Desire Under The Elms

photo: Liz Lauren

Desire under *what* elms, you might ask: there isn't a one anywhere in sight in this overheated tricked-out O'Neill revival, directed with a heavy-handedness (by Robert Falls) that brings the play's tragedy dangerously close to melodramatic camp. It doesn't quite get there but there are plenty of moments you'd be excused a hoot or two. O'Neill's play, like his Mourning Becomes Electra, re-sets Greek tragedy in twentieth century New England - in this case Dad takes a young new bride who falls in immediate mutual love-hate lust with her new stepson, her one rival for the old man's farmland. Falls seems to play the characters as archetypes in a grand operatic tragedy, but he revels in the young ones' lust so salaciously that it's hard to take it any more seriously than As The World Turns. Brian Dennehy does fine, commanding work as the old contemptuous farmlord, but Falls pulls focus from one of his most dramatic monologues by simultaneously staging a hot and heavy pantomime for the lovers. Carla Gugino, sounding more and more like Judy Davis, couldn't be better but Pablo Schreiber, who strips naked in the one of the play's too-stylish wordless interludes, could find more layers as the hotheaded son.

Pretty Theft

photo: Isaiah Tanenbaum

In this new play (from Flux Theatre Ensemble) by Adam Szymkowicz, the two lead male characters have markedly different impulses toward beauty - one, a traumatized group-home shut-in, wants to worship it while the other, a smooth-talking millionaire art dealer, seeks it for a darker purpose. Our likable but not especially judicious young heroine (played with sensitivity by Marnie Schulenburg) encounters both in the occasionally quirky-funny but generally unsettling play which is distinguished by a playful Mee-like collage surface and unifying undercurrents of sadness and of danger. I mean no disrespect to the theatrical economy of Angela Astle's clarifying direction nor to the playwright when I say that the material could be easily shaped into a screenplay: it has indie-movie sensibilities and attitude. Stand-out performers in the generally strong cast also include Zack Robidas, who provides howling comic relief as the heroine's appallingly selfish boyfriend, and Todd D'Amour who (as in What To Do When You Hate Your Friends last year) is excellent at conveying subtext.

The Singing Forest

photo: Carol Rosegg

Never let it be said that playwright Craig Lucas sets easy tasks for himself: this three-act, nearly three-hour effort (at The Public) moves from Holocaust drama to door-slamming farce and back again while intertwining events in modern day Manhattan with flashbacks from Nazi-occupied Austria. The result, as directed by Mark Wing-Davey, is an occasionally fascinating mess that doesn't cohere or resonate emotionally despite a game cast (headed up by Olympia Dukakis). You sense that the dizzying swirl of interconnected characters and the overarching theme of identity are aiming for something larger, even epic, but the play's moments remain small and isolated from one another: this is a play that adds up to less than the sum of even its best parts.

Desire Under the Elms

Photo: Liz Lauren

It's usually exciting to see a show that makes my top ten list, but not when it's "top ten worst things I've ever seen." This production of Desire Under the Elms is pompous, heavy-handed, and slow. One performance is valiant and interesting (Carla Gugino); the rest range from dull to embarrassing. Robert Falls directed this mess, and he really should know better. In the beginning of the show, two men move rocks. They are heavy rocks--or, rather, they are supposed to be heavy, but despite full-throttle indicating and grunting by the two actors, the rocks never actually seem heavy. So, anyway, these guys move some heavy rocks. Boy, is their life tough and oppressive. And then they move some heavy rocks. Tough and oppressive life, huh? And then they move some heavy rocks. OKAY! Enough already, I get it--their life is tough and oppressive. But, no, they move some more rocks. Parts of the rest of the show are somewhat less boring, but not many. The play itself is far from a masterpiece, but it's better than this production, which lacks subtlety, pacing, drama, chemistry, and tension. Mostly, people yell and emote and fail to connect with each other and the audience. The direction is stilted and off-putting and overdone. If you wanted to do a takeoff of this show, well, you couldn't. It's its own takeoff.

Pretty Theft

Photo: Isaiah Tanenbaum

To go with its jigsaw-puzzle structure and precision dialogue, Adam Szymkowicz's fine psychological comedy-drama Pretty Theft has pathos, sharp humor, a dash of horror, dancing, and many scene changes. It's the kind of play that demands an exceptional production, and that's just what it gets at the Access Theatre on lower Broadway. In her first full-fledged directing job for the Flux Theatre Ensemble, Angela Astle maneuvers Szymkowicz's expertly drawn characters and their incisive, insightful scenes with the finesse of a chess grandmaster... Read the full review.

Pretty Theft

Photo/Isaiah Tanenbaum

In the broad scheme of things, everything is stolen from us: our beauty, our senses, our minds. The far more specific now of Adam Szymkowicz's latest play, Pretty Theft, dares to show us--elegantly--what's left behind after such robberies. It tempts and taunts us by dangling Allegra (Marnie Schulenburg) before us: a truly innocent young girl, who will surely be the victim of this show. The question, then, is what will be left of her, especially after her insensitive boyfriend (Zack Robidas), autistic charge (Brian Pracht), manipulative friend (Maria Portman Kelly), and rougish stranger (Todd D'Amour) get through with her. Angela Astle's dream-sequenced direction is "pretty" enough, but if there's a theft here, it's from the great performances. Given the range of unique voices in Szymkowicz's serious (but comically colored) script, at least one of them will steal your heart.

[Read on]