I Wish I Had a Sylvia Plath

Photo: Stephen Stoneberg

I believe that no topic is off-limits to the artist, yet I found myself uncomfortable watching Edward Anthony's play I Wish I Had a Sylvia Plath, which imagines the thoughts and images in Plath's mind in the moments before she died. I thought it presumptuous, even exploitive, to co-opt Plath's creations, life, and fame and tacky to use her suicide as a object of humor. That being said, on its own terms I Wish I Had a Sylvia Plath (the title is from a Ryan Adams' song) is an intriguing exploration of Plath's life, relationships, and talent, and it certainly doesn't lack creativity. I particularly liked the "Better Tomes and Garden" TV show and the "51-liar lasagna" recipe that Plath "cooks." Elisabeth Gray is impressive as the sole live performer in the show, compelling both as Plath (here called Esther Greenwood, the name of the protagonist in Plath's largely autobiographical novel The Bell Jar) and as the voices of a number of family members.

The Pumpkin Pie Show: Amber Alert

Photo: Chris Smith

The latest edition of The Pumpkin Pie Show, Clay McLeod Chapman's pugilistic monologue series, may be the best one yet. Writer-actor Chapman, his ever-brilliant co-conspirator Hannah Cheek, and a fantastic newcomer named Hannah Timmons alternate in bringing us five tales. This time around, all the stories in one way or another concern kids, often victimized kids. Ranging from grotesquely disturbing to magically disturbing, some are more substantial than others but all hit their marks—like perfectly aimed gut punches.

The most intense character is the penitent but unrehabilitated child molester Chapman plays in the number called "Diminishing Returns." This guy makes us practically jump out of our skins. And the most transportive piece is "Diary Debris," in which Timmons becomes the 11-year-old boy who finds, near his family's Texas home, among the debris of the Space Shuttle Columbia, the pages of a doomed Israeli astronaut's diary. It's in this nonviolent tale, where not much really happens and no one grows up and there are no shocking plot twists, that Chapman's genius shows its edge most brightly. And Timmons does a simply marvelous job bringing it out. A final key element in this show's success is the evocative musical score by Radiotheatre. Much more than incidental music, it works like a top-notch movie score, alternately cradling and illuminating the action. It's just perfect.

Excerpted from Theater Review (NYC): The Pumpkin Pie Show: Amber Alert on Blogcritics.

Time Stands Still

Photo: Joan Marcus

Some shows reveal their flaws on repeated viewings. Donald Margulies's Time Stands Still reveals its strengths. [spoilers follow] Some things that struck me on viewing #3:

• Each of the main characters discusses a turning point in his or her time covering the war in Iraq. James (Brian d'Arcy James) tells of seeing people being blown up and of getting their blood (and brains) in his eyes. Sarah tells of being chastised by an injured woman and getting the woman's blood on the lens of her camera. It's a perfect parallel: Sarah's camera is her eyes, and both characters have the war literally thrown in their faces.

• In a realistic turn of events, Sarah ends up arguing both sides of the ethics of photographing people--rather than helping them--in the midst of calamities. She energetically lectures the young Mandy that taking their pictures does help people, but later, with James, she says that maybe there is something cold, and wrong, about keeping that distance. Her ambivalence retroactively explains her vigor in defending herself--she is not quite sure she is right. Nevertheless, she goes back to Iraq, because that is who she is.

• Time Stands Still is about a person who is unable to settle into "normal" life because of her drive to do important work. That the person is female is an interesting facet of the story, but not the point. Sarah is not held to a different standard as a woman.

• The ostensibly air-headed Mandy, in many ways a comic figure, is allowed a savvy self-awareness that makes her a believable and complex.

• Time Stands Still dares to present a largely unlikeable protagonist, and the brilliant Laura Linney dares to play her unapologetically. This honesty is refreshing, and sometimes heart-breaking.

I have seen Time Stands Still labeled an overrated play; however, I suspect that it is underrated.

Kelli O'Hara

Photo: Laura Marie Duncan

When was the "Golden Age" of the American musical? When it comes to female leads, the Golden Age is now. Audra McDonald. Bernadette Peters. Kristin Chenoweth. Donna Murphy. Marin Mazzie. Patti LuPone. Victoria Clark. Alice Ripley. Christine Ebersole. And, yes, Kelli O'Hara. (Imagine a season with all of them on Broadway!)

Last night, O'Hara opened a two-week stand at Feinstein's at Loews Regency, explaining that its theme is "Beyond the Ingenue." But she goes further than that. She goes beyond genre, beyond gender, beyond expectations, and beyond wonderful. Her voice is beautiful, as is she, but more importantly she knows how to express the story and the deepest emotions in each song. Take her subtle, expressive version of "Finishing the Hat," in which she perfectly balances grief at what's being missed with satisfaction at what's being accomplished. Or "I Could Have Danced All Night," in which she actually does know "what made it so exciting." Or "You're Always Here," in which she nails the comic Tom Kitt-Brian Yorkey exploration of the ambivalent pain that may come from being left by someone you didn't necessarily want to stay. Or her version of "This Nearly Was Mine," which is every bit as textured, heart-breaking, and breath-taking as Paula Szot's (which is saying something!).

I imagine that there is something O'Hara can't do, but it must be quadratic equations or car repair. Whatever her flaws, they sure don't have anything to do with her singing.

Patti LuPone: A Memoir (Book Review)

Patti LuPone likes to whine. I have nothing against whining per se--it can be a great way to get things off one's chest. But when one has a fabulous career, a shelf full of awards, plenty of money, and a lovely family, the whining becomes, well, tacky--or worse. For example, LuPone refers to Paul Sorvino as "Howdy Doody in Auschwitz" because he is cheerful while the rest of the cast of The Baker's Wife is depressed. Can you say tasteless? The overall theme of the book is that LuPone is hard-done-to and that nothing comes easily to her. From some of her stories, you would think she was working in a coal mine. And to say that she deals with setbacks with class would be a bald-faced lie. She throws tantrums. She disappears for days when she has performances to do! (Yes, Andrew Lloyd Webber treated you badly during Sunset Boulevard, Patti, but no one died, you know?) The fact that most of the other people in the photos in Patti LuPone: A Memoir are not identified might just be a result of careless, or a bad editorial decision, but it comes across as supporting LuPone's seeming worldview: it's all about her.

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.