because a 5 minute grace period is no longer enough? Boo.

I'm more than a bit bored by playwrights using alcohol as a deux ex machina to advance the plot. "Oh, they're talking, they're fighting, things are heating up -- how much more exciting it would be if they were all DRUNK! Then I could write whatever crazy dialogue and staging I wanted and people would buy it!" I'm aware that people drink, especially and often in social situations. I'm also aware that while I don't drink, ~103% of people in NY do. I don't give a shit if playwrights include it, except when it seems like such an obvious crutch. And it does here. It results in the desired/predictable mayhem, which is amusing, but it feels like lazy writing.

Hope Davis' character, Annette, reminded me a bit too much of Honey from Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf. I mean, the two characters' personalities are nothing alike. I think it was more the combination of blonde hair and puking, in tandem with 4 adults torturing each other in a living room while drinking...again, probably my own mental connections.

Anywho, the acting really is terrific. Marcia Gay Harden and Ton--ah, James Gandolfini make a wonderfully miserable couple, and Jeff Daniels is all too believable as a work-crazed lawyer. The simple set is quite functional, and is used resourcefully throughout. The storyline provides a great foundation, and builds to reveal quite taboo reactions and confessions from the characters.

But here's where we get back to the question of length. The play is going along, doing anything and everything for shock value, which the audience happily accepts and encourages, laughing and gasping all the while, and then it just...kind of ends. But it isn't really an ending. The actors do a damn fine job with the time and material they've been given, but the script doesn't lead to the place they deserve to go. Rather, the actors (and audience) feel like they've been abandoned somewhere unfamiliar in the middle of the night.

@ the Bernard B. Jacobs Theatre
242 W 45th Street

Superior Scripts

2009-10-10T11:05:00.011-04:00

The last time a Tracy Letts play came straight to Broadway from the Steppenwolf Theatre in Chicago, it won the Tony for best play and the Pulitzer Prize for drama. That's a pretty high precedent to live up to with the latest transplant, Superior Donuts. Let me be the first (or twenty-ith) to call it: Superior Donuts will NOT win a Pulitzer Prize. But some people act like that's the new standard of a play's enjoyability, which is clearly not true.

Letts' dialogue has the same cutting wit and easy, intelligent humor we're used to from him; the first act flys by amidst cascades of laughter and delight-driven, spontaneous applause. Jon Michael Hill, who plays Franco, the donut shop's new assistant, is INCREDIBLE, and a definite name to watch out for in the future. He verbally spars with Arthur, the shop's owner, played by Michael McKean (of the Christopher Guest movie franchise). McKean is so well disguised by his hair and makeup as an antique hippie that I didn't recognize him, even though he's appeared in every TV show and movie imaginable. The role of Arthur is not easy, and while McKean holds his own, his portrayal is not overly memorable. Yasen Peyankov, however, is excellent as a Russian (duh) fellow business-owner. Peyankov has been with the Steppenwolf ensemble for years, and I've previously had the pleasure of seeing him in both The Pillowman and The Diary of Anne Frank in Chicago.

The difference between acts one and two is literally night and day. Act one dazzles and uplifts, while periodically portending the consequences of tragic flaws. In act two, the shit hits the fan, and everyone is left picking up the pieces, in keeping with the play's dialogue regarding the disenchantments of maturity and the punishments of life. None of the plot turns are truly surprising, and the denouement is a bit hokey and trite. However, by that point, I was so invested in the characters that I was still brought to tears. Unlike August, the audience is not presented with three generations' worth of dysfunction to feast and mull upon, but Letts is still very much in touch with both the dark and the light sides of life, depicting characters with heart, hurt, regrets, and potential in a dignified if painfully honest way. Witnessing that makes one compassionate, instead of feeling, well, you know...

@ the Music Box Theater, 239 W 45th Street

perfect (for you)

2009-09-08T00:55:00.010-04:00

Or, "Next to Awesome," just for Emily...

I was fortunate enough to see Next to Normal in spring 2008 when it was Off-Broadway at Second Stage Theatre. I remember being completely blown away and bawling my eyes out, so I couldn't wait to see the show on Broadway, after it made a trip to the Arena in DC for some re-working and...Obama stalking?

Brian d'Arcy James has long since been kidnapped by a donkey and Princess Fiona, so there's a new dad in town, and the doctor has also been replaced. Other than that, the cast remained the same, which is excellent news. I also unknowingly managed to catch the first performance with AaronTveit (as Gabe, the son) after his summer hiatus to do the try-out of the new Catch Me If You Can musical in Seattle. Major win, since his voice is arguably more delicious than even his rockin body. Ben Brantley was thinking the same thing, but didn't have the balls to write it.

The talent of the actors is undeniable, and matched by the musicians who litter the multi-level stage. Once you come to terms with the fact that Alice Ripley may actually be a little....well, type cast (did you see the Tony's??), there's nothing that can hinder the show's energy from carrying you along. I will say that J. Robert Spencer as Dan (the father) initially struck me as a bit too stoic, but he made up for it with a vengeance in Act II.

The show, by the way, deals with depression/tragedy/bipolar disorder, and ain't your mama's musical. Unless your mother likes Valium. Which...many do. That said, the Broadway version is DEFINITELY tamer that the original incarnation, especially when depicting such unpleasantries as ECT (electroconvulsive therapy). Guess somebody figured the tourists wandering in from the TKTS line couldn't stomach it.

There were some other noticeable cuts from the Off-Bway run, such as an introductory song to Diana's condition set in a CostCo-esque store. While it contained some witty lines and interesting commentary on our culture, the cut was definitely a wise choice. However, if memory serves, there were some really great songs at the end of the show that disappeared, leaving the end feeling a little - just a little -- ...unfull.

Don't get me wrong, I still cried for the duration, as the plethora of lightbulbs twinkled and then went dark. As far as "rock musicals" go, Michael Greif seems to know the formula, and managed to keep the show's magic through its multiple runs and growing success.

The 30+ songs are catchy, and this show definitely stays with you for some time after you've left the theater. So now I'm conflicted. I would like this show to stay on Broadway with this cast for a long time, but...cannot stop dreaming about Catch Me If You Can on Broadway, starring both Aaron Tveit AND Norbert Leo Butz!!!!!!!!!! The time is now; I've been having Norbert withdrawal since his all-too-short stint in Speed the Plow and his run at MCC in Fifty Words.

So go buy tickets before Aaron Tveit gets pulled away...he is the one...

Booth Theatre, 222 W 45th Street

he said, she said, i said GO

2009-08-26T00:25:00.000-04:00

every august, new york's fringe festival is invariably filled with hits and misses. this year, with time to see only one show, i lucked out. And She Said, He Said, I Said Yes is incredibly enjoyable and well done. three superb actresses take turns delivering monologues, which are book-ended by overlapping commentary and antidotes. the play is, broadly, about romantic relationships, but there are innumerable layers above and beyond that generalization.

perhaps the key to the piece's success was the creative process undergone by the production team. the writer, Harrison David Rivers, met with the three actresses before he began writing; to a large extent, the monologues being delivered are autobiographical. the actresses, writer, and directors had constant contact throughout the writing and rehearsal stages, making sure to include the crucial elements and discovering the themes overlapping one another's stories. one such theme -- ambition on the part of the performers, and the way it seemed to conflict with concepts of love and happily ever after with the men in their lives, was particularly poignant. there are also repeated references to family, and how the things we grow up seeing and hearing shape our expectations of what love looks like, what happiness means.

the set is bare-bones, lighting cues minimal. the show rests solidly on the language and lessons being shared, and on the three extraordinary and engaging actresses - Jehan O. Young, Melissa Joyner, and Rory Lipede, all of whom are captivating and deeply affecting. telling their own stories, reliving their own heartache, reclaiming the wisdom they've accumulated along the way, they speak of instances so specific yet universal, so inevitable yet unwilling. each monologue catches and carries you along with it, gently yet firmly, as the women themselves have learned how to walk even when the burden is great.

kudos must also be paid to the directors, Eric Louie and Anika Chapin. their embrace of the actresses, the ability to identify what shines in each of them and allowing them the space to glow, is truly satisfying to watch. this is an example of collaborative theater at its highest.

go see it: august 26 @ 7 p.m / august 27 @ 9:30 p.m.
Here Arts Center: Dorothy B. Williams Theater
tickets at www.fringenyc.org

reasons to visit broadway

2009-06-05T17:13:00.000-04:00

Having missed last year's Off-Broadway run of "reasons to be pretty," I was thrilled to finally see it on Broadway. While maybe not one of the best things I've seen overall, it's definitely the best thing I've seen in 2009.

Terry Kinney's direction and the 4-person cast's inspired performances (2 of which are nominated for Tony awards) do great justice to Neil LaBute's brilliant script. The scenes are tight and explosive, scaling extreme heights and depths of pain, anger, humor, betrayal, and dishonesty. The actors themselves, however, are remarkably honest in their portrayals, particularly Thomas Sadoski as Greg. His raw emotion and visible growth throughout the course of the play easily mark one of the best performances of the year.

The characters are all young members of the working class, blue-collar employees without much education. As LaBute details in the play's preface, these are the kinds of people he truly admires. He is in no way mocking or shaming them -- rather, he is celebrating their courage and perseverance. Steph works at SuperCuts, Greg and Kent load crates and boxes into a Sam's Club-esque megastore, and Carly works at the same warehouse as a security guard. Illustrations of their working class world are sprinkled throughout the play in a myriad of delicate details -- in the kind of flowers Greg brings Steph, in the state of Greg's jeans, how Steph buys a new blue and brown outfit for her date and accessorizes it with black shoes and a black purse, even though she had a brown purse in the previous scene (presumably because those are the only dressy shoes she has).

That last observation might make me guilty of the very thing LaBute is warning against with this play: a concentration on appearance, on the physical, a shallow view of the world and its citizens. In a not unfamiliar theme, even for himself (e.g. The Shape of Things), LaBute portrays people who are pretty on the outside and ugly on the inside and vice versa. However, all of the characters are more complex than that, and the audience is required to ponder more than the usual questions. For example, if you truly love someone for who they are inside, how much does the outside still matter? Can you convince yourself to be attracted to someone your own taste and society at large deem unattractive? Would you be able to date someone believing they were not attracted to you, even if you knew that they truly loved and cared for you? How much does our own self-esteem depend upon the physical scorecard rated by those we are most vulnerable with? What do you do when you look "normal" and that isn't enough?

LaBute's writing and Kinney's direction take each scene to unexpected places, searching for these answers and staring down previously accepted truths.

There are more than enough reasons why this production was nominated for a Tony for Best Play.

At the Lyceum Theatre, 149 W 45th St.

Crazy...but it feels alright....

2009-04-01T21:58:00.000-04:00

Crazy Head Space, a new play from the Abraxas Stage Company, is a literal A to Z of psychiatric disorders -- set to music. I know what you're thinking, but stick with me here...Each letter of the alphabet is projected, in turn, on the wall, with a corresponding diagnosis from the good ol' DSM IV, and then an original song relating to said disorder is performed. Song styles vary from rap to ballad, and are admittedly hit-or-miss. For example, a song about depression is touching and sincere, while a beat-box/scream-fest about horny teenage girls (under "J" for juvenile delinquency) is downright frightening. From what I'm told, various songs about various conditions exist for each letter of the alphabet, so perhaps it's just a matter of the show's creators finding the perfect combination through trial by error. There is also a slight issue with some people who are stronger actors than singers being given solos -- but that is by far the exception, not the rule.

The surprisingly large cast, which includes many Equity members in this "AEA Approved Showcase," is incredibly impressive and versatile. Each actor is highlighted in turn, then returns to the American Apparel - clad chorus of the psych ward. A few people truly stand out -- Adriene Couvillion, as the inescapably sexy and inhumanely flexible naughty nurse (nymphomania, anyone?) Couvillion's character provides a much-needed thread of continuity from one tableau to the next, and, luckily for the audience, also gets her due stage time...which she generously shares with her fabulous vajay (I'm sorry, it needed to be said.) Eddie Cooper is also fantastic as a larger-than-life drag queen dishing about kleptomania. And what would a night at the theater be without a little narcissism? Carl Anthony-Tramon handles it like a pro.

Matthew Neff's choreography is fierce, and, one imagines, could be even more mind-blowing in a larger performance space. The show's creators hope to keep this project moving towards bigger and better things. After some tweaking, crowds will surely line up for visitation hours.

through april 5th @ seaport! -- yes, this is the name of the theater, and yes, it is hard to find, even when using the map function on your iphone. arrive early.

First Impression

2009-03-26T02:18:00.000-04:00

The opening of Jack O’Brien’s production of Impressionism, starring Jeremy Irons and Joan Allen, was delayed two weeks, and many changes were reportedly made. I clearly can’t speak to what those changes were, but the finished product was worth the wait…and worth standing in the freezing cold (thanks, March) for an hour to get a free Opening Night ticket as a seat filler. Although that can be said of plays far less endearing than this.

The show is essentially understated, accentuated with bursts of life, springing from the delicious performances of the actors, and, more visibly, from the projections of well-known impressionist paintings decorating the skrim and lowered canvases between scenes. The latter, a seeming piggy-back of the Seurat-styled projections by Timothy Bird & The Knifedge Creative Network in Roundabout Theatre’s 2008 Sunday in the Park with George, prove so all-encompassing and beautiful that, true to the playwright’s aim, one does seem to sense one’s view of the world changing with each glimpse.

Michael Jacobs’ story is simple on purpose, allowing his characters sufficient wiggle-room to reach (or flail) out to one another. Some details require suspension of disbelief – for example, Katharine’s (Allen) impeccable, enviable wardrobe and stylish gallery complete with hired help paired with her consistent aversion to selling any of her merchandise. I’m sure she also lives in an apartment like Monica and Rachel’s on Friends. The costume and set designers choose, like Thomas (Irons), to take pity on this delicate creature; life is easier to handle surrounded by pleasing aesthetics. Lest Katharine get too comfortable, however, Mr. Jacobs’ script proves to be sharp enough to keep her on her toes, and to keep the laughter wafting up the aisles.

The plot’s lapses in chronology are successful in providing much-needed insight into the character’s mental states. Most critically, the audience learns of Katharine’s romantic “education”, a la that of Lauryn Hill– which will, of course, be pertinent later.

Irons and Allen both offer delectable turns as quirky, too-polar-opposite-not-to-be-meant-for-each-other protagonists. Ms. Allen is smart and talented enough to play emotionally dumb almost convincingly, and Mr. Irons can act the part of just boring and stubborn enough to balance her. However, it is André De Shields as Mr. Linder who steals the show. His inspired scene contains the pulsing heart of this production – what practically forces it under your skin, despite any efforts made to keep it at bay. His monologue is undoubtedly Mr. Jacobs’ dissertation on true love, and so well put that it becomes impossible to resist the desire for a happy ending, never mind how far-fetched or cliché.

Now that I’ve given everything away, you should see this show anyway. If the sheer star power (Michael T. Weiss from The Pretender—in the flesh!!) doesn’t justify the ticket purchase, the free mini-course in art history, private showing of the entire Impressionist wing of the Met, and amazingly convincing/overly optimistic outlook on love certainly do.

Frolic and scamper from your Williamsburg communes to catch this show’s limited engagement.

At the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre, 236 W 45th Street.