Job

Sean McIntyre, Adam Lebowitz-Lockard

Photo: Hunter Canning

The story of Job in the bible is one of the weirder episodes in a book full of weird episodes, and in The Flea Theater's production of Job, featuring The Flea's resident theatre troupe, The Bats, playwright Thomas Bradshaw and director Benjamin H. Kamine leave no weirdness unturned. Bradshaw uses humor and violence to emphasize the creepy casualness of a God who plays with his subjects with no more concern than a kid burning ants with magnified sunlight. And Job, who is visited with some truly baroque afflictions, is ostensibly one of God's favorites! If that's how God treats him, just imagine how he might treat the rest of us. (Oh, yeah, floods, plagues, boils, Mitt Romney.)

Bradshaw's God is a somewhat mellow guy who meditates and hangs out with his two favorite sons, Jesus and Dionysus. This relative mellowness makes even more chilling his decision to allow his brother Satan to torture Job so that he can win a bet. Job's pain and suffering are incidental. This God is worse than a vengeful God; he is a careless God.

When God eventually restores to Job most of what was taken from him, God says, "I’m going to send him a new wife, and they’ll have six children, twice as many as he had before." Here again, humans are just playthings, and God seems to think that Job's first wife and three children can be replaced as easily as camels and sheep. 

But Job doesn't come out looking so wonderful either. He is pompous and self-satisfied and dripping with a sense of entitlement, and he is also capable of great violence. In this way he seems truly formed in his maker's image.

Bradshaw's play is interesting, thought-provoking, and vivid. It is also, in this production, one of the most unpleasant evenings I have ever spent in a theatre. I get that Bradshaw and Kamine want us to feel the horrors that occur, but watching murder, rape, and necrophilia in an extremely small space is just too much. It becomes violence porn, with effects for the sake of effects. The violence is well-done--kudos to fight director Michael Wieser--but it is also overdone, and gratuitous. While the suggestion of violence can horrify a theatre audience, this level of carnage replaces the emotional response with horror-movie-level--bad horror-movie-level--shock.

Another problem is that Job is 20 minutes of material stretched to about an hour. Perhaps this is one reason that the violence is depicted in such loving, time-consuming detail.

Bradshaw is know as a  provocateur. In this case I think he let the faux provocation of icky effects outweigh the genuine provocation of depicting a God loved by millions as self-centered and totally lacking compassion.

(third row center; press ticket)

Mary Broome

Janie Brookshire, Roderick Hill
Photo: Carol Rosegg

1911. The upper-crust Timbrells gather in the drawing room to discuss the wedding of Edgar, the oldest brother, to his beloved Sheila. As always, ne'er-do-well younger brother Leonard annoys everyone with his sarcasm and condescension. Various family members get into arguments that have clearly been argued before. The evening seems destined to continue along this path until the maid, Mary Broome, quietly announces that she is pregnant. Leonard is the father.

Most of what happens next in Allan Monkhouse's 1911 comedy-drama will surprise few people in the audience, but that doesn't mean that the play isn't worth seeing. It's never boring, and it circles around, if never quite lands on, some astute insights. It's almost as though Monkhouse was dimly aware of human psychology, feminism, and changing societal mores, but didn't quite know what to do with these juicy concepts.

The Mint Theater Company's production of Mary Broome is handsome and smooth. The drawing room is festooned with family portraits that give a strong sense of a family rooted in years of expectations and limitations (although the decision to change them as the play progresses is inappropriately cartoony). The costumes are attractive and effective. The direction, by Jonathan Bank, is solid, except for the major misstep of casting Roderick Hill as Leonard. Leonard is an obnoxious character who needs to be played with charm and/or complexity to be anything other than an ongoing irritant. And if Leonard is flat, as he is in Hill's portrayal, then the whole play is deflated.  Janie Brookshire, on the other hand, does well at giving Mary Broome three dimensions.

It's fascinating to compare today's plays of those of 100 years ago. The pressure on playwrights to keep casts small has changed contemporary writing, as has the trend toward 90 minutes, no intermission. The result is streamlined plays with the need to make every word count. The more meandering plays of yesteryear seem almost profligate in comparison, taking their time and including characters that are not central to the story. One of the many reasons that the Mint is invaluable is the opportunity to see first-hand how the shape of theatre has evolved over the years.

(fifth row center, press ticket)

Strange Tales of Liaozhai

You walk into the theatre carefully, skirting the floor-level stage, which is covered with gorgeous patterned silks and parasols and glittering chains of reflective circles. You take your seat and are then presented with the Strange Tales of Liaozhai, one tale about a collector of pigeons, another about love, more or less.

Jane Wang
Photo: Richard Termine

The first story is told by a man we do not see as Hannah Wasileski's lovely and evocative projections gradually appear and then melt away. The second is narrated by a woman who is not present as a character but who is quietly and unobtrusively active at the side wall, manipulating strings and alchemizing the panels of silk and brocade, parasols, and glittering chains into a variety of characters while speaking the narration into a headset. This is renowned theatre artist Hanne Tierney, who is the creator of the concept, text, and puppets and also a formidable multitasker.

There are some beautiful things here. The glittering chains are magical. There are moments in which the cloth panels ease into elegant, graceful shapes in a sort of origami-in-motion. The music, composed by Jane Wang and played by her on double bass, toy piano, and various stainless steel instruments of her own invention, provides a fluid, remarkable soundscape.

Strange Tales of Liaozhai represents such thoughtfulness, talent, and hard work that I really wanted to love it, or even like it. But the sad truth is that I spent much of the time bored. (Many people in the audience clearly enjoyed the show much more than I did.) Everything moves very slowly--even more slowly, I think, than is necessitated by the physical requirements of the projections and puppetry. Neither story is particularly compelling, and while many of the visuals are impressive, they aren't emotionally engaging. I will gladly stipulate that Strange Tales of Liaozhai is an impressive work of art, but I just didn't care.

(Second row center, press ticket.)

So Long, Farewell, Colony Records

Colony Records, that old sheet music and sound recording mecca that has resided on the corner of 49th and Broadway in Times Square since 1970 (and, before that, on 52nd Street, where it first opened in 1948) is going out of business on Saturday, September 15th.

I was asked a few weeks back to blog about the significance of its demise for Oxford University Press, which is publishing my book, Hard Times: The Adult Musical in 1970s New York City in October. More on the book in a later post, I promise. For now, I wanted to call attention to the store's closing, and to my post about it. Check out the OUP blog post below--and if you are local, please stop in at Colony to say goodbye. It's a sad pilgrimage, to be sure, but one I bet you'll be glad you made.

COLONY

The Newsroom (TV Review)

Good theatre makes you feel something. It makes you laugh. It makes you angry. It makes you love. Great theatre, much like great television, takes it a step further. It teaches you something as it moves you to those emotions. It charges you to action, or at very least, a new way of thinking.

HBO's 'The Newsroom' is great television. This may seem off topic - talking about a television show on a theatre blog, but bear with me for a moment. 

The most talked about theatrical influence, perhaps, is the creator of the show, Aaron Sorkin, beloved playwright (A Few Good Men) and movie scriptwriter. He is known for his poignant work, and does not disappoint here. Then there's the adorable and endearing Jim Harper, played by John Gallagher Jr. of Broadway's Spring Awakening and American Idiot fame. Plus, the main character, Will McAvoy, is played by Jeff Daniels who has seen his share of stage time and founded The Purple Rose Theatre Company in Michigan. And then there's Sam Waterston who is...well, Sam Waterston.

The list goes on and on, but the most obvious theatrical influence comes from the script. As a friend and fellow stage manager put it as he was trying to convince me the show was worth my time, "There's at least 574,839 musical references per episode." Halfway through the 10 episode run this season, and I've caught allusions to Man of La Mancha, West Side Story, Gypsy, Oklahoma, Annie Get Your Gun, Little Shop of Horrors, Brigadoon, and Evita. 

But even more than that, it is a brilliant, important look at how the news is distributed and a call to the public to think about what 'facts' they are being fed from a myriad of sources. I was initially intrigued at Sorkin's use of actual news stories, but I was hooked because of the quality and relevance of what he's put together. Plus, it's always fun to hear a mainstream, non-theatre based show reference Sardi's. 

There's probably more to say, but I'm anxious to get to episode six. Track down 'The Newsroom' if you get a chance. At very least, the musical theatre enthusiast inside of you will be thrilled.

The Queen of the Mist (CD Review)

The Original Cast Recording of The Queen of the Mist, Michael John LaChiusa's tale of the stubborn Anna Edson Taylor and her trip over Niagara Falls in a barrel in 1901, is a well-done representation of the musical, with Mary Testa's vivid performance almost as alive and three-dimensional on CD as it was in the show itself (review here). The CD features a seven-person band and a handsome booklet, and I thank Ghostlight Records for producing it and the Shen Family Foundation for providing support.

While there is much to recommend this recording, the show itself is uneven, and therefore the CD is as well. The only attempt at anything resembling suspense is the question of whether Edson Taylor will ever reveal how it felt to face death in that unique manner, but that's not compelling enough to propel a plot. More importantly, just as the show ultimately lacks emotional punch, so does the CD. It's difficult to care about the sorta, kinda relationship between Edson Taylor and her manager; in fact, it's difficult to care about Edson Taylor at all. On the other hand, the relationship between Edson Taylor and her sister is presented effectively and movingly and shows us a more sympathetic side to her character.

The music itself is some of LaChiusa's most accessible, but also some of his least interesting. At times it sounds as though he set himself the task of writing an "American musical" that splits the difference between the sentimentality of Ragtime and the cynicism of Assassins. But LaChiusa on a bad day is still better than many composer-lyricists on a good day, and there are some wonderful songs here, such as "On the Other Side" and "Letter to Jane." The CD's main asset is that it exists-- a piece of theatre history saved for present and future generations.

(press copy)