The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner

Interpretive movement, live musical underscoring, short collaged dramatic scenes: this hourlong Fringe Festival piece, inspired by the same-named poem by Randall Jarrell, gets points for theatricality and ambition. Unfortunately, the execution isn't up to the job of unifying all the theatrical business. The show's conceit is that the action moves freely between past and present and between real and imagined as the central character, a sensitive but idealistic WW II solider, comes emotionally undone on a mission. It would be a workable idea if we were made to feel that we were inside his head, but the piece isn't rigorous in its point of view.

Fela

Photo/Monique Carboni

I'm always skeptical of a show that has to cajole the audience into participating, rather than simply trusting them to follow the undeniable afrobeats that Antibalas has laid down to Fela's music. So while I'd love to simply shout "yah, yah"--especially now that I've seen Sahr Ngaujah's tremendous performance--I simply can't: the show panders to culturally inept audiences with the hint of something exotic, and then grotesques Bill T. Jones's well-choreographed dancing into a flailing, desperate Broadway-bound monster. "Expensive Shit" is too good of a song/anecdote to let me so neatly put down some of the better intentions of Fela!, but the show often pushes too much, stretching the chronological sequence for drama, adding mystical elements for grandeur, and relying too much on the same shit, song after song, particularly in the second act, when the climactic, must-hear songs like "Zombie" have long gone, taking any sense of political turmoil or musical revolution with them, leaving only the hint of freshness behind.

The Fabulous Kane Sisters in Box Office Poison

Word is most definitely out about this deliciously fun campfest, currently selling out its dates at the Fringe Festival (and assumedly destined to return in September as part of the Fringe Encores series) so you’ve probably already heard what a hoot it is. It’s the kind of crowd-pleasing drag comedy that used to be dependably found on stages in the Village thirty years ago: silly, snappy, a little dirty in the pre-code Barbara Stanwyck way and thoroughly entertaining. Co-authors Marc Geller and Bill Roulet are decked out in dresses and wigs as the identical twin Kane sisters: the show’s best running joke is that they look nothing alike and yet the other characters have a tough time telling them apart. The Kanes (Lana and Nova, ba dum ching) have been booked into a vaudeville house where someone has been offing the performers; when they learn that they might be killer-bait Lana protests ‘I want to die in my sleep like my father, not screaming like the passengers in his car!” This kind of zinger-filled camp is not easy to do well, but Geller has directed with precision and has virtually everyone in the cleverly-costumed ensemble (of 14, including himself) playing it exactly as it should be.

The Deciders

Photo/Israel, N.E. Photo & Design

With all the backhanded insults directed at the current administration, it's ironic that The Deciders, a satirical rock musical of Bush's plan to reinstate Saddam so as to stabilize Iraq and secure his legacy as a peacemaker, most deserves a backhanded compliment: this is pretty good for the Fringe. However, while Cindy Sheehan (Amber Carson) and Condi (Carla Euphrates Kelly) have terrific voices and Dubya (Erik Hogan) has the self-deprecating swagger down, the plot comes across more as a parody of an already existing parody, and, as if the winks to the audience about the "Fringe benefits" weren't bad enough, bogs down the actual message with a sub-story that features Saddam's desire to mount a musical called "Saddamn." The actual plot is tragic and familiar enough, and if Mitch Kess focuses more on songs like "Safer, Stronger" (in which Cheney feeds lines to a deceived and teary Condi) or the protest anthem "Free" and less on building Saddam up as a misunderstood Elvis ("Blues of Babylon"), this show could have some serious legs. (Getting better, less electronic instruments would help the music from being so lounge-y.) Note to the government, in re: The Deciders: there's your innovation. On a scale from 1 to 5, with 1 being "Worse than the last eight years of Bush," and 5 being "Yes, we most certainly can," The Deciders gets a 2.5.

Pieces On The Board

Although the frequent scene changes are handled unsatisfactorily with silent, pace-killing blackouts, and a couple of the scenes go on too long, I was amused and absorbed by this this slice of cold-hearted pulp fiction (by Tim O'Leary) which kept me guessing about each new plot twist. The trust no one, assassin vs assassin plot isn't new, but O'Leary adds a few fresh kinks and has a lot of fun with the play's structure, making some fresh suspense. (There's also a lot of fight choreography; even beyond Fringe standards, a good deal of it is impressive.) Those in the ensemble who strongly register (Will Poston, Victoria Levin and Michael de Nola among them) give heightened, stylized performances that befit the play's graphic novel feel.

FIVE FRINGE SHOW WEEKEND

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