Commedia Dell' Artemisia

Photo/Joseph Belschner

That rape could be funny, not tragic, who knew? The producers and writers of Stolen Chair, that's who. With swagger and grace and a man who's ribald, the show woos us and flatters us, we're never appalled. Commedia Dell' Artemisia, what a wonderful name; if only bringing back classical comedy alone brought one fame. But I'll drop the old rhymes now (they're far better than me), as I must stress the point that this show's a must see. (Besides, it's not as easy to rhyme David Bengali's name as you'd think, nor Cameron J. Oro's, Layna Fisher's, or Liza Wade White's, all of whom are well worth mentioning.)

The only sad part about Commedia Dell' Artemisia is that it's condensed to stay under an hour, which means there's no romance and no real comeuppance. The climax simply dissolves into a bawdy song with a hasty conclusion: I say, if you've got it, flaunt it, and there's no reason the Stolen Chair Theatre Company can't turn this one-act into an even bigger crowd pleaser.

[Read more]

33 To Nothing

***1/2

The Wild Project

The conundrum of this play with rock music is do you cast musicians who can act? Or actors who can play instruments? Those who are equally adept at both crafts would be ideal however in this production it seems clear that we have amazing musicians who can pretty much act (some better than others). Taking place in a rehearsal studio we follow the story of an over-the-hill rock band falling apart. During the stretches of dialogue, most of the band members politely stood and waited for their line, delivered it, and then returned to politely waiting for their next line. During the musical numbers this production was jolted alive and SOARED. I LOVED the songs and the vocals and guitar-work were KICK ASS. For that reason I am very happy I went to this production.

P.S. I've never been to The Wild Project in the East Village. Very cool, well designed space!

Also blogged by [Patrick] and [Aaron]

The Quantum Eye

Mentalism is the least impressive form of magic out there: it lacks the glitz of illusion, the energy of performance art, and the risk of escapism. If you're going to make a career out of reading people, you'd either better be infallible, unique, or extremely charismatic. Sam Eaton is, unfortunately, none of these things. He plays the mild-mannered card so much that the stage (not to mention the audience) often overshadows him. The line I heard most during his act, The Quantum Eye, was whether or not his volunteer wanted to bring reading glasses on stage. After a while, it hardly mattered that Eaton was able to act as a human lie detector; predict the times, numbers, and names people were thinking of (not really "show-stopping" secrets); or manage to get people to think they'd picked what he'd already preset before the show. Furthermore, his inability to perform "Transmission" (one out of eight acts), didn't impress me. During "Mnemonics," he seemed to be using physical cues from his volunteers' anticipation rather than the memorization technique he was distracting us with, and while that's probably exactly what he was doing, I'd be disappointed to think that I was bored into figuring it out. The subtitle to his show is "Magic Deceptions"; take the magic out of it, and it's just a series of transparent deceptions.

EAST TO EDINBURGH: Tender

Girl power, perhaps, but Tender was way too soft a play for me. Shapour Benard has crafted four interesting, different young women, but she's left them stranded in limbo, and neither her plot nor dialog give us any conflict, just a lot of consolation and solidarity. The lead character, named Soledad, is anything but solid (whereas Kellie E. McCants is too firm in the role). Her temporary job as a bartender (hence the title's double-meaning) has gone on for eight years, and while that's fine for Sam (Kelly B. Dwyer), her trust-funded punk-loving roommate, she's embarrassed by the recent success of her close friend Anna (Andrea Dionne), a kitschy, semi-conservative music critic who seems overly excited by everything. She turns to an older friend, Julie (Amber Gray), who grew distant after breaking up with Sam (after six years) in order to marry into security, and with whom she shares a dark secret. But that's where it ends: with a weakly argued showdown that doesn't dredge up the past so much as gently trip over it. Benard's energies are well intentioned, but without true conflict -- nobody in the play seems to want anything, except Soledad -- the play is stuck in a mire that can sometimes be amusing (Dwyer is a highlight), but is all too often morose.

EAST TO EDINBURGH: La Femme Est Morte

So much more than any of the other shows currently running at the "East to Edinburgh" festival, La Femme Est Morte captures what it means to be a fringe show. A lighter adaptation of the classic Greek myth of Phaedra, La Femme Est Morte balances between the bloody conclusion of Sarah Kane's Phaedra's Love and the rock band nature of Chuck Mee's First Love by gyrating through the seven levels of pop circle hell. Assembler and director Shoshona Currier has the chorus sing "Date Rape" one moment, and has Theseus quoting Patton the next; Phaedra seduces her stepson, Hippolytus, to the chorus's rendition of "My Hump," and not to be outdone, there's ample samples of the Spice Girls ("2 Become 1"), too. It's like an avant garde take on Moulin Rouge: for all the derivations, the energy and creativity manage to sell the show. The show stands out, however, because of the exceptional choreography from Isis Masoud and Marc Santa Maria (bodies crucified and spun in mid-air), and from the multifaceted performance of Joey Williamson, who plays the effeminate leader of the paparazzi chorus with such exuberance that the story itself makes perfect sense. Great fun!

Minor Gods

Summer Play Festival at Theater Row


As this is a festival production it'd be kinda douchey of me if I were to write a review of something that is (hopefully) still in development. I can proudly announce, though, that the committee did get a Hot Guy Alert out of it! Always worth the price of admission.