The Little Foxes

Photo: Jan Versweyveld

Watching Ivo Van Hove's direction of Lillian Hellman's The Little Foxes, I was reminded of the Forbidden Broadway take-off of the most recent revival of The King and I. The skit advised directors of classics that, if they run out of ideas, they can always have the performers play the subtext (as in replacing "Shall We Dance" with "Shall We Boink"). In Hellman's The Little Foxes, the story of three siblings vying for money and power, everyone is rotten. In Van Hove's version, everyone is really, really, really rotten. The family members yell and punch the walls and whale away on each other (necessitating fresh Bandaids during the performance I saw). Does this approach work? Absolutely! The tension builds beautifully, and there is no doubt that everyone is playing for keeps. Also, casting Birdie young and beautiful takes her role out of the usual stereotypes and assumptions, and the bare stage and purple-ish, velvet-ish walls work well. The cast is strong--as are their lungs!--and the direction is never less than compelling. However, an important question must be asked: does Van Hove's concept-heavy direction add more than it takes away? I think the answer must be no. Hellman's Little Foxes already provides the tension and fascinating relationships; it is a solid, well-written play. Most of Van Hove's contributions come across as noise--interesting noise, but noise nonetheless.

Delusion

Photo: Leland Brewster

Laurie Anderson's Delusion is typical Laurie Anderson fare: smart, hypnotic, and wonderful. Combining rhythmic visuals, evocative music, and electronically enhanced singing and spoken word, Anderson makes the quotidian magical and the magical miraculous. Her generosity as a performer is breathtaking, and her thoughts and ideas--this time largely focused on mortality--provoke even more thoughts and ideas. Despite the many who have tried to be, there is no one else like her.

Me, Myself, and I

Photo: Joan Marcus

Edward Albee's irritating new play Me, Myself, and I focuses on a seriously dysfunctional family after son OTTO decides that his identical twin otto no longer exists. With its repetitious dialogue and anti-logic, Albee's absurdist investigation of identity relies heavily on language, humor, and symbolism. But the language isn't all that interesting, the humor is intermittent at best, and the symbolism is neither elucidating nor engaging. Emily Mann's flat direction only adds to the tedium, and Elizabeth Ashley directed to be annoying is even more annoying than Elizabeth Ashley not directed to be annoying.

Tigers Be Still

Photo: Joan Marcus

Everyone has problems in Tigers Be Still, Kim Rosenstock's engaging new play (directed by Sam Gold) at the Roundabout Underground series. Sherry and Grace's mom is so depressed that she's gotten fat that she hasn't left her room in weeks. Grace (Natasha Lyonne) is so depressed that she lost her boyfriend that all she can do is watch Top Gun and drink Scotch. Sherry (Halley Feiffer) wants to break out of her family's paralysis and do well in her new job but has to deal with her mother and sister. Sherry's new boss (Reed Birney) recently lost his wife, and he and his son Zach (John Magaro) are not doing well. Despite the seriousness of the characters' situations, Rosenstock has written a very funny play. The dramedy approach works well, allowing Rosenstock to examine relationships, mourning, healing, and growing up with grace and compassion. Tigers Be Still is not earth-shattering, but it is excellent, and I look forward to Rosenstock's future work. The cast is top-notch.

Paula West and the George Mesterhazy Quartet

The lovely Paula West sings with elegance, commitment, and understanding. She presents her music as someone might present a gift, and the songs, ranging from Rodgers and Hart to Bob Dylan, are indeed gifts, sometimes playful, sometimes serious, always sung with intelligence and style. Particular highlights include Irving Berlin's "Suppertime," sung with heart-breaking simplicity, Dylan's evocative "Shelter From the Storm," and the effervescent Arlen-Harburg "I Love to Singa." Perhaps the biggest strength of the evening is that the George Mesterhazy Quartet does not "back up" West; instead, each musician makes a superb individual contribution, whether playing ensemble or in solos. Jerome Jennings plays drums with a level of imagination, finesse, and attention to detail that adds up to magic, particularly during Hoagy Carmichael and Paul Francis Webster's "Baltimore Oriole." And if guitarist Ed Cherry ever chooses to headline an evening of his own, I will be the first one there. The clarity and emotion of his playing are what guitar playing should be. Paula West and the George Mesterhazy Quartet are at Feinstein's at Loews Regency through October 16 and then again November 22 to 27. Do yourself a favor--catch them.

Gatz

Photo: Joan Marcus

Gatz is an emperor's new clothes production of an emperor's new clothes novel. The show starts with an interesting premise: unable to work due to computer problems, a man in an office in the 1980s starts reading The Great Gatsby out loud. And by the end of the 6-plus-hour show, he has read the entire book, out loud, while people from his office have turned into F. Scott Fitzgerald's characters. Unfortunately, the show lacks a consistent concept. It is not clear why certain people do or do not say lines (for example, one character is played partially by the narrator and partially by someone else, in the same scene), or why an actress playing a character who is injured in the novel is still wearing a bandage when she goes back to being the narrator's co-worker, or why the whole thing is set in a 1980's office in the first place. Yes, the office does provide contrast to the opulence of Gatsby's existence, but, so what? Other problems with the show include the fact that Jim Fletcher as Gatz is a singularly unseductive presence, totally lacking the warm smile that Fitzgerald mentions repeatedly. Is this a comment on The Great Gatsby? If so, what is it saying? The show does include some wonderful moments; the merging of noises in the office with noises in the novel works nicely; and Scott Shepherd is a fine narrator.

As for the novel, considered by many to be "the great American novel": somewhat based on Fitzgerald's own experiences, it depicts only a small part of America, and finding the moral decay in bootlegging isn't exactly earth-shattering. The book ignores the multi-ethicity of America, focusing 99% on white Anglo-Saxon Protestants, and its depiction of the one Jewish character mentions his nose in virtually every sentence (I'm sorry, but eyes flash, noses don't). Fitzgerald presents cynicism as insight, and while his line-by-line writing is often superb, it's not enough. Fitzgerald is famous for saying "There are no second acts in American lives"; here again he shows tunnel vision, unable to see past his own experience. Fitzgerald's drinking precluded his personally ever having a second act, but the United States is a place full of second, third, fourth, and fifth acts. In fact, the country itself is founded on the second acts of the millions of people who have immigrated here.