The Overwhelming

Photo/Joan Marcus

J. T. Rogers hasn't just written an excellent dramatic and political play about the swift, mass genocide in Rwanda, 1994, he's managed to match the calm-of-the-storm tone up to what he describe as Rwanda's "vertiginous dichotomy." By purposefully double casting Boris McGiver and Owiso Odera in opposing roles, the similarities between Hutu and Tutsi are even more emphatic, and the politics are even more facile. (McGiver plays a snooty French diplomat and a snubbed South African NGO worker, Odera represents both the impassive Rwandan police and the helpless UN major there to "maintain order"). Other actors are simply strong at coloring their parts: James Rebhorn is an excellent embassy official, as convincingly aloof and pension-oriented as he is genuinely disconcerted and frustrated later on, and Charles Parnell makes for an awfully charismatic government spokesperson . . . until his specific politics are made quite clear. Beyond the politics, there's also equal care and thought given to the personalities of the American family caught in the middle of this all, and their plight is what transforms the show from mouthpiece to actual drama. All these layers might sound confusing, but Rogers has an elegant, naturally ebullient way of telling the story, as easily eliding from one scene to the next as he switches from language to language. It's a subtle and smooth immersion, and unlike Hotel Rwanda, it does the whole thing without establishing any heroes. The only spot that troubled me was Max Stafford-Clark's direction, which seemed to keep overemphasizing scenes and themes (is a pile of skulls really necessary?) that had already been more efficiently thrust into the periphery.

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Hoodoo Love

photo: Jaisen Crockett

We're in the dirt-poor backwaters of Memphis in the 1930's for this vibrantly written, instantly absorbing tale of a desperate young woman who casts a spell on her lover to keep him from straying. Whether or not more good than bad comes from that is ultimately up to us to decide. The four character play, written by a sensationally talented 26 year old playwright named Katori Hall, has a lively narrative and colorful, crisp (and often coarse) dialogue that practically sings when it's spoken: when each of the lovers actually sings the blues (their original songs are also by the playwright) it feels like the natural progression of what we've been hearing. As a slice-of-life drama, the play is superbly detailed and convincing: I got immediately caught up in the world of superstitions and beliefs that it depicts and (also thanks to a flawless cast) in each of the characters. I have to admit that I found the play's too-tidy epilogue dissatisfying, but that is the only complaint I can come up with for what is otherwise a transporting and highly engaging play. Recommended.

Philoktetes

Photo/Paula Court

I loawethed Philoktetes, which is to say that John Jesurun's production, premiering at Soho Rep 14 years after it was written, sent me into a simultaneous spasm of awe and loathing. Awe because Jesurun simply writes engaging poetry: seething rants of verse-cum-curse that come in waves of a playful prosody that sustains long thoughts in short sentences bedazzled by common patois and modern jargon ("His head hit a bullet. Habeus corpus, a talking corpse.") Loathing because Jesurun's fanciful production seems as lost at sea as the roundabout, nothing-for-granted script: his twin screens project images above the center of the stage and on the floor itself, but this eerie superimposition of natural disasters (cyclones, thunderstorms) or calm visual "white noise" (rain-flecked water) doesn't connect with the rambling text. The quiet restraint that the actors achieve, flawlessly expressing such troubled thoughts even while tied to carefully choreographed movements (or stillnesses) on a flickering set, is a credit to them, particularly Louis Cancelmi (as Philoktetes). But the ultimate dissonance of each scene begs for this show to be explored at one's own leisure, not subjected to in this dizzying experience.

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Moving Shortly

A workshop production from a young company called Common Thread (which includes a couple of friends), this one-act takes place in real time on a stalled subway car. This is the group's inaugaral production, not open for review, but I am going to say that I'm looking forward to their next: a bold revision of Hansel And Gretel which should be up in the Spring of next year.

Wake Up!

***

Lafayette Street Theater

Appearing more like a professor giving a lecture with her glasses, an elegant black dress and a smart, shiny jacket (she begun "class" by thanking a number of her students in the audience), the notoriously edgy Karen Finley presented two new works: "The Dreams Of Laura Bush" and "The Passion Of Terri Schaivo". Being a Finley virgin but at least culturally aware enough to have her on my radar, I was quite thrilled and just a little anxious to finally catch her live as she had been described to me by a friend as a "brilliant loose cannon". No naked ketchup smearing or anything like that here, however, this decidedly refined hunk of performance art still had a dangerous edge to it. In the chatty "...Laura Bush" where she played the first lady talking about her many dreams; some were frankly sexual (yay!) and others extremely politically controversial (fun!). Her stream of consciousness "Terri Schaivo" piece often got her so distraught that she began crying as she compared the comatose bulimic to Mother Theresa AND a terrorist. Both pieces at times were equal parts distressing, confusing, and interesting, and every once in a while she would make a very huge point where I was like- WOW, that's where she was going with this. During the performance she was very connected to her audience adopting a very conversational tone, at one point interviewing them on the volume of her voice, at another wandering through the audience hunting for a blinking light that was "bugging" her. I was wearing my Halliburton gas station shirt, a kitschy favorite that I'd found in a second hand store in years ago in Texas. Quite honestly, I was afraid that she would notice it and have words with me over it to the point that I was actually covering up the patches with my hands whenever she got too close to me. Next time, and there will be one, I think I'll just stick to basic black.

Yank!

photo: Jennifer Maufrais Kelly

I fell in love with the musical Yank! at NYMF two years ago and ever since it's been high on my Deserves Another Production wishlist. Now it's back (at Gallery Players) with some judicious changes in a production that is even more effective and moving than the one I saw in 2005. The story, of the gay romance between two enlisted men during WW2, could not have been told in popular culture at the time it is set, and a good deal of the show's poignancy and power comes from telling it now in the style of old-fashioned music theatre. (There's even a second-act dream ballet, improved in this production and expressively danced by Jonathan Day). The score (by David and Joseph Zellnik) is dazzling: it has the feeling of the music of the era but it never sounds second-hand. (I especially loved the barbershop quartet-style harmonies for the men in the barracks, and the song that is essentially Yank!'s love theme, "Remembering You", has the kind of haunting melody that you can't get out of your head for days.) The show's book is also accomplished and impressive: it convincingly renders the dynamics between the lovers while also depicting the pervasiveness of homophobia and honoring the gravity of war that is the story's backdrop. This production, resourcefully and fluidly directed by Igor Goldin (who also directed the NYMF incarnation), also boasts excellent leading players: Bobby Steggert (a scene-stealer in the Roundabout's recent revival of 110 In The Shade) is a knockout, anchoring the show with an emotionally forceful performance, Maxime de Toledo brings just the right balance of swoonworthy charm and aloofness to his portrayal, Jeffry Denman (not only reprising his role from the NYMF production but also doing a bang-up job with the choreographic duties here) and Nancy Anderson (as every female in the show, and doing some dead-on superb vocalizing as the gals who are heard singing on the radio) are perfection.