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!
Cry-Baby the Musical!
Cry-Baby: The Musical
June 8, 2008 3:00 PM
U 118 with Flo
Fun, but largely forgettable musical based on the John Waters film, which I've also largely forgotten. The acting was good and it seemed that people were enjoying themselves. The ruffians actually looked rough, so when the boys in prison break into a tapdance, there was none of the West Side Story these finger-snapping boys are going to riot? Really?? that typically comes when stage gangs burst into song. Elizabeth Stanley, recently of the Company revival, resurfaces here as a 16 year old girl. Having just seen her in a very adult role, it took a few minutes to accept her as a teenager, but once I did I started wondering how I'd possibly thought she was an adult! The wonder of costume and makeup… All in all, Cry-Baby sends you off with a good feeling, and it's not a bad way to kill a Sunday afternoon.
June 8, 2008 3:00 PM
U 118 with Flo
Fun, but largely forgettable musical based on the John Waters film, which I've also largely forgotten. The acting was good and it seemed that people were enjoying themselves. The ruffians actually looked rough, so when the boys in prison break into a tapdance, there was none of the West Side Story these finger-snapping boys are going to riot? Really?? that typically comes when stage gangs burst into song. Elizabeth Stanley, recently of the Company revival, resurfaces here as a 16 year old girl. Having just seen her in a very adult role, it took a few minutes to accept her as a teenager, but once I did I started wondering how I'd possibly thought she was an adult! The wonder of costume and makeup… All in all, Cry-Baby sends you off with a good feeling, and it's not a bad way to kill a Sunday afternoon.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Sunday in the Park With George
Sunday in the Park with George
April 1, 2008
$35.00 Mezz
Wow. This production completely obliterated my previous hate of this musical. The set design was amazing. The actors were fab. Wow. Act II, you know, I don't think anyone likes it. It drags. The music is...eh. But they did this really interesting thing. The song was 'Putting it Together', but as George moved from group to group schmoozing, he left a hologram of himself behind, as if he were being pulled apart. Like, totally deep, dude.
Daniel Evans and Jenna Russell are fantastic. They share a gift of quiet stoicism. Her comic timing is superb. His American accent is spot on, even when he's singing. I actually forgot that he's not American, amazing given that he was British in the first act. Or, you know, French, but same difference on a stage (Hello, Les Miz urchins!)
This was just so much more moving and envigorating than I ever could have expected. And if I had gotten bored, I could have just watched the set paint itself...
April 1, 2008
$35.00 Mezz
Wow. This production completely obliterated my previous hate of this musical. The set design was amazing. The actors were fab. Wow. Act II, you know, I don't think anyone likes it. It drags. The music is...eh. But they did this really interesting thing. The song was 'Putting it Together', but as George moved from group to group schmoozing, he left a hologram of himself behind, as if he were being pulled apart. Like, totally deep, dude.
Daniel Evans and Jenna Russell are fantastic. They share a gift of quiet stoicism. Her comic timing is superb. His American accent is spot on, even when he's singing. I actually forgot that he's not American, amazing given that he was British in the first act. Or, you know, French, but same difference on a stage (Hello, Les Miz urchins!)
This was just so much more moving and envigorating than I ever could have expected. And if I had gotten bored, I could have just watched the set paint itself...
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Gravid Water
Gravid Water
Upright Citizens Brigade Theater
March 31, 2008 8pm.
$5.00 with Brian
Premiere improv actors pair up with traditional theater actors and perform a scene from a published play. The catch: the theater actors are on script, and the improv actors have no idea what the scene is until they hit the stage.
Brilliant hilarity ensues.
Upright Citizens Brigade Theater
March 31, 2008 8pm.
$5.00 with Brian
Premiere improv actors pair up with traditional theater actors and perform a scene from a published play. The catch: the theater actors are on script, and the improv actors have no idea what the scene is until they hit the stage.
Brilliant hilarity ensues.
The Homecoming
The Homecoming
Play by Harold Pinter
March 20, 2008
Last row, orch.
Two weeks later and I still haven't figured out what I thought about this. I take time to process things, but this is ridiculous. Read the play in advance, thought, 'I have to see this with actors because it's so weird just written down'.
Saw it with actors.
Still stuck.
Plot: Brother comes home with "new" wife of several years. Surprises other brothers and dad. Brothers/Wife seduce each other. Dad wants in on the action. Isn't invited. First brother heads home. Wife stays. Brothers and Dad suggest she can earn her keep as a prostitute. Wife gives Mysterious Look that may imply she's taking advantage of them. Dad gets upset. The End.
The whole thing feels like a massive caricature, added by the over-the-top British accents of varying 'class' systems. I have no prior experience with this play at all and I wish that I did because I didn't know if I was supposed to take them seriously or go with my instinct and treat it as a farce.
Probably would not have seen it if not for Raul Esparza being in it. From reading the play his character comes off as a rapist lout, but onstage, Raul seemed to imply that the guy was making up all of his exploits--everything out of his mouth (concerning women) was a lie--the sexiest scene was when he watched his brother Joe seduce brother Teddy's wife (or vice versa). Then again, this is the guy who turned touching a tuba into a sexual revelation in Company last year. I've decided that he was playing Lenny as a repressed homosexual, so repressed he doesn't even know it. I don't know if this is what Raul was going for or not, but I'm sure that whatever he was going for, he put a lot of work into it, because whatever the heck he's doing, it's consistent.
I am definitely lacking in the background necessary to decide my feelings on this. I know, that's terrible, one should go with a 'gut' instinct, but here my 'gut' is telling me to get a good grounding in the history and intention of this play. Or, as a fellow theater goer said, "And you thought your family was messed up..."
Play by Harold Pinter
March 20, 2008
Last row, orch.
Two weeks later and I still haven't figured out what I thought about this. I take time to process things, but this is ridiculous. Read the play in advance, thought, 'I have to see this with actors because it's so weird just written down'.
Saw it with actors.
Still stuck.
Plot: Brother comes home with "new" wife of several years. Surprises other brothers and dad. Brothers/Wife seduce each other. Dad wants in on the action. Isn't invited. First brother heads home. Wife stays. Brothers and Dad suggest she can earn her keep as a prostitute. Wife gives Mysterious Look that may imply she's taking advantage of them. Dad gets upset. The End.
The whole thing feels like a massive caricature, added by the over-the-top British accents of varying 'class' systems. I have no prior experience with this play at all and I wish that I did because I didn't know if I was supposed to take them seriously or go with my instinct and treat it as a farce.
Probably would not have seen it if not for Raul Esparza being in it. From reading the play his character comes off as a rapist lout, but onstage, Raul seemed to imply that the guy was making up all of his exploits--everything out of his mouth (concerning women) was a lie--the sexiest scene was when he watched his brother Joe seduce brother Teddy's wife (or vice versa). Then again, this is the guy who turned touching a tuba into a sexual revelation in Company last year. I've decided that he was playing Lenny as a repressed homosexual, so repressed he doesn't even know it. I don't know if this is what Raul was going for or not, but I'm sure that whatever he was going for, he put a lot of work into it, because whatever the heck he's doing, it's consistent.
I am definitely lacking in the background necessary to decide my feelings on this. I know, that's terrible, one should go with a 'gut' instinct, but here my 'gut' is telling me to get a good grounding in the history and intention of this play. Or, as a fellow theater goer said, "And you thought your family was messed up..."
Monday, March 24, 2008
Drunk Enough to Say I Love You?
Drunk Enough to Say I Love You?
Play by Caryl Churchill
Public Theater/Newman
March 19, 2008 8pm
Orch H2
Drunk enough to say I love you? Perhaps. Drunk enough to say I liked this play? No. A 45-minute play that feels like 3 hrs.
Sentences that don't
Have endings.
A Plea: Leave the pauses to Pinter.
A praise: Samuel West. Made it tolerable.
Comparison: Read a fanfic years ago of the same name (Placebo song title). Liked it better. It was about gay guys, too. They weren't pretending to be countries.
Conclusion: Eh.
Play by Caryl Churchill
Public Theater/Newman
March 19, 2008 8pm
Orch H2
Drunk enough to say I love you? Perhaps. Drunk enough to say I liked this play? No. A 45-minute play that feels like 3 hrs.
Sentences that don't
Have endings.
A Plea: Leave the pauses to Pinter.
A praise: Samuel West. Made it tolerable.
Comparison: Read a fanfic years ago of the same name (Placebo song title). Liked it better. It was about gay guys, too. They weren't pretending to be countries.
Conclusion: Eh.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Mandy Patinkin
Mandy Patinkin
Brooklyn College
March 15, 2008, 8:00 p.m.
Orch GG 4, with Allison
Even after knowing how intense Mandy Patinkin gets from video, cd, and tv shows, nothing could have prepared me for seeing him live. Holy cow. It was fantastic, absolutely, but there were times he was so over the top that he morphed into the Forbidden Broadway parody of himself, and actually outdid it. His voice is just so BIG. He has an enormous, inhuman range. He'll go from low baritone to high falsetto from one note to the next. And the histrionics! Indescribable. The best part of the evening, aside from Mandy, was the old lady sitting behind us who decided to narrate the evening. Thank God for her because I wasn't sure what my opinion of the show was! Allow me to share the highlights:
Mind you, we were in the 4th row, so there is a good chance Mandy heard her as she was making no attempt to whisper.
Mandy: I've said before how lucky we all are to be alive at the same time as Stephen Sondheim.
Woman: (really best if read aloud in brazen old-lady-New York accent) Eh, I don't like Stephen Sondheim.
Mandy dabs sweat off his forehead with a towel.
Woman: He's not well! He's got a heart condition. That's why he's sweating so much!
Variations in this included: I'm telling you, he's not well! And He's got a heart condition, I tell you!
Yeah, either that or he was standing under hot spotlights… As Allison, an opera singer, said, if he had a heart condition, he would not be hitting those notes. Plus, he wouldn't be heading for a towel; he'd be bee-lining to an oxygen tank.
Woman: Eh, I don't like this song!
Audience: Shhh!
Mandy: Eh, let 'em talk. They need to talk. Let 'em talk.
He sang Maria from West Side Story—in Yiddish. And it was beautiful. Who knew?
Also, he sang 'Finishing the Hat' from Sunday in the Park with George, and Allison said she felt like she imagines people must have upon seeing Sinatra sing 'My Way' live.
Brooklyn College
March 15, 2008, 8:00 p.m.
Orch GG 4, with Allison
Even after knowing how intense Mandy Patinkin gets from video, cd, and tv shows, nothing could have prepared me for seeing him live. Holy cow. It was fantastic, absolutely, but there were times he was so over the top that he morphed into the Forbidden Broadway parody of himself, and actually outdid it. His voice is just so BIG. He has an enormous, inhuman range. He'll go from low baritone to high falsetto from one note to the next. And the histrionics! Indescribable. The best part of the evening, aside from Mandy, was the old lady sitting behind us who decided to narrate the evening. Thank God for her because I wasn't sure what my opinion of the show was! Allow me to share the highlights:
Mind you, we were in the 4th row, so there is a good chance Mandy heard her as she was making no attempt to whisper.
Mandy: I've said before how lucky we all are to be alive at the same time as Stephen Sondheim.
Woman: (really best if read aloud in brazen old-lady-New York accent) Eh, I don't like Stephen Sondheim.
Mandy dabs sweat off his forehead with a towel.
Woman: He's not well! He's got a heart condition. That's why he's sweating so much!
Variations in this included: I'm telling you, he's not well! And He's got a heart condition, I tell you!
Yeah, either that or he was standing under hot spotlights… As Allison, an opera singer, said, if he had a heart condition, he would not be hitting those notes. Plus, he wouldn't be heading for a towel; he'd be bee-lining to an oxygen tank.
Woman: Eh, I don't like this song!
Audience: Shhh!
Mandy: Eh, let 'em talk. They need to talk. Let 'em talk.
He sang Maria from West Side Story—in Yiddish. And it was beautiful. Who knew?
Also, he sang 'Finishing the Hat' from Sunday in the Park with George, and Allison said she felt like she imagines people must have upon seeing Sinatra sing 'My Way' live.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Come Back, Little Sheba
Another old one of a play still running...
Come Back Little Sheba
Play written by William Inge
January 29, 2008, 8:00pm
Och P 115
Biltmore Theatre
I almost don't know how to review this play without either a) giving everything away or b) making it sound like an absolute waste of time. For starters, there isn't much to give away, at least not in act 1, and in act 2, when you figure something *has* to happen, you know what it's going to be. As for it being a waste of time, it can feel that way in act 1, when you're watching Lola (S. Epatha Merkerson) flittering about, getting into everyone's business because she is so desperately, heart-achingly lonely, telling everyone how proud she is of her alcoholic husband (almost a year dry!--you'll laugh, and you'll feel bad about it) and, at night, she goes out on the porch and calls for her little dog Sheba to come home. Well, based on this you can guess what will happen in Act 2 (and it won't be the dog coming home.)
The catalyst is Marie (Zoe Kazan), the perky young boarder Lola and her husband Doc (Kevin Anderson) are renting their extra room to. She's the white-version of Lola as a teenager, and Lola soaks in every bit of her youthful exploits. Doc has an affection for the girl, too, but is he taking the connection a bit further and wondering how things would have been different for him if he'd married in his own race? (The casting of Ms. Merkerson in a typically caucasion role throws a whole new level onto the play.) Marie is always likeable, and completely oblivious to the turmoil she is stirring up among her hosts. Her actions lead to Doc seeing something that interferes with his faith in Marie's innocence and sends him to the bottle. What happens next, both in Lola's reactions, her fear and loss, and Doc's violence, uncapped with the whiskey, seeps from the tense honesty of a writer who understood such moments. After Doc is removed from the home, Lola stops, leans against a wall, and the whole audience was with her as she clutched her stomach and *felt* the loss, the pain, the entrapment of her life.
And yet, Come Back Little Sheba ends on an up note. In fact, I would say it ends with a solid infusion of hope. Tiny acts of kindness from strangers charmed by Lola's interest in their lives. A husband coming home sober. A wife taking the time to put some care into herself. A perky young boarder sent on her merry way with a brand new fiancee. And scrambled eggs.
Come Back Little Sheba
Play written by William Inge
January 29, 2008, 8:00pm
Och P 115
Biltmore Theatre
I almost don't know how to review this play without either a) giving everything away or b) making it sound like an absolute waste of time. For starters, there isn't much to give away, at least not in act 1, and in act 2, when you figure something *has* to happen, you know what it's going to be. As for it being a waste of time, it can feel that way in act 1, when you're watching Lola (S. Epatha Merkerson) flittering about, getting into everyone's business because she is so desperately, heart-achingly lonely, telling everyone how proud she is of her alcoholic husband (almost a year dry!--you'll laugh, and you'll feel bad about it) and, at night, she goes out on the porch and calls for her little dog Sheba to come home. Well, based on this you can guess what will happen in Act 2 (and it won't be the dog coming home.)
The catalyst is Marie (Zoe Kazan), the perky young boarder Lola and her husband Doc (Kevin Anderson) are renting their extra room to. She's the white-version of Lola as a teenager, and Lola soaks in every bit of her youthful exploits. Doc has an affection for the girl, too, but is he taking the connection a bit further and wondering how things would have been different for him if he'd married in his own race? (The casting of Ms. Merkerson in a typically caucasion role throws a whole new level onto the play.) Marie is always likeable, and completely oblivious to the turmoil she is stirring up among her hosts. Her actions lead to Doc seeing something that interferes with his faith in Marie's innocence and sends him to the bottle. What happens next, both in Lola's reactions, her fear and loss, and Doc's violence, uncapped with the whiskey, seeps from the tense honesty of a writer who understood such moments. After Doc is removed from the home, Lola stops, leans against a wall, and the whole audience was with her as she clutched her stomach and *felt* the loss, the pain, the entrapment of her life.
And yet, Come Back Little Sheba ends on an up note. In fact, I would say it ends with a solid infusion of hope. Tiny acts of kindness from strangers charmed by Lola's interest in their lives. A husband coming home sober. A wife taking the time to put some care into herself. A perky young boarder sent on her merry way with a brand new fiancee. And scrambled eggs.
The Seafarer
Another old review of a show still running, and fyi I'm giving away the ending--
The Seafarer
Written by Conor McPherson
November 1, 2008
Mezz B12, with Aaron, $33.00
Aaron and I have a tradition of going to see every Conor McPherson play that comes around. He's written a ton. I recently found outhow old he is, (born 1971) and got a little sick. Anyway, we think highly of him. He's Irish, and so are his plays. An apt (and more entertaining) subtitle would be: How My Brother Invited My Ex'sBoyfriend To Dinner After I Told Him Not To And I Ended Up Losing MySoul To The Devil In A Poker Game And Falling Off The Wagon.
That's really all you need to know, except that title implies humor of a consistent type. David Morse, is 'Sharky'. (The night's biggest reaction came from the declarations at intermission as the entire audience searched the program to figure out his name. 'Jackie?' 'Ohh! Sharky'.) He's the soul-at-risk sod who is trying to take care of his recently blinded elderly brother (a minimum of 30 years between them, if looks are anything to go by), does well with what he's given, which is basically to look fed up while his brother and his drunk friends lark about, including Ivan, who has slept over and now cannot find his glasses.
The first act is all composed of this, and it basically goes nowhere until Nicky (the ex's boyfriend) turns up with a guest, the 'mysterious' Mr. Lockwood. (Cieran Hinds). We know he is mysterious because he keeps his coat on. After an hour and thirty minutes of Irish malarkey, everyone except Sharky runs out to chase some hoodlums off a car, and that's when Mr. Lockwood reveals that (brace yourself) he's really Satan(omg!!) and he's there so Sharky can pay up on a bet he made 25 years previously in order to get out of a murder charge. You can guess what that was. Naturally, Sharky is skeptical (he has no memory of the murder). And then he's writhing on the floor groaning and screaming (and being lectured sharply not to cry b/c Satan doesn't like that sort of thing.) Plus, the lights flicker, so Sharky starts to believe. Then there's a long monologue from Lockwood about what Hell is like. (Pretty darn bad.) (McPherson always puts at least 1 huge monologue in his plays. The last play, Shining City, had a powerhouse one that Oliver Platt gave about his dead wife. This didn't even come close to that.)
Not long after that, Sharky has his first drink in a year. Then he tries to beat Nicky up because he's Nicky, and then he goes for Lockwood. That was about the only exciting moment of the evening--seeing David Morse being held back by two men, who were hanging onto him for dear life as he tried to hurl himself atLockwood. Finally, he's shoved into the kitchen to calm down. When he emerges, he makes apologies to everyone except Lockwood and sits down to lose his soul. Which he does. So, off he goes with Satan. But wait! Ivan has found his glasses. Turns out those 4's he had were really Aces. What do you know! Lockwood has lost! Sharky is saved! Lights go down on him standing alone holding a Christmas card from a woman he once tried to have an affair with. He sighs (perhaps with relief (that the show is over), perhaps with hope (that he won't have to do it again--oops, that was my reaction)), a movement that encompasses his whole body. Lights out. The End
Unless you are a huge huge huge fan of one of the actors in this, don't bother with it. The acting was all good. (Hinds the one weakspot.) But the play is far too long-winded for its own good. I know it got great reviews, and reading them, I called Aaron and asked if we had seen the same play. He was just as confused as me.
The Seafarer
Written by Conor McPherson
November 1, 2008
Mezz B12, with Aaron, $33.00
Aaron and I have a tradition of going to see every Conor McPherson play that comes around. He's written a ton. I recently found outhow old he is, (born 1971) and got a little sick. Anyway, we think highly of him. He's Irish, and so are his plays. An apt (and more entertaining) subtitle would be: How My Brother Invited My Ex'sBoyfriend To Dinner After I Told Him Not To And I Ended Up Losing MySoul To The Devil In A Poker Game And Falling Off The Wagon.
That's really all you need to know, except that title implies humor of a consistent type. David Morse, is 'Sharky'. (The night's biggest reaction came from the declarations at intermission as the entire audience searched the program to figure out his name. 'Jackie?' 'Ohh! Sharky'.) He's the soul-at-risk sod who is trying to take care of his recently blinded elderly brother (a minimum of 30 years between them, if looks are anything to go by), does well with what he's given, which is basically to look fed up while his brother and his drunk friends lark about, including Ivan, who has slept over and now cannot find his glasses.
The first act is all composed of this, and it basically goes nowhere until Nicky (the ex's boyfriend) turns up with a guest, the 'mysterious' Mr. Lockwood. (Cieran Hinds). We know he is mysterious because he keeps his coat on. After an hour and thirty minutes of Irish malarkey, everyone except Sharky runs out to chase some hoodlums off a car, and that's when Mr. Lockwood reveals that (brace yourself) he's really Satan(omg!!) and he's there so Sharky can pay up on a bet he made 25 years previously in order to get out of a murder charge. You can guess what that was. Naturally, Sharky is skeptical (he has no memory of the murder). And then he's writhing on the floor groaning and screaming (and being lectured sharply not to cry b/c Satan doesn't like that sort of thing.) Plus, the lights flicker, so Sharky starts to believe. Then there's a long monologue from Lockwood about what Hell is like. (Pretty darn bad.) (McPherson always puts at least 1 huge monologue in his plays. The last play, Shining City, had a powerhouse one that Oliver Platt gave about his dead wife. This didn't even come close to that.)
Not long after that, Sharky has his first drink in a year. Then he tries to beat Nicky up because he's Nicky, and then he goes for Lockwood. That was about the only exciting moment of the evening--seeing David Morse being held back by two men, who were hanging onto him for dear life as he tried to hurl himself atLockwood. Finally, he's shoved into the kitchen to calm down. When he emerges, he makes apologies to everyone except Lockwood and sits down to lose his soul. Which he does. So, off he goes with Satan. But wait! Ivan has found his glasses. Turns out those 4's he had were really Aces. What do you know! Lockwood has lost! Sharky is saved! Lights go down on him standing alone holding a Christmas card from a woman he once tried to have an affair with. He sighs (perhaps with relief (that the show is over), perhaps with hope (that he won't have to do it again--oops, that was my reaction)), a movement that encompasses his whole body. Lights out. The End
Unless you are a huge huge huge fan of one of the actors in this, don't bother with it. The acting was all good. (Hinds the one weakspot.) But the play is far too long-winded for its own good. I know it got great reviews, and reading them, I called Aaron and asked if we had seen the same play. He was just as confused as me.
Rock 'N' Roll
An older review, but since the play is still running, I wanted to post it.
Rock 'N' Roll
Play written by Tom Stoppard
January 25, 2008, 8pm
Orch I 114
Rock 'N' Roll follows the lives of two men, Jan (Rufus Sewell) in Czechoslovakia and Max (Brian Cox) in England over the course of 30 years. The acting is fantastic, and I am looking forward to seeing it again—so I can figure out what the hell it was about. From Coast of Utopia, Stoppard's previous Russian tour-de-force, we learned that the thing to do with a Stoppard play is arrive 15 minutes early so we have time to read the program insert by the production's dramaturg. Without it (or a comprehensive knowledge of both Czech and Communist history as well as Rock and Roll's place in history), we would be lost.
Production note: The way they showed what language the Czech characters were using was if a Czech character were speaking to an English character, he would speak with a Czech accent and, in Jan's case, hesitant English. If only Czech characters were together, they would all speak in the actor's normal accents to indicate they were speaking Czech and there were no language barriers.
The format of the play was like this: Imagine that you were going to write a play about someone's life, and you wanted to cover 30 years. So, for each year, write down the main happening of that year. Now, write a scene set the day before whatever it is happens. Link the scenes together with different rock songs of the year you are portraying. This is Rock 'N' Roll. But don't let this put you off.
Somehow, following this method, avoiding the days of high emotion, Stoppard has created a play of emotional intelligence that is an ultimately joyous, loving, and intensely moving story of forgiveness and awakening, both on a personal and social level.
Max is a Cambridge professor and card-carrying communist, highly respected in the party, but as the years go on, he stays in as others fall out, and the question arises: why? His beloved wife is dying of cancer, his hippie daughter has a baby, and the play advances to show the daughter growing into a meek woman and the granddaughter into an intellectual prodigy. (Wife and grown daughter are both played wonderfully by Sinead Cusack and Alice Eve adorably doubles as daughter and granddaughter.)
Jan is Max's former student, a native Czech who returned to his homeland, having failed Max's expectations that he would take up the party flag. Jan is a quiet young man, his only wish to be left alone with his records of the rock and roll he learned to love in England. He does not seek to buck the system. However, his possession of these records is seen as rebellious, and causes trouble for this man with hunched shoulders and inherent meekness who only wants to stay beneath the radar.
Near the end, Jan confesses to Max that although he tried to ignore the system and then to play it, the system broke him and he betrayed Max to it. It was a betrayal that did not affect Max, and which Max would never have known about. "You didn't have to tell me," he says. "No," Jan responds, and erupts in a sob, which, in keeping with the keyed-down emotion of the play, is delivered with his back to the audience so we don't get to see him break down, a privacy rarely given on a stage, but appropriate for this quiet, introspective character. He falls into Max's arms.
It ends with Jan and Esme (Max's daughter) sharing a moment of joy in Czechoslovakia that is, of course, linked to Rock and Roll.
One of the wonderful things about theater is it allows actors to play against type. Logan Marshall Green got the chance in 'Dog Sees God', as one example, and in Rock and Roll, Rufus Sewell has his turn to show us another side of his talent. A modest and humble character is, perhaps, made more moving and sympathetic when embodied by someone with a reputation built on portrayals of cold power, as if we are watching not only the character made meek but the actor, too.
Brian Cox, I have long believed, is one of the best actors of his generation, and it was a joy to see him onstage. When I describe him to people, I say, 'Imagine Brando, without the trouble,' and they get it. That's how I think of Brian Cox.
Revisiting this review now, I have to say that I would absolutely see the play again--after I'd read all the wikipedia entries on Czechoslovakia, of course.
Rock 'N' Roll
Play written by Tom Stoppard
January 25, 2008, 8pm
Orch I 114
Rock 'N' Roll follows the lives of two men, Jan (Rufus Sewell) in Czechoslovakia and Max (Brian Cox) in England over the course of 30 years. The acting is fantastic, and I am looking forward to seeing it again—so I can figure out what the hell it was about. From Coast of Utopia, Stoppard's previous Russian tour-de-force, we learned that the thing to do with a Stoppard play is arrive 15 minutes early so we have time to read the program insert by the production's dramaturg. Without it (or a comprehensive knowledge of both Czech and Communist history as well as Rock and Roll's place in history), we would be lost.
Production note: The way they showed what language the Czech characters were using was if a Czech character were speaking to an English character, he would speak with a Czech accent and, in Jan's case, hesitant English. If only Czech characters were together, they would all speak in the actor's normal accents to indicate they were speaking Czech and there were no language barriers.
The format of the play was like this: Imagine that you were going to write a play about someone's life, and you wanted to cover 30 years. So, for each year, write down the main happening of that year. Now, write a scene set the day before whatever it is happens. Link the scenes together with different rock songs of the year you are portraying. This is Rock 'N' Roll. But don't let this put you off.
Somehow, following this method, avoiding the days of high emotion, Stoppard has created a play of emotional intelligence that is an ultimately joyous, loving, and intensely moving story of forgiveness and awakening, both on a personal and social level.
Max is a Cambridge professor and card-carrying communist, highly respected in the party, but as the years go on, he stays in as others fall out, and the question arises: why? His beloved wife is dying of cancer, his hippie daughter has a baby, and the play advances to show the daughter growing into a meek woman and the granddaughter into an intellectual prodigy. (Wife and grown daughter are both played wonderfully by Sinead Cusack and Alice Eve adorably doubles as daughter and granddaughter.)
Jan is Max's former student, a native Czech who returned to his homeland, having failed Max's expectations that he would take up the party flag. Jan is a quiet young man, his only wish to be left alone with his records of the rock and roll he learned to love in England. He does not seek to buck the system. However, his possession of these records is seen as rebellious, and causes trouble for this man with hunched shoulders and inherent meekness who only wants to stay beneath the radar.
Near the end, Jan confesses to Max that although he tried to ignore the system and then to play it, the system broke him and he betrayed Max to it. It was a betrayal that did not affect Max, and which Max would never have known about. "You didn't have to tell me," he says. "No," Jan responds, and erupts in a sob, which, in keeping with the keyed-down emotion of the play, is delivered with his back to the audience so we don't get to see him break down, a privacy rarely given on a stage, but appropriate for this quiet, introspective character. He falls into Max's arms.
It ends with Jan and Esme (Max's daughter) sharing a moment of joy in Czechoslovakia that is, of course, linked to Rock and Roll.
One of the wonderful things about theater is it allows actors to play against type. Logan Marshall Green got the chance in 'Dog Sees God', as one example, and in Rock and Roll, Rufus Sewell has his turn to show us another side of his talent. A modest and humble character is, perhaps, made more moving and sympathetic when embodied by someone with a reputation built on portrayals of cold power, as if we are watching not only the character made meek but the actor, too.
Brian Cox, I have long believed, is one of the best actors of his generation, and it was a joy to see him onstage. When I describe him to people, I say, 'Imagine Brando, without the trouble,' and they get it. That's how I think of Brian Cox.
Revisiting this review now, I have to say that I would absolutely see the play again--after I'd read all the wikipedia entries on Czechoslovakia, of course.
Conversations in Tusculum
Conversations in Tusculum
The Public Theater
March 9, 2008 7pm
FF6 with Cousin Ann
Play written and directed by Richard Nelson
Tusculum is play about power, dictatorship, war, murder, and the powerlessness of men who once had power. It is a play about today and yesterday.
Brutus and Cassius (Aidan Quinn and David Strathairn) are both men (figuratively) castrated by Caesar, who has taken Brutus's mother (Maria Tucci) and sister (Cassius's wife) as his mistresses. They have each been pardoned by Caesar, too, and are now reluctantly indebted to him. So, they retire to a villa in Tusculum and rant ineffectually about the man-god to whom they cannot refuse anything. Also there is Brutus's friend the philosopher Cicero (Brian Dennehy), a man recently bereaved of his daughter, trapped in grief and in the midst of a divorce from his child-bride. For comic relief, the actor Syrus (Joe Grifasi) is a roving houseguest amongst them.
Brutus has married his cousin Porcia (Gloria Reuben) the daughter of Cato, who killed himself rather than be Caesar's minion, but Brutus weakly claims that he loves her; this is not his attempt at protest.
Throughout, these men are trapped in a web of inaction, accepting appointments from Caesar and incapable of cutting the strings from their arms that he uses to dangle them and joust them against each other. They are humiliated and helpless, unable to refuse Caesar, in awe of him even as they hate him. Cassius becomes a broken man, while Brutus moves from self-hating and possibly suicidal to cold and ironic.
In the end, they must accept that the republic as they knew it is dead, never to come again. And in this acceptance, something is born anew in Brutus. A reclaiming of himself, a gigantic moment that starts out so small, just there in Tusculum, under the trees, at dinner with friends and lamp-light, when an idea is shared, an ideology, that Brutus has which will forever change the future and rewrite Caesar's history.
When I bought my membership to the Public this year, the conversation went like this:
Public Rep: You should know that the Brian Dennehy fans are snapping up memberships as fast as they can in order to get tickets ahead of the public to Tusculum.
Me: Really?
Public Rep: It's a deluge.
Me: Seriously?
Public Rep: I know!
Me: There was an actor in it I really wanted to see, but I'm blanking--
Public Rep: David Straithairn?
Me: I like him, but I don't think so...
Public Rep: Hmm...
Me: Hmm. (It was Aidan Quinn.)
So, membership bought and off I went to Tusculum, where it turns out the Dennehy fans are right on the mark. Who knew? (Well, them, obviously.) But now I know, too. The movie acting Mr. Dennehy does doesn't begin to clue you into how good he is onstage. (Nor does that commercial where he's walking along a rocky beach and keeps turning around because he's just thought of something more to say...) He even had a monologue directed at a photograph that was believable, and I think we all know how difficult it is to convincingly talk at objects onstage since we all do it so often in our homes...
Watching these actors lounge around in their 1940's costumes (no explanation for that in the notes, but maybe togas would be distracting?), these talented actors joined together in this play, I could have eavesdropped for hours. Mr. Strathairn does broken so well. Mr. Quinn found an eloquence in Brutus's frustration, being caught between not just Republic and Caesar but also wife and mother.
Gloria Reuben, also wonderful, understated, loving, but strong enough to make it clear why Brutus was so caught between her and his mother.
Recently, someone said to me, "I don't see the point of theater. I'd rather go see a film where it's been edited to be perfect. Why would you want to see something that wasn't perfect?" I told her that sometimes theater is perfect, and that's the most beautiful thing about it, catching that rare perfection that is made more wonderful by the fact that it is live.
Last night was perfect.
The Public Theater
March 9, 2008 7pm
FF6 with Cousin Ann
Play written and directed by Richard Nelson
Tusculum is play about power, dictatorship, war, murder, and the powerlessness of men who once had power. It is a play about today and yesterday.
Brutus and Cassius (Aidan Quinn and David Strathairn) are both men (figuratively) castrated by Caesar, who has taken Brutus's mother (Maria Tucci) and sister (Cassius's wife) as his mistresses. They have each been pardoned by Caesar, too, and are now reluctantly indebted to him. So, they retire to a villa in Tusculum and rant ineffectually about the man-god to whom they cannot refuse anything. Also there is Brutus's friend the philosopher Cicero (Brian Dennehy), a man recently bereaved of his daughter, trapped in grief and in the midst of a divorce from his child-bride. For comic relief, the actor Syrus (Joe Grifasi) is a roving houseguest amongst them.
Brutus has married his cousin Porcia (Gloria Reuben) the daughter of Cato, who killed himself rather than be Caesar's minion, but Brutus weakly claims that he loves her; this is not his attempt at protest.
Throughout, these men are trapped in a web of inaction, accepting appointments from Caesar and incapable of cutting the strings from their arms that he uses to dangle them and joust them against each other. They are humiliated and helpless, unable to refuse Caesar, in awe of him even as they hate him. Cassius becomes a broken man, while Brutus moves from self-hating and possibly suicidal to cold and ironic.
In the end, they must accept that the republic as they knew it is dead, never to come again. And in this acceptance, something is born anew in Brutus. A reclaiming of himself, a gigantic moment that starts out so small, just there in Tusculum, under the trees, at dinner with friends and lamp-light, when an idea is shared, an ideology, that Brutus has which will forever change the future and rewrite Caesar's history.
When I bought my membership to the Public this year, the conversation went like this:
Public Rep: You should know that the Brian Dennehy fans are snapping up memberships as fast as they can in order to get tickets ahead of the public to Tusculum.
Me: Really?
Public Rep: It's a deluge.
Me: Seriously?
Public Rep: I know!
Me: There was an actor in it I really wanted to see, but I'm blanking--
Public Rep: David Straithairn?
Me: I like him, but I don't think so...
Public Rep: Hmm...
Me: Hmm. (It was Aidan Quinn.)
So, membership bought and off I went to Tusculum, where it turns out the Dennehy fans are right on the mark. Who knew? (Well, them, obviously.) But now I know, too. The movie acting Mr. Dennehy does doesn't begin to clue you into how good he is onstage. (Nor does that commercial where he's walking along a rocky beach and keeps turning around because he's just thought of something more to say...) He even had a monologue directed at a photograph that was believable, and I think we all know how difficult it is to convincingly talk at objects onstage since we all do it so often in our homes...
Watching these actors lounge around in their 1940's costumes (no explanation for that in the notes, but maybe togas would be distracting?), these talented actors joined together in this play, I could have eavesdropped for hours. Mr. Strathairn does broken so well. Mr. Quinn found an eloquence in Brutus's frustration, being caught between not just Republic and Caesar but also wife and mother.
Gloria Reuben, also wonderful, understated, loving, but strong enough to make it clear why Brutus was so caught between her and his mother.
Recently, someone said to me, "I don't see the point of theater. I'd rather go see a film where it's been edited to be perfect. Why would you want to see something that wasn't perfect?" I told her that sometimes theater is perfect, and that's the most beautiful thing about it, catching that rare perfection that is made more wonderful by the fact that it is live.
Last night was perfect.
Macbeth
Macbeth
BAM Harvey Theater
March 8, 2pm
Orch R28
With Cousin Ann $48.00
Stalinist Russia. A dark, dank military hospital. A wounded soldier is raced in on a stretcher, accompanied by men dressed as commanders of the Russian army. As the man writhes in death throes, and nurses tend to him, he tells the men about the heroics on the field, performed by Macbeth. Macbeth? What? That Scottish guy? Suddenly, the lights change, smoke pours out of a gated door and the nurses, chanting, unveil themselves as the three weird sisters.
When I was in London last October, this was on in the West End, and I saw the reviews that said, 'Best Macbeth ever!' and since coming here, the Royal Shakespeare Company has continued to get raves. Well, for once, a production that lives up to every inch of the hype. Patrick Stewart leads a wonderful cast (notably: Lady M by Kate Fleetwood and Banquo by Martin Turner) in a transplanted version of the Scottish Play set in Stalinist Russia that implements multimedia—music, sound, video juxtaposed against the era costumes and spare set to create an amazing experience that stripped the play down to bare emotion and terror. Banquo's ghost's entrance alone…
The sisters also take on the guise of waitstaff at Macbeth's home, so they are watching him throughout. Their chanting at the start of Act 2 is combined with electronic beats and done in rap and choreography as they animate corpses in body bags, slinking bodily over them and delivering the final prophecy to Macbeth. It sounds cheesy, but it was chilling. And danceable.
This old play is new again, cutting edge, astounding. Although it first glance it is Shakespeare in the Stalinist era, this is actually a play out of time and place. The costumes and songs are Russian, the words are Elizabethan, and the effects are Now. It is a Macbeth from three different points meeting as one.
Patrick Stewart’s fantastic Macbeth was in turns frightened and haunted by what he has become and then light, joking, a dictator with no fears. He gave new life to the speeches, from 'is this a dagger I see before me' and onwards. I loved how he drew out the 'and's in 'tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow' as if he were so fed up with it, here comes yet another tomorrow, leading up to the end where he faces off with MacDuff and surrenders to him, a change from the usual 'fight to the death' ending, this Macbeth, upon hearing that MacDuff was not born of woman, declares 'let the last man say…' drops his knife at MacDuff's feet '…enough.' Then MacDuff drags him into the elevator (yes, an actual elevator), used throughout for creepy smoke-encased entrances and exits, and slaughters him.
When a show is largely wonderful, it can be difficult to know what to say about it without sounding clichéd or silly. There is so much about this show that needs to be experienced rather than read, so I'll say this. It transfers to Broadway April 9. Go. Go. Go.
BAM Harvey Theater
March 8, 2pm
Orch R28
With Cousin Ann $48.00
Stalinist Russia. A dark, dank military hospital. A wounded soldier is raced in on a stretcher, accompanied by men dressed as commanders of the Russian army. As the man writhes in death throes, and nurses tend to him, he tells the men about the heroics on the field, performed by Macbeth. Macbeth? What? That Scottish guy? Suddenly, the lights change, smoke pours out of a gated door and the nurses, chanting, unveil themselves as the three weird sisters.
When I was in London last October, this was on in the West End, and I saw the reviews that said, 'Best Macbeth ever!' and since coming here, the Royal Shakespeare Company has continued to get raves. Well, for once, a production that lives up to every inch of the hype. Patrick Stewart leads a wonderful cast (notably: Lady M by Kate Fleetwood and Banquo by Martin Turner) in a transplanted version of the Scottish Play set in Stalinist Russia that implements multimedia—music, sound, video juxtaposed against the era costumes and spare set to create an amazing experience that stripped the play down to bare emotion and terror. Banquo's ghost's entrance alone…
The sisters also take on the guise of waitstaff at Macbeth's home, so they are watching him throughout. Their chanting at the start of Act 2 is combined with electronic beats and done in rap and choreography as they animate corpses in body bags, slinking bodily over them and delivering the final prophecy to Macbeth. It sounds cheesy, but it was chilling. And danceable.
This old play is new again, cutting edge, astounding. Although it first glance it is Shakespeare in the Stalinist era, this is actually a play out of time and place. The costumes and songs are Russian, the words are Elizabethan, and the effects are Now. It is a Macbeth from three different points meeting as one.
Patrick Stewart’s fantastic Macbeth was in turns frightened and haunted by what he has become and then light, joking, a dictator with no fears. He gave new life to the speeches, from 'is this a dagger I see before me' and onwards. I loved how he drew out the 'and's in 'tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow' as if he were so fed up with it, here comes yet another tomorrow, leading up to the end where he faces off with MacDuff and surrenders to him, a change from the usual 'fight to the death' ending, this Macbeth, upon hearing that MacDuff was not born of woman, declares 'let the last man say…' drops his knife at MacDuff's feet '…enough.' Then MacDuff drags him into the elevator (yes, an actual elevator), used throughout for creepy smoke-encased entrances and exits, and slaughters him.
When a show is largely wonderful, it can be difficult to know what to say about it without sounding clichéd or silly. There is so much about this show that needs to be experienced rather than read, so I'll say this. It transfers to Broadway April 9. Go. Go. Go.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Life in a Marital Institution
LIFE IN A MARITAL INSTITUTION (20 years of monogamy in one terrifying hour)
Written and Performed by JAMES BRALY
At 59E59
March 5, 2008, 8:30 PM.
Gen admin. With Brian.
James Braly, man, his wife is, depending on your mindset, either a free spirit or absolutely bonkers. Mr. Braly details his relationship with Susan from the moment they meet in a Hungarian Pastry Shop (you know, the one up by Columbia U) and she snatches his notebook away from him to edit the poem he is writing about his ex-girlfriend and through their years of dating and marriage, which include some absolutely cringe-worthy moments. (Who knew placenta-eating was so common?)
He’s no actor, and makes no attempt at theatrics. Instead, we are treated to an hour with an affable man with a pretty decent, eyebrow-raising story. A sort of Mr. Rogers with the proverbial sweater off. This is what I think is the key to the ultimate question: Are they still together? Seven years into their relationship, still dating, they befriend a beautiful French woman. James doesn’t sleep with her; though the opportunity is there, he is loyal to Susan. Years later, they meet again. James still doesn’t sleep with her. In between visits from the Most Beautiful Woman In the World, they have kids, Susan decides to let the kids self-wean, effectively leaving James to himself as there is no room for him in bed with a four year old and six year old fighting for mommy. And he still doesn’t sleep with the French woman.
The stories of Susan are intercut with an account of his last days at the bedside of his dying sister along with his bickering family and a universally hated boyfriend.
‘Would you trade places with me?’ she says.
‘Would you be married to Susan?’ he counters.
‘No.’
He doesn’t tell us if he and Susan are still married. He asks, ‘would you stay married to her?’ Well, maybe not, but from the way he portrays his part in all this, I have a strong feeling that he would.
Written and Performed by JAMES BRALY
At 59E59
March 5, 2008, 8:30 PM.
Gen admin. With Brian.
James Braly, man, his wife is, depending on your mindset, either a free spirit or absolutely bonkers. Mr. Braly details his relationship with Susan from the moment they meet in a Hungarian Pastry Shop (you know, the one up by Columbia U) and she snatches his notebook away from him to edit the poem he is writing about his ex-girlfriend and through their years of dating and marriage, which include some absolutely cringe-worthy moments. (Who knew placenta-eating was so common?)
He’s no actor, and makes no attempt at theatrics. Instead, we are treated to an hour with an affable man with a pretty decent, eyebrow-raising story. A sort of Mr. Rogers with the proverbial sweater off. This is what I think is the key to the ultimate question: Are they still together? Seven years into their relationship, still dating, they befriend a beautiful French woman. James doesn’t sleep with her; though the opportunity is there, he is loyal to Susan. Years later, they meet again. James still doesn’t sleep with her. In between visits from the Most Beautiful Woman In the World, they have kids, Susan decides to let the kids self-wean, effectively leaving James to himself as there is no room for him in bed with a four year old and six year old fighting for mommy. And he still doesn’t sleep with the French woman.
The stories of Susan are intercut with an account of his last days at the bedside of his dying sister along with his bickering family and a universally hated boyfriend.
‘Would you trade places with me?’ she says.
‘Would you be married to Susan?’ he counters.
‘No.’
He doesn’t tell us if he and Susan are still married. He asks, ‘would you stay married to her?’ Well, maybe not, but from the way he portrays his part in all this, I have a strong feeling that he would.
Eddie Izzard: Stripped!
Eddie Izzard
March 5, 2008, 10:30 PM
Union Square Theater $40
Orch G 7, with Brian
Eddie Izzard doesn't believe in God. The way he sees it, no one in Europe believes in God, not after those 2 big wars. And the flu plague of 1919. What America needs, he says, is a big ol' land war to kill a few million people, and then we'll see if you don't come to your senses--at least your people in the middle. The rest of you are fine. Coming from any number of other people, that wouldn't be funny. Reading it now, it isn't funny. Thank G0d (so to speak) for Eddie Izzard, who can make it funny (then again, this is coming from a NY'er and I can convince myself, as did the audience that he wasn't talking about us.) And welcome back, Eddie, to NYC.
In between Swiftian suggestions of self-improvement and thoughts on modern technology, Wikipedia and those pesky 'terms of usage' forms no one reads, Eddie laid out history from the dawn of time, riffing on the stone age as a pair of cavemen who discover that hitting each other with rocks is fun, the hunting and gathering age as the disgruntled guy who has to pick the berries while the others are out hunting, Noah and the Ark ("Do I believe Noah existed? Yes. Do I believe he built a boat? Yes. Do I believe he put 2 of every animal in the boat? No. How do I know? Try it.") Moses, and the possibility that if God exists, he just might be on crack--how else to explain female insects that kill their mates? Then onto a lengthy bit about a soldier informing his commander about Hannibal and the elephants delivered in Latin, German, and French as an example of why Latin takes too long and urgent news should be delivered in English. Actually, very bad Latin, German, and French, but I am stopping myself from nitpicking over that because I currently have a tiny Mr. Izzard in my brain saying "I'd like to see you do that!" And then a lengthy bit of speculation on how a giraffe, which can grunt, wheeze and 'make the sound of a flute' would warn his mates that a lion was near, conducted wholly in silence, aside from the aforementioned sounds, and turned into a game of giraffe charades. It was hilarious, and went on so long that I'm quite certain he was just trying to see how long he could stretch the laugh. He didn't stop until there were only 2 people laughing, rather like the way you're supposed to listen for the popcorn to know when to take it out of the microwave.
He's doing the show as a workshop to test material before he puts the proper show on in June, and it was very obviously a test run. He stopped a few times to note 'don't do that one' on his palm when a joke fell flat. For the most part he was matter of fact about it, apart from the moan that rose up at a joke about the spartans that culminated in the origin of the 'wolf in sheep's clothing' phrase. "Oh, like you've heard so many spartan sheep jokes. Ten a penny, those are!"
Eddie has said that he doesn't write out his act. He knows in advance what he'd like to talk about, but mostly he just sees what happens. The first five minutes of the show were start and stop as he tested his footing (actually a bit literally as he was on a stage with a bouncy floor due to the show that is actually housed in the theater, called 'Jump'), but once he hit his stride he was into it for the a near two hour show. Not every bit worked, but what did was fantastic, and what didn't really didn't. I admit, I zoned a bit, as one is wont to do at such a late hour when a man with a thick accent is talking. His voice is Just. So. Soothing. But my face needed a break from all the laughing...
And, for those interested in what our favorite straight male transvestite British-European-Yemenite Comedian was wearing--blue jeans, black t-shirt, dark blue blazer, no lipstick, which I found hilarious as before the show started I heard several people comment on their seats by saying, "We're close enough to see his lipstick!"
For me, the best part was something Brian didn't even notice. Brian has this laugh that always attracts performers. I like to think of it as an encouraging laugh. Early on Brian was laughing so hard and Eddie noticed and started playing right to him for a few minutes, but Brian said later he was laughing too much to notice. Eddie had a big grin on, though, and I certainly enjoyed it.
And that was our night with Eddie Izzard.
March 5, 2008, 10:30 PM
Union Square Theater $40
Orch G 7, with Brian
Eddie Izzard doesn't believe in God. The way he sees it, no one in Europe believes in God, not after those 2 big wars. And the flu plague of 1919. What America needs, he says, is a big ol' land war to kill a few million people, and then we'll see if you don't come to your senses--at least your people in the middle. The rest of you are fine. Coming from any number of other people, that wouldn't be funny. Reading it now, it isn't funny. Thank G0d (so to speak) for Eddie Izzard, who can make it funny (then again, this is coming from a NY'er and I can convince myself, as did the audience that he wasn't talking about us.) And welcome back, Eddie, to NYC.
In between Swiftian suggestions of self-improvement and thoughts on modern technology, Wikipedia and those pesky 'terms of usage' forms no one reads, Eddie laid out history from the dawn of time, riffing on the stone age as a pair of cavemen who discover that hitting each other with rocks is fun, the hunting and gathering age as the disgruntled guy who has to pick the berries while the others are out hunting, Noah and the Ark ("Do I believe Noah existed? Yes. Do I believe he built a boat? Yes. Do I believe he put 2 of every animal in the boat? No. How do I know? Try it.") Moses, and the possibility that if God exists, he just might be on crack--how else to explain female insects that kill their mates? Then onto a lengthy bit about a soldier informing his commander about Hannibal and the elephants delivered in Latin, German, and French as an example of why Latin takes too long and urgent news should be delivered in English. Actually, very bad Latin, German, and French, but I am stopping myself from nitpicking over that because I currently have a tiny Mr. Izzard in my brain saying "I'd like to see you do that!" And then a lengthy bit of speculation on how a giraffe, which can grunt, wheeze and 'make the sound of a flute' would warn his mates that a lion was near, conducted wholly in silence, aside from the aforementioned sounds, and turned into a game of giraffe charades. It was hilarious, and went on so long that I'm quite certain he was just trying to see how long he could stretch the laugh. He didn't stop until there were only 2 people laughing, rather like the way you're supposed to listen for the popcorn to know when to take it out of the microwave.
He's doing the show as a workshop to test material before he puts the proper show on in June, and it was very obviously a test run. He stopped a few times to note 'don't do that one' on his palm when a joke fell flat. For the most part he was matter of fact about it, apart from the moan that rose up at a joke about the spartans that culminated in the origin of the 'wolf in sheep's clothing' phrase. "Oh, like you've heard so many spartan sheep jokes. Ten a penny, those are!"
Eddie has said that he doesn't write out his act. He knows in advance what he'd like to talk about, but mostly he just sees what happens. The first five minutes of the show were start and stop as he tested his footing (actually a bit literally as he was on a stage with a bouncy floor due to the show that is actually housed in the theater, called 'Jump'), but once he hit his stride he was into it for the a near two hour show. Not every bit worked, but what did was fantastic, and what didn't really didn't. I admit, I zoned a bit, as one is wont to do at such a late hour when a man with a thick accent is talking. His voice is Just. So. Soothing. But my face needed a break from all the laughing...
And, for those interested in what our favorite straight male transvestite British-European-Yemenite Comedian was wearing--blue jeans, black t-shirt, dark blue blazer, no lipstick, which I found hilarious as before the show started I heard several people comment on their seats by saying, "We're close enough to see his lipstick!"
For me, the best part was something Brian didn't even notice. Brian has this laugh that always attracts performers. I like to think of it as an encouraging laugh. Early on Brian was laughing so hard and Eddie noticed and started playing right to him for a few minutes, but Brian said later he was laughing too much to notice. Eddie had a big grin on, though, and I certainly enjoyed it.
And that was our night with Eddie Izzard.
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