The Marriage Of Bette And Boo

photo: Joan Marcus

Christopher Durang's brilliant, semi-absurd tragicomedy is at least in part a slam against the pre-feminist establishment: it's of the by-gone era when the best middle class homes included a well-stocked bar, the women stayed home to make babies and dinner, and the kids were against the Vietnam War. The production at the Roundabout doesn't really commit to that era, as if doing so would date the material, but the material ages much more visibly when not grounded it in that specific time in American history. The cast is wildly uneven - there are John Glover, Julie Hagerty and Victoria Clark among those who are ably playing something beneath the veneer of comic absurdity, and then there is everyone else just playing.

Neal Medlyn's Unpronounceable Symbol

Photo/Steven Schreiber

One thing's for sure about the Neal Medlyn: dude's got balls. Don't take my word for it: just wait until he's dancing in his underwear on a table that's writhing with dildos and you'll see them. I'm unconvinced that gyrating half-naked while screaming falsetto lyrics makes for good theater, but at least with his Prince spoof, Unpronounceable Symbol, Medlyn's taking on someone who has soul and androgyny to spare. Then again, if you're not a member of the Nerve-loving, gender-curious "experimental" youth demographic and can't identify a downtown "luminary" like Murray Hill, then you've probably got no business at this undefinable show.

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Crave/Somewhere in the Pacific

Photo/Stan Barouh

Sarah Kane's ravenous writing in Crave is a swell match for Potomac Theater Project's other show, Howard Barker's tersely plotted Scenes from an Execution, but it's done a huge injustice by being placed on a double-bill with Neal Bell's dreadful Somewhere in the Pacific.

[Reviewed for Time Out New York]

Scenes from an Execution

Photo/Stan Barouh

Under all his imagery and poetic devices, at heart, Howard Barker is a lot like Galactia, the realist center of Scenes from an Execution. This painter's calculating logic is matched by the playwright's argumentative tone: just as her paintings are said to sweat, so has it been necessary for companies to wrestle with his plays. It's a pleasure to see Potomac Theatre Project, under Richard Romagnoli's direction, bring such demanding art to life. It's also thrilling to see Jan Maxwell as the harried martyr, David Barlow as a comic actor with depth, and Alex Draper as a charismatic villain: for those who are afraid of Barker's work, this is the best chance you'll have to look, rather than to just see.

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Stitching

Last time I saw an Anthony Neilson play, my knuckles went white. But his latest, Stitching, is as "in-yer-face" as a G-rated horror film. Not that the content's childish: this two-hander deals with soft-core sadism in the wake of a psyche-shattering moment. But the cast is too cute and cuddly to be much of a menace, the slow-paced direction gives us far too much time to get off the hook, and the scenes distractingly jump about in time. Both playwright and director work better with active material, and this constant sense of adagio hurts them, and constantly cuts off the actors, who turn to therapeutic devices and role-play rather than actually confronting their emotions. Even the one scene where Stu (Gian Murray Gianino) snaps at his girlfriend, Abby (Meital Dohan) pulls back, as if fight director Maggie Macdonald is using a safeword from the get-go. It's a little like watching an experiment on NOVA, with each step carefully planned out. But even here, Stitching fails, for it demonstrates nothing.

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Washing Machine

Photo/Michelle Enfield

The show is still just as aesthetically stunning as when I covered the premiere in 2007, but it didn't carry the same punch as last time. It's still a pretty nifty production, though, and I guess one should expect a washing machine to be somewhat mixed.

[Reviewed for Time Out New York]