Tape

Photo credit: Sal Cacciato Caption: Don DiPaolo and Therese Plaehn


It seems we never leave high school. In the revival of Stephen Belber’s Tape, the indelible mark of former school days permeates the adult perimeters of its character’s lives—a sentiment established from the onset by scenic designer Laura Jellinek’s placement of a string of lockers and gym wall markings that surround the main set. Although, the action strays into that area just once, this second set serves as a physical reminder of the past’s lasting resonance.

Tape depicts the story of two best friends, Vince (Don DiPaolo) and Jon (Neil Holland) and their reunion in a Motel 6 room when the latter’s movie is showcased at the Lansing, Michigan, film festival. Vince, a good-natured 28-year-old dope dealer and volunteer fire fighter, greets his more-successful buddy warmly, but secretly plans a confrontation involving his former girlfriend (Therese Plaehn as Amy). As the two fall into a patter of one upmanship—a verbal volleyball that soon becomes terse and heated-Jon’s modern-day rationalizations of himself are re-examined.

Besides a drama of John Knowles-like themes, Belber showcases the vagaries of perception and how humans manipulate images, often abdicating responsibility for their actions. All three characters offer false versions of themselves, from Vince putting stray cheetos on his dresser to create an unkempt look, to Amy’s tightly contained, professionally suited assistant D.A. dress. All construct a version of what they want others to see. The truth depends on the storyteller.

DiPaolo (The Seagull with Curan Rep) imbues Vince with a humanity that makes his character seem vulnerable and appealing despite glaring flaws. His presence anchors the sometimes slow unfolding of this revenge-laced intrique. The play, which premiered at the 2000 Humana Festival of New American Plays, remains relevant and offers a provocative look at how who we are and what we did in the past infiltrates our future. Sam Helfrich, who directed Belber’s Transparency of Val, helms this limited run (through Sept. 24) at the June Havoc Theatre in the Abingdon Theater Arts Complex.


(press ticket, general seating)

The Off Broadway Musical

While I am always happy to see original, innovative musicals succeed Off Broadway, I’ve been a lot less happy in the past few seasons to see how such shows fare once they’ve been moved to Broadway. For a long time, now, Off Broadway has been a formidable presence on the scene (Hair, anyone? A Chorus Line? Rent?), but lately, I’ve been concerned about the growing pressure being put on smaller shows to strike it big on Broadway. Last year, two shows that did well Off Broadway, only to fail to click with Broadway audiences, were the weird and wonderful Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson and the misunderstood Scottsboro Boys; the sublime Passing Strange suffered a similar fate a few seasons back.

Whether these shows actually belonged on Broadway is certainly a matter of debate, but I like the fact that smaller-scale producers keep on trying with smaller-scale, innovative productions. If Off Broadway stops exerting pressure on Broadway, then Broadway will be a far less interesting place for it. So I am rooting for the tiny Lysistrata Jones not only to make it uptown, but to do so with at least some of its wild and wonderful Judson spirit intact. If it does, it’ll be one more small step for Off Broadway, and one more giant step for the future of the original musical.

Stars in the Making (I Hope!)

There’s no way I could limit myself to one “star in the making.” New York theatre is just too full of riches. I did however manage to limit myself to seven. 

Lemp and Kautz

Sarah Lemp and James Kautz are, I think, starting to get the attention they deserve, and they might one day actually be well-known. They’re both in The Amoralists Theatre Company, and each has an extraordinarily varied palate. Lemp’s palate runs from icy blue to deep purple, from cold-hearted to too-caring, from not-too-bright to sharply intelligent. Kautz’s range runs more to warm tones, with his emotions always vivid (yet subtle); his happiness becomes our happiness; his heartbreak becomes our heartbreak. And they both do farce really well. (Their shows include Happy in the Poorhouse, The Pied Piper of the Lower East Side, and Hotel/Motel.)

The next five performers aren’t, I think, getting the attention they deserve, and who knows if they ever will. But they are exquisite actors. 

Becky Byers is a sweet-faced redhead with blue eyes. She could easily be cast as Marian the Librarian or Amelia from She Loves Me--which makes her brilliantly controlled lunacy as the storyteller in Dog Act all the more impressive. In bursts of anger, annoyance, and angst, she spewed out her stories with venom, speed, and perfect clarity. She was chilling yet really, really funny. 

Parqu

In Universal Robots, Jason Howard morphed, cell by cell, from robot to feeling, sentient creature. The transition was heartbreaking and breathtaking, a true tour de force. 

Lori Parquet’s silences are exquisite, yet evocative. Her audible acting is brilliant too, particularly as Dog Act’s vagabond vaudevillian, but there is something in her silences, in her listening, that reveals the depth of her talent.

As a member of the Asmat tribe in The Man Who Ate Michael Rockefeller, Daniel Morgan Shelley managed simultaneously to give a subtle, detailed, specific performance and to represent a whole people being changed by outside influences.

The very first time I heard dialogue from one of my plays spoken by an actor, that actor was Nancy Sirianni, which makes me a very lucky playwright. She happened to be the first person to audition; she introduced herself, and she was Nancy. Then she started reading from the play (You Look Just Like Him) and she was Sally, hanging on by a thread, with a history of loss, yet quiet, contained. A thrill ran up my spine. I have since seen her in a number of shows, and she is the real thing, with an astonishing ability to be rather than act.

The Next Big Star: Marla Mindelle

photo: Broadway.com

The criminally underrated musical adaptation of Sister Act (by Alan Menken and Douglas Carter Beane, at the Broadway Theatre) is notable for many reasons, including a breakout performance by newcomer Patina Miller and the always-appreciated presence of Tony winner Victoria Clark. The show's real star turn, however, belongs to Marla Mindelle, as the shy novice nun who, with the help of Deloris Van Cartier (Miller), finds her voice and proceeds to raise it to the rafters. The role of Sister Mary Robert could easily be lost among the shuffle of plot twists and group numbers, but in Mindelle's exceedingly capable hands her journey became the focal point whenever she graced the stage. Mindelle's superb second-act solo, "The Life I Never Led," stopped the show cold when I saw it and left me mentally compiling a list of roles she needs to play (Fanny Brice, anyone?). All in all, don't be surprised when this insanely talented singing actress joins the ranks of Broadway's upper echelon.

ShowShowdown Q&A

Over the next few weeks, the ShowShowdown team will be providing our opinions on a variety of theatre-related questions that often come up. These are questions that interest us, fascinate us, and come up in conversation often. This blog has always been primarily concerned with reviewing live theatre in and around New York City, and that will not change; however, we thought it might be fun if we addressed our opinions about what we're most excited to see in the coming season, or who we find to be the most interesting stage performer around, or who we think would be great replacements for Bernadette and Jan in Follies. Our readers should also feel free to submit any questions or suggestions for this feature; simply click on one of our profiles and send us an e-mail with your proposed question, or post below in the comments section.

Our first Q&A topic will be: "Who do you think is the next big thing or star in the making?" Our contributors will be posting our responses here throughout the week, so be sure to check back regularly and see who we think has a promising career ahead of them on the boards!

Sweet and Sad

Laila Robins, J. Smith-Cameron
and Maryann Plunkett
Photo by Joan Marcus

While watching Richard Nelson's Sweet and Sad at the Public Theatre, I found myself thinking of how much I admire Tony Kushner and wondering why I found Kushner's political plays so compelling and Nelson's political play so dull. And here is the conclusion I reached: Nelson's characters care about politics, but Kushner's characters have skin in the game.

Yes, the people in Nelson's drama--an extended family gathering on the tenth anniversary of 9/11--are nicely drawn and beautifully acted. Yes, their little time-honed jabs and ancient assumptions are convincing. Yes, their miscommunications and sorrow are real. But there is no real conflict and no real resolution, and while that doesn't always matter, it matters here. (On the other hand, little happened in Nelson's gorgeous version of James Joyce's The Dead, yet everything happened).

In a note in the program, Artistic Director Oscar Eustis writes of asking Nelson to write a political work, and Sweet and Sad feels like it was indeed written theme-first rather than character- or plot-first. There's almost a sense of, now it's time to have someone express point of view A, now it's time to have someone express point of view B, and so on. Compare this with Kushner's plays, in which political arguments are also arguments for connection, for approval, for love, for life itself, in which politics is a blood sport that matters.

(membership tickets, audience right, a few rows back)