A Cop and Clowns Walk into a Bar…

The lights are dimmed, the room is silent. “You can sit here,” the usher says. “Oh, and don’t forget this.” As if it came out of thin air, it appears between his finger tips and he places it in the palm of my hand. I look down, and there it is — a bright red clown nose. I look up and realize that everyone in the room is a clown with the same red nose. I look back and a clown appears out of the darkness into the doorway I had just walked through. I knew then that this was not a regular clown act.   

Now I know what you are thinking, and no, this was not a nightmare. It was the set of Clown Bar — a show about a cop named Happy Mahoney who returns to his old clown life to figure out the murder of his brother, Timmy, and seek revenge. Written by Adam Szymkowicz, this play combines the visual familiarity of the bright clown costumes and exaggerated clown make–up with the 1930s gangster’s ambiance. 

In this performance directed by Andrew Neisler, the audience is introduced to the world of the play with red noses of their own, waitresses dressed in proper clown attire, and a 15-to-30 minute pre-show. The stage is set up so the actors have the space to perform on a small stage at the very end of the room, as well as walk up and down the center row of a very cozy bar. From the beginning to end, the vibrant costumes and well-designed set captures your eyes. Throughout the show, the lighting perfectly frames the actors to help the audience look in the right direction while the mime pianist makes you laugh as he plays the appropriate tune to set the mood or to help support a singing number. 

Credit must also be given to the actors on the stage. With a straight face, the cast delivers ironic word play, double entendres, puns and even bad jokes that keep the audience in their seat wanting more. To be able to get the audience’s attention no matter where in the room they deliver a line is a reflection of their talent. Clowns such as Petunia (played by Jessica Frey) and Dusty (played by Salty Brine), catch your attention and make you fall in love with their characters, no matter how many clowns they may or may not have killed that day.

The only warning I give to you is to be careful where you sit. On the one hand, while the cozy atmosphere of the bar adds to the world of the play, it causes some audience members to have partial view. For example, although it's exciting to sit on the small stage to be close to the action, depending on the angle, some of the staging can be lost if you are too close or too far away. 

On the other hand, by sitting that close to the action, you are able to interact with the actors. While some audience members are sprinkled with the glitter of the gun shots, others become a part of the act. 

Overall, these criminal clowns are successfully able to take the audience on a ride into the underbelly of clown crime in order to solve the murder of Timmy Mahoney — the unfunny clown. Although I only chuckled a few times, the impressive set, costume and talent makes it worthwhile show. Just be ready for puns and a room full of clowns — and don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Clown Bar ran through Sept. 27 at The Box (189 Chrystie St. between Stanton and Rivington).

Invest In Your Theater Experience

If you thought Governors Island was only for bicycling, picnics and electronic music concerts — think again! Because theater visionaries David Evans Morris and Kristin Marting have transformed the island's historic Pershing Hall into a "living market" for their latest immersive theater creation entitled Trade Practices, which kicks off the 2014-15 season at HERE Arts Center. Like our nation's economy, Trade Practices is intricately structured and impossible to wrap your head around. The rooms of Pershing Hall have been transformed into departments of a fictional currency-printing corporation, Tender, Inc. Each audience member receives a roll of cash and, accordingly, the power to invest their time and "money" into whichever storyline they choose. Part of the fun and frustration of Trade Practices (and immersive theater in general) is knowing that every audience member's experience must be different, and that one can't possibly see or experience everything.

By dividing the threads of action into separate spaces, Marting and Morris have created for themselves an unprecedented freedom to play with style and form. Within each plot line, the collaborators dive enthusiastically into genres such as satire, participatory theater, dance, melodrama, musical theater, and so much more. More emphasis is placed on unity of theme or thought than stylistic or aesthetic unity (as in Punchdrunk's cinematic behemoth of immersive theatre, Sleep No More). Yet this schizophrenia of style works wonderfully for the piece, ensuring that audience members are never, ever bored and never, ever sure what is going to come next. 

A particularly charming stylistic tangent is the musical numbers performed in the "Owners" story line, as well as every incident of full-ensemble choreography that takes place on the trade floor, where the entire audience convenes between each plot episode. These dance numbers smack of the virtuosic yet amateurish choreography of Elevator Repair Service productions, as well as the quirkily empowered dance moments in the work of Young Jean Lee (no surprise since Trade Practices incorporates actors and collaborators from both). Fully committed to the song and dance, the brilliant ensemble cast is present at every moment — be it wacky, heartfelt or politically charged.  

The complexity and thought behind the text of Trade Practices (written by Eisa Davis, Robert Lyons, Erin Courtney, Qui Nguyen, KJ Sanchez, and Chris Wells) indicates some serious dramaturgy and research, and the program indicates a bevy of bankers and financial workers that lent their knowledge to the project. There are times, however, that the finance-speak becomes overwhelming for those of us without a banking background. Rather than weighing down the piece, however, these moments only serve to enhance the feeling of intricacy and insurmountability of the economy — a formidable beast of our own creation. For audience members who are finance-savvy, the moments of intense economic debate are likely to be stimulating. Regardless, Trade Practices manages to unmask the relationship between money, power and the human condition. The results are messy, but undoubtedly thought-provoking (and worth the ferry ride to Governors Island).

Trade Practices ran until Sept. 21 at HERE Arts Center (145 Avenue of the Americas). For more information, please visit www.here.org. 

A Long Trek to Bardo

For This Lingering Life, playwright Chiori Miyagawa has drawn elements from nine Noh plays. Initially, she writes in a program note, she wanted to “pay homage to the culture.” But once she began, she revised and adapted them extensively. Elements of the 15^th-century theatrical form remain—in its content (several characters are warriors, crazy women, or supernatural beings, such as ghosts or angels) and style (there’s an emphasis on language over physical action, and Becky Bodurtha’s excellent costumes draw on ancient warriors and peasants as well as modern-day dress). 

In other ways, though, the play has little to do with the Noh experience. It consists of vignettes and features a multiracial cast and gender-blind casting. Those elements don’t detract from the whole, but they don’t add much either, except the recognition that a modern sensibility has had a hand in the production. The same goes for the time jumps between past and present, as well as elements of meta-theater, when characters break the fourth wall. “I must be the narrator,” says Meg MacCary’s Woman with Tragic Hair. “Hold on—I have no training as a narrator.” Later on Amir Darvish’s beggar son says to the remorseful father who threw him out, “Classically speaking, I should forgive you”—not only a meta-theater joke, but a meta-theatrical in-joke.

Ronald Cohen plays an elderly host (not the narrator), who helpfuly describes the stories at the outset. One is advised that characters from the five kinds of Noh plays will appear: a warrior, a demon, a woman, a ghost, and a deity, and sometimes more than one. In a program note, Miyagawa says she didn’t like any characters from the women plays, but she felt “duty-bound … to include at least one of them,” so she picked an angel from that group, and “discarded the plot entirely.”

Whether this picking and choosing willy-nilly really pays homage to Noh plays is beside the point. Miyagawa’s plundering of characters to fit into a new plot produces a play that hangs together awkwardly and never catches emotional fire in spite of a game company, Cake Productions. The multiple threads are held together by MacCary’s crazy woman with hair that grows straight up as she searches for her brother, who is blind. She encounters a number of the other characters on her quest to find Bardo, where spirits go after death and wait for reincarnation.

Among the 28 characters are a warrior from the 12th century (Stephanie Weeks, moving persuasively as the opposite gender) who threatens a man dressed in a modern suit (Enormvs Muñoz) with a sword. The man kills the warrior, finds the warrior’s flute and takes it; they seem to reenact the scene over centuries. Two young lovers (Marta Kuersten and Luke Forbes) stand on a floating bridge they use to meet, but the girl’s parents sabotage planks of the bridge, leading to the young man's drowning. Two young guys in tracksuits (Forbes and Vanessa Kai) show up, as does a gardener (Kai as a man) who is hoodwinked into believing the young daughter of the wealthy employer has the hots for him. Two modern-day backpackers (William Franke, who resembles a young Garrison Keillor, and Forbes) encounter a distraught mother in brightly colored clothing searching for her son.

Some moments work well, especially the tenderness in the  young lovers’ scene, and the occasional line startles: “Everyone alive is already haunted.” There are good comic moments, too, especially from MacCary, and a scene between Darvish and a small-town, park-bench gossip (Muñoz) is very amusing. Darvish also plays the mother of a slain man and in all his roles exhibits a vocally attractive performance, with a smooth, low resonance. But too much is choppy, elliptical, and confusing.

Director Cat Miller keeps the action moving, though at times the actors seem a bit stiff. Whether that is to reflect the stylization of the Noh originals is unclear, but the actors try their best to infuse flavors into what feels like a half-cooked goulash.

This Lingering Life plays at the HERE Arts Center through Oct. 4, with evening performances Wednesdays through Sundays at 7 p.m. and matinees on Sundays at 2 p.m. For tickets, visit www.here.org and click on Sublet Series shows, or call 866-811-4111.

Kicking Feminism

Early in Micheline Auger’s Donkey Punch, frank banter and satirical jabs suggest the playwright has written a sex comedy. But Auger is out for more than just laughs. Gradually, in Audrey Alford’s production for the Ivy Theatre Company, the dramatist’s comedy-drama becomes a troubling look at the state of feminism. 

Two women are the focus of the plot: the plump, wryly comic Sam (Lauren Dortch-Crozier), easygoing and unhappy with life, and her high-octane friend Kareena (Cleo Gray), who takes on the role of Sam’s mentor. 

Kareena has recently put Sam in contact with Kyle, a man Kareena once communicated with online, but only briefly, before she met her boyfriend Teddy. Now also talking to Kyle online, Sam has discovered that he makes soft-core “horror porn” films; his latest is called Donkey Punch. Sam is reluctant to meet him because she assumes his work degrades women, but Kareena insists Sam is a prude and needs to widen her erotic horizons; she encourages a first date. (It’s at this point, ironically, that  a role reversal briefly occurs. An unenlightened Kareena learns from Sam the meaning of Kyle's title. It refers to a sexual practice — bizarre and obscure, judging by the surprised reaction of the audience — that heightens a man’s climax during intercourse.) 

Auger has a good deal of fun with the contrast in sexual awareness between the high-earning Kareena and the struggling, diffident Sam, who has hitherto worked as an actress in commercials. “You’re a strong and independent woman,” Kareena exhorts Sam. “You should have a dildo.” Trying to meet her on less intimate ground, Sam responds (with a delivery that evokes a laid-back Jo Anne Worley): “Better health insurance would be nice.”  

Once Sam and Kyle (Jon McCormick) meet, a Pygmalion transformation occurs: Sam bleaches her hair, enlarges her breasts, and ends up the focus of a documentary that entails Kyle’s filming her wherever they go. The repressed Sam embraces life, but it upsets the worldview of the nominally liberated — actually controlling — Kareena. 

Unfortunately, Kareena’s a hard character to like. She is taken aback when Sam begins to talk about her sexual exploits and realizes that Sam’s experience now outstrips hers. A career woman with a vengeance, Kareena declares, “There’s a lot of fish in the proverbial ocean and I’m hot and make a ton of money.” Her feminism is a tangle of contradictions: she advocates pole dancing as “good for your core…it’s totally liberating” but defaults to feminist mantras as well, such as “Bitches before bros.”  

Perhaps the most objectionable thing about Kareena is her emasculating treatment of Micheal Drew’s sensitive Teddy. In Drew’s gentle performance, the strapping boyfriend cooks and attends to her tenderly, but never seems wimpy. Yet when Teddy tries to enter a conversation, Kareena rebuffs him with “We’re having girl talk.” When the accommodating Teddy declares, “I can be one of the girls,” she says, “No, you can’t.” (How many boyfriends would even make that offer?)

Although there’s little about Kareena that’s endearing or redeeming, it’s to Gray’s credit that one is able to feel the character’s confusion and pain even while withholding sympathy — and that includes after she is unexpectedly raped. (Crucially, she doesn’t protest; nonetheless, the sex scene is clumsily staged in a way that tries to be brutal and coy at the same time). 

Meanwhile, Kyle doesn’t conform to any of Sam’s preconceptions. She expects him to call women “bitches” and “hos,” but McCormick, in a nicely understated performance, turns out to be quiet, thoughtful and confident. 

Auger has created four fascinating characters, and situations that make one think, but she doesn’t really offer a diagnosis. Has feminism just created a huge muddle? Have the signals become so mixed, and the dialogue between the sexes so charged, that the old verities of feminism are no longer grounded in reality? Are men now just as much the victims? Auger’s coup is to provide an entry point of discussion.

Donkey Punch runs through Aug. 31 at the SoHo Playhouse (15 Vandam St.). Evening performances are at 8 p.m. on Wednesday through Saturday and 6 p.m. on Sunday. Tickets are $45 and may be obtained by calling 212-691-1555 or visiting www.sohoplayhouse.com.

Agent of Change

Have you ever met a pimp? Or talked to a 19-year-old prostitute? Or tried to avoid your menopausal boss who keeps screaming for the stapler you know you didn’t take? For most people, the answer would be no. But for Helena D. Lewis, she has met these people and many more unique individuals.Call Me Crazy: Diary of a Mad Social Worker is a brilliantly written play, filled with poetry that makes you wonder, “did this really happen?” In her autobiographical one-woman play, Lewis recounts her interactions with 25 people in order to understand how she slowly lost her mind and why she became just as crazy as everyone else. 

With clear transitions between the scenes and distinguishable characters, Lewis did a beautiful job at constructing a play that is easy to follow and understand. While some character portrayals make the audience erupt in laughter, others make you question whether you should be laughing at these very off putting (and sometimes borderline offensive) impersonations. However, it is through the harsh realities that she forces us to face that we finally see that change cannot be made without someone as dedicated as Lewis.

This plays relies heavily on the audience’s ability to use their imagination.  When walking into the space, one must be prepared to see a mostly empty stage. The venue, Nuyorican Poets Café, provides Call Me Crazy a very intimate environment allowing the audience and Lewis to feed off each others' energy. Lewis uses the two long black flats on stage left and right to indicate a different location or character change. The only other set piece is a folding chair located in the center of the stage. In addition, Lewis only used roughly seven props that are easily stored in a pocket or hidden onstage. The very minimalistic set and props help keep the focus on Lewis and her powerful dialogue.

The less smooth transitions occur during the costume changes and lighting transitions. Although she does not change her costume for each character, the few costume changes that occur are a bit awkward. However, this is to be expected when one woman is playing all the characters and has only a matter of seconds to put on/take off a jacket or shirt.   

The lighting is predictable and did not have much of a design concept. It seemed as if the lights were used to add light to the stage rather than add depth to the design. Overall, the lighting was a very simple design — the lights changed color to imply a change in the mood or changed direction to prompt the audience where to look on the stage. 

However, the minimalistic design concepts are often overshadowed by Lewis’s performance. If you are looking for a funny and motivational show, Call Me Crazy is the show for you. Within five minutes, you will be hooked on Lewis’s story of how she strove to change the world for the people who are often ignored in our society. And by the end, you will finally figure out why this woman has sacrificed her sanity in order to be a true agent of change.

Call Me Crazy: Diary of a Mad Social Worker runs until July 27 at the Nuyorican Poet’s Café (236 East 3rd Street between Avenues B and C in the East Village). Daily performances are held at 7:00 p.m. Tickets are $15. For tickets and further information, visit www.nuyorican.org.

Looking Forward to Looking Back

Nostalgia is a powerful thing — it connects us all to a collective memory, reminding us constantly of better days when we were, perhaps, our better selves.  In the midst of the 2010s, when everything from our fashion to our music to even our social media outlets (hello, instagram) derives inspiration from a previous era in one way or another, it is interesting to note the ways in which we are exploring our past. The Mad Ones — which has made its mission to "investigate cultural memory and nostalgia" — are doing just that in their latest outing, The Essential Straight and Narrow, currently playing at the New Ohio Theatre (154 Christopher Street, Ste. 1E).

The play starts when we meet a woman named Jo (Stephanie Wright Thompson) on the set of what looks like a motel room. It is presumably the 1970s, and the movie script she is privately rehearsing is also presumably a cheesy 1970s cop drama. There is a record player in the corner and a bedspread in off-colors: shades of mustard yellow and burnt sienna, just in case you had any doubt when this play took place. The opening scenes start out with Jo practicing a phone conversation and immediately pull you in with humor as Thompson pulls practically every slapstick move known to man while managing to ground it in reality. A hard thing to pull off, and something Thompson does throughout the play with ease and grace. It is this very skill that endears the audience to her, which is important as we start delving in and out of her character's memory. Moments later, the scene with Jo at the telephone "dissolves" — theatrically, of course — into a memory, in a motel room not unlike the one she is playacting in just moments before.  

Here, other characters emerge: there's the charming Miss Debbie (Marc Bovino), a transgender woman Jo befriends; Paul (Michael Dalto), the quiet guitarist to Jo's former music ensemble; and Gram (Joe Curnutte), the gruff and standoffish vocalist. With each recurring flashback, we see snapshots of the group's time together in the motel room: a friendly bout of "The $10,000 Pyramid," a Dia de los Muertos-themed arts and crafts session, a country-folk-rock rehearsal, a crazy Halloween party soundtracked by James Brown and local urban legends are just some of the antics they get up to over the course of the night. With Laura Jellinek's set design, as well as Mike Inwood's lighting, we completely become immersed in these scenes, however brief they may be. (Also noteworthy are Asta Hostetter's costumes, which also delight in the weird and wonderful fashions of the '70s. I mean, flared jeans with cowboy boots, anyone?) 

Adding to the immersion are the actors themselves, displaying a natural rapport and believable ease in their exchanges, creating a voyeuristic feel to each scene. In their respective roles as Paul and Gram, both Dalto and Curnette provide more-than-sufficient support to Thompson, complementing her often self-conscious Jo with their characters' quiet self-awareness. As the vivacious Miss Debbie, Bovino steals more than a few scenes, not only leaving the party-goers in his thrall, but the audience, as well. Rounding out the cast is an equally scene-stealing ensemble; in particular, Blake DeLong as Barrett, a headdress-donning party crasher who not only steals scenes, but also booze, and — of course — "the new James Brown!" 

Despite its title, the play isn't a "straight-shooter" — when it comes to dispensing information, instead opting to leave it up to the audience to come to their own conclusions.  What this critic has come to conclude is that The Essential Straight and Arrow is less an examination and more an ode to our past selves and what we once hoped and dreamt. Just as Jo's past struggle as a musician is reflected in her "current" struggle as an actress, perhaps what we can glean from the play is the idea that we must look back to our past in order to journey on into the future. The road ahead might not be a straight shot into success, but perhaps it's the getting there that's worth looking forward to.

The Essential Straight and Arrow ran at The New Ohio Theatre (154 Christopher Street, Ste. 1E, between Greenwich and Washington Streets) in New York City until June 14. For more information, visit www.NewOhioTheatre.org.

Central Park or the Forest of Arden

Often, when New Yorkers think of theatre in Central Park, they think of the Public's Shakespeare in the Park at the Delacorte Theatre. Flying under the radar of the Delacorte, however, are other theatrical happenings taking place in the nooks and crannies of Central Park.  One of these lesser-known jewels is the New York Classical Theatre, who have been performing their signature "panoramic theatre" in public outdoor spaces such as Central Park, Prospect Park and Battery Park since 2000.  Under the artistic direction of Founder Stephen Burdman, the New York Classical Theatre has most recently applied their panoramic style (a roving, interactive experience that adapts each script to its location) to Shakespeare's As You Like It.  While staging moveable theatre in a park has its obvious difficulties -- such as lighting, sound, and seat comfort -- the overall experience of As You Like It is a delightful summer treat for all ages.

The performances in this play deserve special applause.  While some of the movement is a bit grandiose, this is probably an attempt to fill the unique and sprawling space of Central Park-as-stage.  The cast works together to keep energy high and the pace clipping.  Rin Allen breathes new life into the cross-dressing Rosalind, delivering her lines with vocal color and physical playfulness.  Clay Storseth delivers Jaques' beloved "All The World's a Stage" monologue with insightful nuance.  Also notable is Antoinette Robinson's sassy Phoebe.  Overall, the ensemble has an excellent command of Shakespearean language, making the plotline accessible to even the most inexperienced Shakespeare audiences.

New York Classical Theatre employs crafty design techniques to overcome the obstacles of staging As You Like It outdoors.  Once the sun goes down, company interns whip out an arsenal of flashlights to light the action.  While only partially effective in illuminating the faces of the actors, this makeshift lighting technique creates a magical, "summer camp" type of atmosphere that trumps any expensive lighting system in town.  Similarly, without amplification, the actors must use extra projection to compete with the rich soundscape of the park:  birds, crowds of tourists, people on cell phones, passing ambulances, etc.  These moments of aural interference, however, only enhance the excitement created by the re-articulation of a public space like Central Park.  As you move from scene to scene, be sure to sit close to the action so you can catch most of the lines spoken by the talented performers.  Also, since you will be sitting on the ground, bringing a picnic blanket might not be a bad idea. 

Unlike the Shakespeare in the Park series at the Delacorte, audiences need not wait in long lines to get tickets.  New York Classical Theatre productions are completely free and you can show up at any time to join.  For anyone who enjoys both serious theatre and summer fun, As You Like It is an enchanting summer treat.

Performances of As You Like It runs at Central Park (West 103rd Street and Central Park West) on Thursdays through Sundays until June 22. Performances in Prospect Park (Long Meadow near the Picnic House - 5th Street and Prospect Park West) run every night, June 24–29. Performances in Battery Park (meet in front of Castle Clinton) run Tuesday through Sunday, July 1– 27. All performances are free, begin promptly at 7 p.m., and last two hours. For more information, call 212-252-4531 or visit www.newyorkclassical.org.

Eve of Destruction

Samuel D. Hunter’s fine play The Whale made a big splash last season at Playwrights Horizons (the young playwright received a special Drama Desk Award). Now he has returned with The Few, an absorbing drama at the Rattlestick Playwrights Theater about working-class people flailing in their efforts to survive. Like The Whale, it benefits from canny direction by Davis McCallum.

The talented Hunter has carved out northern Idaho as his stomping ground, just as Lucy Thurber has claimed western Massachusetts. His play A Bright New Boise first brought the Idaho-born dramatist acclaim in 2010. He writes with immense sympathy for people who are isolated and at the end of their rope. You could easily guess that from a glimpse of the living conditions in Dane Laffrey’s set for The Few: the interior of a trailer home that’s cluttered with shabby furniture, shelves with papers, and various ancient computer equipment (it’s 1999, and Y2K has everyone jittery), all sitting under a water-blotched ceiling.

The Few opens with a standoff. Bryan (Michael Laurence) and QZ (Tasha Lawrence) stare at each other, tension thick in the air. Four years earlier, shortly after the death of their good friend Jim in a big-rig accident, Bryan disappeared without a word and hasn’t been in touch. In the interim, his ex-lover QZ has taken over the small paper that the three founded for long-haul truckers — it’s called The Few — and transformed it. Once it featured thoughtful articles by Bryan that struck a chord with big-rig drivers, but that business model, she says, was doomed. Now it relies on classified ads from lonely truckers looking for partners — they call in periodically with their ads, such as “All-American in search of American honey. Like long walks and the second Harry Potter book… All shapes and size welcome, please be under 60.”

QZ seems implacable in her fury: she taunts Bryan with the information that she’s met someone way better than he, though their correspondence is by letter. Harsh and unsentimental, she adds that their dog ran onto the Interstate and was squashed dead. But Bryan still holds the deed to the property. Grudgingly, she allows him to pull out a cot and stay.

Bryan’s settling in is not a complete triumph, and Laurence is excellent in conveying his weariness and brusqueness; the part calls for him to be a cipher for a long stretch, but he makes Bryan compelling. The character must contend with Matthew, QZ’s 19-year-old assistant and Jim’s nephew, who has been thrown out of his home. Since then, QZ has looked after him. As the castoff teen, Gideon Glick gives a startling and assured performance: gawky, nerdy, twitchy, often comical, yet full of unexpected nerve. For years he has secretly awaited Bryan’s return, because Bryan’s articles inspired him when he was 15 and he wants to restore The Few to what it was. Unluckily, an element of Hunter’s plot hinges on Matthew’s being the confidant of brawny truckers and their deep desires, which is not credible.

Nonetheless, McCallum and his cast conjure the feel of people on their last legs, and the wreckage of 20^th-century idealism on the brink of a new millennium. (Passing references to Tetris and floppy disks underline the need for an attitude adjustment toward the future.) Hunter suggests that QZ’s blanket defense of the profit motive is unacceptable, yet an unfocused idealism is no answer either. The final moments of his play bring hope that the profit motive rampant in the new millennium will not totally smother selflessness, and that Bryan and people like him will find some way to lend help to those who need it.

The Few plays at the Rattlestick Playwrights Theater (224 Waverly Place) through June 21. Evening performances are at 7 p.m. on Sunday, Monday and Wednesday; 8 p.m. Thursday through Saturday. There is also a matinee on Saturdays at 3 p.m. For tickets, visit www.rattlestick.org or call Ovationtix at 866-811-4111.

The Mighty Hath Fallen

"The younger rises when the old doth fall." So describes one of William Shakespeare's most dramatic plots to ever grace the stage. Based on ancient Celtic legend, the Bard's King Lear is considered one of the most tragic of his plays; its original intended ending had been altered for centuries up until the mid- to late-eighteenth century for this very reason. For many, the story is familiar: an aging king seeks to pass on his estate to the daughter who professes her love the most. However, the king goes mad by the betrayal and greed that quickly engulfs him. Titan Theatre Company's production, now playing at the Queens Theater, keeps this legend of King Lear alive with its signature contemporary take on the classic.  

The company's King Lear is turned into an intense, action-packed conspiracy thriller; instead of the overthrow of a kingdom, here corporate greed reigns supreme. At the top of the ladder, undoubtedly, sits King Lear (Terry Layman) himself, with an array of characters on the lower rungs eagerly awaiting his downfall. Among them are his daughters, Regan (Laura Frye) and Goneril (Leah Gabriel), with their respective husbands Cornwall (John Taylor Phillips) and Albany (Greg Oliver Bodine), in tow. Upon Lear's announcement that his estate shall go to whomever amongst his daughters declares her love the most, the two scheming daughters immediately shower him with excessive flattery, eager for a share in the estate. When it comes time for Cordelia (Susan Maris) to speak, she refuses to act as her sisters do, opting a more honest approach in regards to professing her love. This upsets the old king, who decides to disown Cordelia and divide the share between his two other daughters. Meanwhile, Gloucester's (Michael Selkirk) illegitimate son, Edmund (Tristan Colton), resenting his status, seeks vengeance upon Edgar (Brendan Marshall-Rashid). He composes a letter which is sent to their father, leading Gloucester to think Edgar is plotting against the estate. The string of events which follow lead to various acts of betrayal, greed, madness and cold-blooded murder.

Like many of their previous productions (such as their off-Broadway-bound Midsummer Night's Dream, reviewed here), Titan's King Lear is a perfect amalgamation of the classic and modern. Jasmine Nicole Roberts' ethereal and abstract set design contrasts against the blunt lines of Scott Frost's suit-and-tie costumes for many of the principal characters. The black-and-white motif which runs through the two production elements — from the curtains to their costumes — is an interesting way to represent the world of King Lear, which is not so cut-and-dry, and in which there are many gray areas in terms of friend versus foe. There are instances of pops of color, many for symbolic use: both Regan and Goneril can be seen wearing blue blouses, as opposed to Cordelia's plain white; ensemble members of the cast (such as Kent and Edgar) are decked out in more earthy colors. Other design elements such as Weston G. Wetzel's lighting and sound design make already powerful scenes all the more dramatic. In addition, the idea of various company members doubling as stagehands and changing set pieces between scenes is an effective device that should be used more often in the theater. If scenes in real life changed as as dramatically as they did in King Lear, then real life would definitely be more interesting.

It is Titan's ensemble, as evidently demonstrated in A Midsummer Night's Dream earlier this season, that remains a strong presence onstage — as a group and individually. Layman's Lear was anything but one-note; he was humorous, commanding and moving to watch and when he met his tragic end, you felt his sadness, too. As his scheming daughters, Frye and Gabriel were deliciously devious, and played great foils to Maris' forthright but loving Cordelia. As Edmund, Colton gave off a rebellious edge opposite Marshall-Rashid's equally noteable performance as the wronged brother. Other honorable mentions include R. Scott Williams as the wonderfully flamboyant and witty Fool, and Brad Makarowski as the gallant Kent.

If everyone's downfall played out with as much suspense and thrill as it does in Titan Theatre Company's King Lear, then we should all be glad to go — honor still intact, and guns ablazing.

King Lear is playing at The Queens Theatre (14 United Nations Avenue South) in Flushing Meadows Corona Park until May 11. For tickets and more information about this production, visit www.titantheatrecompany.com or www.queenstheatre.org. 

As God As My Witness...

Movie stars of yesteryear weren’t bombarded with today’s paparazzi and tabloids, leaving fans to often speculate their personal lives, full of movie premieres and fabulous parties. But behind closed doors, they’re humans with flaws and abrasive character traits.  Written and performed by Bettina Lohmeyer, "Bette Davis...Fasten Your Seatbelts!" takes a look inside the dark and lonely world of one of the largest Hollywood stars in history: Ms. Bette Davis.

For its second running under Susan Batson’s direction, Lohmeyer’s one-woman show follows the life and career of Davis from 1936 to 1985 -- beginning with her infamous battle with Jack Warner at Warner Brothers Studio.  Accused of being spoiled and overpaid, Davis wishes for more money, claiming she’s just as good, if not better than Audrey Hepburn. Lohmeyer channels Davis’s rage in what would be an interesting conversation -- Warner hypothetically offering Davis the leading role in his book option, Gone With the Wind, and her dramatic mocking of it being a flop. 

“I wanted to capture very private moments, behind the scenes,” says Lohmeyer, “moments in her life that inspired and touched me through my research of her films, interviews and movies. Gone With the Wind seemed to always be a reference through her career.”

From the outset, the viewer can sympathize and feel empathy for Davis; she was being underpaid in comparison to her fellow, male co-stars and Gone With the Wind is a timeless classic, how tragic- she could have been Scarlett O’Hara! Surely, that’s a grief that followed Davis throughout her entire career -- one that was a constant reminder. 

Lohmeyer does an excellent job mixing fiction with facts of the time, referencing an era where actresses were rallying for more lucrative contracts that mirrored their counterparts.  During the last scene, Davis wants to leave her apartment and stay at the Plaza Hotel after reading excerpts from her daughter's tell-all book, but there’s a hotel strike -- the New York Hotel Strike of 1985.

When asked what sparked her interest in Davis, Lohmeyer smiles and attributes the credit to Batson, “Susan Batson saw something in me that related to her.”

While describing her preparation and writing of the script, Lohmeyer reflects on how just how relatable they are, “When I was still in Europe, a friend of mine died in Germany, I was very emotional and wanted to portray the same energy of fragility.  At the same time, I wanted to show Bette extremely happy -- her win at Cannes.”

Lohmeyer’s acting is quite impressive, proven by her ability to switch from a rambunctious Davis, to an elderly, fragile version of Davis in the last scene -- after the publication of her daughter’s book, Davis still harbors anger and resentment, resonating from beginning to end. She is able to create a dialogue with absolutely no one but the audience in attendance, at times compelling them to reply to and interact with Davis. Lohmeyer’s unmistakable accent begs the question, “Was Bette Davis German?”       

Seatbelts is quite long, but certainly necessary when chronicling 49 years of what Lohmeyer describes as a “tragic flaw.” Buckle up and prepare for an emotional, wild and exciting ride. 

Bette Davis... Fasten Your Seatbelts! is playing at The Susan Batson Studio (300 W. 43rd St, 3rd Floor) through April 27th each Friday at 7 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m.  For tickets and other information, contact 212-226-4630.  

Nora Today

When staging plays from the theatrical canon, contemporary directors are confronted with the question: why should audiences care now? While Henrik Ibsen’s A Doll’s House is undeniably a classic, its relevance always demands redefinition. Although Ibsen claimed the play was humanist rather than feminist in its politics, his protagonist Nora has been touted as a theatrical harbinger of feminism; theater critics have long been denoting the parallels between Nora’s struggles as a wife and mother and those of contemporary women. In the Young Vic’s latest production of Simon Stephens's adaptation of the play, however, A Doll’s House takes on a fresh relevance for audiences at the BAM Harvey Theater. Director Carrie Cracknell resists taking any particular stance on capitalism, gender roles, marriage, or other institutions – but instead focuses on hitting and maintaining a shrill note of anxiety produced by such oppressive institutions. In an economical and political climate that seems more precarious than ever, this mood of institutionalized anxiety is certainly something most of us can relate to right now.

In an endeavor to mimic reality, a traditional box set for a 19^th Century piece of realism consisted largely of a drawing room (or kitchen, as in August Strindberg’s Miss Julie), with doors leading to other rooms in the house or to the outside. While intricately decorated, this one-room design emphasized the claustrophobia felt by the characters, who are often entrapped within the oppressive structures of society. For the Young Vic's production, Ian MacNeil’s rotating set defies traditional realism’s claustrophobic designs in favor of a cinematic view of Nora and Torvald’s middle class flat. To watch the characters move inside this dizzying and fascinating carousel is a true marvel to behold. It gives the audience an unfolding panoramic view into the daily lives and private moments of the characters, allowing us to see Nora’s face when she drops the façade – a privilege not afforded by box sets.

Though MacNeil’s set offers a cinematic peek into the characters’ personal spaces, the acting is not cinematic at all. While Hattie Morahan’s bravura performance as Nora certainly stood out as breathtakingly original and honest, Cracknell clearly encouraged the entire cast to be unafraid of bold choices. When eliciting money or favors from Torvald (played compellingly by Dominic Rowan), Morahan’s Nora became as cute, shivery, and saucer-eyed as a baby Disney animal. In a room by herself, however, and left alone to her own inner demons, we can watch Morahan melt into an inner world of anxiety and tension that we begin to understand belies her cuteness.

Audiences of A Doll’s House have come to expect the play’s final note: Ibsen’s famous slamming door. As Nora leaves her home, her family, and the only world she’s ever known, we hear her slam the door behind her. In the Young Vic’s production, Nora does slam her door, but it makes more of a clatter or click than a slam. While possibly disappointing for those of us who want a nice loud slam!, the more subtle departing sound of Morahan’s Nora concludes the production on an ambiguous note. A loud door slam might suggest that Nora is liberated and on to bigger and better things, but Cracknell does not give us this satisfaction. Indeed, Nora steps forward with the same anxiety-ridden-confidence that a college graduate steps forward into today’s precarious job market. It is this raw, situational anxiety that makes Cracknell's production a timely rendition for today.

A Doll's House is playing at the BAM Harvey Theatre (651 Fulton St. in Brooklyn) and has been extended to run through March 23. Performances are Sunday at 3 p.m., Tuesday-Friday at 7:30 p.m., and Saturday at 2 p.m. and 7:30 p.m. Tickets start at $25 and can be purchased by calling 718-636-4100 or by visiting bam.org.

Château de Versailles

Richard Ploetz’s Versailles is a raw glimpse into a true girl interrupted. Sharon, a single mother and pole dancer at The Golden Lady, will either drown from her excessive whiskey consumption, or in the swamp where she resides in North Florida. From the outset, the theater is pitch black, a clock begins to tick, and the audience is introduced to Sharon (Charise Greene) — eyes filled with tears and sitting Indian-style at the feet of an elderly gentleman, Mr. Mason (Charlie Moss). There are a few toys scattered in the corner, a hint that a child may also reside in the apartment. Confirmation arrives in the form of Bob (Eric Chase), a neighbor returning a stuffed animal forgotten from a play date with his daughter. Brandon (Drew Ledbetter), Sharon’s boyfriend and could-be father of her daughter, stumbles in the scene, slurring his words, interrupting their flirtation — asking, “where’s the kid?”  

Bob later returns with his wife, Beth (Elizabeth Bell), who uncomfortably goes into a tale about an accident where she slipped and fell “down there” on top of a fire hydrant, as Sharon and Brandon have a full-on grope session mere inches away. Bob quickly shushes her. Sharon’s father, Harmon (Nick Ruggeri) drops by frequently to pick up his granddaughter, only to be told she’s at the babysitter. Ploetz and Director Ian Streicher proved they are wild boys by introducing Nick (Ron Bopst), the manager of The Golden Lady, during a sex scene with Sharon, where Nick experiences some shortcomings, but he’s damn proud of it.  

Under Streicher’s direction, the play’s style is cinematic, darting from scene to scene; a bit difficult to follow during the initial introduction to the characters, but makes watching the seedy train wreck that is Sharon’s life so much better — a refection of the individuals who pop in and out of Sharon’s life, leaving just as quickly as they came. While Sharon’s the central character and the surrounding characters migrate to her, Ploetz creates stories for each individual, all of which are looking to escape Versailles Estates. 

Brandon brings most of the wit, an auto mechanic and unintelligent Southern boy who only wants to love Sharon and her daughter, but can’t compete with the many men and options under Sharon’s belt. He’s actually smarter than he lets on, quickly catching wind to Sharon’s trysts with Bob and Nick, but still sticking by her, constantly mentioning marriage. After beginning his affair with Sharon, Bob becomes infatuated, visualizing Sharon while sleeping with Beth, referencing Sharon as a black hole. San alcoholic stripper to his sober, prudent wife.

When Beth meets Sharon, she was a recovering alcoholic, but when confronting Sharon about the affair between her and her husband, she’s confused about how nonchalant Sharon handles what should be shameful. Girl chat over a few drinks becomes a sexual experimentation between the two. Once a straight-laced, traditional housewife, Beth finds she can’t stop thinking of Sharon and wants to be her. From the way Bob talks to her, Beth has lost who she really is during their marriage and Sharon brings her to life.  

Nick is a smooth talker, the only one who doesn't seem to love Sharon, but he’s the one she truly desires. He’s convinced her to dump Brandon, buy her apartment, and get rid of her daughter. The reality and irony — the only thing he wants and loves is The Golden Lady. Harmon, Sharon’s father, is accused and later admits that he molested Sharon when she was a little girl. As a result, Nick has become the quintessential father figure Sharon’s never had. In an effort to fix his wrongdoings, Harmon is trying to gain a relationship with Sharon’s daughter, but is it innocent? 

Sharon and her father's friend, Mr. Mason, compete for her subconscious — Mr. Mason is Sharon’s reality.  Sharon’s in love with being in love and being loved, and willing to give herself to anyone who will have her — anyone except her own daughter. Ploetz makes it clear Sharon loses track of her daughter; she’s always “at the babysitter’s,” wherever and whoever that may be. Mr. Mason allows Sharon to ask herself if being sexually abused by her father is the cause of her exquisite pain. When she’s willing to sleep with Mr. Mason, is Sharon seducing herself and opening up to her own psyche? 

Versailles is sure to offer a few chuckles and definitely some gasps, but the intensity and realness of Sharon’s desperation opens a different type of emotion. There's also something to be said about a production that isn’t afraid of on-stage, awkward-sex scenes.  

Versailles ran until March 9, 2014 at Theater for the New City (155 First Ave.).

The Power of Love

What happens when a god falls down to Earth and a mortal ascends to the heavens? You get one of the most enduring stories of love wrapped in a myth — Cupid and Psyche, a story from Apuleius's Metamorphoses, which was recently presented by Turn to Flesh Productions at TBG Theatre (312 West 36th St.). Under the helm of playwright and artistic director Emily C.A. Snyder, the theater company re-contextualized a classic legend about Cupid's fabled experience of the trials and agony of love. 

We first meet the titular God of Passion when his mother Aphrodite (Goddess of Love) notices the hearts of men are turned away from her and towards Psyche, a mortal woman who would not love. The goddess urges her son Cupid (also known as Eros) to put a spell on her so as to win the world back to love. Determined to carry out his mission, Cupid swoops down to Earth with an arrow poised on Psyche. However, the winged archer soon finds himself falling for the mortal being and kisses her. This riles the gods and before Cupid knows it, he has killed Adonis. As punishment, he walks the Earth as The Beast, forced to kill all lovers in his path, forever searching in vain for Pysche's heart. 

Playing gods and mortals is itself not an easy task and only one that Turn to Flesh could achieve with an energetic ensemble: charming leading man James Parenti as Cupid; Erin Nelson as the cerebral Pysche; Kelly Laurel Zekas and Laura Iris Hill as scheming sisters Livia and Dareia, respectively; the sensuous Laura Hooper as Aphrodite; Stan Buturla as their regal father Thanos; Patrick Marran as the confused Chrysos; as well as Parker Madison and Gwenevere Sisco as the deliciously devious duo, Adonis and Persephone. This eclectic cast of characters helped flesh out what those unfamiliar with the mythological texts would view as ancient relics, truly carrying them into the 21st century.

Indeed, it was this vision of modernizing an old fairy tale that even carried over into their costumes. Costume coordinator Emily Rose Parman injected some anachronistic flair into the earth-bound Gods' apparel. For the Goddess' self-proclaimed "rags," Parman had Aphrodite donning lots of lingerie-inspired shift dresses, as well as sexy camisole-and-shorts nighties — replete with a matching silk robe, of course. As Goddess of Death, Persephone was in full-on Victorian dress, with a Gothic twist, making her seem like something out of a production of Sweeney Todd. The mortal lovers wore contemporary clothing, as did Gods Adonis and Cupid: the former in a bomber jacket, wallet chain and heavy boots that would make any punk rocker proud; the latter, dressed simply (as any respectable Winged-Archer-God would), in a streamlined, hipster jacket and jeans combo that would not be amiss in ol' Billyburg. As for young Psyche, she sported free-flowing dresses throughout — ensembles that looked modern, and yet also recalled the simplicity and elegance of Ancient Greek dress. 

Furthering the play's modern twist was the music, which punctuated each act with a sweeping, guitar-driven indie soundtrack. As for the staging, Michael Hetzer's multi-purpose two-story set-up represented the worlds of the Gods and the Mortals: upstairs, not only provided entrance for various characters — God or Mortal — but also represented Heaven later on. Similarly, downstairs were the grounds that stood in for the gardens where Cupid and Psyche would meet, which also later provided Persephone's domain, Hades' Underworld. Though simple, the set looked as if it did not coalesce with the play's romantic themes. However, this is more than made up for in Zephan Ellenbogen's beautiful light-bulb fixtures and lighting cues, which were moody and stark, especially during the Underworld scenes in the play's latter half. 

They say "love is blind," and this much is true in the case of Cupid, a God who fell for a mortal. As Turn to Flesh's production shows, sometimes falling in love is worth all the pain. If there's anything the story Cupid and Psyche has given us, it is the gift of forever reminding us of the perpetuity of love and its ability to make every one of us — even a God — fallible.

Cupid and Psyche opened at the TBG Theatre (312 West 36th Street) ran from February 13-16. For more information, visit TurnToFlesh.com.

Lady Macbeth in Love

The Everyday Inferno Theatre Company’s production of Something Wicked aims at a deeper exploration of Lady Macbeth, the protagonist’s wife in William Shakespeare’s tragedy. In the original play, Macbeth encounters three witches, the Weird Sisters, as he returns from battle. The witches reveal that he will become the King of Scotland. Therefore, Lady Macbeth persuades her husband to kill the king.

Macbeth’s acts are not only moved by his ambition, but also by Lady Macbeth’s insistence that he must fulfill the witches’ prophecies. When the protagonist hesitates, Lady Macbeth persuades him to do the deed. Lady Macbeth is one of Shakespeare’s greatest villains. She is cunning, ambitious, and will stop at nothing to reach her goals. Yet she is not simply a villainous caricature since her insanity and final suicide demonstrate the effects of a guilty conscience. Something Wicked, which was directed and adapted by Anaïs Koivisto, explores the character’s humanity, an aspect that is overlooked in Macbeth.

The action begins right after Lady Macbeth’s death. The Weird Sisters now become her guides through a purgatory-like space in which she will confront her deeds and their consequences. Therefore, Something Wicked is structured around key scenes from the original play. Lady Macbeth’s new outsider perspective will force her to rediscover the horror of her actions and reveal the real motor behind her decisions and profound love for her husband. It may seem that this revelation places Lady Macbeth in the conventional female role of dutiful wife, yet the performance dissipates this notion by having three different women playing the role. The multiple Lady Macbeths affirm the complex nature of the character and challenge the exclusive focus on her villainy. Kathryn Connors plays the dead Lady Macbeth with a subtle vulnerability as she observes the action like a ghost. Ali Stoner performs the Lady Macbeth who mercilessly pushes her husband to kill the king. Finally, Lila Newman plays both Lady Macbeth and Lady Macduff, who is killed along with her son under Macbeth’s orders, suggesting a connection between the murderous temptress and the motherly victim. Koivisto avoids trapping Lady Macbeth into only one role, thereby underscoring the multiple dimensions that define her humanity. In the play, Macbeth is also superbly performed by Zachary Libresco, Samuel Platizky and Jay William Thomas, who also act additional key characters from the play, but this effect is not as forceful as with Lady Macbeth.

The cast successfully fills the performance space with songs, movement and dance to the point where scenery would only hinder their work. The witches, played by Laura Epperson, Sam Bruce and Paul Gregg, are omnipresent and they serve as perfect guides to the ghostly Lady Macbeth. These spooky characters are a welcomed expansion on the original since they only appear twice in Macbeth, even though their prophecies are central to the story.

Nevertheless, the play itself suffers from moments that lessen the impact of Koivisto’s work. There is a new text that surrounds the scenes taken from Macbeth, yet it needs to be fleshed out more. There should be more dialogue between the witches and Lady Macbeth that could comment more on the scenes from the original play and emphasize the Weird Sisters' playful perversity and the villainess’s vulnerability. This interaction is crucial to build the context through which the audience re-encounters Shakespeare’s original work. Furthermore, there is a moment in which the actors suddenly transform into critics who theorize about Lady Macbeth’s real motivations in the original text. The scene, which was well performed by the actors, is an unwelcomed break that bogs down the action. Koivisto must trust her interesting work more and permit her Lady Macbeths to reveal their complexity for themselves. Regardless of its shortcomings, the play is a needed expansion to Shakespeare’s original. As the title suggests, there is indeed “something wicked” in Lady Macbeth, just as there is something loving in her too.

Something Wicked is running until March 9 at The Kraine Theater (85 East 4th St.) as part of the 8^th Annual FRIGID New York Festival. Tickets cost $16 and can be purchased at www.smarttix.com and www.frigidnewyork.info, or by calling 212-868-4444.  

I Want to Speak with the Writer

Memory is a dangerous place to live. It is often untrustworthy and filled with the lies we wish were the truth. It is also the place we're most likely to encounter those we wish we could forget. For Bemadette, in Nilo Cruz's brilliant Sotto Voce, memory is both where she most wants to be and the location she would most like to forget. Watching her journey to her past and towards her future makes for a rewarding theatergoing experience — one that is powerful, emotional and worth remembering for many years to come.

Sotto Voce focuses on Bemadette, brilliantly portrayed by Franca Sofia Barchiesi, a reclusive writer whose only contact with the outside world is a young housekeeper, Lucila, played by Arielle Jacobs. Their world is rocked when a young man, Saquiel, brought to life by Andhy Mendez, comes seeking Bemadette’s advice for his fledgling writing career and, more importantly, with his most important story: the facts of what happened with a ship bound for Cuba in 1939. This ship carried hundreds of Jewish passengers attempting to escape Nazi Germany. One of those was Bemadette’s first love, a man who she both continually tries to bury in her memory and seeks to keep alive by never confronting the facts of his actual fate.

As a writer, Bemadette must enter the dangerous space of memory if she wants to finish her most important story: what actually happened to her love when he attempted to flee. Through her interactions with Saquiel, she is forced to retell moments of her past, but also to face her almost insurmountable agoraphobia. As someone who has not gone out in years, she will only rendezvous with the young Cuban student via the written and spoken word. He delights in these virtual visits, taking her both to sites in their adopted New York City and spots in her own mind.  Simultaneously, Saquiel befriends and then seduces Lucila, who fears that having escaped her homeland of Colombia will turn out similarly to Bemadette’s abandonment of her hometown of Berlin. What if she forgets where she is from and can never go back?

All of the performances are effective and affecting. The conceit — which displays the writer and her student interacting physically to mirror their vocal and written meetings — works perfectly to develop the necessary emotions. There is a particular mood to this production, one brilliantly orchestrated by Cruz, serving double duty as writer and director. The sense of melancholy is consistently tempered by moments of humor and deep humanity. The intimacy, immediacy and honesty of this production are perhaps its greatest elements. No performer deserves more credit for this than Barchiesi. She makes Cruz’s poetry sing while understanding the many variations and complicated levels of this compelling woman.

The topic here is one that is more than deserving of a play. Theater, at its best, asks its audience to confront and discuss content that might otherwise be ignored because it causes discomfort. This play is no wallflower when it comes to making hard observations and important commentaries. And yet, it never seems preachy or didactic. This is due in large part to the play’s style: these individuals seem to have at their disposal the perfect words for all of the things that they need to say. The events are given poetic poignancy by the way in which their speakers choose to elucidate them. I found myself both laughing and crying during the play and, perhaps most importantly, continuing to discuss the issues put forward long after the house lights had come up.

All in all, Sotto Voce is a play not to be missed. It sheds important light on an historical event while bringing to life very realistic and incredibly relatable characters. It is a heartfelt and meaningful piece of theater. It will give its spectators a memory they won’t soon want to forget. In fact, it may even inspire them to write their own histories into the poetry of memory as well.

Sotto Voce runs through March 9 at the Theater for the New City (155 First Ave). Performances are Wednesday through Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m. General admission is $20; $15 for seniors and students. For tickets, call 212-254-1109 or visit www.theaterforthenewcity.net. 

Big Canvas, Small Bytes

Few playwrights have been so attuned to their times as British dramatist Caryl Churchill. She became an international name in 1979 with Cloud 9 and its examination of sexual politics, and since then she has reflected the winds of change in plays such as Far Away (2000; governmental oppression), Serious Money (1987; financial shenanigans), A Number (2002; cloning), and Seven Jewish Children — A Play for Gaza (2009; oppression of Palestinians), not to mention Top Girls (1982), in which she explored American vs. British feminism.

Her newest play, Love and Information, is a challenging experimental work, a random mosaic of scenes, vignettes, and snippets, the longest perhaps two or three minutes, the shortest only about 20 seconds long. Together the bits and bytes of dialogue give a sense of foreboding about the Digital Age. By the end of the intermissionless two hours the twin subjects of her title seem on uneven ground: one feels that information has the upper hand and is overwhelming the emotional well-being of all the characters.

 

Under the direction of James MacDonald, a cast of 15, including Maria Tucci, James Waterston, Jennifer Ikeda, and Randy Danson, give brief life to multiple personalities, none of whom appears more than once. (At least not noticeably so; Churchill’s script indicates a couple places where there might be overlap.) Racially diverse, they include people from all walks of life in various situations: teen girls at a sleepover swooning over the star of a boy band; two picnickers discussing scientific experiments on baby chicks; seatmates on an airplane; musicians; spinners at a gym; a couple in bed; boys camping under a starry sky; and a savant who can recall weather and incidents on random days from the past, among many others. The scenes are played out in a square white box with walls and ceilings decorated in grids of black and blue lines, and each ends with a blackout.

 

For many of the scenes, designer Miriam Buether provides a major set piece, from the gym equipment to a patio table with a large orange umbrella to beds, chairs and sofas of various descriptions. There are also smaller elements: a baby carriage, a cello case, children’s toys, and a Babar book. The result is a panorama of modern life. Gabriel Berry and Andrea Hood’s costumes encompass winter gear (though perhaps none so warm as are needed this winter!) to summer shorts and swimsuits. Christopher Shutt’s sound design sets up each of the scenes (they all comprise seven portions, perhaps suggesting days of the week, and an epilogue): the sounds of children at play, classical music, motorcycles, and cats meowing relate to the topic or situation of the next interaction.

 

The primary challenge is that Churchill’s play doesn’t have a conflict or an arc or any traditional dramatic structure. Its effect comes from the accretion of details, as characters talk about everything under the sun, e.g., mathematics, science, getting together with annoying friends, redacting government documents, and words that mean “table.” The nontraditional form may alienate some viewers, and it requires close attention to sift a “message,” as in this brief exchange between a couple:

 

“What sex evolved to do is get information from two sets of genes so you get offspring that’s not identical to you. Otherwise you just keep getting the same thing over and over again like hydra or starfish. So sex essentially is information.”

“You don’t think that while we’re doing it, do you?”

“It doesn’t hurt to know it. Information and also love.”

 

Later on, a gay man receives a bouquet of red roses from his lover and he begins to gush with emotion in the form of information: “it means stop and of course it means go because it’s the color of energy and red cars have the most accidents because people are excited by red or people who are already excited like to have red.” He notes that “in China red is lucky.” But his information overload simply obscures the point of the roses: someone loves him. The flood of data that one has to process in our current world, Churchill intimates, is driving us further and further apart, until, she suggests, we will be left with only information and have lost our humanity.

The regular performance schedule for Love and Information is Tuesday and Wednesday at 7.p.m.; Thursday and Friday at 8 p.m.; Saturday at 3 and 8 p.m.; and Sunday at 2 and 7 p.m.  There will be a special student matinee on March 19. Orchestra tickets are $85, and mezzanine tickets are $65. They may be purchased online at nytw.org or by phoning Ticketmaster at 800-982-2787, or in person at the Minetta Lane Theater box office, 18 Minetta Lane.   

Expressionism Lightly

In 1922, New York City was in a thrust of urbanization. Women manned the desks of the American workplace for the first time, and the click-clack of their typewriters beat the heart of an emergent labor force. This is the urban landscape of playwright Sophie Treadwell’s expressionistic play, Machinal, which Roundabout Theatre Company has brought back to Broadway's American Airlines Theatre for the first time since its 1928 debut. Based on events in the life of Ruth Snyder, Machinal follows the character of the Young Woman from her tedious stenographer job, to a loveless marriage with her boss, to the birth of an unwanted child, to an illicit love affair, and finally to the trial for her husband's murder.

First, an introduction to the play and its relation to expressionism. Just as a dollhouse mimics a human house, realistic theater mimics reality. Alternatively, expressionism distorts reality from a subjective viewpoint of experience. Though Treadwell may not have intended Machinal to play as straight expressionism, she was one of several American playwrights importing the genre in the 1920s, including Elmer Rice and Eugene O'Neill.  Machinal includes significant trademarks of expressionism, such as monologues expressing heightened intensity and a soundscape that blends human speech with mechanical sounds such as the typewriter. Experienced from the Young Woman’s perspective, Machinal nightmarishly depicts her internal struggle to separate her own desires from societal demands in the realms of labor, marriage and childbirth.

Focusing on the acting in the Roundabout production, it seems as if director Lyndsey Turner has dialed the expressionism way down. While clearly a directorial choice, this may have been at the expense of the production’s effectiveness. Though there were moments when the actors’ vocal rhythms invoked the same industrial throbbing evoked by Matt Tierney’s innovative sound design, their rhythms mostly remained natural and human. While vibrant characterizations such as Suzanne Bertish’s memorable Mother and Ashley Bell’s sassy Telephone Girl demonstrate the actresses' fine chops, they confused the production’s overall style and mood. As the Young Woman, Rebecca Hall’s delivery read as exceptionally realistic. Under Turner’s direction, unfortunately, Hall's character arc is indeterminable; though we see her suffer at several crisis points — a panic attack in the subway, followed by breakdowns in her mother’s apartment, on her honeymoon, and in the hospital after childbirth — each of these instances plays at an equal magnitude, conveyed by a good deal of high-pitched angst. These moments are the play’s sorest loss; in favor of realism, Turner’s direction misses Treadwell’s moments of intensely alienating and telegraphic rhythm.

The one actor refreshingly committed to an expressionistic stylization was Michael Cumpsty, whose caricature of the Husband is delightfully automated. Certain moments of choreography favored expressionism, too, such as one vignette in the hospital in which nurses, doctors, patients and visitors robotically repeat mundane gestures; without the rest of the play supporting it, however, this brief moment fell short of evoking anything more than an interesting transition.

Expressionism heavily influenced many elements of the production's design. The magnificent rotating stage designed by Es Devlin revealed scene after striking scene; its visible machination an obvious yet powerful nod to the play’s title and its expressionistic roots. Lighting designer Jane Cox's innovative technique incorporated hard, bright horizontal lines of light that scanned the set, sometimes lingering on a face, an embrace or an expression. Overall, the design team provided the visual and aural landscape of industrialization that the ensemble largely lacked in stylization.

If you’re looking for a production that really honors the vein of expressionism coursing through Machinal, the stylistically noncommittal performances in Roundabout Theatre Company’s latest production may disappoint you.  Though earnest and well-rehearsed, these deliveries clash with a production design meant to evoke a historical moment when New York City was developing vertically at breakneck speed. Machinal captures a human soul whose body is caught in the cogs of an emerging industrial landscape; while this production's design skillfully evokes the sights and sounds of this phenomenon, the performances fail to evoke a larger emotional experience.

Machinal runs until March 2 at the American Airlines Theatre (227 West 42nd St.). Evening performances are at 8 p.m. on Tuesday through Saturday; matinee performances are at 2 p.m. on Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday. Tickets range from $52-$127 and are available for purchase at 212-719-1300 or www.roundabouttheatre.org.

American Terrorist

With plot twists and a story line that would make Jerry Springer jealous; under Melissa Attebery's direction, Dick Brukenfeld’s Blind Angels is a smart, political drama that leaves viewers asking, “would you stand there and take it?”

Inspired by Daniel Pearl, a Wall Street Journal reporter who was kidnapped and killed by Pakistani terrorists in 2002, Brukenfeld gives the audience a story and perspective surrounding terrorism Americans have yet to see. Aaron (Scott Raker) is a news reporter who’s been told he’s about to embark on the biggest story in U.S. history. His college roommate, Sadri (Francesco Campari) and ex-fiancée Danny (Qurrat Ann Kadwani) are Muslims, as well as second cousins, coping with a death in the family. Danny’s mother has been murdered in what is believed to be an American government cover-up. Believing he’s about to pull an all-nighter, Aaron is prepared to stay the night with his friends to cover their story, but is greeted by a stranger, Yusuf (Alok Tewari), and held at gunpoint. He’s forced to give up his computer and any electronic devices, preventing any communication with the outside world. Aaron is now a hostage among his so-called friends.    

The production takes place in Sadri’s New York City apartment where set designer Brandon McNeel, lighting designer Alexander Bartenieff, props/set manager Lytza Colon, and master carpenter Mark Marcante, succeeded in creating an atmosphere that appears comfortable for a hostage situation. Colon must have been an interior designer in her former life; the set was merchandised to a tee.

During a flashback scene, Sadri, a mathematics expert, stresses to the American government how easy it is to obtain nuclear weapons; Senator Kaye Hammond (Cynthia Granville) then labels him as a security threat, slandering his name and credibility. In a more calculated form of revenge for Danny’s mother and to prove Hammond wrong, Sadri, Yusuf and Danny plan a terrorist attack that will wipe out their apartment building and everything within a block radius. 

Purchased from an unknown individual named Eric, the nuclear bomb is housed in the apartment with the ability to go off with the push of a cell phone button. If Aaron even attempts to escape — trying to open a door or window — it will detonate. Aaron plans to write an article that highlights the terrorists as individuals who are concerned about the treatment of Muslims in America, how easy it is to bring nuclear weapons into the country, and to warn their neighbors to evacuate the area. Yusuf and Sadri plan for a suicide bombing, wishing to be the only ones who perish.      

In the midst of a crisis, Brukenfeld gives the audience a look into the individual characters; Yusuf is a “lover of life” that documents weddings, but is so far deep into the plan, his wife and children are in danger if he decides to back out.  There’s a particular scene where Yusuf’s recording his goodbye video, changing the audience’s and Aaron’s view of him from fear to sympathy. The underlining love story between Danny and Aaron sheds light on Aaron’s inability to stick with a decision, but their rekindling is interrupted when Danny tells Aaron she’s pregnant with Sadri’s baby and they plan to get married. Drama!

Blind Angels is full of twists and turns, including a phone call from Eric to Yusuf demanding he kill Sadri; to Aaron and Danny feeling like Yusuf is a threat and poisoning him — the ending is completely unpredictable. The outrageousness of it all does make for light, comedic references, but definitely leaves the audience on the edge of their seats. A mix of race relations, scandal and politics — Steve Wilkos meets MSNBC, Brunkenfeld asks, if the government did something that affected you directly, “would you stand there and take it?”

Blind Angels is running at the Theater for the New City until March 2. Performances are Thursday through Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m. General admission is $15; $10 for seniors and students. For tickets and additional information, visit www.theaterforthenewcity.net, or call 212-254-1109.

The Black Sheep of the Flock

In an unconventional dramatic monologue, Brian Watkins’s My Daughter Keeps Our Hammer is an intense, yet comedic view at two sisters faced with the decision to hold on to their past or move forward into their future.

Sarah (Katherine Folk-Sullivan) and Hannah (Layla Khoshnoudi) speak directly to the audience; their lines flow seamlessly as if singing a round, expressing why they feel an immense amount of disdain towards each other and the small prairie town of Colorado where they reside. Set designer Andrew Diaz and lighting designer John Eckert place the audience in the middle of their family’s prairie. The theater is completely dark. When the girls are ready to share sacred truths, the room goes black; Sarah and Hannah are only visible. Family secrets are told to a living diary that doesn’t judge, but listens intently, visualizing each narration.

After the death of their father, the siblings become estranged, taking on the responsibly of their mother — Sarah, the eldest, is the unofficial caretaker. Sarah doesn’t know what to do with herself; her loneliness so overwhelming she’s just looking for someone to talk to.  Hannah, on the other hand, desperately wants everyone to shut up. She works at a coffee house and drives an old car that can’t go past 40 miles, dreaming about her dad’s F-150 truck in the garage. However, they both share the same motive: flee the prairie. 

Then there’s Vicky, the only surviving sheep of their family’s flock, a gift from their father to their mother. Since their mom became sick, Vicky and the F-150 are the only things that hold sentimental value and make her happy. Her daughters don’t count. Because of this, she refuses to move the truck and Vicky has been moved inside the house — an unsuccessful attempt to house-train livestock. 

Sarah admits under the spotlight that something came over her and she’d spit and hit Vicky in a moment of frustration. Feeling haunted, she makes a quilt for her mother, only to find she’s ungrateful and full of criticism. Yet, according to Hannah, her mom is so impressed by the gift; she wants to give Sarah the F-150 for Christmas, adding to their grudge and separation. Hiring a coffee house regular and his ram, Hannah has a full-proof plan to get Vicky pregnant. The perfect way to commandeer the F-150.

To avoid giving away an ending that completely blindsides the audience, the sister’s shift their hatred of each other to Vicky — it is the one thing they share. Sarah says she embodies her father for a split second. In one of her confessions, Hannah acknowledges killing a baby chick when she was little and it “made her think twice about killin,” but in the darkness of the theater, she admits Sarah is unrecognizable. They aren’t the girls they thought they were.    

Full of allegory and symbolism, My Daughter Keeps Our Hammer is amazing. It’s dark, a little twisted, intense, but surprisingly witty. Under the direction of Danya Taymor, Watkins’s writing comes full-circle and enters reality; an existence that’s quite difficult to achieve in a monologue. Folk-Sullivan and Khoshnoudi are brilliant; who else could make murder seem like it’s the right thing to do? The fact that they aren’t really sisters is slightly disappointing but the play is definitely worth seeing.

My Daughter Keeps Our Hammer is playing at The Flea Theater (41 White Street) in Tribeca. Evening performances run until Feb. 15. Tickets are $15, $25 and $35. For tickets and showtimes, call 212-352-3101 or visit www.theflea.org.