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photo: Alex Koch

This 90 minute one-act by Sean Cullen convincingly depicts a working class family in 1950's Buffalo whose eldest son Lucky (Eric Miller) dies in the Korean War. The otherwise straightforward play is arranged so that its scenes play out of order - we learn in the first that Lucky has died, and in the subsequent scenes watch the family either coping with the loss or interacting with him before he goes off to war. The structure isn't pretentious - it purposefully puts our focus directly on the family dynamics (more tough than affectionate) and allows the play's most affecting, emotionally loaded scene to catch us by surprise. The playwright does well with kitchen-sink realism - he judiciously scales the conflicts and the dialogue consistently rings true - but some of the characters have been left a bit sketchy on the page. The production uses projections at either end of the stage, partly to orient us about the flashbacks - I feared initially that the visuals would work against the play's quiet naturalism, but in fact they were restrained and sometimes used to evocative effect. The production also boasts a few very fine performances - Michael Cullen is at every moment convincing as the father, and Katy Wright Mead (in a supporting role) is absolutely spot-on in the play's most heartbreaking scene.

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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