Groundswell

Photo: Monique Carboni

Ah, the strangeness of New York theatre. On Broadway, God of Carnage, a faux-meaningful piece of nasty fluff, in which the highlight is on-stage vomiting, walks off with a couple of Tonys. Off Broadway, Groundswell, a flawed but intense, compassionate, thoughtful, and thought-provoking drama, sells discounted tickets and may well vanish into the theatre ether with barely a ripple. It's not fair. Of course, the unfairness that South African playwright Ian Bruce examines in Groundswell is of a more serious sort: the unfairness of racism, of lack of opportunity, of ignorance, of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Groundswell takes place in post-Apartheid South Africa. Thami (Souleymane Sy Savane), who is black, works in a lodge and sends money home to his family, who live in a tin-roofed shack that is freezing in cold weather and searing in hot. His dream is to make enough money to be able to live again with his family in reasonable comfort; he is willing to work hard to make his dreams come true. Johan (the amazing David Lansbury), who is white, is an ex-cop, a deep-sea diver who has been injured by the bends, and an alcoholic. He dreams of a big win that will allow him to have a huge farm and never have to deep-sea dive again. Smith (Larry Bryggman), who is white, is a financially-comfortable widower roaming the country since he no longer has his job, which was given to a black man after Apartheid ended. His dreams are mostly in the past tense; right now, he just wants to play golf. One foggy evening, the three men end up as the sole inhabitants of the lodge, and their personalities and pasts clash as they fight to make their dreams come true. This very-well-acted show is unfortunately not well-directed. Director Scott Elliott must have been glued to the center of the second row during rehearsals--in much of the rest of the theatre, it is often difficult to hear and see what is going on. Significant exchanges are lost with actors facing upstage or standing in each other's way or simply speaking too softly. Other, less important, flaws include a slow start to the show and a certain "by-the-numbers-ness" to the plotting, but they matter little next to the vivid depiction of what a lack of options can do to people, particularly men, when they reach the end of their ropes.

Preview: Twelfth Night

It was only the second preview performance of this Shakespeare In The Park production yet it's obvious it's going to be a huge crowd-pleasing hit once word is out. In other words, go sooner rather than later because by the end of the run you'll need to get on line at the crack of dawn for tickets. It may be too early to properly review the show, but I'm comfortable saying that the performances are delightful: Anne Hathaway, who seems entirely at ease with the text and who gets to sing one of the production's handful of songs, is thoroughly beguiling as Viola; her scenes with the wonderful Audra McDonald as Olivia, who falls madly in love with Viola when disguised as her brother, are a real kick and are the show's comic highlights. That's saying a lot, with brilliant comedy talents like David Pittu and Julie White also on stage as well as a quirky-funny turn by Hamish Linklater as the foolish, cowardly Sir Andrew. Raul Esparza, Jay O. Sanders, Michael Cumpsty and Stark Sands round out the principal cast.

The Amish Project

photo: Geoff Green

The real-life 2006 shootings of young Amish girls at their schoolhouse in Pennsylvania are the inspiration for this extraordinary and deeply affecting sixty five minute solo show, written and performed by Jessica Dickey. While always dressed as an Amish schoolgirl, a choice that not only unifies the production but also emphasizes some of the play's themes, Dickey plays a variety of characters - the shooter, his wife, neighbors, etc. - who are directly or indirectly affected by the crime. Her portrayals are detailed and distinct - Dickey can shift with lightning speed from one of the fresh-faced innocent youngsters to an outraged neighbor and register each so vividly that we recognize them again without a word. As a playwright, she avoids easy sensationalism - there is some needed expository information, but her focus is not simply on exactly what happened nor even on why but on the spiritual challenge presented in the crime's aftermath. The Amish Project gently asks enormous questions about our cultural capacity for forgiveness and grace; it's generous, thoughtful and nourishing for the soul.

The Pied Pipers of the Lower East Side

Photo: Larry Cobra

Playwright Derek Ahonen has a finely tuned ear for the way his Communist-Anarchist-Environmentalist heroes and heroines talk. The play skewers their free-love and pop-psychology platitudes, while loving the characters to death at the same time. I say "the play" because while Mr. Ahonen may be responsible for the dialogue, the Amoralists truly are, as their mission statement proclaims, an "actor driven" company. It feels as if these actors were born to play these parts. The play is a perfect whole -- not for a second is the theatrical spell broken.  And somehow the political and moral message survives all the mockery. Each member of this outstanding cast can dominate the stage in one way or another; together they're an ensemble of scary intensity, one minute boiling in anger, the next erupting in crazed funnyness, yet always, in their overcooked way, seeming to truly love one another. In the end they send us reeling into the street feeling provoked, enlivened, even a little bit enlightened.

Things Of Dry Hours

photo: Joan Marcus

If poetic dialogue alone made a play, this one (at NYTW) would be one of the best shows in town. The language is so rich and evocative that it's transporting, and the cast (under Ruben Santiago-Hudson's direction) deliver it with the precision and sensitivity of finely composed music. The play (by Naomi Wallace) opens up the soul through the ears. It's a pity then that it is weakened by its narrative construction - it's hard to track the logic in the shifting dynamics between an African-American father and adult daughter and the mysterious white fugitive who forces them to give him shelter, circa the early 30's in the Deep South. Example: the stranger is almost instantly attracted to the daughter - he advances clumsily, rudely, and she keeps him at bay with hostility and poisonous world-weary one-liners - but right after a scene that would seem to indicate that she's shut him out entirely, the next begins as if they've softened toward each other. There are similar missteps in the depiction of the relationship between the father, a member of the Communist Party, and the stranger, who he (with a bit too much dramatically static speechifying) sets out to recruit. The playwright seems to aim to keep us guessing about the stranger - are his motives essentially good or bad? - but she hasn't effectively dramatized him for that purpose, which puts limits on Garret Dillahunt's effectiveness in the role. Delroy Lindo conveys both commanding strength and thoughtful sensitivity as the father; as the daughter, Roslyn Ruff is deservedly embraced by the audience partly for her sharp, seen-it-all line readings.

Coraline

You think of words like "uncompromising" and "integrity" as you watch Stephen Merritt's musical of the enormously popular children's tale. The score's strange, angular melodies as primarily played on a single tinkling keyboard, the casting of mature Jane Houdyshell as the adventure-seeking nine year old heroine, the avoidance of anything that smacks of gratuitous crowd-pleasing: a unique artistic vision has been rigorously followed and realized. But it's hard to feel anything besides detached appreciation for the show's uniqueness: despite a uniformly wonderful cast and many isolated performance moments that tempt the imagination, the production is curiously remote and short on the inventive theatricality that would showcase the very special material to advantage.

Next Fall

Reviewed for Theatermania.

Make Me

photo: Doug Hamilton

The biggest problem with Leslie Ayvazian's comedy about S&M, which is that it isn't funny, might have been mitigated if it was sexy. But as written and directed (by Christian Parker) it has no heat: this is a play in which three couples in long-term relationships play sado-masochistic bedroom games but you don't have any idea why because nobody has any fun. It's as if the playwright thinks of these roleplaying games between consenting adults as the joyless rituals of the bored, and almost nothing in the play acknowledges that anyone is turned on sexually by them. It's written and performed (by an expert cast that you're embarrassed for which includes Jessica Hecht and Candy Buckley) as if there's a wagging finger hanging over the stage.

Pure Confidence

photo: Ann Marsden

The story, about an industrious slave in the pre-Civil War South whose talent as a horse jockey seems to offer him a path to freedom, might have made for a dry docudrama of the "theatre that is good for you" variety. But instead the play, written by Carlyle Brown, is lively and absorbing and the production, with an exceptional cast directed by Marion McClinton who is best known for staging August Wilson, is a crowd-pleaser. We get caught up immediately in the relationship between Simon (Gavin Lawrence) and his slaveholder (Chris Mulkey) - the two seem to have a disarming respect for each other borne of each seeing opportunity in the other. When slave outwits slaveholder in one of the play's earliest scenes, it's taken in the spirit of sportsmanship, and we get a kick out of Simon, emboldened by the value of his talent, daring to buck the social norms of the times. The play's more comical first act, which is largely defined by Simon's ambitious, aggressive personality, gives way to a more serious second act in which Simon's wife Caroline (Christiana Clark) takes our dramatic focus. While it captures a specific, uniquely challenging and infrequently dramatized time in African American history, the play ponders some of the ironies of what was considered "freedom".

9 to 5: The Musical

Photo: Craig Schwartz

Dolly Parton's lyrics don't rhyme. Alison Janney can't sing. The overly-electronic sound eliminates any sense of actual humans playing instruments in the pit. The book is uneven, dated, and frequently dumb. Lisa Howard, Ann Harada, and Maia Nkenge Wilson are sinfully underutilized. There are moments that are downright embarrassing.

I had a great time.

Dolly Parton's score bounces along with energy and humor. Alison Janney can act and dance and is incredibly likeable. Megan Hilty combines great timing, a wonderful voice, and star power as she both imitates Dolly Parton and somehow manages to play a real person (Hilty should have gotten the Tony nom, rather than Janney). Stephanie Block's evolution from blushing and fearful to brave and happy is beautifully calibrated, and she sings the hell out of the 11:00 number, "Get Out and Stay Out." The book has some very funny moments, and its message of girl-bonding and humanity in the workplace touched me despite the flimsiness of the show, probably because Janney, Hilty, and Block give their characters full human dimensions. Marc Kudish is great fun, and his ability to flex one pec at a time is certainly unique! (Do you suppose he mentions it on his resume?) The choreography is energetic and entertaining, and it was great to see so many people on stage.

9 to 5 is a B- musical that manages to deliver an A- level of entertainment.

10 Things To Do Before I Die

Reviewed for Theatermania.

Our Lady of South Division Street

In Our Lady of South Division Street, the Nowaks are just another family in Buffalo, NY, except for one little detail--years ago, the Virgin Mary appeared to one of their relatives. This funny and moving story of a revelation that forces the Nowaks to reconsider both their history and their identity, is currently playing in an excellent production, nicely directed by Joe Brancato, at the Penguin Rep in Stony Point, north of New York City. It was written by Tom Dudzick (who, full disclosure, is my brother-in-law) and it addresses his favorite themes of belief, miracles, and family in a very enjoyable couple of hours. The cast, led by Peggy Cosgrove as the mother, does a fine job, and Joseph Egan's set is wonderful.

Vieux Carre

Photo: Gregory Costanzo

Tennessee Williams wrote Vieux Carre both early and late in his career. He started it in the late 30s and went back to it in the late 70s. Based on his time spent in a rundown boarding house in New Orleans, Vieux Carre can be viewed as a sort of The Glass Menagerie 2: What Happened After Tom Left St. Louis. In many ways, it is vintage Williams: full of aching loneliness, emotional scars, and the hope/prayer that connecting with another person--particularly sexually--can heal both psychological and physical damage. The Williams stand in--known as the Writer--is young, yearning, and not quite in touch with his homosexuality. He has left his family behind and wants no new parents; his life is his now, however it may turn out. At the boarding house, he gets to know a variety of fragile people: an artist with TB, an upper class woman who both loves and hates her lower class boyfriend, a pair of elderly women slowly starving to death, and a landlady whose nastiness and neediness have blended into one large mass of jagged emotion. In some ways more a series of character studies than a plotted play, Vieux Carre is a clear-eyed yet loving look at the people who fall into life's cracks. The reliable Pearl Theatre is offering an excellent, if flawed, production of the play, directed by Austin Pendleton. The idea of having one bed stand in for everyone's bed is awkward and confusing, and the use of the aisles of the theatre for exits and entrances is jarring. But the performances are excellent; Sean McNall, Rachel Botchan, Carol Schultz, and George Morfogen are particularly moving. Two other points: (1) It's a pity that the play was written in a time when Williams could thoughtlessly give an actual story to everyone except the "Negro maid," who ends up being more of a prop than a person (although Claudia Robinson gives the character dimension through the excellence of her performance); and (2) a number of reviews have referred to the artist, an older man who seduces the Writer, as "predatory" and even "aggressively homosexual." I think that these are misreadings of the character, who is a gentle man who wants desperately to connect with another person and who is offering the Writer all he has to offer. The Writer is an adult, able to say no, and while he accepts the artist's overtures ambivalently, he does accept them and perhaps is the better for it.

Ore, or Or

Duncan Pflaster's tale is essentially a classic love triangle, with the beefy Calvin Kanayama (E. Calvin Ahn) at the apex. He seems to love his new girlfriend, down-to-earth Debbie (Elizabeth Erwin), but lusts after the lithe and forward Tara (Clara Barton Green). Along the way he bonds with Sean (Shawn McLaughlin), Debbie's gay roommate, who, through no fault of his own, suffers from knowing more than he wants to about his friends' love lives. In creating a supportive and single "gay best friend," Mr. Pflaster flirts with cultural stereotype, but comes out pure, as Sean flowers into the most likable and vivid character of all. The action skips deftly through one seriocomic situation after another, as the mostly solid cast has fun with video games, food poisoning, Star Trek, and Sean's adventures as a substitute teacher. Periodically, a gong and some evocative shakuhachi music divert us into one of Calvin's dreams, inspired by the legends of Yamashita's treasure. This sub-theme is an appealing, ornate framing device, though perhaps not totally necessary, as the imperfect, realistically rough-edged New Yorkers living their laughing, heartbreaking lives in front of us are intriguing enough by their plain selves.

Squiggy and the Goldfish

Photo: Elisha Schaefer

A brave, sharp performance by Josh Breslow as the title character (Squiggy, not the fish) can't make up for this play's weakness of focus. Abuse at the hands of his suicidal father has made Squiggy a cutter of long standing, though he's successfully hidden his scars from his ineffective, half-unmoored mother (Dana Aber). Terrorized by his cruel fiancée Veronica (the excellent Katrina Ylimaki) and her violent father (Jonathan Miles), Squiggy gets no relief even in his dreams, where a horror-movie psychiatrist and a nightstick-happy cop chase him through paranoid fantasies. As the realities of Squiggy's past and present tribulations (and those of the women in his life) are revealed to us, the characters stimulate aches of recognition, but the effect is too often subverted by Recovery Movement catchphrases, characters stating the obvious to one another, and narrative inconsistencies. Mr. Breslow does absolutely all he can to keep the play centered, but he can do only so much.

Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson

photo: Joan Marcus

With more than a little bad-ass nose-thumbing attitude, this show at The Public (seen here staged and costumed but billed as a "concert version") about Andrew Jackson pokes some snarky fun at rock musicals (the anachronisms of Spring Awakening, for instance) but beneath the snotty 'tude are some provocative ideas about Jackson's legacy. Was the fourth President a hero or an American Hitler? Was the populism he preached a recipe for pure democracy or for chaos? The show, which has an unpretentious rag-tag looseness, isn't out to make a definitive statement and it steadfastly refuses to get too serious until the very end, but that's part of its refreshing appeal. As staged by Alex Timbers, it's silly and smartypants at the same time. The show's conceit has Jackson in strutting rock god drag which not only amusingly illustrates his celebrity and resonance with the people but also allows Benjamin Walker to rock out old school in his thoroughly winning breakout performance.

Le Serpent Rouge

Photo: Steven Schreiber

Austin McCormick's Company XIV is back with another extravagant, sexually charged dance-theater piece of the kind only they can produce. Where last year's Judgment of Paris drew on the young choreographer's study of French baroque dance (pre-classical ballet), the dancing in Le Serpent Rouge is more modern; but again the company creates a visionary re-imagining of a classic story, this time the legend of Adam, Eve, and Lilith. Swings, a giant chandelier hung low to the ground, a focused rain of water, a huge mirror (for Eve to lose herself in), light bondage, near-nudity, and the world's first threesome are only a few elements of this luridly opulent production. The choreography is continually expressive and beautifully realized by the amazing dancers. It's a richly woven, thoroughly rewarding entertainment.

Read the whole review.

The Philanthropist

photo: Joan Marcus

The main character in Christopher Hamtopn's bone-dry comedy of manners is the bookish sort who is alienated from most people and who comes most alive playing with anagrams - in order words, he's British and dated by about four decades. As played by Matthew Broderick, miscast and struggling to convince as a Bit, he practically vanishes into thin air on stage, especially during the more static scenes (directed by David Grindley) where it is essential that we feel some gravity from the actors. Another American, Steven Weber, fares better in Anglo mode, but it's an uphill battle when one can see bona fide Brits in The Norman Conquests just a few blocks north.

Mare Cognitum

Photo: Elisha Schaefer

Mare Cognitum follows three twenty-somethings reliving the wide-eyed excitement of intellectual discovery they experienced in college. Or rather, that's what the playwright himself, David McGee, seems to be indulging in. Not enough happens; the characters' exchange of ideas can't carry 90 minutes of drama. When something does occur -- notably, one character's spiritual awakening, and at the end, a half-real trip to the Moon -- the production springs to life. Lena's (Devon Caraway) description of her church visit is a fine piece of writing, and Ms. Caraway brings it home brilliantly. It's one of the periods of focus that represent the promise of the play, which, tightened up, could be a powerful piece of theater.

Read the full review.

The Temperamentals

photo: Michael Portainiere/FollowSpotPhoto.com

Jon Marans' play is unfocused: it attempts to be both a history lesson about the gay activism of the Mattichine Society in the early 1950's and a bittersweet love story about the group's founders, Harry Hay and Rudi Gernreich. As a result it shortchanges both: we watch events unfold as in a history play that haven't been shaped for thematic impact. We lose touch with the activism - apart from affording the opportunity for get-togethers for some "temperamenatals" (a code word from the era for "homosexuals") the play doesn't illuminate the Mattichine Society; there's also a lack of dramatic urgency due to the absence of any strong enemy of gay rights in the play. The love story between the two men is too vaguely rendered to convince: despite the efforts of Thomas Jay Ryan as Hay and Ugly Betty's Michael Urie as Gernreich, the men essentially have halos stuck over their heads.