Sherlock Holmes: The Early Years

There are plenty of cute, winking jokes in this new (NYMF) musical, which playfully debunks the Sherlock Holmes mythology. Here, Holmes' vaunted claims of his superior intellect and of his extraordinary deductive skills are a source of amusement, as nearly every other character is quicker on the uptake. He doesn't realize that he's got a more-than-friendly interest in Watson, but most everyone else is wink-nudging whenever he introduces the doctor as his "flatmate". The disappointment is that the book scenes are more enjoyable than the musical ones: although the melodies are agreeable, the songs push too hard to be funny (as in the opener, when the ensemble sings that the fog in London is a nuisance) or don't do enough to add to the story. I found a lot to like about the book but I certainly didn't warm to its ocassional anachromisms: when one character shrieked "Awesome!" at another, I drilled a hole in my notebook with my pen.

I Used To Write On Walls

****

Working Man's Clothes

While a stoned, aimless, sex-hound wanders around New York doing his best Matthew McConaughey impersonation, a cluster of encrushed ladies each with their own girlgendas struggle to hold his attention in this very funny and honest play by Bekah Brunstetter. Insecurity, obsession, depression, lust, the nature of beauty, and ageism are just a few of the issues touched upon in this edgy exploration of the modern female psyche. Beautifully acted, tightly directed and utterly devoid of gratuitous sentimentality or cliche' we have here in the basement of the Gene Frankel Theater something that is just as/if not more engaging than anything you're going to see on or off-Broadway.

Departures

Kristen Palmer's Departures is a distillation of the love story into our fragile modern world, a show about two tentative lovers who fall into each other--at first out of convenience and carnal needs--and find something there that's sweet and scary all at once. Whether or not it could last, could work, is something that Palmer doesn't try to answer: instead she shows us their first true hookup, and then cuts three months ahead to Cara's return to America, a death-knell of a date that has been "etched into the back of [Andrew's] eyelids" since they first started dating. Palmer doesn't turn to any cheap dramatic tricks: everything is already there, in quiet even tones, that focus on longing, loneliness, and irrational (or rational) fears. Kyle Ancowitz provokes action by setting the whole affair in the narrow frame of a half-pipe, with the audience along the long ends, looking down into the pit of a messy flat. Distance is the third character in this play, though Travis York and Keira Keeley already have perfect chemistry with each other, and the show works so tragically well by keeping a slow, natural pace that leaves the ending up to the audience. I strongly recommend it, though dress lightly as the theater is sweltering hot.

[Read on]

When the Messenger Is Hot

Photo/Jay Geneske

Laura Eason's adaptation suffers from multiple-personality disorder. The underlying core of Elizabeth Crane's When the Messenger is Hot makes for some fine anti-romantic comedy, but Steppenwolf needs more time in development. This collection of short stories is still disjointed and repetitious, and the eighty minutes aren't nearly as fast as the narrative patter. In truth, the play seems a little too hastily assembled, and the few moments that work are either focussed on the stronger plot of a mother seemingly returned from the dead, or on her daughter's inevitable coming to terms with her grief. These moments are adeptly handled by the foul-mouthed charmer of a mother (Molly Regan) and the rational-in-all-things-but-love daughter (Kate Arrington), but they're muddled by the constant stream of men (all similarly played by Coburn Goss) and the other Josies (Lauren Katz and Amy Warren, fine actresses who just seem out of place here). Beneath all that clutter, how can we see the messenger?

[Read on]

Kinderspiel

Photo/Aviva Meyer

You'd have to be a foolyheadgirlthing to write a play set in an absurdly fictitious (but not improbable) cabaret in the Weimar Republic (1923) and to then quote Oscar Wilde's maxim: "All art is quite useless." You'd need quite a pair of balls to brag about how the expressionist theater company, the Kinderspielers, "dare to entertain you by completely wasting your time." And you'd need to be awfully clever to make a critic one of your characters, especially if her theory is that "frivolity is serious business."

I guess that makes Kiran Rikhye a large-balled, awfully clever, foolyheadgirlthing: her latest work with Stolen Chair Theater Company, Kinderspiel (child's play) is a double-bill that is avant-garde Cabaret ("infantile improvisation" meets lesbians and garters) when it comes to presentation, and starkly satirical when the plot is narrated to us "children." The play not only stands as a testament to the insane depression of the Weimar era, but illustrates the similarity between genius and insanity, and the odd power of art to transform one's perception of reality. Furthermore, by adding a journalist, Rikhye is also able to make an point about the danger of an explanation, with her mind clearly in favor of spontaneity and personal experience. (Do we demean things by giving them meanings?)

[Read on]

The Beastly Bombing

photo: Kim Gottlieb-Walker

A Gilbert & Sullivan-soundalike topsy-turvy set during the current War On Terror and peopled with Nazi skinheads, al Queda terrorists, a war-happy President, a limp-wristed Jesus, and so on, The Beastly Bombing combines the nose-thumbing, shock for shock's sake spirit of punk rock with the sounds of sophisticated light operetta. While the sounds are sensational (Roger Neill's pastiche score is a delight from start to finish; I especially loved The President's "Major General"-like patter song: knowing little, caring less, that's the secret of this leader's success) and the musical numbers are enlivened by smart staging and terrificly funny choreorgraphy, the show's perverse politically incorrect pleasures wear thin quickly when it's clear that they're all the show has to offer. By the second act, when we are desperate for something more unifying in the material than its surly attitude and its conceit, the show instead goes even more madcap. The Beastly Bombing is a brat that hasn't grown up into a real smart-ass.