Short Takes

Elling. Elling is a little play. A very little play. A teeny-tiny, itsy-bitsy play. Brendan Fraser and Denis O'Hare play odd-couple roommates, both recently out of a psychiatric hospital. Every once in a while the play seems about to veer into being original or dramatic, but the moment passes. (For example, when the O'Hare character loses his most precious possession, he doesn't notice.) Elling would be a not-unpleasant evening in the theatre if tickets were $25 or less. They are not $25 or less. (Fraser is fine and O'Hare is wonderful--he can't seem to help it.) I saw Elling in an early preview, but I doubt that it will get any better; it is what it is.

In the Wake. I only saw the first act of In the Wake so I can't actually review it. However, I am astonished that a quite a few critics found the characters compelling and the storyline enthralling. I found the characters annoying and the storyline unconvincing. I guess this is a classic case of "to each her own."

Lucky to Be Me: The Music of Leonard Bernstein. This tribute to Leonard Bernstein was wildly uneven, with highlights provided by Donna Murphy, Victoria Clark, and Kelli O'Hara. The lowlight? The sound was terrible. Sitting first-row-center orchestra, I could barely hear many of the singers, even when they were miked.

Middletown. I saw this at an early preview and had a mixed response to it. Author Will Eno seems to be going for an Our Town sort of vibe, but more complex, and the play only works sometimes. However, while I never felt completely involved, the show has stayed with me.

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

I've read the reviews, and it's hard to argue with them. Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown is indeed sloppy, uneven, and unfocused. The score by David Yazbek is only amiable. The book by Jeffrey Lane is a pale copy of the movie. The production adds up to much ado about . . . not much.

Just I thing: I really enjoyed it.

Women on the Verge zips from scene to scene and song to song, the wind in its metaphysical hair. Most of the songs entertain at least a little, and some quite a lot. Director Bartlett Sher, as always, brings every inch of the stage to life, and with the ever-changing projections, Women on the Verge feels like a unusual and invigorating amusement park ride. Patti LuPone shines in a supporting role, bringing humor and pathos to the poor, abandoned, crazy wife she plays, and she nails her solo, "Invisible." Laura Benanti is adorable, running on the balls of her feet from scene to scene, not too bright but completely good-hearted. Brian Stokes Mitchell is underutilized, but it's always a pleasure to hear his voice--and looking at him doesn't hurt either. Justin Guarini plays the befuddled son with the perfect amount of befuddlement. On the other hand, Sherie Rene Scott, in the lead role, doesn't register--rather than coming across as the calm eye of the storm, she seems disengaged, bringing little energy to her songs and less to her acting.

Overall, Women on the Verge is so uneven, and shows so much promise, that it's surprising opening night wasn't delayed a couple of weeks. There is a solid show in there, and I believe that Sher, Lane, and Yazbek would have found it. Instead, the Women on the Verge that did open is a mess.

I hope I get to see it again.

Balm in Gilead

Photo Credit: Torso XXI by Colm McCarthy

The people at the T. Schreiber Theatre are doing something amazing over on 26th Street. In their production of Lanford Wilson's Balm in Gilead, on the seventh floor of a nondescript office building, they are vividly recreating a dive diner from the 1960s, with its sad and striving denizens. The production is so intimate and accurate that being in the audience feels like sitting in a booth in the corner, watching the world go by. The direction by Peter Jenson is smart, and the ensemble acting is excellent. Among the standouts, Belle Caplis, full of sad astonishment at how her life has turned out, nails her long (15 minutes?) monologue. And Jill Bianchini, as the smart hooker with more of a heart than she wants to have, gives a master class in brilliant listening.

But the play is a bit of a problem. In providing this slice of life, Wilson opts for conversations that trail off, people wandering in and out, overlapping dialogue, and a minimal plot. There are times that the show works brilliantly, but it also has many frustrating and boring moments (kind of like life, huh?). Overall, however, it's an impressive, sometimes heartbreaking piece of work, and seeing it in a small theatre, with its cast of 30 or so performers, is a real treat.

Saint Joan

In the Queens Players' new production, Shelleen Kostabi approaches the role of the Maid of Orléans with an admirable balance of holy righteousness and teenage vulnerability. Surrounded by an excellent cast who, in some cases, have created outsize performances that would be more fitting for a larger theater, she gives a nuanced and generous performance. Despite that mismatch, it is a most rewarding production; it's rare in an Off Off Broadway house to see a cast this large with no major weak links, doing a play this strenuous, with perfect pacing and complete professionalism.

The great thing about art is that it stays with us long after its creators are gone. Through the great characters of Saint Joan—among them the Inquisitor, the warrior Dunois (the Bastard of Orléans), and above all the Maid herself—George Bernard Shaw, like a time-hopping Dr. Who, speaks through the centuries backwards and forwards about nationalism, church and state, the place of women, and so on, all issues that continue to galvanize cultures around the world.


Excerpted from Theater Review (NYC): Saint Joan on Blogcritics.

Short Takes

Estrogenius: The Manhattan Theatre Source’s yearly festival of plays by women, Estrogenius suffers from the weaknesses and benefits from the strengths familiar to anyone who watches evenings of short plays. Some of the shows turn out to really be skits, as in Not Me (written by Marguerite Louise Scott, directed by Sarah Jenkins), in which a young woman goes to Dr. Fraued (sic) because her best friend has lost her head. Some are well-written but need work, as in Spring Break (written by Annalisa Loeffler, directed by DeLisa White), in which a mother (the excellent Paula Hoza) and daughter share confidences that change their views of themselves and their family. Some are almost there, as in The God Particle (written by Christina Gorman, directed by Kathryn McConnell), which has excellent dialogue and an unusual and fascinating concept but awkward character development. And some are flat-out excellent, as in Who You Got to Believe, the story of two people who bond over their losses in post-Katrina New Orleans. Economically written by Charlene A. Donaghty, beautifully directed by Zoya Kachadurian, and movingly acted by Sheilagh Weymouth and L.B. Williams, Who You Got to Believe is the sort of play that reminds me why I go to evenings of one acts! (Full disclosure: I have had two plays done at Estrogenius festivals.)

Sing-along Sound of Music: There were about 20 of us in the movie theatre. Richard Rodgers’ music is a pleasure to sing. Oscar Hammerstein II lyrics are uneven and repetitive (didn’t Maria have any other favorite things?). Julie Andrews is lovely and can almost act. Christopher Plummer can definitely act, but doesn’t always bother to. The Baroness is given a bum deal, with even her own hairdo against her. I love this movie. A good time was had by all.

Off-Broadway Close Up: If you’re not aware of the wonderful theatre-oriented evenings at Merkin Hall, it’s time to check them out. (Coming up next is All The Things You Are, a tribute to Jerome Kern with Rebecca Luker and Kate Baldwin.) The most recent evening, Off-Broadway Close Up, included songs from Forbidden Broadway, performed by their originators; “Die, Vampire, Die,” from [tos], with the original cast; Carol Demas doing a sad and lovely version of “Best Friend” from Getting My Act Together; and the insanely energetic, generously talented Jason Robinson doing a medley of Off-Broadway songs.

Nothing Like a Dame: The yearly benefits for the Phyllis Newman Women’s Health Initiative always have much to offer, and this year—a tribute to Comden and Green—was no exception. For me the highlights were Polly Bergen singing “The Party’s Over,” Victoria Clark singing a song from A Doll’s Life, Nancy Opel’s manic “If You Haven't But You Did,” everything Marc Kudish did, Mario Cantone, and Jessica Molaskey and John Pizzarelli. A major problem: the show was grossly overmiked in a small theatre in which the bulk of the performers didn’t need mikes at all.

The Fortune Teller

Photo: Adam Forgasch

Halloween may be over, but luckily Phantom Limb's spookily entertaining, creepily evocative piece of marionette theatre, The Fortune Teller, is running at HERE through December 4th. With horripilating music by Danny Elfman and Erik Sanko, elegant design by a large and talented team, and smart direction by Erik Sanko (who also made the wonderful marionettes) and Jessica Grindstaff, The Fortune Teller is the tale of seven strangers gathered on a dark night for the reading of a will. As it happens, each has a secret . . .