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.
Monday, March 24, 2008
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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