You Can't Take It With You

Hart-Kaufman's Pulitzer-winning Depression-era classic, in which a free-spirited family of eccentrics clashes with the conservative stuffshirt parents of their daughter's fiance, can be breezy farcical fun. Unfortunately this production (at the usually dependable T. Schreiber Studio) is paced as if flatfooted and it never gets a rhythm going. What should seem zany comes off forced, labored. The best thing about this production, although it isn't enough to redeem it, is that Jacqueline van Biene and Josh Sienkiewicz are spot-on in style and tone as the young lovers.

Don Juan in Chicago

"It's either cum or Kingdom Come," is what the tag-line for David Ives's farcical retelling of the Don Juan story should be. Here, "The Don" is a nerd who sells his soul for immortality, only to find that unless he seduces another woman every night, he'll burn in hell--and end up taking his servant Leporello (the puckish Doug Nyman) with him. Owen M. Smith knows how to direct the comedy, and when I saw it, all the technical cues were on-point, giving the jokes enough freedom to succeed at a pretty speedy pace. From the effeminate Mephistopheles (Stephen Balantzian) to the beleaguered Don (Mike Cinquino), Clockwork Theater's production is charming and efficient.


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Penetrator

****

Working Man's Clothes

"It was better before" an Iraq war deserter repeats like a mantra referring to his life prior to going to war in this dark, sick, and mean play that I was very glad I saw. Set in the living room of small apartment of a coupla 20 something slackers, the hyper realistic Penetrator follows the return of an old friend who's more than just a little fucked up over his tour of duty in the Middle East. Definitely NOT for The Pajama Game set, this production's danger was intensified by being staged in the claustrophobic 22nd floor studio space at the American Palace Theater. The actors were pretty phenomenal at creating a very realistic world with a special shout out to Michael Mason (pictured) who has the look and vibe of one of those edgy, relevant indie film celebrities who never stray too far away from the New York stage. After witnessing the scandal that was fuckplays and now the intense Penetrator, I'm picking up that Working Man's Clothes has got enormous balls. I want to suck on those balls.

Penetrator

Photo/Julie Rossman

A terrifyingly decent work by Anthony Neilson, now updated for the Iraq War, this show puts a giant knife not only to an innocent teddy bear, but to your fragile heart as well. The fact that it's graphic and disturbing is only amplified by the intimate space, and the audience reactions (they ring the stage on three sides) become as much a part of the show as the shocking story itself. However, there isn't really much revelation, and even less resolution: the plot is jumbled within the twisted mind of a deserting US soldier. The lighter first half, which focuses on the friendship of two roommates, is far more accessible, and when this old, AWOL friend of theirs shows up, all that really happens is a lengthy and somehow uniformly jagged series of scares. With more revision, the play could do a lot more to talk about morality: instead, it uses its knife-point monologues to wax about the way things used to be. Certainly not for everyone, but if you've forgotten what it was like to be disturbed at the theater, Penetrator is waiting for you.

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God's Ear

photo: Jim Baldassare

At first the use of language in Jenny Schwartz's play is exciting and bold: the people talk in nearly non-stop cliches and elliptical phrases, and sometimes repeat a sentence or an exchange with minor but meaningful variation. For the first forty five minutes or so, as we watch a married couple struggling with each other over the death of their child, it makes for thrilling theatre: the highly stylized, fractured speech is like the music of profound anguish constructed from the superficial sound bytes of everyday talk. But then other whimsical characters begin to figure into the play - a transvestite airline stewardess and The Tooth Fairy, to name two - and the expressionistic language doesn't have the same impact coming from their mouths. The play begins to seem more style than substance, and all but one of its forays into humor fall flat. (The exception is a punchy pick-up scene between the grieving father and a one-night-stand, played by Annie McNamara) Thirty minutes into this play I couldn't wait to tell all my friends about it. After the full ninety, despite a top-notch production directed with snap and smarts by Anne Kaufman, I crossed all but the freshness seekers off my To Tell list.

Also blogged by: [Aaron]

Close To You: The Carpenters

photo: Russ Turk

The idea of performance artist Justin Bond (the "female" half of Kiki and Herb) performing the Carpenters' album "Close To You" in its entirety might sound like a recipe for camp send-up. Instead, the most cutting edge thing about the evening was that it was played (mostly) as sincere, respectful, and highly personal homage. A couple of attempts to give the evening a momentary '70's variety show feel didn't change that, and when Bond got a seemingly unexpected laugh out of a lyric in "Baby It's You," he pulled back from it immediately. Backed by an impressive (but, regretably, underrehearsed) band aimed at approximating the Carpenters' distinctive sound, Bond marched through every song on the album in order, including the hit singles "We've Only Just Begun" and "Close To You," covers of The Beatles' "Help," Rod Stewart's "Reason To Believe," and the aforementioned Shirelles song, and little-known Carpenters oddities such as the album's closer "Another Song," which ends with three minutes of acid-lite jam session. It's a weird, early album that could never lay claim to being representative and typical of the brother-sister duo's music, but its variety and relative obscurity make it a lively set on stage. More urgently, it means something to Bond - the flyer that served as the evening's program includes his recollections of first hearing it at the age of seven, and being profoundly affected by Karen Carpenter's voice, both "reassuring and profoundly sad." Bond's own voice is an entirely different kind of instrument somewhere in the gin-soaked, world-weary Marianne Faithfull family, but that's what makes the evening's drama. Listening to Bond reverently reproducing each of Karen's vocal phrases without any of her prettiness, the underlying sadness is front and center. It seemed an entirely appropriate tribute.