LEAR

Reviewed for Theatermania.

9. Smudge

Smudge is the first Women's Project show I haven't enjoyed in quite a while, and that's because I just don't believe it. I've no problem with Rachel Axler creating a one-eyed, one-tailed "baby" to stand in as a metaphor that's as equally abstracted as the modern marriage, nor in her using this nightmare scenario to explore the deep-seated parental fears of everyman Nick (Greg Keller) and everywoman Colby (Cassie Beck). But I do have a problem with Axler deciding to keep things smudged--primarily, choosing to ignore whether or not the baby is real (Pam MacKinnon's grounded direction doesn't help with this--it needs far more whimsy and terror), but also blandly mixing in a supertheme (the nature of probability--Nick's job at the census bureau--and how it factors into "love"), and taking the cheap road of throwing in a potential affair between Colby and Nick's sitcom brother, Pete (Brian Sgambati). The writing's also inconsistent and lazily comic: a drama that knows it isn't emotionally truthful enough to be a drama, and so attempts to pass itself off as a comedy instead. The smudge that's born in Smudge ends up being the play itself, not the baby within it.


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The Truth About Love...and the Usual Lies

Soprano Jessica Medoff, the fabulous Sorceress in Purcell's opera Dido and Aeneas a year ago, showcased another side of her ability, weaving art songs and show tunes together, as she and her husband, the very talented pianist Michael Bunchman, presented a song cycle of their own on the inexhaustible subject of love. A highlight for me was Kurt Weill's "Surabaya Johnny," a hyper-passionate wail that can really take the measure of a singer; Ms. Medoff was all over that thing like a hungry lioness. "I Don't Care Much" from Cabaret was equally intense in a quieter way. To lighten the mood we had the very funny "Taylor the Latte Boy" together with its answer, "Taylor's Response" (sung artfully by Mr. Bunchman from the piano); the plaintively sweet "There's a Fine, Fine Line" from Avenue Q came across with understated sensitivity. The show also introduced audiences (at least semi-ignorant ones like me) to art songs by the likes of Aaron Copland and William Bolcom. One remarkable thing was the two performers' seamless connection; it's as if they can read each others' minds, piano and voice flowing together in perfect sympathy, and Ms. Medoff has a finely calibrated control, equally steady from pianissimo to fortissimo. The edifying and enjoyable program showed off her range without going overboard.

8. Hostage Song

I would assume that everyone who writes seriously about theater has at least one show they're extra passionate about. For me, that's Hostage Song, the indie rock musical from the "downtown supergroup" of Clay MacLeod Chapman, Kyle Jarrow, and Oliver Butler, which just happens to also star Hannah Cheek and Paul Thureen. I hope this limited revival for visiting APAP members will help it to return on a more permanent basis, and that they understand that audiences need to see roughness and grit on the stage, too, and not just the meaningless artifice of emotionless polish. Hostage Song may not be pretty--especially once you learn that at least one of the two hostages has already died, and that much of this play is a tragic memory--but it is beautiful, and its moments are hard-earned.

7. Once and For All We're Gonna Tell You Who We Are So Shut Up And Listen

The first time the thirteen teenagers of Once and For All We're Gonna Tell You Who We Are So Shut Up and Listen come on stage, it's a spontaneous burst of energy. Two boys flick each other with balloons; two girls splash, spit, and pour water on one another; a boy and a girl get a little romantic while tangled up in a garbage bag; a skateboard flies by--also, a scooter; a tower of cups is stacked and smashed; chairs go flying--kids do, too. The sheer volume of things happening--to say nothing of the actual volume, particularly when there's mood-setting music playing--perfectly represents the overwhelming task Alexander Devriendt has given to his cast: to express the inexpressible: the intense feeling, spontaneity, and freedom of youth.  The exuberant joy--and, to be fair, awkward frustrations--of the following "scenes" stems from attempting to recapture those anarchic moments when other conditions--the world's perceptions/requirements--are layered atop them, yet the cast succeeds, time and time again, at retaining the originality they feel necessary to remain relevant.


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Once And For All We're Gonna Tell You Who We Are So Shut Up And Listen

photo: Phile Deprez

About halfway through this wildly energetic hour of astutely organized chaos I knew I'd never seen anything on stage before that so succinctly captured the fleeting impulsive abandon of adolescence. Even the impossibly long in-your-face title is authentically teenage. There are a few monologues, and perhaps one segment that could be called a traditional scene, but otherwise the show has the vibrantly messy thrill of a free-for-all, as if the 13 teenagers we see on stage have just wandered there to make it their playground. While Velvet Underground blares from the loudspeakers, the kids break off within the group to snap elastic bands at each other, or grope each other clumsily in make-out sessions, or stand on chairs as if they are airplanes. There's something deeply truthful in these exhibitions of playful discovery - it's impossible to watch and not remember the boundless energy, curiosity and hunger of being a teenager. The hour is divided into distinct segments and has clearly been shaped and choreographed, if that's the word, but the behavior on stage typically feels organic, as if the kids are just being rather than performing for our benefit. It's completely captivating and like nothing I have ever seen before. At the Duke as part of this year's Under The Radar festival, a stop on its world tour following a huge splash 2 years ago at the Edinburgh Fringe.