Dixie's Tupperware Party

****
Ars Nova

"I'm so excited I could vomit blood!" announces Dixie Longate, Tupperware's dirty little secret. I assume this burpable container corporation never expected a foul mouthed homosexual in a dress would hock their wares but with this sassy, catty, trashy one man show, Dixie has officially become their #1 top selling sales representative. How funny is that?? I am a sucker for a good drag queen (they're clowns but instead of their core audience being children theirs is drunk gay guys) and this is a damn hilarious one with a hysterical gimmick. With every audience member receiving a catalogue you can order whatever item Dixie presents to us in between candid asides about her sordid personal life. She is quick to point out that that cupcake holder also doubles as a jello shot tray. I highly recommend this show.

Hamlet

It annoyed me that the Public's recent King Lear wasn't cast multi-racially; the only role played by an actor of color was Oswald, the servant. (How un-Public Theatre is that?) I therefore made a point of seeing that production's Oswald, Timothy D. Stickney, sink his teeth into the role of Hamlet in this off-off production cast only with black and Latino performers. It's a shoestring production, which never locks down a time in which it is set, and although it can claim convincing swordplay and an emphasis on humor as two of its distinctions, the direction is mostly pedestrian. There are, however, some very good performances: among them, Stickney is exceedingly comfortable speaking Shakespeare and makes an always engaging, immediate Hamlet; Arthur French is a stand-out in the role of Polonius; and Seth Duerr makes a lively, crafty King Claudius.

Bed

Photo/Brian Michael Thomas

It feels like Nick Flint is sleepwalking his way through Bed, a well-written, small-scale tragicomedy by Brendan Cowell. The five intimate others Nick encounters in his cyclical bedroom scenes are all there, emotionally willing and ready, but Flint's passion is caught up in the facade that his character, Phil, tries so hard to maintain. Something of his character's arrogance must be backing him up, or perhaps he's afraid of such unbridled (and unexplained) bitterness; whatever the reason, the play is too short for the main character to give anything less than everything, and as a result, after fifty minutes of warm-up, the play ends before giving any real resolution to this man's life.

[Read on]

Deuce

***
Broadway

How do I put this delicately? Okay, here goes... I was actually quite charmed by these two very big actresses (Marian Seldes and Angela Landsbury) in this little play. After Chris's review I was expecting a theatrical implosion of black hole proportions where not even Armageddon can escape. At the performance I attended this did not happen. Yes, this is less of a play and more of a 100 minute polite conversation. Yes, there were some memorization problems, though from what I hear it's becoming less and less of an issue. If the only merit of this production is the novelty of seeing these two legends onstage together then it's a pretty substantial novelty. Both of these handsome, elegant women's personalities shone through and I was very glad I got to spend some time with them. They received a (partial though substantial) standing ovation at curtain call and I felt like they deserved it.
Also blogged by [Patrick]

Deuce

Conventional wisdom says that Deuce exempted itself this season from any awards consideration to avoid the embarrassment of not being nominated. But what of its legendary actresses, Marian Seldes and Angela Lansbury, who have to embarrass themselves on stage eight times a week regardless? Lansbury doesn't know her lines, loses her place, and gets a look on her face that anyone in the audience will recognize as momentary desperation. Seldes, hypervigilant and visibly in compassionate-actor mode, spends a lot of time cleaning up the mess: she narrows her eyes on her co-star as if to telepathically will her to remember her lines. If this isn't sad enough, the play they are struggling to remember is entirely forgettable, a mild piffle about two aged tennis star legends who while away 105 minutes with superficial rememberances of the "things ain't what they used to be" variety. Audience walkouts began at the half hour mark; I counted a total of twelve downstairs by the end. At one point in the play another character, an adoring tennis fan, addresses the audience and tells us to look at these two women, because we'll never see their kind again. The audience responds not to the underwritten, unconvincing characters but to the theatre royalty on stage before us. It's true, we will never see their kind again, but if this crass, squirm-inducing embarrassment is the best we can do in the way of homage, then we probably don't deserve to.

Also blogged by: [David]

Essential Self-Defense

photo: Richard Termine

After most of the critics dismissed it, I wanted to have another look at Adam Rapp's Essential Self-Defense: had I been too generous in my enthusiasm when I initially praised it in previews? Nope; I think "wildly surprising" "wonderfully offbeat" and "genuinely contemporary" just about covered it.