Blueprint

If you've been reading this blog you probably know by now that the Summer Play Festival puts on works in development, and that the productions are not open for formal review. Fair enough, I say, since tickets are only ten bucks. However, I don't see a reason not to say that in this one, Peter Strauss is giving a rich and altogether remarkable performance that achieves its power with restraint and understatement. The play has other merits, but even if it didn't, his performance (as a professor of architecture who lets down his emotional guard with a female student who idolizes him) would still make it well worth seeing.

EAST TO EDINBURGH: The Nina Variations

I love Steven Dietz's concept of trimming Chekhov's The Seagull so that the only story is that of Konstantin Gavrilovich Treplev's love for Nina, and I like Douglas Rome's staging of the work, with a computer counting up through the 42 different scenes they've created as the ensemble (11 Ninas and 4 Treplevs) either sit facing the back wall, or glide in and out of center stage. I don't think it's fair to criticize high school students, but the performance of the piece itself is where The Nina Variations falters most. Chekhov is extremely difficult, and as a result, the show is at best a marvelous invitation to watch an ensemble doing a very specific set of scene-study exercises. However, because all the actors end up resembling each other very much, and because the scenes aren't variations so much as different scenes, there's a lack of risk in the 42 "moments" that become stifling and, to be honest, boring: it is, as Nina says, "Words alone," and the few finely accented moments (#7 delves into subtext, #40 is an freshly minted monologue by Kostya after his suicide). There's no doubt that all involved have a love for Chekhov, but they ought to listen to what they're actually saying: "Form is not the important thing . . . Soul is."

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.