This

Photo: Aaron Epstein

Jane's husband Roy died a year ago, and she has been living life at a distance, just getting by. Alan drinks too much and feels lonely and lost. Tom and Marrell's marriage is in even worse shape than they fear. Marrell wants to introduce Jane to a sexy French physician despite Jane's declared lack of interest. From this basic, even somewhat familiar, set up, Melissa James Gibson has wrought a delicate, moving, and funny exploration of loss, memory, adultery, self-pity, and all the different forms of love. The structure of This is elegant, with ideas, pieces of information, and small moments tying together in unexpected and compelling ways. Gibson also allows the play--and the characters--to breathe with moments that just are, such as a remarkably fascinating phone call carried out entirely in French. Subtly directed by Daniel Audin and superbly acted by Louis Cancelmi, Elsa David, Glenn Fitzgerald, Julianne Nicholson, and Darren Pettie, This beautifully presents the quiet moments and everyday interactions that add up to life.

A Streetcar Named Desire

I found the much-lauded production of Tennessee Williams's A Streetcar Named Desire starring Cate Blanchett and directed by Liv Ullman to be a major disappointment. Blanchett's Blanche is full of sound and fury, signifying little. Ullman's heavy-handed direction pairs skin-deep overwrought performances with arbitrary images, as when Blanche moves from the floor to the bed for no reason other than to allow the light from a passing train to illuminate her alabaster skin and long neck, then returns to the floor for no reason at all. Joel Edgerton as Stanley has a nice chest, but he looks like Conan O'Brien, which is fine for a talkshow host but not for a Stanley. His voice is wrong for the part, his performance is one note, and his eyes fail to participate in his acting. The set is too dingy, ugly, and bare; Stanley and Stella aren't rich, and they don't care much about appearances, but they'd own a bit of furniture. The all-important curtain between the two rooms isn't large enough, leading to awkward staging. Many moments are played for laughs that shouldn't be played for laughs. Even the poster (see above) seems wrong. [spoilers in the next paragraph]

Because this Streetcar is overdirected and overacted from the beginning, there is no place to go for the final scenes except way way too far. By Blanche and Stanley's big showdown, Blanche is so drunk and damaged that the rape loses any sense of revenge, reclaiming turf, and showing who's boss and is just plain icky. It also loses its sense of being the tipping point, the place from which Blanche cannot return--in this version, Blanche has passed that point long ago. And when the people from the asylum come to take Blanche away, she leaves the house in her slip, without shoes. I do not believe that Blanche would do that, nor do I believe that Stella would let her. At the very end, Blanche walks away from the "kind stranger" and wanders across the stage until she reaches her mark for another moment of illumination of her alabaster skin and long neck. And then the show is over, eliminating the resumption of the poker game with its sense of life cold-heartedly returning to normal.

A few months ago, I saw an excellent production of Streetcar at the Barrington Stage Company (review here). In that production, every acting and directing decision was made in service of the play. This production is more like a riff on Streetcar, one that does not do it justice.

For the record, the second the show ended, the audience, after guffawing raucously throughout, leapt to their feet and cheered.

In the Next Room or the Vibrator Play

Photo: Joan Marcus

By the time the magical snow-globe ending rolls around, the play has transformed from a mildly clever comedy of manners into an old-fashioned comic romance, with sad partings preceding something resembling a wedding (or a wedding night, anyway). In spite of the thoroughly charming performances, including a sprightly and touching turn from the always effervescent Laura Benanti, I found the plot turns, the character development, and (in the first act) the dialogue formulaic. Yet after a while as the play deepened it won me over, like a hit pop song with a predictable hook and a fancy arrangement, a song which proves, after several listens, to contain depth charges of honest feeling beneath its shiny surface. It wasn't merely the funny moments, the nifty set and the absolutely stunning costumes. Sexual content aside, there's a heartwarming fairy-tale sparkle to the story, and at the same time it provokes us to think about how malleable is the human nature that we tend to think is so fundamental. Read the full review.

Loaded

Photo: David Morgan

Elliot Ramon Potts's Loaded is a throwback to the worst aspects of the early days of gay theater. Using a jaded older man and an idealistic young man as mouthpieces, the author presents a Gay 101 polemic in which gay marriage, safe sex, and sexism are debated--badly (whether the penetrator does or does not have an orgasm during unprotected anal sex is not the measure of safe sex; same-sex couples cannot attain the benefits of marriage by going to a lawyer and filling out some documents). Even worse, Loaded is one of those plays in which one of the characters would have left the situation ten minutes in and only remains because the author wants him to--not because there is any reason on earth for him to be there. There is little that is believable in Loaded, and its ninety minutes are the longest time I've ever spent in the company of gay men where not a single witty, smart, or funny thing was said.

Next to Normal

photo: Joan Marcus

I recently revisited Next to Normal for the first time since seeing an early preview Off-Broadway at Second Stage. At that time, I was one of the show's few detractors, finding the book nearly non-existent, the lyrics clumsy, and the overall message unenlightened and potentially harmful. In the nearly two years between that first visit and the second, my opinion about the tenor of the musical hasn't necessarily changed, but my feelings about the material and the performances have certainly deepened. Though her voice has unquestionably eroded from singing this rock score eight times a week, Alice Ripley's performance is still a marvel; her Diana is probably the most multi-layered musical theatre creation since Tonya Pinkins' Caroline Thibodeaux, and her Tony win was richly deserved. Jennifer Damiano, too, has grown immensely as Natalie: she has turned a character that I once viewed as nothing more than a petulant teen into a deeply emotional young woman. All of the changes to the score--which include replacing the laughable "Everything" with the arresting "Maybe (Next to Normal)" and inserting a duet for Natalie and Diana, "Wish I Were Here," at the top of Act Two--improve the flow of the show greatly. While I cannot fully say that I'm completely on board (the show still has some deeply disturbing tone issues), I left the Booth with a newfound respect for nearly everyone involved.

Post No Bills

photo: Sandra Coudert

Two down-and-out middle-aged men beg for a living in the city along a wall called the Post No Bills, so named for its one painted sign, in Mando Alvarado's formulaic but absorbing play currently at Rattlestick. As soon the more shut-down of the two, a once moderately famous musician, begrudgingly takes a toughened teenage street girl under his wing we generally know where the relationship (and the story) will go. Despite this, the play is almost consistently compelling - the acting is nuanced and involving (Teddy Canez is especially excellent as the pained, gruff musician) and the playwright gets a lot of humor out of the characters. The play is punctuated with brief musical performances of the unpretty soul-baring kind that add welcome texture and mood. While there are some plot points in the second act that I didn't buy, and more than a few moments that seem underdeveloped (mostly with the play's two supporting characters) there is more often the ring of truth in the play's details.