Things of Dry Hours

Photo: Joan Marcus

The plot of Naomi Wallace's Things of Dry Hours does not stand up to examination--actually, the word "flimsy" comes to mind. The characters are odd amalgams of traits, inconsistencies, and political stances. But the plot and characters are sturdy enough to support Wallace's beautiful language and thought-provoking ideas, Ruben Santiago-Hudson's pleasingly theatrical direction, and a couple of superb performances. In brief: a white man with dubious motives forces an African-American father (the superb Delroy Lindo) and daughter (the equally superb Roslyn Ruff) to take him in after he (maybe) commits a serious crime. The father is a Communist and uses the forced proximity to the white man to try to win him over to the cause. The daughter is smart and angry and at loose ends. The white man is lonely. Stir in some magic realism, racial tensions, a few not-terribly-convincing plot points, and genuine emotion, and you have a deeply flawed but excellent evening in the theatre.

Twelfth Night

Though only a week into previews, Daniel Sullivan's fun, fluid and refreshingly traditional production of Twelfth Night, or What You Will stands as one of New York Shakespeare Festival's most satisfying productions of the past decade. It may come as a surprise to some that Anne Hathaway, playing the lovelorn lady-in-disguise Viola, has stage presence to spare, but she makes one of the most assured Shakespearean debuts I've ever seen. It will come as no surprise that Audra McDonald is an ideal Olivia--her aloofness opening up into positive glee upon meeting Viola, dressed as the page Cesario--or that Raul Esparza registers deeply in the usually one-note role of Duke Orsino. The heart and soul of the production, however, are the brilliant comedians: Julie White's lacerating Maria; Jay O. Sanders' uproarious Toby Belch; David Pittu's hilarious (and remarkably sung) Feste the Fool; and, in what may be the comic performance of the season, Hamish Linklater as the blithering, clueless Sir Andrew Aguecheek. A word to the wise: if you want tickets, I'd start queueing at the crack of dawn. This is going to be a huge hit.

The Wiz

photo: Robert J. Saferstein

The tornado-sized vacuum at the center of this Wiz is pop star Ashanti, a pretty, pleasing-toned singer who has been pitilessly stunt-cast as Dorothy. From her first scene you slump in your seat and settle in for a long evening - she doesn't have the training to even make calling after Toto believable. It isn't that the role absolutely requires a skilled actress - undertrained teens have done all right by it with little more than thoughtful pretending in the past - but it does need energy and heart, and Ashanti hasn't been urged in that wide-eyed direction. (An understatement; after The Wiz rewards Lion, Scarecrow and Tin Man but comes up empty for Dororthy, Ashanti has been directed to plead "What about me?" with the outraged indignation of an entitled teen rather than with the fragile anxiety of a child.) With a void where its heart should be the musical, one slice after another of 70's black-tastic retro, can't amount to more than concert and dance pageant. As such it has two enormous virtues in its favor - the strength of the City Center Encores orchestra, and Andy Blackenbuehler's electrifying, often thrillingly inventive choreography. To my mind, Blackenbuehler is one of the most interesting and exciting of the newer choreographers and a lot of his work here wows. Not all, however - the production, with a playing area cramped by the on-stage orchestra and a not especially useful unit set, relies almost entirely on Blackenbuehler for its spectacle and "less is more" comes to mind. I assume that Blackenbuehler is responsible for having the performers repeatedly "Ease On Down The Road" mostly up and down the stage rather than across, a very curious choice that halts any illusion of an ongoing journey.

Stunning

Reviewed for Theatermania.

Musicals in Mufti

With the spring 2009 edition, the York Theatre's Musicals in Mufti series continues to delight and amaze. The Muftis are five-performance staged readings of forgotten and/or neglected musicals. In the tiny York Theatre, with no scenery, minimal costumes, one piano (occasionally two), wonderful unmiked voices (occasional exceptions), and superb casts somewhere between on-book and off-book, the Muftis are intimate adventures in raw talent. Past highlights include 70 Girls, 70 (with Jane Powell, Helen Gallagher, Mimi Hines, George S. Irving, and Charlotte Rae!), Cyrano, Enter Laughing, Lucky Stiff, and my particular favorite, Carmen Jones. This season started with The Grand Tour, Jerry Herman's stab at a serious musical, in which life-threatening events are bizarrely alternated with the usual, generic, cheery Jerry Herman songs. Jason Graae's wonderful performance made it well worth seeing, and hearing James Barbour sing unmiked in a small theatre was a treat. The second show, High Spirits, was a total delight, with Howard McGillan, Veanne Cox, Carol Kane, Kristen Wyatt, and, in particular, Janine LaManna as good a cast as one could ask for. Coming up is Knickerbocker Holiday.

Someone In Florida Loves Me

photo: Sue Kessler

A short-notice reunion between two somewhat estranged friends - Annie (Lisa Louttit), living in depressing squalor in a Brooklyn boarding house, and Nicole (Ana Perea), a chatty flight attendant on a layover - brings tensions slowly to the surface in this low-key but mostly credible play by Jane Pickett. Although the playwright (who also directs) means for Annie to be shut down - she even has Nicole sprawl "Annie-body home?" on the bathroom mirror - the character is a bit too blank on the page, and an essential, late-in-the-play interaction with an unnamed third character (played by T.M. Bergman) isn't convincingly written. But the bulk of the play, in which the two women slowly recognize their distance from one another, is involving and sometimes affecting. Ana Perea is attention-getting as the fully fleshed-out Nicole, and especially scores with her tightly written exit monologue.