Father of Lies

Excerpted from Theater Review (NYC): Father of Lies on Blogcritics.

Director Jose Zayas's adaptation of Brian Evenson's thriller/exposé is not for the faint of heart. A slowly curdling psychological horror story of sexual abuse, murder, and mutilation, it plunges past merely common evil into that region of nothingness described in the play as making hell seem like "a picnic." Fate closes in around a young Mormon churchman and new father named Fochs, played acutely by the excellent Evan Enderle who clearly conveys the impression the clergyman makes upon his wife and superiors as a mere man, if a serious and vaguely troubled one. His demonic side is so distinct it appears separately, played with delicious, subtle creepiness by Richard Toth. Zayas's nuanced script comes alive through the mouths—and bodies—of his well-chosen cast, including the superb Jocelyn Kuritsky who thoroughly convinces as the trusting wife gradually realizing that the accusations of child abuse brought against her husband by two pious mothers may not be lies—and that Fochs may have even worse within him.

Falling for Eve

Photo: Carol Rosegg

In Falling for Eve, currently playing at the York Theatre Company, Eve (Krystal Joy Brown) eats the apple and wanders the world while Adam (Jose Llana) remains obediently in Eden. God is both an egotistical male (Adam Kantor) and a gospel-singing female (Sasha Sloan), and no snake appears to tempt the first humans. While there's very little there there, the show promises a sweet, non-taxing 90 minutes, and it delivers. The book by Joe DiPietro is light and often funny, and the songs by Bret Simmons (music) and David Howard (lyrics) are accessible at worst and quite good at best. The joy of the current production is the delightful Llana, whose lovely performance is made up of equal parts charm, talent, humor, and sculpted chest (some audience members gasped when his muscular buttocks were briefly on display). I suspect that the often charming, mostly inconsequential Falling for Eve will have a long life in summer stock, regional, and high school productions.

A Little Night Music

If director Trevor Nunn had set out to deliberately produce the worst version of A Little Night Music he possibly could, it would not look significantly different than the lugubrious, heavy-handed, coarse, miscast, and unattractive version currently running at the Walter Kerr Theatre. The set is ugly; much of the cast is too young; the orchestra is way too small; the pacing is off; and it's lit like a tragedy. Stephen Sondheim's and Hugh Wheeler's Night Music is an elegant romantic comedy with an undertone of darkness; Trevor Nunn turns it upside down, with the darkness ascendant and the elegance replaced by in-your-face buffoonery. Poor Ramona Mallory is directed as though Anne is brain-damaged; Leigh Ann Larkin as Petra is charming but reads as though she is in New York in 2010 rather than Sweden 100 years ago; Hunter Ryan Herdlicka is only okay as Henrik; and Aaron Lazar as Count Malcolm has been directed to hold back his glorious voice (why?!). On the other hand, Erin Davie as the Countess does remarkably well with a part she will be ready for in 15 or 20 years, and Alexander Hanson as Fredrik and Keaton Whittaker as Fredrika are both excellent.

Which brings us to Bernadette Peters and Elaine Stritch. Peters is a star, and she brings all of her star power to the table. In her fourth performance she was already quite comfortable in the role, and her "Send in the Clowns" is wonderful. Her acting, never her strong point, is passable, although it does hurt to see some lovely moments go by untapped. For example, at one point Desiree answers a question about whether she still enjoys her life on tour with "Yes. No. No. Yes." For many actresses, this is a chance to encapsulate Desiree's life and reveal her ambivalence and self-deprecating humor. For Peters it is a chance to say "Yes. No. No. Yes." But, overall, her performance is fun.

To the inevitable question as to whether it is fair to review Elaine Stritch at her fourth performance, I can only ask in return, "Is it fair to charge the audience to see her fourth performance?" Since I paid for my own ticket, I feel I have the right to discuss Stritch's work. Well, here goes: she was terrible. Flat-out terrible. First, she didn't know her lines. The conductor had to yell cues to her. Since she is fond of long pauses, there is constant tension as to whether, at any given moment, she is forgetting a line. However, there is a bigger problem than lack of memory in her performance: she isn't giving one. She's doing her "aren't I cute? I'm Stritch!" thing, and while it may work in some roles, it does not work here--her schtick is an embarrassment. However, the audience ate up everything she did. I get it that people are honoring her whole career, but I still find it galling that she is being rewarded for helping to ruin one of my favorite shows. But, hey, Nunn set the path, so why shouldn't Stritch follow it?

Next to Normal

Photo: Joan Marcus

This week I saw Alice Ripley in Next to Normal for the last time. Her performance has deepened and grown in the years since she first appeared in the significantly different earlier incarnation of Next to Normal at the Second Stage--and it was excellent to begin with. What hasn't changed is Ripley's 100% commitment to the part, every single performance. I've seen the show at least 11 times, and each time she has turned herself inside out to give us the full Diana Goodman, psyche, heart, blood, and guts. I don't anticipate seeing a performance like it ever again.

Three other comments: (1) The last few times I have seen Next to Normal, I have been struck by how this unusual and intense story is so well-anchored in the quotidian details of an average family's life: ties get tied, shoes get put on, meals get made, homework gets done. (2) The more I hear the lyrics, the more impressed I am by Brian Yorkey's work: "living on a latte and a prayer," "what doesn't kill me, doesn't kill me" (which was the more usual "what doesn't kill me, makes me stronger" in earlier versions of the show), and "you know I love you--I love you as much as I can" are just some of the excellent snippets, but to do his work justice would require quoting the whole show. (3) Brian d'Arcy James is Dan; J. Robert Spencer was just a thin, uninteresting placeholder. D'Arcy James' Dan is a caring complex man whose behaviors make sense. And d'Arcy James' vibrant and thrilling voice expresses Dan's deepest feelings in a way that Spencer's never even approached.

The Zero Hour

I'm not a hundred percent sure I understand everything that Madeleine George is trying to do in her compelling new play, The Zero Hour, but I am a hundred percent sure that George is an exceptional playwright with a distinctive voice. The Zero Hour focuses on the uneasy couple O and Rebecca. The happily unemployed O, whose name might stand for out, prides herself on being openly gay wherever she goes. She often feels superior to the closeted Rebecca--when she's not prostrating herself at Rebecca's feet. Rebecca loves O and is both embarrassed by and attracted to her torn-jeans butchness. At her publishing job, Rebecca is writing an introduction to the Holocaust for middle-school students--and becoming haunted by Nazis. Playwright George's goals are many: she wants to show how people lie to themselves and each other, how difficult love can be, and how homophobia can shape lesbians' lives, all without being preachy or obvious. She succeeds beautifully. Even more impressive, she discusses the Holocaust in a manner that is respectful but not rigid and even gently suggests that the usual conversations about the Holocaust may not be the right ones. She never resorts to Holocaust cliches.

The protean Hannah Cabell (O and four other characters) and Angela Goethals (Rebecca and both women's mothers) are nothing short of amazing. Each has the ability to change clothing and turn into a different person. It's not just a matter of a mannerism here or a change of voice there (though those are important); Cabell and Goethals inhabit each character to the core. Adam Greenfield directs with a sure hand; I was particularly impressed by his ability to maintain momentum despite multiple scene and costume changes. And kudos to the design team (Mimi Lien, sets; Ben Kato, lights; and Asa Wember, sound) for creating evocative environments, including a convincing effect of a train passing by.

The Winter's Tale

photo: Joan Marcus

One of Shakespeare's problem children, this late romance (based on Robert Greene's novella "Pandosto") is currently receiving a lovely production at Central Park's Delacorte Theater under the sensitive, focused direction of Michael Greif. While the story primarily revolves around Leontes (Ruben Santiago-Hudson, quite compelling), a king who believes that his devoted wife, Hermione (Linda Emond) is unfaithful, this particular staging is notable for the strength with which its secondary material is imbued. The film and television actress Marianne Jean-Baptiste makes an electrifying New York stage debut as Paulina,a noblewoman who makes it her life's mission to inform the king of his errors, and Emond herself--despite being a decade too old for the role--brings more pathos to the wrong queen than any actress I've ever seen. The play also offers a great deal of comedy, with Hamish Linklater (so memorable in last year's Twelfth Night) and Jesse Tyler Ferguson as adept clowns. More than almost any other production I can remember in the past ten years, Greif's mise-en-scene uses the park setting to its advantage in an extremely beneficial manner; it bodes well with the ethereal, almost otherworldly tenor of the text. He also manages to stage the difficult, haunting final scene to brilliant effect. There are very few levels on which this Winter's Tale doesn't work, and it's an absolute must for New York Shakespeare lovers.