Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Photo/Neil Hanna

Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea, in addition to being the premiere play of new multimedia theater group 1927, is also an idiomatic expression for being given a choice between two dangerous alternatives. I'm sad to report that this production, which has won several awards in UK festivals, is actually a remarkably tame and crude combination of real people and animated backgrounds -- writer/director/performer Suzanne Andrade speaks truly when she announces that what we'll see are "ten strange stories and terrible tales." But saying so doesn't really excuse such scrapheap stories, stories only occasionally salvaged by their unique presentation as faux 1920 video projections: multimedia done classically. Their result is what I imagine rerecording an mp4 onto an eight-track might sound like.

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Etiquette

You know how Heddatron tried to make Ibsen larger than life? Well, Rotozaza's extremely intimate new piece, Etiquette, places the world of Ibsen solely on your shoulders -- specifically in the palm of your hand and on the stage of your dinner table, as that's where you (yes, you) will be performing their play, if you buy a ticket for you, A, and a friend, B (the $20 tickets only come in pairs). To a degree, this is a gimmick: to a larger extent, it's an immersing experience which you take part in by simply putting on headphones and following the instructions (without fear of right or wrong). Now how's that for theater conversation?

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Come Back Little Sheba

photo: Joan Marcus

Although it takes some time to adjust to, it isn't the color-blind casting of S. Epatha Merkerson that trips up this in many ways otherwise sturdy Broadway revival of William Inge's classic. It's that there is no chemistry between her and Kevin Anderson: we don't believe that these two have been sufferrng through a co-dependent marriage for decades. Additionally her physicality is something of a hindrance: when we're told that husband was in the habit of hitting wife during his alcoholic binges, we have to work to suspend our disbelief. She looks like she could haul off and knock him to the floor with one arm behind her back. These things considered, it's remarkable that Merkerson is able to sound as many notes of quiet desperation as she does in a performance that nearly overcomes her miscasting. It helps that Inge's play has gained something as it has aged: it's now a period piece, rendering a time before the popularization of feminism when the suburbs were full of married women who were expected to raise children and keep busy keeping house. It's no longer only this woman's childlessness and her husband's alcoholism which can be plainly seen as isolating forces: we're now keenly aware of the options that society did not allow for women in 1950. Excepting that the play's central relationship does not ring true. and that the final moments are curiously devoid of their intended emotional impact, the production is handsome and efficiently staged, also offering excellent supporting performances from the ensemble including Zoe Kazan, Brenda Wehle and Brian J. Smith.

Crimes Of The Heart

Roundabout


First Preview Alert! As this revival of the Pulitzer Prize-winning play is still finding itself (and I think it will find itself within the week), I'll only offer up a few observations.

1. My Lily Rabe is MIA. Dammit. (Though understudy Jessica Cummings was charming.)
2. If you sit house left, you can intermittently hear dialogue from another play being performed- possibly from a rehearsal hall or from Speech And Debate playing in Roundabout's smaller space. Oops.
3. I can't stop looking at the way Chandler Williams is filling out his pants. Yum.

xodb

Almost An Evening

One of the toughest tickets in town right now is this trio of short one-act mindfucks by Ethan Coen. The middle one is a dud, save for a fun visual joke near the top, but the opener - about a guy whose afterlife in Purgatory gets screwed up seemingly by red tape and human error - is terrific. It plays like a black comedy version of an old Twilight Zone episode. Even better is the show's final one-act, which kicks off with God (played with gusto by F. Murray Abraham) berating the audience: "They're called the Ten Commandments you assholes not the Ten Suggestions!". Coen has written these plays so that each scene peels back a layer to reveal what's really going on - in other words, the less you know going in the better because the fun is in Coen's gradual reveal. While ultimately slight, the show is thorny, playful fun and, except that the scene changes are too long and threaten to break the momentum, the production is smart and precise. The show's entire run sold out in advance of performnces, but it's worth braving the stand-by line.

The 39 Steps

Photo/Joan Marcus

Everything that was impressive about Gutenberg! The Musical! and The Eaten Heart is lost on the gigantic set of the American Airlines Theater (Famous last words: "It was supposed to be a cast of four! A cast of four!"): Maria Aitken's clever direction often just gets swallowed up, as does this trite farce, which runs out of steam at about the same time that Richard Hannay (Charles Edwards) gets fed up with his co-stars (Cliff Saunders and Arnie Burton): "That's enough," he says at last, confronted with yet another "inanimate object" blocking his midnight escape. Saunders, who has already juggled roughly thirty characters (like lovable Mr. Memory) obliges, scurrying offstage to change for his next role -- that of a terse innkeeper -- while Hannay and fellow handcuffee, Pamela (Jennifer Ferrin) walk around in circles wide enough to set up the next scene. It screams gimmick, and while the first half of the play is loud enough to be wholly entertaining (especially if you recognize key props from the Hitchcock film or listen for the constant puns: "No! Don't go out that way! Use the Rear Window!), the entire package is too big and sleek for its own good. That said, the ensemble ought to get a gold star for being such good sports: it takes a very special sort of skill to be that believably silly.

[Also blogged by: Patrick]