3. Versus

Photo/Teatr Nowy

Take a Brecht play--In the Jungle of Cities--and then reduce it to four characters. Maintain the alienation effect, doubly so by performing it in Polish, with English supertitles. Emphasize the vulnerability of the characters by having them do increasingly physical acts, and by only half clothing them. Make sure they embody the art of wrestling, with its "performative exaggerations." Remember that the audience wants not to see actual suffering, but an honest simulacrum of it. Sum all of that up with a big old "meh": we beat ourselves up enough already, that's the point, so why subject us to a show that does the same? The best moments, acutely physical, use the illusion of performance to show things that are not illusions. But in the end, because this battle means nothing, it can only be a let-down.

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2. GuruGuru

Interactive theater can be somewhat limiting, especially if you're so involved in hitting your own cues that you forget to look up and catch what the other "audience-actors" are sending your way. Rotozaza's latest, GuruGuru, neatly avoids that trap by making that the very point. Without giving too much away, upon your arrival, you will receive a nametag that identifies your "character," and upon entering the "set," you'll follow directions via television and headphones. Your character's problem involves the inability to think independently, which makes your own portrayal--reliant as you are on cues to figure out what's going on--all the more fitting, if not prescient. It's a trippy experience, a valid meditation on
our current cultural abyss and our worship of drone-life. The show ends in either a truly liberating or truly frightening way: with you back in the real world, more aware than ever of your own thoughts, and their importance.

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The Devil You Know

photo: Richard Termine

A collaboration between Ping Chong and Phantom Limb that uses (mostly marionette) puppets to retell the Faustian The Devil and Daniel Webster story, The Devil You Know is a strangely compelling piece of theatre. The visually striking designs, from the blank-faced puppets to the dark rustic rooms, are more haunting than comforting and the thematic implication of marionettes, every move controlled from on high, is in fascinating opposition to a text that warns against the human choice of selfishness. The show, at LaMama and part of this year's Under The Radar festival, satisfies at the most basic level of simple storytelling if taken at face value, but its strange special power comes from what's beneath the surface.

Loaded

Two guys, involved in an ongoing intergenerational hook-up, face off on gay hot button issues during an apparently rare hour on rather than under the sheets. Given the very real generational chasm in gay urban culture, there should be more interesting material in this premise than the first-time playwright finds: he's more written (half-naked) mouthpieces than people. Worse, he hasn't written a fair fight: everytime the older guy makes a point or two the playwright is quick to put the character in his place by giving him some repellent bit of business. (Sometimes not only repellent but irresponsible: as the character made a display of his prejudice against lesbians, generally depicting them as troublemakers who hindered rather than helped AIDS efforts, I was horrified to realize that an otherwise uninformed person could take this for fact.) The characters are so strategically, unsurprisingly opposed on every talking point that there is no credible reason why they wouldn't stop talking and either end the evening or take it back to bed. The actors (I saw able understudies Rik Walter and Joel T. Bauer) do quite a lot to fix this huge credibility lapse by signaling attraction and by trying for levels, but they've been asked to breathe life into cardboard.

The Barber of Seville

The staff at the new Bleecker Street Opera seemed unprepared for the full house. Everything was a little disorganized, and the show started late. The Rosina (Malena Dayen) was recovering from bronchitis. The Bartolo was a last-minute substitute who needed line cues from conductor/music director David Rosenmeyer. Mr. Rosenmeyer himself had been a late addition to the team after the unexpected departure of Paul Haas. And with all that, what did we get? Not technical perfection, it's true, but a thoroughly enjoyable and in some respects exceptional production, thanks to the cast of superb singers, the hardworking Mr. Rosenmeyer and his mini-orchestra, and a talented production team led by stage director Teresa K. Pond. William Browning was a simply glorious Figaro. Read the full review.

1. The Understudy

Photo/Sara Krulwich

Underwhelming. Theresa Rebeck satirizes the profound "art" of theater by creating something that is far from profound, and in which her actors--Justin Kirk, Julie White, and Mark-Paul Gosselar--can basically play themselves. It's tongue-in-cheek because it uses a rehearsal for an "undiscovered" Kafka play to represents the Kafkaesque nature of being the understudy of an understudy in a world in which audiences won't see shows unless there are stars in it. And though it's hard to resist Kirk's passionate appeal for just doing the work, or Gosselar's discovery that performance can be deeper than a line reading, the readiness is not all. Unless you're trying to be artificial, and White's about the only person who makes that whip-snappingly worthwhile.