Equus
September 5, 2008
8:00 PM
Orch F 112
I've wanted to see Equus since I read it in college, and I will admit that when I found out Daniel Radcliffe was going to be in it, I was kind of pissed off. I didn't have anything against him, but I knew that some people would be going to see Harry Potter nekkid and the production ran the risk of turning into a meat market. Or, worse, fans shrieking at inappropriate moments would ruin the play. None of that happened at this first preview. In a packed house, there wasn't a peep of entrance applause.*
Richard Griffiths** and Mr. Radcliffe reprise their roles as the psychotherapist and troubled boy he is treating for brutally blinding six horses. After playing together in Harry Potter (Mr. Griffiths is the vituperative Uncle Vernon) and in this production in London, our two leads have an easy vibe with each other. God knows they need it. Equus is a difficult play and I imagine it's been butchered more often than it's succeeded. This production is a success. It's creepy, sometimes scary, and intense, but more than all that, it sweeps you up in the slow pulling of facts from the traumatized, nightmare-ridden boy to piece together what happened and why. The result is uncomfortable; the performances from the leads are understated and without inhibition—qualities that seem to contradict but are key to the play working, especially in Mr. Radcliffe's role.
The boy isn't the interesting thing in Equus. It's the people around him: his parents whose conflicting views—the mother ultra-religious, the father an atheist—have conflated to instill in their son a desire to worship horses instead of the conventional God; it's the therapist who is so good at treating children's neuroses that he dreams of tearing out their insides because he knows that this is what he is essentially doing and envies their fantasies as compared to his dull life; it's the magistrate who sees hope for the boy in the soulless treatment he'll be given; this is what intrigues far more than a boy with a fantasy.
The final scene in which Mr. Radcliffe recreates the violent act that got him put into care is explosive and harrowing; he runs up walls, throws himself against them, screaming as the horses surround him, stamping and closing in, smoke billowing, until Mr. Griffiths captures him with a blanket and holds him as he shakes until finally he can be lowered to his bed. Then the final monologue—the psychotherapist irrevocably changed by this boy, feeling the trap of his profession, and the masks of the horses hovering above him, knowing that his life will go on and on and on unchanged, without risk, following the mores of society, training his patients to do the same, and turning them all into horses—brilliant, strong creatures who do as they are told despite having the ability to trample the humans who control them, and becoming one himself.
*Interestingly, this article from 2007 mentions the London incarnation of this production as an example of how entrance applause is harder to come by in London.
**Mr. Griffiths is notorious for stopping shows to lecture audience members who let their phones go off (leaving much of the History Boys audience quaking), so before the show and at intermission in addition to the recorded announcement, ushers went up the aisle row by row and made the announcement again and again. I've been to this theater many times and never had this happen before, so I can only guess that Mr. Griffiths' reputation precedes him.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Kicking a Dead Horse
Kicking a Dead Horse
By Sam Shepard
July 20, 2008 3:00 PM
Orch E6
And so, we round out this year's membership at The Public Theater. Before I get onto the play, which I didn't care for, I want to say that Stephen Rea was very good. His American accent was right on, and you could even pick him for a former Westerner. There was only one place where he dropped it a little, but considering how well he'd done the rest of the time, I think that was purposeful. Any problems I have with the play, are due to the writing, not to him, and not to the direction.
So…
The dead horse and the grave it lies beside are metaphors for something to do with America. I'm not sure what, as I don't have much of a head for metaphors, despite, yes, being a writer. However, as I watched "Kicking a Dead Horse", I wished that I did. Because it would make the play boring on a whole other level, aside from the dull-in-its-own-right-no-special-interpretation-needed level I was watching. Stephen Rea plays an American art dealer who decides to leave New York on a whim and return to the West, where he grew up. He and his favorite mare will have a jaunt across the Badlands, and return home to his wife.
Except the horse dies on the first day, leaving him stranded with no idea where he is.
So he talks. A lot. About his life. About things that matter to him, and don't matter much to us. He starts talking to himself, in another voice. At first I thought he was playing good conscience/bad conscience, then that he was channeling Quentin Crisp and had some kind of personality disorder (this one won out when Quentin forced him to throw the horse-related accoutrement into the grave). Then a girl came out of the grave and gave him his hat back. He was looking through his binoculars and singing a song about Crazy Horse rambling around until the "butchers cut him down", and didn't see her slinking around in her decidedly non-weatherproof nightie. Pretty sure the girl was his wife.
He probably killed her. She heads back underground once she puts the hat on him.
(Nothing in the play really says that, I'm just doing open interpretation for my own entertainment.)
He throws the hat back. I think he thought he got it himself (again w/ the split personality).
His big quest is to get the horse in the grave. He thinks it's not going on out of some kind of post-dead willpower. He gets all depressed about something…maybe his trip going wrong, and the horse being dead, and him having Quentin Crisp (who I now think is his wife) in his head, so he tells the horse he'll go in the grave with him, for company, and they can both be dead together.
Then he puts his tent up and prays for the first time, ever. He doesn't pray for rescue, but for the sun to be up. It works.
Things seem on the up and up. Then he decides he wants the hat back.
So he jumps in the grave to get it.
And horse falls on top of him.
Figures, doesn't it?
The End
By Sam Shepard
July 20, 2008 3:00 PM
Orch E6
And so, we round out this year's membership at The Public Theater. Before I get onto the play, which I didn't care for, I want to say that Stephen Rea was very good. His American accent was right on, and you could even pick him for a former Westerner. There was only one place where he dropped it a little, but considering how well he'd done the rest of the time, I think that was purposeful. Any problems I have with the play, are due to the writing, not to him, and not to the direction.
So…
The dead horse and the grave it lies beside are metaphors for something to do with America. I'm not sure what, as I don't have much of a head for metaphors, despite, yes, being a writer. However, as I watched "Kicking a Dead Horse", I wished that I did. Because it would make the play boring on a whole other level, aside from the dull-in-its-own-right-no-special-interpretation-needed level I was watching. Stephen Rea plays an American art dealer who decides to leave New York on a whim and return to the West, where he grew up. He and his favorite mare will have a jaunt across the Badlands, and return home to his wife.
Except the horse dies on the first day, leaving him stranded with no idea where he is.
So he talks. A lot. About his life. About things that matter to him, and don't matter much to us. He starts talking to himself, in another voice. At first I thought he was playing good conscience/bad conscience, then that he was channeling Quentin Crisp and had some kind of personality disorder (this one won out when Quentin forced him to throw the horse-related accoutrement into the grave). Then a girl came out of the grave and gave him his hat back. He was looking through his binoculars and singing a song about Crazy Horse rambling around until the "butchers cut him down", and didn't see her slinking around in her decidedly non-weatherproof nightie. Pretty sure the girl was his wife.
He probably killed her. She heads back underground once she puts the hat on him.
(Nothing in the play really says that, I'm just doing open interpretation for my own entertainment.)
He throws the hat back. I think he thought he got it himself (again w/ the split personality).
His big quest is to get the horse in the grave. He thinks it's not going on out of some kind of post-dead willpower. He gets all depressed about something…maybe his trip going wrong, and the horse being dead, and him having Quentin Crisp (who I now think is his wife) in his head, so he tells the horse he'll go in the grave with him, for company, and they can both be dead together.
Then he puts his tent up and prays for the first time, ever. He doesn't pray for rescue, but for the sun to be up. It works.
Things seem on the up and up. Then he decides he wants the hat back.
So he jumps in the grave to get it.
And horse falls on top of him.
Figures, doesn't it?
The End
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
The Tragedy of Macbeth
The Tragedy of Macbeth
July 7, 2008, 7PM
In Battery Park, with Brian
New York Classical Theatre stages productions that make use of the site. Audiences follow the actors around the location—in this case, Battery Park—and stop from time to time to watch a scene. This was the 2nd of their productions that I’ve seen. The running around actually helps a good deal in keeping focus.
As would be expected from ‘classical theatre’, the show was done in period dress (or as close as they could get to it.) And there were swords! Witnessing all that clanging and grunting had all the children in the audience enrapt.
I wasn’t overly enamoured with Bryant Mason’s Macbeth (though he did have a healthy beard) or with Joshua Decker’s McDuff, whose great emotional scene was rendered all but moot by his having to SHOUT OVER THE FERRIES, but I loved Duncan and his son (Stephen and Cooper D’Ambrose), one with the easy manner of a kindly king, the other tottering towards righteousness. The witches were fun. They weaved in and out of the action as soldiers, swordfighting against the men, and acted as guides telling the audience where to go next.
In addition to being, all told, an engaging production, it offered numerous photo ops. The Statue of Liberty was in the background during many of the scenes, and an extended scene took place inside Castle Clinton with the buildings of lower Manhattan looming overhead. What a pity that pictures weren’t allowed.
ETA: As the commenter below rightly pointed out, I haven't mentioned the women. I agree with everything s/he said, except for the 'not done before' part, because it has been done before. In fact, the last two times I've seen Macbeth, the witches have been blended into the story in other parts, so they are always around. Now, what was interesting about this production is that the witches actually did battle. They were the ones who killed the soldiers in battle, or, in the case of Banquo's son Fleance, helped him to safety. I found that very interesting. Plus, girls with swords=awesome. And yeah, it was rather creepy/ghosty. Lady Macbeth was good, but I thought she was difficult to hear, so that stopped me from laying praise down.
July 7, 2008, 7PM
In Battery Park, with Brian
New York Classical Theatre stages productions that make use of the site. Audiences follow the actors around the location—in this case, Battery Park—and stop from time to time to watch a scene. This was the 2nd of their productions that I’ve seen. The running around actually helps a good deal in keeping focus.
As would be expected from ‘classical theatre’, the show was done in period dress (or as close as they could get to it.) And there were swords! Witnessing all that clanging and grunting had all the children in the audience enrapt.
I wasn’t overly enamoured with Bryant Mason’s Macbeth (though he did have a healthy beard) or with Joshua Decker’s McDuff, whose great emotional scene was rendered all but moot by his having to SHOUT OVER THE FERRIES, but I loved Duncan and his son (Stephen and Cooper D’Ambrose), one with the easy manner of a kindly king, the other tottering towards righteousness. The witches were fun. They weaved in and out of the action as soldiers, swordfighting against the men, and acted as guides telling the audience where to go next.
In addition to being, all told, an engaging production, it offered numerous photo ops. The Statue of Liberty was in the background during many of the scenes, and an extended scene took place inside Castle Clinton with the buildings of lower Manhattan looming overhead. What a pity that pictures weren’t allowed.
ETA: As the commenter below rightly pointed out, I haven't mentioned the women. I agree with everything s/he said, except for the 'not done before' part, because it has been done before. In fact, the last two times I've seen Macbeth, the witches have been blended into the story in other parts, so they are always around. Now, what was interesting about this production is that the witches actually did battle. They were the ones who killed the soldiers in battle, or, in the case of Banquo's son Fleance, helped him to safety. I found that very interesting. Plus, girls with swords=awesome. And yeah, it was rather creepy/ghosty. Lady Macbeth was good, but I thought she was difficult to hear, so that stopped me from laying praise down.
Monday, July 7, 2008
The Bacchae and Legally Blonde
The Bacchae
National Theatre of Scotland at Lincoln Center
July 6, 2008, 3 PM
Orch T 110
The last time the National Theatre of Scotland landed in New York, it was with a production that held everyone spellbound (Black Watch, returning to Brooklyn in October, get your tickets now!), so The Bacchae had some pretty large shoes to fill. Sadly, they don’t manage it, and one problem is exactly that, the size. Namely, of the theater. The huge stage in the Rose Theater at Jazz at Lincoln Center, adorned with no set whatsoever, is far too cavernous for this tragedy.
The Bacchae has a petulant god, dancing women in the throes of madness, mob violence, cross-dressing, and infanticide. Such a show needs to be done in a way that is totally over the top. We need freaky lighting, spooky sounds, carnivale masks, puppets… Instead, we get a blank stage that bursts into flames once and some very stiff acting by the ‘humans’. The god Dionysus is played by Alan Cumming, who, acting-wise, is never less than totally relaxed. Dressed in gold llame skirt and vest, he is lowered upside down from the ceiling for his entrance, giving you the hope that something exciting is about to happen. (This could also be due to my memory of a Robbie Williams concert in which he entered the same way, albeit with pants on.) Alas, we are instead treated to a very long opening monologue about the History of Dionysus. In summation: Dad, Zeus. Mum, human. Dionysus, bitter and out for vengeance on people who deny he is a proper god. All his wrath is focused on one family, and the story is all about how he stays in disguise and arranges the son’s death.
He’s surrounded by a chorus of women in red dresses (the Bacchae) who break into song from time to time. Occasionally, he joins them. I’d forgotten what a good voice for rock he has. Stronger than I remembered, too. The songs are upbeat; the lyrics are decidedly not. (Given the plot, how could they be?)
However, comparisons of this production to Cabaret are wishful thinking. Apart from Alan, there’s not much here to recommend it. Aside from the songs, which the ladies hold up quite capably with or without him, any scene he’s not in falls flat. At one point, the audience held in a collective sigh of dismay upon realizing we were about to be subjected to a long conversation between mother and son near the end of the intermission-less 2 hours.
The production was so sapped of emotional depth that even the scenes in which characters are humiliated were met with a lack of response by the audience. So Dionysus got his wig ripped off? And he’s going to be beaten? He’s a god—he’ll bounce back. So Dionysus is tricking a guy into wearing a dress? And he’s going to get set upon by wild women? Hey, he looks good in blue. You just don’t care.
Basically, we learn 2 things from The Bacchae. 1. Don’t make your gods mad. 2. Alan Cumming has great legs. In fact, watching him during a long scene in which he sits near the edge of the stage and drops one over the side and does nothing else was more interesting than the scene itself.
Legally Blonde
July 6, 2008 7:00 PM
Rear Mezz H13
I unwittingly had a theme day, theatrically, as what does Legally Blonde feature? A Greek chorus! The 3 girls who shadow Elle made for a more interesting story and a more convincing chorus than the Bacchae, and, as we know since many people are familiar with the plot of this show, that is saying a lot.
Legally Blonde…if you took the songs out, you would have 19 lines of dialogue, and still know the entire story. The bulk of the show is icing, and in act 1 I was getting tired of it. It’s not often I go to a musical and wish they would stop singing.
However, I thought the entire cast was great. Laura Bell Bundy is nearing her end-date, which is why I finally got myself in gear to see this show. She’s brilliant. So. Darn. Perky. Christian Borle was quite enjoyable as Emmett, and I was surprised and pleased to see Michael Rupert from Falsettos as the teacher. Orfeh was fantastic. I don’t think I knew who she was, but what a voice!
Act 2 was much better than act 1, both song and dialogue-wise. Also, it was shorter.
But that song, my God, that incessant song!
Oh my God, oh my God you guys…
EEEEK!!!
National Theatre of Scotland at Lincoln Center
July 6, 2008, 3 PM
Orch T 110
The last time the National Theatre of Scotland landed in New York, it was with a production that held everyone spellbound (Black Watch, returning to Brooklyn in October, get your tickets now!), so The Bacchae had some pretty large shoes to fill. Sadly, they don’t manage it, and one problem is exactly that, the size. Namely, of the theater. The huge stage in the Rose Theater at Jazz at Lincoln Center, adorned with no set whatsoever, is far too cavernous for this tragedy.
The Bacchae has a petulant god, dancing women in the throes of madness, mob violence, cross-dressing, and infanticide. Such a show needs to be done in a way that is totally over the top. We need freaky lighting, spooky sounds, carnivale masks, puppets… Instead, we get a blank stage that bursts into flames once and some very stiff acting by the ‘humans’. The god Dionysus is played by Alan Cumming, who, acting-wise, is never less than totally relaxed. Dressed in gold llame skirt and vest, he is lowered upside down from the ceiling for his entrance, giving you the hope that something exciting is about to happen. (This could also be due to my memory of a Robbie Williams concert in which he entered the same way, albeit with pants on.) Alas, we are instead treated to a very long opening monologue about the History of Dionysus. In summation: Dad, Zeus. Mum, human. Dionysus, bitter and out for vengeance on people who deny he is a proper god. All his wrath is focused on one family, and the story is all about how he stays in disguise and arranges the son’s death.
He’s surrounded by a chorus of women in red dresses (the Bacchae) who break into song from time to time. Occasionally, he joins them. I’d forgotten what a good voice for rock he has. Stronger than I remembered, too. The songs are upbeat; the lyrics are decidedly not. (Given the plot, how could they be?)
However, comparisons of this production to Cabaret are wishful thinking. Apart from Alan, there’s not much here to recommend it. Aside from the songs, which the ladies hold up quite capably with or without him, any scene he’s not in falls flat. At one point, the audience held in a collective sigh of dismay upon realizing we were about to be subjected to a long conversation between mother and son near the end of the intermission-less 2 hours.
The production was so sapped of emotional depth that even the scenes in which characters are humiliated were met with a lack of response by the audience. So Dionysus got his wig ripped off? And he’s going to be beaten? He’s a god—he’ll bounce back. So Dionysus is tricking a guy into wearing a dress? And he’s going to get set upon by wild women? Hey, he looks good in blue. You just don’t care.
Basically, we learn 2 things from The Bacchae. 1. Don’t make your gods mad. 2. Alan Cumming has great legs. In fact, watching him during a long scene in which he sits near the edge of the stage and drops one over the side and does nothing else was more interesting than the scene itself.
Legally Blonde
July 6, 2008 7:00 PM
Rear Mezz H13
I unwittingly had a theme day, theatrically, as what does Legally Blonde feature? A Greek chorus! The 3 girls who shadow Elle made for a more interesting story and a more convincing chorus than the Bacchae, and, as we know since many people are familiar with the plot of this show, that is saying a lot.
Legally Blonde…if you took the songs out, you would have 19 lines of dialogue, and still know the entire story. The bulk of the show is icing, and in act 1 I was getting tired of it. It’s not often I go to a musical and wish they would stop singing.
However, I thought the entire cast was great. Laura Bell Bundy is nearing her end-date, which is why I finally got myself in gear to see this show. She’s brilliant. So. Darn. Perky. Christian Borle was quite enjoyable as Emmett, and I was surprised and pleased to see Michael Rupert from Falsettos as the teacher. Orfeh was fantastic. I don’t think I knew who she was, but what a voice!
Act 2 was much better than act 1, both song and dialogue-wise. Also, it was shorter.
But that song, my God, that incessant song!
Oh my God, oh my God you guys…
EEEEK!!!
Friday, July 4, 2008
Elling
Elling
September 29, 2007
Trafalgar Studios, London
Play by Simon Bent, adapted from the Norwegian film and play
I wanted to see Elling for two reasons. First, it originated at The Bush Theatre, where I did an internship in 1998. (Coincidentally, Simon Bent wrote Sugar, Sugar, the play they were doing at the time.) Second, it had John Simm as one of the leads and was getting good reviews. At the time, I was only familiar with Mr. Simm from the last few episodes of Doctor Who, season 3 of the new run of that show. Since then, I've seen him in a number of things, but Elling was the first one to wake me up to what a versatile actor he could be as he played someone the complete opposite of his Doctor Who character. What follows is the review I wrote in my notebook shortly after seeing the show, fixed up for clarity. Apparently I was thinking too fast for my writing to handle, and some of the sentences take some brainwork to interpret.
John Simm gives a precise, exacting (say the same thing twice, why don't you?) performance as a sheltered mama's boy rooming with a fellow former psychward inmate in a government-subsidized apartment as part of an experiment to reintroduce the non-violent insane into society, rather like a program for releasing animals into the wild. All Elling (Simm) and Jbarne (Adrian Bower) have to do to keep their freedom is prove to their social worker Frank (Keir Charles) that they know how to act like normal people.
'Elling' is a buddy-play about men who are a little off but understand friendship more than most other men. They take it seriously, too. When Frank suggests that Elling's attachment to his mother in lieu of going out with a woman is due to a preference for males, he responds: "Don't be ridiculous. True, I have done my fair share of 'male bonding' as we were taught to say in the hospital. For which I am grateful, I don't mind who hears me say it.... What is there to be ashamed of, unless you fear something. We have re-entered the community as citizens. But I will never betray mother for another woman."
Jbarne comes off as the more immediately sympathetic of the two. He is a child in a man's body, oafish and innocent. His one goal is to find out what sex is like. It is all he talks about, with the same wonder as a five year old hoping to see Santa. Elling is a harder nut to crack. He is OCD, and debilitatingly uncomfortable around people. "That's not my forte" is his response whenever someone asks him to do something. Mr. Simm handles Elling's stiffness well, but just as you get fed up with him, he allows in glimpses of how immensely difficult it is to be this man. In one such moment, Elling attempts to go out alone. A skipping little girl with a doll terrifies him and he winds up catatonic on the ground.
As sex is the key to Jbarne's reintroduction into society, a secret passion for writing poetry is Elling's. He meets a poet who is just reclusive enough to understand him without threatening him, and just friendly enough to engage him.
Friendship is the most important thing, especially to Elling, who has no friends aside from Jbarne. When Jbarne chooses to spend the night with a girl, leaving Elling alone, Elling smashes the match-stick house Jbarne painstakingly made for him as a Christmas gift. Mr. Simm gave all of Elling's dialogue in staccato, and this delivery resulted in one of the funniest moments following Jbarne's 'betrayal'. The two had kept their beds in the same room, but now Elling pushed Jbarne's out. "At first I was..." he says as he goes. "And then I was..." As the audience realized that he was, in rhythm, saying the opening lines of "I will survive", Jbarne returned, just in time for Elling to snap, in perfect time, "so you're back."
In the end, after being convinced that they are hopeless cases, Elling and Jbarne discover they aren't so far from normal after all. The birth of a neighbor's baby leads them both into a celebratory hangover. Elling tells Frank to take them away. They give up--they're drunk and Jbarne has been sick on the stoop. Society isn't for them. He is astonished when Frank refuses and reports his discovery to Jbarne: "It's normal to vomit when you have children!"
Their path to normal adulthood is well and truly begun.
September 29, 2007
Trafalgar Studios, London
Play by Simon Bent, adapted from the Norwegian film and play
I wanted to see Elling for two reasons. First, it originated at The Bush Theatre, where I did an internship in 1998. (Coincidentally, Simon Bent wrote Sugar, Sugar, the play they were doing at the time.) Second, it had John Simm as one of the leads and was getting good reviews. At the time, I was only familiar with Mr. Simm from the last few episodes of Doctor Who, season 3 of the new run of that show. Since then, I've seen him in a number of things, but Elling was the first one to wake me up to what a versatile actor he could be as he played someone the complete opposite of his Doctor Who character. What follows is the review I wrote in my notebook shortly after seeing the show, fixed up for clarity. Apparently I was thinking too fast for my writing to handle, and some of the sentences take some brainwork to interpret.
John Simm gives a precise, exacting (say the same thing twice, why don't you?) performance as a sheltered mama's boy rooming with a fellow former psychward inmate in a government-subsidized apartment as part of an experiment to reintroduce the non-violent insane into society, rather like a program for releasing animals into the wild. All Elling (Simm) and Jbarne (Adrian Bower) have to do to keep their freedom is prove to their social worker Frank (Keir Charles) that they know how to act like normal people.
'Elling' is a buddy-play about men who are a little off but understand friendship more than most other men. They take it seriously, too. When Frank suggests that Elling's attachment to his mother in lieu of going out with a woman is due to a preference for males, he responds: "Don't be ridiculous. True, I have done my fair share of 'male bonding' as we were taught to say in the hospital. For which I am grateful, I don't mind who hears me say it.... What is there to be ashamed of, unless you fear something. We have re-entered the community as citizens. But I will never betray mother for another woman."
Jbarne comes off as the more immediately sympathetic of the two. He is a child in a man's body, oafish and innocent. His one goal is to find out what sex is like. It is all he talks about, with the same wonder as a five year old hoping to see Santa. Elling is a harder nut to crack. He is OCD, and debilitatingly uncomfortable around people. "That's not my forte" is his response whenever someone asks him to do something. Mr. Simm handles Elling's stiffness well, but just as you get fed up with him, he allows in glimpses of how immensely difficult it is to be this man. In one such moment, Elling attempts to go out alone. A skipping little girl with a doll terrifies him and he winds up catatonic on the ground.
As sex is the key to Jbarne's reintroduction into society, a secret passion for writing poetry is Elling's. He meets a poet who is just reclusive enough to understand him without threatening him, and just friendly enough to engage him.
Friendship is the most important thing, especially to Elling, who has no friends aside from Jbarne. When Jbarne chooses to spend the night with a girl, leaving Elling alone, Elling smashes the match-stick house Jbarne painstakingly made for him as a Christmas gift. Mr. Simm gave all of Elling's dialogue in staccato, and this delivery resulted in one of the funniest moments following Jbarne's 'betrayal'. The two had kept their beds in the same room, but now Elling pushed Jbarne's out. "At first I was..." he says as he goes. "And then I was..." As the audience realized that he was, in rhythm, saying the opening lines of "I will survive", Jbarne returned, just in time for Elling to snap, in perfect time, "so you're back."
In the end, after being convinced that they are hopeless cases, Elling and Jbarne discover they aren't so far from normal after all. The birth of a neighbor's baby leads them both into a celebratory hangover. Elling tells Frank to take them away. They give up--they're drunk and Jbarne has been sick on the stoop. Society isn't for them. He is astonished when Frank refuses and reports his discovery to Jbarne: "It's normal to vomit when you have children!"
Their path to normal adulthood is well and truly begun.
The 39 Steps
The 39 Steps
8:00, July 4, 2008
Orch F 4
After a year of saying, "I need to see The 39 Steps!", I finally got myself in gear and went in time to see it before Charles Edwards left. He originated the part of Richard Hannay in London, and this is his final weekend.
The premise is simple. A posh Brit meets a lady at a theater and soon ends up on the run from spies, police, and handcuffed to a blonde. (Did I say it was simple?)
The adaption from book and movie was done by Patrick Barlow, who is 1/2 of the "National Theater of Brent", a duo who do comedic stage-type writings. Back when I worked at the Bush in London, they staged their first production, about Princess Di. It was a sell-out, as I recall. They're big on the slapstick.
As such, 39 Steps is uber-aware of itself as not only a piece of theater, but also of its most-identifiable source, the Hitchcock film.
The performances are exaggerations of how we probably envision people back then acted. Much of this is conveyed through Mr. Edwards pencil-moustache, eye-brow waggling and self-aware bon vivance. (As a radio report describes him as 'suave, handsome...,' the running Hannay adjusts his stride to one befitting a slowed-down Baywatch guard.) References to the majority of Hitchcock's films pepper the script. "Go out the window! No, not that one--the rear window!" There is even a cameo by a certain director.
The story itself doesn't make much sense, but that's not the source of the brilliance of the evening. Aside from the woman, Jennifer Ferrin, who plays 3 female roles, Mr. Edwards is joined onstage by two men, Cliff Saunders and Arnie Burton, who play dozens of parts with a fluidity of accents and hat-changes. This is where the awareness of being in a story comes in. "Get on with it!" Hannay barks at the two men during an extended sequence of hat-swapping. Later, when he and the blonde are fleeing for their lives, he orders them to stop holding the fabric representing the lake so high. "Oh, just put it down!" The interesting/amazing thing about these moments is that they don't pull you out of the story. Not once do you look at the people onstage and think, 'oh yeah, actors acting', not anymore than usual, anyway. I think it's because it's set up from the start as a joke the audience is in on, and since the 2 men have done so many parts anyway, why not have 'guys waving fabric' be one more?
Fun note: Just before intermission, someone gets shot. The body falls, the curtain drops--and the head and torso of the person are on the wrong side of the curtain! The lights go up, and the person is still there! After about a minute, there's a tug from the other side of the curtain and the body is slowly dragged out of sight... It was awesome.
39 Steps occupies a strange space between the brilliant and the inane. A working knowledge of at least the names of Hitchcock's films and some of the most famous scenes is essential for getting a good portion of the jokes. A hefty appreciation for self-mocking comes in handy, too.
8:00, July 4, 2008
Orch F 4
After a year of saying, "I need to see The 39 Steps!", I finally got myself in gear and went in time to see it before Charles Edwards left. He originated the part of Richard Hannay in London, and this is his final weekend.
The premise is simple. A posh Brit meets a lady at a theater and soon ends up on the run from spies, police, and handcuffed to a blonde. (Did I say it was simple?)
The adaption from book and movie was done by Patrick Barlow, who is 1/2 of the "National Theater of Brent", a duo who do comedic stage-type writings. Back when I worked at the Bush in London, they staged their first production, about Princess Di. It was a sell-out, as I recall. They're big on the slapstick.
As such, 39 Steps is uber-aware of itself as not only a piece of theater, but also of its most-identifiable source, the Hitchcock film.
The performances are exaggerations of how we probably envision people back then acted. Much of this is conveyed through Mr. Edwards pencil-moustache, eye-brow waggling and self-aware bon vivance. (As a radio report describes him as 'suave, handsome...,' the running Hannay adjusts his stride to one befitting a slowed-down Baywatch guard.) References to the majority of Hitchcock's films pepper the script. "Go out the window! No, not that one--the rear window!" There is even a cameo by a certain director.
The story itself doesn't make much sense, but that's not the source of the brilliance of the evening. Aside from the woman, Jennifer Ferrin, who plays 3 female roles, Mr. Edwards is joined onstage by two men, Cliff Saunders and Arnie Burton, who play dozens of parts with a fluidity of accents and hat-changes. This is where the awareness of being in a story comes in. "Get on with it!" Hannay barks at the two men during an extended sequence of hat-swapping. Later, when he and the blonde are fleeing for their lives, he orders them to stop holding the fabric representing the lake so high. "Oh, just put it down!" The interesting/amazing thing about these moments is that they don't pull you out of the story. Not once do you look at the people onstage and think, 'oh yeah, actors acting', not anymore than usual, anyway. I think it's because it's set up from the start as a joke the audience is in on, and since the 2 men have done so many parts anyway, why not have 'guys waving fabric' be one more?
Fun note: Just before intermission, someone gets shot. The body falls, the curtain drops--and the head and torso of the person are on the wrong side of the curtain! The lights go up, and the person is still there! After about a minute, there's a tug from the other side of the curtain and the body is slowly dragged out of sight... It was awesome.
39 Steps occupies a strange space between the brilliant and the inane. A working knowledge of at least the names of Hitchcock's films and some of the most famous scenes is essential for getting a good portion of the jokes. A hefty appreciation for self-mocking comes in handy, too.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Special Edition: London!!!
On June 9 my cousin Flora and I went to London for 10 days. Reviews for each of the shows we saw follow.
Troilus and Cressida by William Shakespeare
A Cheek By Jowl Production
Barbican Centre, London
10 June 2008, Block A, B3
With Flo
Trojans in white, Greeks in black. Wonder who we're supposed to be cheering for? Set sometime in the middle of the Trojan war, Troilus, the brother of Hector and Paris, is in love with Cressida. Her guardian is all for the match, but then something happens on the Greek side and he basically ends up whoring her out to the Greeks to keep the peace. Troilus and Hector go to battle. Paris stays home and concentrates on keeping his hair in place. Hector gets killed. Cressida's guardian makes a speech. The end. What did we learn from this? I have no idea. It ended and everyone sat there like, 'what? That's it? What??'
The guy playing Hector was fantastic. Absolutely believable as the most honorable of soldiers. He had a reputation for showing mercy on the battlefield. His brothers warned him this would lead to his end, but he persisted, right up to letting Achilles go. Bad idea, as Achilles hadn't had a good killing in awhile and saw this mercy as mockery. Hector's death was chilling to watch. Partly because you knew it was coming, but when it happened, as he was sleeping unarmed and the Greeks surrounded him, turning the perceived mockery back on him by doing what he would never do was harrowing.
The production seemed to have trouble deciding if they were going to be straight-forward or symbolic, which led to some confusing moments, such as one scene when members of each army, hanging out in a Greek tent, start dancing together. How much interpretation were we supposed to put into the pairings? The Fool was portrayed as a drag queen. It was a move that worked really well and allowed him freer movement amongst the men and upped the misogynistic ante of their abusive treatment of him.
How well did the two sides know each other? That was confusing. In one scene, one of the Greeks takes Troilus to spy on Cressida, and he sees her going off with a soldier. As they watch, he and this guy are holding each other in a way that verges on passion. Granted, Troilus is upset, but to react by clinging to a Greek?
In conclusion: Yay, Hector.
Hairspray
Shaftesbury Theatre, London
June 11, 2008
CC12 with Flo
I normally have a rule that I won't see anything on vacation that I could see in New York, and I certainly had no desire to see Hairspray a 3rd time, but… Michael Ball is playing Edna!!! There was no way I was going to miss a chance to see him in person. He's a fantastic Edna. You actually see the character change from an agoraphobic housewife who has given up on her dreams into a strong, independent woman who puts herself out to the world in full confidence. It's not just, oh, this confident person is who she is and she's only pretending right now—it's a full on change, with little moments of indecision sneaking in later on in the show and glimpses of strength in the beginning to hint at what will come. He disappears into the role so completely, even his distinctive vibrato is absent. At times I thought he was channeling Ethel Merman for the big notes, but it worked. The duet Edna and husband Wilbur sing had the longest post-song kiss I'd ever seen. The audience was whooping in encouragement.
It's a decent enough production, but when it comes down to it, Michael is the only reason to see it. Yes, the girl playing Tracy is plenty perky, but so are they all. There were a few moments of 'where's the accent?' courtesy of the kids. Anytime they had to say more than 2 sentences in a row, the American accents would just…slip away. Very much enjoyed the girl playing Penny, but, again, could I tell her apart from the other Pennies? No.
But, if you don't have a Hairspray near you to see, and you happen upon this one, you certainly won't be disappointed because it is everything Hairspray should be. Check the website for Michael's performance schedule.
King Lear
June 14, 2008
The Globe Theater, London
E48, Lower Gallery with Flo
At the Globe, you can buy cheap tickets and stand, or you can pay a bit more and sit. Flo and I chose to sit because KING LEAR IS 10 HOURS LONG. Or so it would seem if I were standing. Seated, it's only 3 hours and some change. So many people said to us, 'you have to stand, it's the authentic way!' The entire theater is a reconstruction. Every piece of it is 'authentic', whether you sit or stand. What they really need is to have prostitutes milling about and the smell of manure wafting in from the river. Now *that* would be authentic.
This was my third King Lear in the past year or so. It was my first with a guy who I didn't know from Adam. After visiting the Globe, Flo and I decided to see a production there. I described Lear to her, and she picked it over Midsummer.
David Calder was King Lear. Maybe because I've seen it and studied it now, but I didn't have a lot of the problems I usually face, especially in terms of the 'disguises' in the production. It's always so touch-and-go with the non-Lear scenes, and this group managed to not bore us. Mr. Calder was a very good Lear. I wished the storm scene had gone a bit slower, but that was clearly a direction issue. The scene when he reunites with Cordelia and tells her he'll die if she wants him to brought spontaneous tears on. He was a king with a sense of humor, even as he was losing his daughters and then his mind, and it gave him a tenderness that made sympathizing with him easy. The one advantage that he had, in being unknown, is that when he had to rail against the winds, etc., no one in the audience was thinking, 'Ah, Gandalf voice!' as we all did when we saw the otherwise wonderful Ian McKellan. Shame on us, really.
A wonderful first King Lear for Flo and a great third for me.
De Profundis
National Theatre
June 16, 2008 6:00 PM with Flo and Sarah
Wearing a prison-issue shirt, seated in an orange plastic chair with a lone spot on him, Corin Redgrave read the letter Oscar Wilde wrote to his ex-lover Alfred, Lord "Bosie" Douglas, during his second year in jail, for which Bosie and his father were responsible. You never did hear such bitterness as he details his devotion to Bosie and Bosie's betrayal! He berates himself for being blind to Bosie's mistreatment and taking him back again and again until his weakness gave them a way to put him in jail. The title translates as "From the depths". This is a letter in which a man claws his way out of darkness. In the end he declares he's not going to let this ruin his life and resolves to take strength from it. Of course, in reality, the experience of hard labor ruined Wilde's health and he died a few years after his release. It was an incredibly moving performance. Sometimes I thought that Mr. Redgrave was over-doing the bile, but at other times I thought he captured the quiet, retrospective parts so well. He did a recording of the letter at Reading Gaol, where it was written. It is available for purchase. Wilde's grandchild was one of the consultants. I think Oscar would be glad about that. In his life, he never saw his children again after prison. His wife took them away and changed their names because of the scandal.
The Mousetrap
St. Martin's
June 16, 2008 8:00 PM
With Flo and Sarah
56 years and still going! Agatha Christie's play about a group people in a ski lodge during a storm. The phones are out and one of them is a murderer! Oh no!!
The acting is all around bad, but people keep coming back. Including me. My 3rd time over a 15 year span.
The most interesting aspect was hearing people talk about their theories at the interval.
Personally, I think that for the 60th anniversary, they should do a special All-Star Cast Production. Get some good actors in and let them ham it up—that's what the bad ones are doing anyway!
Oh, the murderer is
Sorry, promised I wouldn't tell. :)
Les Miserables
Queens Theatre
June 17, 2008, 7:30 PM
Stalls H3 with Flo
Drew Sarich, who I had hoped to see as Javert or Valjean in New York, was playing Valjean. I was delighted to finally get to see him. However, I soon realized that since the last 3 Valjeans I'd seen had been so marvelous, he had a lot to live up to. He didn't quite reach the level I'd have wanted, but was very good nonetheless.
Javert, though…why do I never see a good Javert in London? Or hardly anywhere. I think I've seen maybe 2 Javerts who were great actors as well as singers. For some reason, it's one or the other with Javert.
Cosette, who I used to think was useless, has gone through a character metamorphosis in recent years. Actresses have been drawing their inspiration from the fact that Cosette's father has kept her away from people for 13 years and not told her why. Naturally, she's a little annoyed. She's also smart enough to realize that falling in love with a boy at first sight is possibly foolish. See, now we have a purpose for Cosette. Suddenly, she becomes more interesting than Javert. How can this be?
One of my favorite things about Les Mis is the dynamic between the students. This group had less animosity than others, especially towards Grantaire, whose worries about the battle got him a hug from Enjolras rather than the customary telling off. Following Eponine's death, Grantaire was the one who comforted Marius, not Enjolras, as Grantaire, being somewhat of a romantic, was better suited to provided sympathy than Enjolras, who saw her as a fallen soldier.
Thenardier was great. Funny and evil. I didn't even get impatient during the throwaway numbers he and the Mrs. sing.
Except for Javert, this was great. I saw new things. I enjoyed it immensely. When it comes down to it, I love Les Mis, and I'm going to go on loving it no matter what. It's a great story, and I'm picky about how it is portrayed, but I love seeing how different people do it, what they bring to it. Viva la Revolution!
Troilus and Cressida by William Shakespeare
A Cheek By Jowl Production
Barbican Centre, London
10 June 2008, Block A, B3
With Flo
Trojans in white, Greeks in black. Wonder who we're supposed to be cheering for? Set sometime in the middle of the Trojan war, Troilus, the brother of Hector and Paris, is in love with Cressida. Her guardian is all for the match, but then something happens on the Greek side and he basically ends up whoring her out to the Greeks to keep the peace. Troilus and Hector go to battle. Paris stays home and concentrates on keeping his hair in place. Hector gets killed. Cressida's guardian makes a speech. The end. What did we learn from this? I have no idea. It ended and everyone sat there like, 'what? That's it? What??'
The guy playing Hector was fantastic. Absolutely believable as the most honorable of soldiers. He had a reputation for showing mercy on the battlefield. His brothers warned him this would lead to his end, but he persisted, right up to letting Achilles go. Bad idea, as Achilles hadn't had a good killing in awhile and saw this mercy as mockery. Hector's death was chilling to watch. Partly because you knew it was coming, but when it happened, as he was sleeping unarmed and the Greeks surrounded him, turning the perceived mockery back on him by doing what he would never do was harrowing.
The production seemed to have trouble deciding if they were going to be straight-forward or symbolic, which led to some confusing moments, such as one scene when members of each army, hanging out in a Greek tent, start dancing together. How much interpretation were we supposed to put into the pairings? The Fool was portrayed as a drag queen. It was a move that worked really well and allowed him freer movement amongst the men and upped the misogynistic ante of their abusive treatment of him.
How well did the two sides know each other? That was confusing. In one scene, one of the Greeks takes Troilus to spy on Cressida, and he sees her going off with a soldier. As they watch, he and this guy are holding each other in a way that verges on passion. Granted, Troilus is upset, but to react by clinging to a Greek?
In conclusion: Yay, Hector.
Hairspray
Shaftesbury Theatre, London
June 11, 2008
CC12 with Flo
I normally have a rule that I won't see anything on vacation that I could see in New York, and I certainly had no desire to see Hairspray a 3rd time, but… Michael Ball is playing Edna!!! There was no way I was going to miss a chance to see him in person. He's a fantastic Edna. You actually see the character change from an agoraphobic housewife who has given up on her dreams into a strong, independent woman who puts herself out to the world in full confidence. It's not just, oh, this confident person is who she is and she's only pretending right now—it's a full on change, with little moments of indecision sneaking in later on in the show and glimpses of strength in the beginning to hint at what will come. He disappears into the role so completely, even his distinctive vibrato is absent. At times I thought he was channeling Ethel Merman for the big notes, but it worked. The duet Edna and husband Wilbur sing had the longest post-song kiss I'd ever seen. The audience was whooping in encouragement.
It's a decent enough production, but when it comes down to it, Michael is the only reason to see it. Yes, the girl playing Tracy is plenty perky, but so are they all. There were a few moments of 'where's the accent?' courtesy of the kids. Anytime they had to say more than 2 sentences in a row, the American accents would just…slip away. Very much enjoyed the girl playing Penny, but, again, could I tell her apart from the other Pennies? No.
But, if you don't have a Hairspray near you to see, and you happen upon this one, you certainly won't be disappointed because it is everything Hairspray should be. Check the website for Michael's performance schedule.
King Lear
June 14, 2008
The Globe Theater, London
E48, Lower Gallery with Flo
At the Globe, you can buy cheap tickets and stand, or you can pay a bit more and sit. Flo and I chose to sit because KING LEAR IS 10 HOURS LONG. Or so it would seem if I were standing. Seated, it's only 3 hours and some change. So many people said to us, 'you have to stand, it's the authentic way!' The entire theater is a reconstruction. Every piece of it is 'authentic', whether you sit or stand. What they really need is to have prostitutes milling about and the smell of manure wafting in from the river. Now *that* would be authentic.
This was my third King Lear in the past year or so. It was my first with a guy who I didn't know from Adam. After visiting the Globe, Flo and I decided to see a production there. I described Lear to her, and she picked it over Midsummer.
David Calder was King Lear. Maybe because I've seen it and studied it now, but I didn't have a lot of the problems I usually face, especially in terms of the 'disguises' in the production. It's always so touch-and-go with the non-Lear scenes, and this group managed to not bore us. Mr. Calder was a very good Lear. I wished the storm scene had gone a bit slower, but that was clearly a direction issue. The scene when he reunites with Cordelia and tells her he'll die if she wants him to brought spontaneous tears on. He was a king with a sense of humor, even as he was losing his daughters and then his mind, and it gave him a tenderness that made sympathizing with him easy. The one advantage that he had, in being unknown, is that when he had to rail against the winds, etc., no one in the audience was thinking, 'Ah, Gandalf voice!' as we all did when we saw the otherwise wonderful Ian McKellan. Shame on us, really.
A wonderful first King Lear for Flo and a great third for me.
De Profundis
National Theatre
June 16, 2008 6:00 PM with Flo and Sarah
Wearing a prison-issue shirt, seated in an orange plastic chair with a lone spot on him, Corin Redgrave read the letter Oscar Wilde wrote to his ex-lover Alfred, Lord "Bosie" Douglas, during his second year in jail, for which Bosie and his father were responsible. You never did hear such bitterness as he details his devotion to Bosie and Bosie's betrayal! He berates himself for being blind to Bosie's mistreatment and taking him back again and again until his weakness gave them a way to put him in jail. The title translates as "From the depths". This is a letter in which a man claws his way out of darkness. In the end he declares he's not going to let this ruin his life and resolves to take strength from it. Of course, in reality, the experience of hard labor ruined Wilde's health and he died a few years after his release. It was an incredibly moving performance. Sometimes I thought that Mr. Redgrave was over-doing the bile, but at other times I thought he captured the quiet, retrospective parts so well. He did a recording of the letter at Reading Gaol, where it was written. It is available for purchase. Wilde's grandchild was one of the consultants. I think Oscar would be glad about that. In his life, he never saw his children again after prison. His wife took them away and changed their names because of the scandal.
The Mousetrap
St. Martin's
June 16, 2008 8:00 PM
With Flo and Sarah
56 years and still going! Agatha Christie's play about a group people in a ski lodge during a storm. The phones are out and one of them is a murderer! Oh no!!
The acting is all around bad, but people keep coming back. Including me. My 3rd time over a 15 year span.
The most interesting aspect was hearing people talk about their theories at the interval.
Personally, I think that for the 60th anniversary, they should do a special All-Star Cast Production. Get some good actors in and let them ham it up—that's what the bad ones are doing anyway!
Oh, the murderer is
Sorry, promised I wouldn't tell. :)
Les Miserables
Queens Theatre
June 17, 2008, 7:30 PM
Stalls H3 with Flo
Drew Sarich, who I had hoped to see as Javert or Valjean in New York, was playing Valjean. I was delighted to finally get to see him. However, I soon realized that since the last 3 Valjeans I'd seen had been so marvelous, he had a lot to live up to. He didn't quite reach the level I'd have wanted, but was very good nonetheless.
Javert, though…why do I never see a good Javert in London? Or hardly anywhere. I think I've seen maybe 2 Javerts who were great actors as well as singers. For some reason, it's one or the other with Javert.
Cosette, who I used to think was useless, has gone through a character metamorphosis in recent years. Actresses have been drawing their inspiration from the fact that Cosette's father has kept her away from people for 13 years and not told her why. Naturally, she's a little annoyed. She's also smart enough to realize that falling in love with a boy at first sight is possibly foolish. See, now we have a purpose for Cosette. Suddenly, she becomes more interesting than Javert. How can this be?
One of my favorite things about Les Mis is the dynamic between the students. This group had less animosity than others, especially towards Grantaire, whose worries about the battle got him a hug from Enjolras rather than the customary telling off. Following Eponine's death, Grantaire was the one who comforted Marius, not Enjolras, as Grantaire, being somewhat of a romantic, was better suited to provided sympathy than Enjolras, who saw her as a fallen soldier.
Thenardier was great. Funny and evil. I didn't even get impatient during the throwaway numbers he and the Mrs. sing.
Except for Javert, this was great. I saw new things. I enjoyed it immensely. When it comes down to it, I love Les Mis, and I'm going to go on loving it no matter what. It's a great story, and I'm picky about how it is portrayed, but I love seeing how different people do it, what they bring to it. Viva la Revolution!
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