My Occasion of Sin

(Caveat: at the performance I saw, not one, but two, women crumpled plastic bags on and off for the whole 100 minutes. They were really annoying, and they made it impossible to concentrate fully. So take this review with however many grains of salt you consider appropriate.)

  Rosebud Baker, Scott RobertsonPhoto: Ben Hider

In Monica Bauer's well-meaning but not-quite-successful play, My Occasion of Sin, it's 1969 in Omaha, Nebraska. George Hollewinski, a Polish musician and music teacher, hires Luigi Wells, an African-American drummer, to teach at his store. George's wife Helen is glad that George is finally acknowledging the existence of rock and roll, but wary of Luigi. Mary, a young student of George's, is thrilled to put down the accordian and pick up the drum sticks, cheerfully eager to disprove Luigi's belief that drums are not for girls. The four people's needs, desires, assumptions, and even innocence rub raggedly together, sending up dangerous sparks in a world about to explode.

The play also has a fifth character, Vivian, an African-American girl in her early teens who doesn't interact with the others, speaking to the audience directly.

Using actual events and people as her inspiration, Bauer works hard to present a complex situation where good people can unknowingly be bad and even people who strive to be better can end up destroying what they want to build. The problem is that her characters are not real enough to support this level of ambition. The wife Helen, in particular, consists of traits that never cohere into a breathing person (it doesn't help that actress Janice Hall has not found a way to give her depth). It's also impossible to accept that Mary could be as completely innocent/oblivious as she is--though she is in other ways a wonderful character, beautifully acted by Rosebud Baker. George (Scott Robertson) and Luigi (Royce Johnson) are more believable; Bauer has given them more depth, and the actors do much to bring them to life.

And then there's Vivian, who exists unmoored in the play. She comes onstage, she talks, she leaves. On, talk, off. On, talk, off. We eventually find out who she is and where she fits in, but for most of the play, her lack of grounding is disturbing. However, Danielle Thompson's performance is amazing; she develops Vivian fully, tells stories well, and brings everyone she talks about to life.

Director Hill unfortunately lets the pacing lag, particularly between scenes; after the fifth or sixth scene change, the musical intervals become irksome. Hill's blocking is also problematic; in certain scenes, particularly between George and Helen, the characters seem unanchored, with no physical reality. The set, by Roman Tatarowicz, is attractive, but may contribute to the lack of context. On the other hand, the projections, by Kevin R. Frech, work well, adding a sense of the bigger issues and concerns.

I feel a bit churlish in this review; there is good work in this show, and a great deal of talent. But the whole is less than the sum of the parts.

(press ticket, sixth row on the aisle)

That Beautiful Laugh

I think I've figured out why some people are afraid of clowns: it's because they're kids who have never grown up. It can be a little frightening to see adults so recklessly free, so literally lost in their own world; what is excusable in children as an exploratory, exhilarating phase is, all grown up, is almost menacingly silly. (Inane is only a letter removed from insane.) This is worth noting not because Orlando Pabotoy's clown show, That Beautiful Laugh, nor his talented performers, are bad -- they are quite good! -- but because the looseness of the affair provokes a certain tension, even at La MaMa: they might do anything to get a laugh!

Over the course of slightly more than an hour, we'll join the brave yet comparatively incompetent Flan (Alan Tudyk), shy yet physically dominant Ian (Carlton Ward), and deliberate yet excitable Darla Waffles Something (Julia Ogilvie) as they show off their comic repertoire to an unborn egg, hoping to make it fly, either through physical or levit(y)ational means. There's a dance with stilts, and a creepy shadow-puppet song about the "Scary City," plus a "rule of threes" series of performances that include Flan's cryptic non-act (that may actually be fairly impressive); Darla's nonsensical "feats," like attempting to yo-yo with one's mouth; and Ian's "DAHN-gerous" arsenal of the everyday: a clothes hangar, plastic bag, and hula hoop -- kids, do not try this at home!

[Read on]

Disaster!

Seth Rudetsky is arguably one of the most talented people in New York and definitely one of the funniest. His latest production is Disaster!, co-written with Jack Plotnick, and it is over two hours of comic joy.

Seth Rudetsky

The premise is simple: Disaster! is a musical spoof of disaster films, using songs from the 1970s. It features a lot of the jokes you might predict, but with twists that make them funnier, plus jokes and situations and visuals that are surprising and wonderful. Under Denis Jones's insanely creative direction, the small space bursts with action and fun and inspired silliness. And the helicopter rescue is a delight.

Impressively, the songs aren't shoehorned in. As a matter of fact, one or two are weaved in so well that they seem written for the show. As just one example, Donna Summer's "Hot Stuff" becomes an effective opening number with a surprising range of interpretations.

And the songs are beautifully sung by the amazing cast. An extra bonus is that the performers enunciate like the musical theatre pros they are. Last night was the first time I ever understood all the words to "Alone Again, Naturally" and "I'd Really Love to See You Tonight."

The charming Zak Resnick plays the lead, a sexually successful waiter who is secretly nursing a broken heart. Carrie Manolakos is his staunchly feminst ex-fiancee; she is woman, hear her roar. Rudetsky plays the dour scientist, and he's perfect in the role, mining the humor and springing out a long and surprising high note when needed. Lacretta Nicole is hysterical as the down-on-her-luck diva; Felicia Finley is amazing as the almost-as-dumb-as-she-seems pop singer; Anika Larsen shines as the nun-slash-compulsive-gambler; and Annie Golden is delightful and impressive, as Annie Golden always is. Others in the wonderful cast include Paul Castree, Kevin Loreque, Clif Thorn, Saum Eskandani, Clark Oliver (great fun as twins), Tom Riis Farrell, Jennifer Know, Linsay Nicole Chambers (those of you who know her from Submissions Only will get an extra kick out of seeing her actually smile), and Sherz Aletaha.

Unfortunately, as of this writing, Disaster! has only one more performance: March 25th at 9:00 at the Triad. Catch it if you possibly can!

And, to the producer I was chatting with yesterday, yes, Disaster! could have a larger audience. And it should!

(reviewer ticket; audience left, five-ish rows-ish from stage)

Must You Go? My Life With Harold Pinter (book review)

In 1975, Antonia Fraser, biographer of Mary, Queen of Scots, and Henry VIII's six wives, and Harold Pinter, renowned playwright, fell madly in love, pretty much at first sight. Over the next decade or so, they disentangled themselves from their respective spouses and eventually married. They remained besotted with each other until the day Pinter died, some 33 years later.

Fraser's memoir of her time with Pinter is based on her diaries, and it includes some surprising glimpses into his complicated psyche, along with some intriguing anecdotes about life in the theatre. However, it is haphazardly put together, with no footnotes, index, bios, or cast of characters. People show up with little intro, and disappear with little notice. The new writing she has added to tie the diary entries together is interesting but insufficient.

I am a major fan of Fraser's. I think her bios are superb. But this collection of memories is the sort of book one should self-publish and share with loved ones. Selling it at $28.95 a pop is ridiculous.

(library book)

Venus in Fur

Hot damn; I still love Nina Arianda's performance as much as when I first encountered Venus in Fur two years ago at CSC, but unfortunately, I've yet to see anyone who could match up to her -- even as a submissive! At the performance I caught, Arianda's Vanda was up against Hugh Dancy's understudy, Mark Alhadeff, who can't handle a live wire like Arianda. While her wattage fluctuates throughout the night, his remains static; only occasionally is there enough friction to actually spark some tension between the two. When he says that "There can be nothing more sensuous than pain, nothing more pleasurable than degradation," they're just words, but when she quips that "You don't have to tell me about sadomasochism, I'm in the theater," every word lands a punch. And while it's true that she's meant to be the more extroverted, energetic of the two, from the moment she runs into the theater with an umbrella, squealing her apologies and stripping to her lingerie, Alhadeff must do more than play a lethargic opposite; at some point, mustn't he feel the thrill that the audience receives from Arianda's deft command? As she often instructs, he must be appear ambiguous, not ambivalent. 

[Read on]

(Press; twelfth row, left side)

The Maids

Forget Venus in Fur; the real power play walking the boards this year is Red Bull's revival of Jean Genet's savage 1947 drama, The Maids. Claire (Jeanine Serralles) and Solange (Ana Reeder) are sisters in the employ of Madame (J. Smith-Cameron), social prisoners who give their lives meaning by acting out, each night, a spiteful exaggeration of their oblivious mistress, all so that the other sister may pretend to kill her. Penned in by propriety, however, they are unable to exact their true revenge, and each time it seems that they may at last free themselves -- if only in a dream -- the alarm rings, snapping them back to their grim reality.

[Read on]

(press ticket, East Entry)