True Genius

I don't mind that David Holstein's True Genius isn't a Mensa-level play, but I wish it were truer. There are some acting issues that suspend our belief of the imaginary people Scooter is dreaming up, but the plot is more disconnected than the actors. Holstein's problem may be easier to solve, however, than Jill Sierchio's challenge with her cast: his writing is already funny, and two of his characters leap off the page (Dr. Foyer, the alternative therapist, and Lila, the fantastic fabulist). But the play is stretched between father issues, psychotic breaks, absent mothers, shy first loves, and some question about who the true genius is, which seems included only as a nod to the title. There are great moments (most involving shaving cream), but they are brief spurts of energy in an otherwise dulling play.

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Enter Laughing

This Musicals in Mufti version of the Broadway flop So Long 174th Street (retitled here for its straight play source material) turned out to be one of the happiest surprises I've had at the theatre in months. The simplicity of this on-book, one-piano "staged concert" production showed the material to advantage and was a pleasure from start to finish: I'm led to wonder if the show tanked on Broadway because of some deficiencies with that production, because there's nothing out of working order here with the book or the score. The Depression-era story follows an endearing daydreamer whose fantasies of stardom lead him to audition for a small part in a play; once he gets the job his problem is amusingly obvious: he hasn't a lick of talent. On his way to a hilariously inept performance on opening night, he gets goo-goo eyed over the glamour of acting (trying the patience of his parents, who want him to become a druggist) and over the glamourous leading lady (trying the patience of his girlfriend, who loves him whether he's a somebody or not). The role requires someone with an extraordinary amount of charisma, and luckily Josh Grisetti has it to spare. There isn't a weak link anywhere in the ensemble: Emily Shoolin is engaging and nails a nifty number called "Men", Kaitlin Hopkins is delicious as the stage actress, George S. Irving turns a fantasy number in the second act into the show's highlight, Robb Sapp makes some fun choices as our hero's confidante and best friend. In addition to all that, L.A. Law's Jill Eikenberry and Michael Tucker slip right into the goings-on with class and ease. I'm not a frequent Musicals In Mufti-goer, but this is easily the most entertaining one I've seen yet.

American Sligo

****1/2

Rattlestick
photo: Sandra Coudert


With each new play, the young, prolific Adam Rapp continues to hone in on his caustic, cruelly funny, original voice as a playwright. His latest sick, mean comedy spends an evening with the Sligos, a violently dysfunctional American clan all sucking off the teat of the pro-wrestling father nicknamed "Crazy Train". This meditation on insult and aggression, two traits closely identified with American character as of late, speaks volumes on the ugly underbelly of the modern American fractured family. Many of Rapp's pet actors are back again and in top form with Paul Sparks expertly playing one of the most diabolical villains I have seen all year. Mary Louise Burke is priceless as the only polite one of the bunch hellbent on maintaining the smallest shred of decorum. Oh look! They have a Youtube clip! How post-millennium! I cannot wait to see Rapp's latest, Bingo With The Indians, at the Flea later this month.

medEia

By resetting the classic tragedy of Medea in the mode of pop lyrics, modern images, and simple English, Dood Paard (Dead Horse) is trying for the universal. Instead, they're just hitting the accessible, in an at first languorous, later vibrant way. They're removed all sense of the physical from their work--they speak out to the audience with their backs to a figurative wall--and that winds up giving medEia a ghostly quality, appropriately endowed to the chorus they speak as. But I wish the ephemeral slide-show that accompanied this work was more grounded in the words, because it all too often feels like dead air. While the cold and unflinching opening eventually gives way to sad and wistful mourning, and then to a revenge choked with rage, the simple mechanics of the performance keep the work at bay, even as the cast draws ever nearer to the audience.

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Workshop: The Debate Society's The Untitled Auto Play

I loved my first introduction to The Debate Society with their The Eaten Heart, enough to check out their year-plus development process for their new work, The Untitled Auto Play. Presented by the Prelude festival (a chance to see what's coming in '08), I can only say that I wish that there were enough grants to enable more groups to make such bold and rewarding investments in time. Then again, even three weeks in, these short little vignettes are still highly refreshing, with some creepy use of darkness and branches to evoke the crackling woods. Perhaps we'll be so lucky as to see a spotlight on TDS when the Signature moves to its new space in 2011: their use of Americana calls out for more attention, as does their playfulness.

NYMF Weekend Jaunt

New York Musical Theater Festival

The three festival pieces I caught this weekend all fell into the same category of well-cast, earnest productions of young, imperfect but worthwhile chamber musicals. Love Kills has excellent subject matter full of high stakes as it's based on a boyfriend/girlfriend murdering spree in the late 50's. With all the references to 50's movies/icons and the pre-feminist nature of the piece, I found myself yearning not for the emo punk score offered and but for the old school, Presley-fried rock n' roll inherent to the time. Deirdre O'Connell, as a sheriff's wife attempting to ease a confession out of the girlfriend, with her beautifully untrained singing voice was the soul of this dark, little musical. The Boy In The Bathroom with its sweet, yearning melodies was definitely my favorite score of the festival entries I have caught so far. Unable to bring himself to face the world, the boy has locked himself in his bathroom and relies upon his mother and a hired care-giver for toilet paper and emotional support. Though I felt like one of the characters was ultimately villainized a little more than they should have been, the story had an honesty and wistfulness that wove in beautifully with its score. And Michael Zahler, as the bathroomed boy is probably the most charming person with OCD that I have ever come across. The Family Fiorelli, with it's perky, upbeat slightly kooky score, dysfunctional upper-middle class family politics, and decidedly modern sensibility, reminded me of Falsettos. Taking place on the family's Long Island vineyard, this musical followed the roller coaster ups and downs of the outwardly happy but inwardly troubled wine making Fiorellis. And though the stakes weren't as high as in Love Kills, and the score not as memorable as The Boy In The Bathroom this musical was ultimately charming and like the other two, with a little work, should be hopeful of a life beyond the festival.