Radio Golf

photo: Carol Rosegg

What a surprise: the late August Wilson's last play is also one of his most accessible and brisk, a sharply observed, entertaining drama that pointedly questions the price of African-American success by assimilation. Its story, of a mayoral candidate who becomes increasingly uneasy with what it takes to push through a neigborhood redevelopment plan, is set ten years ago, but its themes and its keen social observations are immediate and relevant: the audience I saw it with was very much engaged and vocal, clearly taking sides in the play's climactic showdown. The play is slick and focused in a way that other Wilson plays are not (I could easily see this play reaching an audience that hasn't warmed before to his plays) and it's less prosey and dense, but that is unquestionably by design and part of the point considering the themes. It isn't quintessential Wilson, but it's a tight, swiftly intelligent play (directed here with snap and punch by Kenny Leon) that bears his unmistakable mark nonetheless. Four of the five in the cast are excellent at this point (a week into previews) and the one tentative performance is likely to fit right in once the play officially opens. It's hard for me to imagine that this will not be among the four nominees for Best Play at this year's Tonys.

A Guy Adrift In The Universe

photo: Evan Purcell

This clever high-concept comedy (by Larry Kunofsky, a writer new to me) tracks the full life cycle of A Guy from birth to death....in 90 minutes. He springs from the womb fully articulate - think Stuey from Family Guy - and at revolving-door speed is mothered, fathered, befriended, schooled, dated, employed, and so on. The humor is in the shorthand: an entire relationship might be nutshelled into one precise, philosophically astute exchange that captures something deeply truthful and funny. It's a very delicate conceit that requires a distinct performance style to keep it moving, and luckily this dynamic four-person cast (Cory Grant as A Guy, with a couple of dozen other roles divided among Sutton Crawford, Corey Patrick, and Zarah Kravitz) is tuned right in to the play's vibe. Together, they sound all the play's high and low notes and keep A Guy Adrift... confidently on course.

Also blogged by: [Aaron]

WildBard: Twelfe Night

After seeing this rowdy and energetic production of Twelfe Night, the question I have is: are modern audiences ready for truly classic Shakespeare? We see heavily studied and processed performances, the result of careful studies of the text and based on years of experience and formal training. What WildBard does is to go back to the way Shakespeare's troupe was forced to act: ten different shows a week. According to WildBard, there wasn't enough time to learn lines, so they relied on miniature cue-cards and a stage prompter to get through the show. Of course, in Shakespeare's time, the language didn't need study -- as performed today, WildBard brings us full-body Shakespeare, played like an Olympic sport and filled with abrupt interpretations and unique line readings, fresh every night (just like the rotating cast).

[Read on]

Il Trittico

photo: Ken Howard

Jack O'Brien, one of theatre's most versatile directors, was an inspired choice to helm the Met Opera's new production of Il Trittico, Puccini's disparate trio of one-act operas. Each of the three requires a different skillset - the first is a lurid melodrama of sexual jealousy, the next is a somber spirituality-based tale of a cloistered nun, the third is a farcical comedy in which a disinherited family fights at their relative's deathbed - and O'Brien delivers each with exceptional clarity and theatrical know-how. Except for re-setting all three in the 1950's, he doesn't do anything high-concept to unduly unify them: he simply realizes each opera fully, distinctly. Il Tabarro burns at a temperature that is just right for passionate, fevered melodrama. Gianni Schicchi is appropriately colorful and comic, with a sometimes dizzying amount of stage action and business. However, the production's crowning achievement is the nun's story Suor Angelica, which O'Brien builds slowly and carefully to a visually stunning, transcendent climax. Operagoers are hereby warned: this is going to be one of the toughest tickets of the season.

Alcestis

I held off on posting anything about this Friday evening performance of Alcestis until almost a week after watching it because I couldn't find much to say about it positively. I'm hoping the Chorus has since pulled together their synchronization and that the entire cast has solidified their grasp of the text: this is a fine translation by Ted Hughes, even if the play's second half derails into a subplot about Heracles (and then into a subplot about Prometheus). Sandwiched between serious Greek drama, the Heracles segment is pure comedy, and David D'Agostini, when he isn't overplaying the role, conveys an earnest authenticity to it. Unfortunately, J. Scott Reynolds, directs the play without an ounce of subtlety -- Kevin Lapin's Vulture chews the scenery more than Prometheus's liver -- and D'Agostini's set, a pallid display of gauzy curtains, really is just a flimsy background, and doesn't help to convey the complexity of the show at all.

Reynolds also seems unwilling to commit fully to any one decision: Alcestis is a drama queen in this performance (matched only by Admetos, who acts like a real queen), but that's at odds with how she returns at the end of the play, all smiles and roses. Using the chorus to make ambient sounds is a nice flourish, and could be very creepy in the long stretches of weepy monologues, but half-assed, it's just a distracting and awkward sound effect. As for the blocking, there seems to be little rhyme or reason to it: the chorus is constantly reshuffled to new positions, rarely in Greek movement, almost as if they are looking for feng shui and failing. As Hughes writes, "Abuse is the echo of abuse." This production, malnourished from the start, is the echo of itself.

110 In The Shade

photo: Joan Marcus

Okay, maybe Audra McDonald isn't the absolute worst choice to star as this musical's plain Jane prairie girl heroine...but c'mon, good-looking she of the highfalutin warble is certainly *one* of the worst. Her acting in the book scenes is fine, if you don't mind that her Lizzie is a dishrag and that she lays on the wallflower pathos so thick that she seems to have wandered on stage ready to play The Heiress, but the minute she sings it's all over and we're at arm's length. John Cullum escapes unscathed - at this point he can do plain-speaking homespun wisdom in his sleep - and Bobby Steggert lands his one-liners as Jimmy. Otherwise, the production is one mistake after another, beginning with the oddly Asian feel of the set, and culminating with the uncomfortably over-sexual direction of the (usually showstopping) second act comic number "Little Red Hat." Folks who have never seen this musical before would be forgiven for thinking that the material is third-rate. It isn't, and if time travel were possible, I'd prove it with City Opera's thoroughly delightful production years ago with Karen Ziemba. You'll have to take my word for it.