Stupid Fucking Bird

The Pearl Theater's production of Stupid Fucking Bird, Aaron Posner's 21st-century riff/recreation of The Seagull, is well-directed, well-acted, well-designed, and a great deal of fun. Its meta approach, with actors speaking directly to the audience, silly songs, and a fresh point of view, brings energy to the familiar story. However, it does not add up to much, nor does it teach us something new about Chekhov's original play.

[spoilers below]
While Stupid Fucking Bird sticks loosely to Chekhov's plot, its cheerfulness does much to undercut the emotions of the story. Yes, Con's mother, the great actress Emma, will never give him the attention and support he needs, but Con is cut from very different cloth than the Konstantin of the original. Konstantin is a whiny loser. His play in the first act is the artistic equivalent of his yelling at his mother, "I hate you," and throwing a tantrum. (Not that he wouldn't be justified. That Arkadina is one lousy mother, as is Emma in Posner's play.) Con's play in the first act is similar, but Con himself is loquacious and outgoing. His constant interaction with the audience is the charming heart of the play. Similarly, the eventual happiness of Mash/Masha and Dev/Medvedenko undoes Chekhov's presentation of the traps we set for ourselves when we can't get what we want. Add to that Con's being alive at the end of the play, and Stupid Fucking Bird becomes considerably less tragic than its forebear.[end of spoilers]

So, what does Stupid Fucking Bird offer us? Well, it's a lot more fun than The Seagull, and as someone who has seen the original perhaps one time too often, it's a relief. There's something frustrating about Chekhov's characters and their stubborn unwillingness to grow, change, or simply get a clue. But beside entertainment--which is, of course, nothing to sneeze at--Stupid Fucking Bird offers little. There are no new insights, no great emotion, nothing in the way of catharsis. It's a light and amiable romp, which is also nothing the sneeze at. It just seems to want to be more.


Stupid Fucking Bird is directed by Davis McCallum. The cast  features Bianca Amato (Emma), Dan Daily (Sorn), Erik Lochtefeld (Trig), Marianna McClellan (Nina), Joey Parsons (Mash), Joe Paulik (Dev), and Christopher Sears (Con).

The creative team is Sandra Goldmark (set), Amy Clark (costumes), Mike Inwood (lights), Mikhail Fiksel (sound), and Katie Young (production stage manager).

Wendy Caster
(6th row center; press ticket)

The Winter's Tale

The Winter's Tale is my personal favorite of Shakespeare's plays. It's also one of the hardest to stage well. Neither comedy nor tragedy, it's classified (alongside Cymbeline and The Tempest) as a "romance," that tricky category that often places the most extreme elements of the other two genres side by side. How should a director, or dramaturge, or company handle the tonal switch from Leontes' bombastic dismissal of Hermione to the slapstick humor of Autolycus and the Clown? Do you set a consistent tone early so that the final scene--to my mind, some of the most beautiful writing in the Western canon--is equally devastating and joyful? And just how are you going to handle that old "exit, pursued by a bear" matter? Of the dozen or so productions of The Winter's Tale that I've seen, none has ever hit the sweet spot and gotten it just right.

photo: Richard Termine

I'm sorry to say that the current Off-Broadway revival, presented by The Pearl Theatre Company at The Peter Norton Space, does not buck this trend; in fact, this is one of the most disappointing productions of the underappreciated masterpiece that I've ever seen. Directed by Michael Sexton and featuring numerous members of The Pearl's resident acting company, it often feels like a woeful attempt at cleverness, or an MFA thesis project that went off the rails. Presented (as most of Shakespeare's plays today are) in a two-act structure, the scenes in Sicilia take place in the well-appointed dining room of a contemporary house. The actors more closely resemble the literature faculty of a second-tier liberal arts college than a royal court; Hermione's trial could easily pass for a particularly heated meeting of the tenure and promotion committee. Bohemia, on the other hand, is depicted as a hayseed and trailer-park paradise, where men in long beards wear their jorts with suspenders and the Natty Light flows freely. After the intermission, the actors begin to deconstruct the proceedings; I guess we wouldn't be able to understand what was going on otherwise? Nothing kills a classic faster than a director who thinks his concept is superior to the work to which it's supposedly in service.

The performances range from strong to competent to downright embarrassing. The guest artists easily overshadow the members of the Resident Acting Company. Peter Francis James makes a fine Leontes, and Steve Cuiffo finds the funny in Autolycus' writing without going overboard (a rarity). Imani Jade Powers, though green, makes a lovely and sincere Perdita. No other actors merit specific mention.

[8th row center, press ticket]

Uncle Vanya

I have this theory about plays and movies. If the main character or another character learns something and grows, the piece can last hours. But if the characters remain stuck and learn nothing, the show can't be over two hours. Ninety minutes is ideal. Now, I understand that Uncle Vanya is a brilliant classic, but OMG the characters in it are annoying. No one learns a damn thing, and it's over two hours.

Does anyone ever learn anything in a Chekhov play? Chekhov was the patron saint of stuck people, people who can't read the writing on the wall, people who ignore good advice, people who sink into quicksand without even waving their arms and crying, "Help!" On one hand, I admire the heck out of Chekhov. His compassion and subtlety are impressive, and he juggles heartbreak and humor admirably. But if I never see another Chekhov play in my life, I will not mind at all.

The current production of Uncle Vanya at the Pearl is largely solid and well-acted. The scenery and costumes are effective. Hal Brooks' direction is good. The show's largest asset is Chris Mixon's performance as Vanya. Most Vanyas I've seen are pathetically kidding themselves during their "I coulda been a contender" speeches. They blame other people and the universe for making them the failures that they would have been anyway. In contrast, Mixon's Vanya has an undeniable spark and might really have accomplished something. His life is still his own fault and not anybody else's, but there is an extra level of meaning in his Vanya. Nevertheless, he still doesn't learn a damned thing.

(5th row center, press ticket)