In a Rut in Idaho

Samuel D. Hunter made a big splash—excuse the pun—with his play The Whale, for which he won a special Drama Desk Award in 2013. Earlier this year he was honored with a MacArthur “genius” award. His latest play is Pocatello, at Playwrights Horizons, where The Whale was mounted, and it takes place, as his plays usually do, in Idaho. But, although it starts out ambitiously, it falters midway.

Set in an Italian restaurant along the lines of Applebee’s or Old Country Kitchen, the play explores the bonds of families under stress. The opening scene sets the tone, as customers at two tables bicker and snipe. At one table is the family of the manager, Eddie (a trim, wry T.R. Knight), complaining about the lack of gluten-free pasta, among other things. At another are the wife, daughter and father of Troy (Danny Wolohan), a waiter at the restaurant. They’re the only diners during what a multicolored banner proclaims is Famiglia Week. And they’re all straight from hell.

The introductions of the characters, in the midst of chaos, are carefully choreographed by director Davis McCallum with overlapping dialogue and flurries of action all over Lauren Helpern’s inviting, pitch-perfect set, replete with hanging grapes. 

Meanwhile, Eddie strives to recreate the joyous meals of his childhood, but his family, already reluctant to meet, slinks away. Since Eddie is gay, at first it seems that Hunter is exploring the way that gay people must make their own families (a subtext of many Noel Coward plays, e.g. Present Laughter). After all, Eddie is also the patriarch of his "restaurant family," which, along with Troy, who used to work at a paper mill, includes Isabelle, a waitress, and Max (Cameron Scoggins), a waiter and former methamphetamine addict whom nobody else would hire. But unbeknownst to the staff, the restaurant is slated for closure, and Eddie hasn’t told them their jobs are in jeopardy.

The plot twists abound, and for a long while Hunter manages to juggle them skillfully. It is no easy thing to make decency interesting on stage, but Knight does it extremely well, usually wordlessly. He flashes a wry smile at times, or does subtle takes as other characters speak. He’s engaging and likable even as Hunter’s story starts to unravel.

The central conflict between Eddie and his family, in particular his mother, is related to his coming out. It’s simply inconceivable that a character as sensitive and intelligent as Eddie wouldn’t have traced the stress and estrangement from his mother to that event, especially since the behavior that we witness amounts to unvarnished emotional abuse. Her confession is written as a big revelation, but it feels like bogus pop psychology.

In an important scene, Eddie’s sister-in-law, Kelly (Crystal Finn), tries to explain that Nick and his mother want to run from Pocatello. “You’re trying so hard, with your family, with this place,” she tells him, but maybe you’re not gonna fix all this. Maybe it’s not worth fixing.” She echoes Nick’s exhortation: "Get out of town, make your own life.” It’s a suggestion that will probably have already occurred to the viewer, and it makes Eddie seem like a bit of a sap for not recognizing it.

The acting is generally fine. Scoggins and Jessica Dickey as Tammy enliven their addict characters with a variety of colors, and Wolohan and Hogan excel in a deeply touching exchange when Troy finds his father has escaped the assisted living home and made his way to the restaurant.

The last scene, in spite of its lack of credibility, does carry an interesting ambiguity—whether Eddie and Doris have made a pact to live in limbo, i.e., Pocatello, or whether they are at the start of a new phase of their lives. But by that time the viewer may not think it matters.

Playwrights Horizons presents Pocatello through Jan. 4. Evening performances are at 7 p.m. Monday and Tuesday; 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday; and 7:30 p.m. Sunday. Matinees are at 2:30 p.m. Saturday and Sunday. For tickets, visit playwrightshorizons.org or call Ticket Central at (212) 279-4200.

Shared Truths and Lies

Is there anything more romantic than a tale of two writers falling in love in Paris? Probably not, but an opening with an argument over who or what was the greatest rock performance of all time is a bit more intriguing.

For their first performance, Play.Sing.Give. presented Fiction, a story of two successful writers who are thrown into an unsuspecting tragedy and decide to share their personal diaries. Written by Steven Dietz and directed by Zoe S. Watkins, the two have created a witty, yet intense play about what happens when a couple decides to share too much.  

Journals and diaries are reminders of thoughts that are ironically never revisited, with the idea that another will never read them. That thought alone is gut wrenching, but the result is that, “No life, it turns out, is an open book.” From the outset, Michael (Levi Morger) and Linda (Stacy Lynn Gould) bicker like an old married couple and remind the audience that there's no greater bond than a shared hatred. Linda is a very matter-of-fact, best-selling author turned professor that has been diagnosed with a malignant brain tumor. Michael is a caring husband living in the shadow of his wife’s success; that quotes Dante, only drinks beer from brown bottles, arranges his diaries in chronological order, and doesn’t like the idea of a door being ajar.

They have an unusually honest relationship, but after sharing each other’s coveted secrets, Michael and Linda’s bond is put to the test when they are forced to decipher between fact and fiction, past and present, and shared truths and lies. Add a third character to the equation, Abby (Alison Wien), and three becomes a crowd. Linda’s piercing facial expressions and Michael’s often discomfort leave the viewer confused on which character they feel the most sympathy for — the dying wife, or the could-be-lying husband?      

Dietz has written an extremely smart play, full of soliloquies — a performed novel, right down to an included plot twist. Wordy, but with hilarity that is so unexpected, it goes unnoticed. An intimate cast of three, Wien drops in with perfect timing, while Morger and Gould’s on-stage chemistry is so strong, the need for additional characters to complete their story isn’t necessary. The close proximity between actors and audience almost begs for audience involvement, with audible gasps and the occasional, “No way!”

It also helps that Fiction is a part of a “giving event.” In an effort to provide a creative platform for actors to showcase their talents and give back to the community, Play.Sing.Give offers one full-length play plus 12 cabaret performances for a two-week run in November. Their goal was to make self-sufficient performances, with all ticket sales going into the productions, and any additional profits given to charity.

With some amazing acting, the opportunity to give, and the sponsorship from the Dutch Kills Theater Company, the hope of a return of this production is very high. That's all truth, no lie. 

Fiction ran until Nov. 22 at The Producers’ Club (358 W 44^th St).

Unmasking the Fables

After reading the tales of Snow White, Thumbelina, Sleeping Beauty, or Belle, have you ever felt that something was missing? With the lyrics of Nick Luckenbaugh, director and choreographer Megan Mekjian uses the musical Royal Fables to fill in the gaps of these familiar fairy tales.

The musical begins with Scheherazade (Livie Castro), a young bride from One Thousand and One Nights, who sings her song about the murderous king and how she must sing a different song each night in order to persuade the king not to kill her on their wedding night.  From this song, she introduces and guides the audience through the tales of female protagonists from various fairy tales — each singing a song that relates to their own fable. The twist is that these songs have never been heard, and each song reveals an inner thought these women have never shared with anyone else before.

Although a cleaver plot, Royal Fables' creative story line is confusing to the audience members who haven't read the program prior to the show. With no dialogue, the audience is only left with the lyrics of the songs as they sort out the characters and plot. Although some of the women could not be heard over the three-person band (Ansel Cohen, Jimmy Lopez and Mike McGuckin), there were a few subtle hints that could be found within the technical aspects of the show such as the set and costumes.

Set on the wooden floors of a large room, the cardboard box inspired set added a child-like feel to the environment. The homemade bookcases added depth to the stage and created a convenient backstage for the actors. The images on the bookcases matched the images in the program and allowed the audience to figure out which fables would be included in the show.   

The short, whimsical-styled costumes left us with little to no clues at which fable the women came from, but instead created a loosely uniformed look for the princesses and allowed them to freely perform their choreographed routines. As stated in the libretto, each princess wore a mask until it was their time to sing their own song. In this sense, the masks became a symbol of taking off their guise to reveal their own truths. However, yet again, there wasn't an obvious distinguishing design on the masks to help the audience identify which female character was singing the song.

With a cast of 18 actors, Royal Fables' contained plenty of raw talent. The cast's dedication to the show was obvious in their flawless execution. Without the actors’ mesmerizing performances, the play would have fallen flat, especially since the musical had no clear climax. Although the songs were beautifully sung, there was no build in the plot and nothing to propel the story besides the actors’ high energy.

Royal Fables ran until Nov. 15 at the Access Theater (380 Broadway between Walker and White Sts.). For more information, visit www.libratheater.org.

Making a Change

A play that addresses incarceration, LGBT issues, racism with the States, and gender inequality is a piece of work that does not cross your path every day, and a play that should not be ignored. Presented by the Castillo Theatre, Accept "Except" LGBT NY has been performed in New York City before, but contains a timeless message that still applies to our society today. 

Written in 2013, Accept "Except" LGBT NY is the second rendition of Karimah’s series Accept "Except." The original rendition featured two male fugitives who cross paths in a tree. Their stories address the high juvenile incarceration rates and the effects incarceration has on families and communities. The play was written in response to the 13^th Amendment which reads: “Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.” After the creation of the original play, various renditions were created — such as Accept “Except” LGBT NY, Accept "Except" LGBT Philly, Accept "Except" Male Nashville, and Accept "Except" Male Detroit. 

Although all the plays are related to the 13^th Amendment and address similar issues, what differentiates Accept “Except” LGBT NY from any other renditions is that it focuses on a very specific demographic of being black and queer in New York. Directed by Tony-Award winner George Faison, Accept “Except” LGBT NY features two queer people, Sirus — a gay man from the plantations during the 1700s, and Mike — a lesbian woman from the 21^st century penitentiary. As a result of the racism and homophobia in our culture, being black and queer does not make life easy for these two characters, no matter what time period they live in. In addition, these characters are fugitives who constantly must hide from hate crimes in order to survive. Despite the specificity, because of the play's dynamic, the issues that these characters address also highlight the universal problem of longing for acceptance.

Mike phrases it best when she states ““I don’t want to change people. I just want them to accept that they can’t change me.” This moment highlights one of many moments in which these two characters realize that despite their differences, they both are human. They both have been surviving in society rather than living. However, there comes a point where a person has to stop hiding and “come out” in order to make a change.

This idea is reinforced in the discussion after the performance. It becomes clear that the play is a vehicle to address societal issues in a safe environment. Questions ranging from “How can the past help influence our future?” to “Who is actually free in our society and who is still imprisoned within the societal structures?” can be thrown around, forcing the audience to look within themselves and reflect on their own lives.

So as Sirus asked Mike, I am going to ask you…“What are you doing to help make a change?”

Accept “Except” LGBT NY runs until Nov. 23 at the Castillo Theatre (543 West 42nd St.). Performances are on Thursday and Friday at 7:30 p.m., Saturday at 2 p.m. and 7:30 p.m., and Sunday at 2 p.m. Tickets are $25 and can be ordered by phone at 212-353-1176 or www.newfederaltheatre.com. 

Souls in Exile

Set in a dilapidated summer cabin in upstate New York, David Auburn’s engaging new play, Lost Lake, focuses on two people who might otherwise never have shared a stage. Yet Auburn, who won a Pulitzer Prize for Proof, develops a relationship between them that’s both believable and compelling. The result is a personal drama that resonates politically as well. 

Veronica (Tracie Thoms) is a young black mother from New York City who, in the first scene, is negotiating the rent of a cabin for a week toward the end of summer. It’s March now, and Veronica has taken a bus to the cabin to inspect it personally and negotiate with the ostensible owner, Terry Hogan (John Hawkes). Hogan, shambling and pigeon-toed, is gregarious and optimistic but at times uncomfortably pushy, overselling the cabin (nicely detailed by J. Michael Griggs, with a broad upstage window and shabby plaid furniture). Yet Hogan also knows when he’s pushed too hard and needs to change the subject. But Veronica is no pushover, and Thoms invests her with the confidence and street smarts that make her unafraid to deal with Hogan. 

When the summer week arrives, so does friction. Hogan hasn’t fixed the dock as he’d promised, and it’s rickety and dangerous for the children. He promised an extra bed; it’s not there. Worst, there’s no hot water. It’s a nightmare rental for Veronica, but Hogan tries to sell the bright side: “The kids are having a good time, right?” They bicker, and Auburn keeps one guessing where it’s all going. Daniel Sullivan’s superb production will make you want to stay along for the ride. 

Sullivan deftly brings out the despair of these two lost souls. Their mistakes resonate with questions for the viewer. Is it possible to make a terrible mistake in one’s life and never be able to recover? Is there no chance for redemption? Hogan, it turns out, has a daughter from whom he is estranged, and a long record of failure. Veronica has a job that’s in jeopardy because of a mistake she has made, and is probably at the beginning of her decline. Auburn peels back layer after layer of their woes with astute dramatic timing. They are likable, flawed people trapped in limbo by their mistakes. The lake, a symbol of a carefree, pleasure-filled life, has been lost to them, perhaps forever.

It’s not all gloom. Hogan, slippery though he is, tries not to dwell on his misfortunes. Rather, he attempts to put a positive spin on Veronica’s troubles. No hot water? “I really don’t see how a few days of cold showers, which is good for the circulation by the way—you’re a nurse, you should know that—could be worth—how much did you say you wanted?” Hawkes delivers those lines with a brilliant balance of supplication and gall. Veronica has refused to pay the last installment of three days’ rent, but, Hogan argues, she hasn’t paid the installment so the water's being cold those first three days is immaterial. 

 

There’s humor, too, in Hogan’s rants against his sister-in-law, Debbie, who, he claims, wants to squeeze him out of ownership of the cabin. Meanwhile, Thoms has a scene of physical comedy when she tries to get a cellphone signal. She holds up the cell; waves it; climbs on the window seats and stretches her arm up high. But the scene is also a physicalization of the characters’ predicament. Veronica and Hogan are literally out of touch with everyone else.

 

The homeowners’ organization, which represents lake residents but also, more broadly, society, wants Hogan out of their midst, isolated though he is already. And it’s unclear whether his good intentions led him to overextend himself by taking on the job of repairing the dock or whether he was a chump that the association took advantage of. But repairing the dock—and his life—is beyond his ability. 

 

Hawkes, with his squinched, angular face, changes moods and emotions like a chameleon. Thoms has the more sympathetic role, and she handles herself admirably, restraining herself when she might justifiably explode, always trying to argue rationally, and becoming by turns exasperated and sympathetic. Lost Lake is a poignant portrait of America’s fringes, where an unforgiving society exiles its sinners.

 

Manhattan Theater Club presents Lost Lake through Dec. 21, with performance times varying week by week. Tickets and information are available by calling CityTix at 212-581-1212, online by visiting www.nycitycenter.org, or by visiting the box office at New York City Center, 131 West 55th St.

6 Women in Search of an Auteur

Mario Fratti’s Six Passionate Women, currently on view at Theater for the New City, concerns a creatively (and sexually) frustrated Italian filmmaker and the women from whom he seeks inspiration for his next movie. Nino (Dennis Parlato)  is a cad who aims to spark his imagination by crawling into bed with multiple partners. He’s also a pied piper, with all six passionate women of the title under his spell.

Sonia (Giulia Bisinella) is trying to seduce Nino and land a leading role in his film. The motherly Valia (Donna Vivino), like Sonia, wants to see her name in lights. Nino’s wife, Marianna (Coleen Sexton), is in denial about her husband’s transgressions, though her best friend (Laine Rettmer) tries to tip her off about Nino’s infidelity. Franca (Carlotta Brentan), Nino’s loyal assistant, has fallen in love with the boss, despite her usual levelheadedness. Then Mrs. Gunmore (Ellen Barber) arrives on the scene. A rich American widow, embittered by years of living with an unfaithful husband, she promises Nino funds to produce his film. What she really wants is to lure him into creating a film that will reveal his hatred of women. As the drama proceeds, the six passionate women band together to punish Nino for the impact he has had on their lives.

With a running time of only 90 minutes, Six Passionate Women suffers from too many plot lines, too little time. The narrative is unfocused and the characters underdeveloped. Without knowing the characters sufficiently, the audience cannot care about them. There are a number of interesting scenes in the play, but Fratti leaves crucial questions unaddressed. For example, it’s clear that Nino and Marianna have a deep love for each other, despite Nino’s inability to be satisfied by one woman. How did they meet? When did he first stray? How and why has she put up with it for so long? There is a perplexing point at which the play’s focus shifts from the women manipulating Nino to make a film about his misogyny to the women making a film about hating Nino. Adding to the confusion are the facts that Fratti never convinces his audience that Nino hates women or that any of the women other than Mrs. Gunmore believe that Nino is a bad person.

Fratti collaborated with playwright Arthur Kopit and composer Maury Yeston on Nine, the 1983 Broadway musical adapted from Federico Fellini’s semi-autobiographical film 8-1/2. Nine, which garnered seven Tony Awards, concerns a blocked filmmaker on location in Venice with a number of passionate women. Six Passionate Women reportedly served as an early inspiration or template for the musical’s libretto. If Six Passionate Women is viewed as a “draft” of the musical to come, the lack of structure and focus suddenly makes much more sense.

The play, ably directed by Stephan Morrow, is well-acted by a cast of eight. (In addition to Nino and his six women, there is another man, best friend William, played by Kevin Sebastian). The production’s lighting, costumes and set are dull and uninspired. Audiences will be charmed by the performances of Parlato and Brentan, who give the production its style and verve. But they're likely to leave the theater wishing they'd spent the evening with the passionate women of 8-1/2 or Nine.

 Six Passionate Women plays through Oct. 26 at Theater for the New City, 155 1^st Ave., between 9^th and 10^th streets. Tickets can be purchased here.

Surrounded by Aching Hearts

Dating in New York City has often been represented in situation and romantic comedies, from On the Town to First Date the Musical, and on TV shows like Sex and the City. In fact, the neuroses and eccentricities of New York singles have provided inexhaustible fodder for playwrights and screenwriters.

Add to this mix director Michael Counts’s immersive theater experience, Play/Date, a collection of 22 one-act plays about the dating scene in the Big Apple. The plays—which stage hookups, breakups, and everything in between—take place simultaneously in an actual nightclub, Fat Baby, on the Lower East Side. This production’s greatest strengths lie in its design: the stimulating lighting by Ryan O'Gara and Marcello Añez’s sexy soundtrack, along with Counts’s staging, create an experience that surrounds the audience. The production’s weakness, however, is an overall inability to convey many honest or original messages about the trials and tribulations of dating in New York City.

Just as any other night at Fat Baby, audience members must wait behind velvet ropes before entering Play/Date. Though the interior of the club is emptier than it would be on a regular night, the rave lights are on, and the bar is open. But the bar is only one of the spaces where these solo and small-cast one-acts take place: various concurrent scenes take place at the tables upstairs, on the dance floor, and in dark enclaves around the club. There is even a series of projections, in which the texts of a character on a cellphone are displayed on the wall behind them.

For the most part, the simultaneity and technique of the short plays are managed impressively well, though there are some moments when it is hard to hear performers. As with many immersive productions, audience members are generally able to roam about and watch any scenario they like; these free-form periods are interspersed with moments when the action comes together in choreographed spectacle. As the plays progress, characters and audience become progressively drunker—for the performers, this means the usual fights, along with regrettable phone calls and lurid meet-ups in bathroom stalls. Because of these simultaneous storylines, one will find it impossible to see everything that Play/Date has to offer in just one visit.

While the physical space of the nightclub is thrilling to explore, and the ensemble is talented and committed, the plays that I encountered do not really say anything new or different about New York City dating. Overall, they mostly redistribute the tired narratives that are already prevalent in television, movies, and theater. Many of the plays overreach in their commentary on technology and its insipid ubiquity through dating websites, social media, and smartphones.  

Although there are some unexpected moments involving hand puppets, alien conspiracy, and a random shirtless woman, they are overshadowed by the production's sexiness, reading ultimately as trite rather than meaningful. Overall, there is something more generous to be said about dating in this crazy city, something that these plays are too short and too scattered to capture. Play/Date is worth seeing for its production elements and site-specific location, but do not expect to walk away with an especially nuanced understanding of the New York City dating experience.

Show times for Play/Date are Sunday through Wednesday at 8 p.m. at Fat Baby (112 Rivington St., between Essex and Ludlow streets, on the Lower East Side). Tickets start at $55 for general admission; reserved tables are $75. The new $95 "Friends with Benefits" ticket option includes reserved priority table seating with waiter service, plus an opportunity to fully interact with the performers in specially created scenes that take place at the table. Tickets are available by calling Ovationtix at 866-811-4111 or visiting www.playdateny.com.

Romance in a Wired World

The playful title Signal Failure refers, on the one hand, to a subway signal and, on the other, to signals between Brian and Lorna, a young couple who connect through their dogged observations of people in the London Underground, aka the "Tube" (they’re British and the show comes from the Edinburgh Festival), and then face some bumpy times.

Structured as a series of monologues, sometimes interlocking, from two lonely people, and then eventually incorporating scenes between them, as they connect for sex and their common interest, Signal Failure relies for its charm and romanticism on the immense charm of its two stars. Sasha Ellen, who plays Lorna with a matter-of-fact optimism and a touch of daffiness, also wrote the piece. Her opposite, Spenser Cowan, plays Brian, who begins their story, relating his hobby of watching men and women on the Tube.

“There’s a bloke sitting opposite me. About my age,” says Brian. “In a suit that makes him look small. Scruffy. He majorly oversteps the initial 10-second window. Not just that, but he does it with a girl I wouldn’t even open that window with. She stares intently at her iPad but stops moving her hand. She’s frozen but she doesn’t look up.” She knows she’s being watched, of course.

Brian’s hobby eventually becomes more dogged, as he follows the couples he sees connecting on the Tube, noticing when they leave together and whether they are wearing the same clothing on the following day. “I create a basic structure and watch my stats improve,” he says. It turns out that his own life is empty, through no fault of his own, and he is just trying to fill it.

One day, though, while reading the newspaper, “I find a column with what seems to be personal ads. But when I look closer is actually people texting in about other people they’ve seen on the train. People they’ve liked the look of. Asking them to get in touch. Like an Underground dating agency in a newspaper column. Each text smacks of hope desperation. Most of the messages are generic. ‘To the pretty girl who smiled at me in a crowded carriage’ kind of messages.”

For her part, Lorna becomes clued in to the ads when she tries to comfort a friend, Maddy. “She tells me that she read something that she was convinced was for her. She hands me the newspaper, folded open on a page towards the back. I don’t get it at first but then it clicks. All these people writing in to the paper. Trying to get in touch with someone they glimpsed on the train. It’s quite a cool idea in theory. I try to talk to Maddy, but she’s distraught and I’m a stranger. She wipes her eyes and leaves. I sit in the bathroom for a bit and read the other posts. They are pretty varied in sincerity and tone. Ranging from ‘Yo 2 da curvy blond’ to ‘I believe we are meant to be together.’ ”

Eventually Brian and Lorna meet and sort of click. They make rookie mistakes. Some of the best scenes are these lurching, nuanced ones as they both hang in for the long haul to happiness. As with all romance, eventually their lonely and unhappy pasts trickle out and cause problems. They’re a bit contrived, but the actors are persuasive. (It’s a wonder that Ellen’s first-date description of beams of light shooting out of her pelvis doesn’t scare him off.)

Although the drama is low-key, director Peter Darney keeps the focus on the remarkable chemistry between his actors. (The only set elements are two large wooden cubes and a platform that become table or bed.) Ellen and Cowan are endearing as they stumblingly come together. There’s playfulness from Lorna as she sends a near-naked Brian out to the kitchen as a signal to her roommates that she’s successfully had a night of passion. Meanwhile, a variety of emotions play on Brian’s face the morning after; and when he says, “I will call you, maybe,” it’s with an amusing ambivalence; he’s trying not to be vulnerable. Should he see this girl again or not?

Although Signal Failure may feel small, it carries the weight of truth and serves as an enjoyable calling card for two talented actors you’ll want to see again.

Signal Failure plays at the SoHo Playhouse, 15 Vandam St., through Nov. 16. Evening performances are at 7:30 p.m. Monday and Tuesday, 9:30 p.m. Thursday through Saturday (with no performance on Nov. 6). Matinees are 3 p.m. Wednesday and Sunday, and 5 p.m. on Saturdays. For tickets, visit www.sohoplayhouse.com.

High Tension in the Rockies

The couple one first meets in the Debate Society’s production of Jacuzzi are as laid-back as can be. Helene and Derek (Hannah Bos and Paul Thureen, respectively, who are also the co-authors) are lounging in the Jacuzzi of the title, taking in their surroundings—a Colorado chalet with knickknacks about. Outside are winter light and snow, and one’s first impression is that Derek and Helene, who are a couple, are renting the chalet (a slant-roofed building, designed by Laura Jellinek, that displays objets d’art on shelves built into the roof interior). When Chris Lowell’s athletic Bo arrives unexpectedly, he is surprised to find them there, but then he’s a day early. He has come for the weekend to join up with his father, Robert, from whom he has been estranged. 

Bo is a troubled young man; after drinking too much and joining Derek and Helene in the hot tub in a sexually charged scene (skillfully directed by Oliver Butler, who is also credited with “development”), he starts to spill secrets but thinks better of it. Enough has been said: there was an affair with an older Frenchwoman who had a child; somehow they ended up in Romania, where something terrible happened that causes him anguish.

To avoid spoiling what happens next, let’s just say that nobody is who or what they seem in this twisty, exhilarating, and disturbing work. There’s a hint of something amiss when, on the following morning, Bo learns that Derek’s name is Erik, not Derek as he thought, and apparently blames his mistake on drink—though it’s not a mistake. There are echoes of Tartuffe or Jean Genet’s The Maids as Erik and Helene, who have been sprucing up the chalet for Robert, ingratiate themselves with him. 

The script is smartly developed, teasing out secrets in the characters’ stories. A throwaway reference from Robert explains that the chalet, long in his ex-wife Jackie’s family, came to him in their divorce “’cause of what I had over her head.” Helpful and likable as Helene and Erik seem initially, their presence grows more sinister. A periodic voice-over reveals the cheery Helene as more complex and in charge; the physically imposing Erik takes cues for his behavior from her. They are well behaved, but are they for real? 

As Robert, Peter Friedman is alternately exulting and embittered, comically complaining while denying he’s complaining; a flash of anger at his son, revealed in a single line, is a clue to the depth of discord in their relationship. He's also a man who buys what he wants. Robert and Jackie were psychologists, and are now successful authors, and their neglect and abuse of Bo is slowly revealed. “When my parents were on Donahue they locked me in the hotel room and told me not to watch TV,” Bo says, as his father protests. And later, as Bo describes a childhood birthday party, his father lets drop that he was a guinea pig: it was “one of these parties where Jackie and I were testing interactions.”

Bo’s upbringing is surely a reason for his lack of empathy with others—he suggests that Helene and Erik’s working life is comparable to an internship he once had. Lowell deftly shows that Bo is an erratic, emotional mess; he has lost the ability to trust anyone, and his parents are to blame. But his suspicious nature also heightens his awareness of danger, and director Butler throughout keeps the suspense building.

As well as Jacuzzi plays out, it leaves open many questions. Must the price of success be to pervert or destroy natural emotions? Is the amorality of the wealthy more easily spotted than that of the working class? And does their ability to escape justice because of their resources make them fair prey? But then, the best drama always leaves room for debate, and what better group for Ars Nova to present a commission to than the Debate Society? Jacuzzi should ensure them further support.

Jacuzzi plays through Nov. 15 at Ars Nova on the following schedule: Mon.-Wed. at 7 p.m.; Thurs.-Sat. at 8 p.m. Matinees are Saturdays at 2 p.m. For tickets, call Ovation Tix at 866-811-4111 or visit arsnovanyc.com.

Vanya @ 11th Avenue

The Pearl Theatre Company, which occupies a fine modern facility on West 42^nd Street near 11^th Avenue, has selected Anton Chekhov's Uncle Vanya, in a translation by the late Paul Schmidt, to open its 2014–15 season. Subtitled “Scenes from Country Life,” this comedy—or, rather, this special, melancholy kind of comedy—is one of four major plays the dramatist wrote near the end of his relatively short life.

The characters of Uncle Vanya are recognizable in their frustration and disappointment; their bickering and folly are readily believable. Though short on plot, the text is rich in dialogue and subtext. It's a beloved and influential play, constantly revived all over the world. Recent American works such as Vanya and Sonia and Masha and Spike by Christopher Durang (the most produced script in professional theaters around the U.S. this season, according to American Theater magazine) and The Country House by Donald Margulies (newly opened at Broadway's Friedman Theatre) owe it a conspicuous debt. When Uncle Vanya returns to New York, attention must be paid.

The play takes place on a country estate run by Sonya (Michelle Beck) and her maternal uncle (Chris Mixon), the title character. Sonya's father, Alexander Serebriakov (Dominic Cuskern), is a vainglorious scholar whose career and vitality are winding down. Serebriakov's luxurious city existence has been financed by the hard work and frugal living of Sonya and Vanya on the farm. Arriving in the country for an open-ended stay, the professor and his much younger wife, Yelena (Rachel Botchan), interrupt the rhythms of country life. Their selfish, inconsiderate ways exacerbate resentments that have festered in the family for years; and Yelena's flirtatious allure leads to intrigue (or attempts at intrigue) and emotional havoc among males in the vicinity, especially Vanya and a family friend, Dr. Astrov (Bradford Cover).

The Pearl's production, directed by company artistic director Hal Brooks, is exquisite to behold. With movable pillars and fast traveling curtains, scenic designer Jason Simms transports the action efficiently from one room to another. A backdrop in soft colors, revealed when actors sweep the upstage curtains aside, brings the Russian countryside on stage; and Seth Reiser's expertly modulated lighting lends a sense of time passing from day to night and back to day at a languid pace appropriate to Chekhov.

This Uncle Vanya has no shortage of capable actors. Robin Leslie Brown brings intelligence and a light touch to the role of Marina, the old nurse who soothes shattered nerves and offers a long view of life. Cover's interpretation of Dr. Astrov is complex and arresting; his speech about reforestation is appropriate to the play's 19th-century setting yet sounds like something that might have been delivered at United Nations Climate Summit 2014 last month. 

Mixon makes Vanya's disillusion palpable in the first two acts; but he plays the late scenes in a manic fashion that's anathema to Chekhov’s subtle brand of comedy and, at times, reminiscent of 1970s television sitcom. Other promising performances—Beck, Brad Heberlee as a neighbor nicknamed Waffles, and Carol Schultz as the foolish mother of the professor’s deceased first wife—suffer from direction that squeezes a sort of hilarity out of the script rather than trusting the playwright’s rueful humor. Botchan strikes the appropriate balance of insouciance and formidable stage presence for her role; but this Yelena seems to have wandered onto the Pearl stage from a play of later vintage than Uncle Vanya and from a different country than the other characters.

For a number of years, the Pearl has been one of the few companies in New York City consistently performing the so-called classical repertory of Western drama. The troupe’s tagline is “defining classics for New York,” and its work, whether up or down, is worth following. Uncle Vanya doesn't represent the Pearl anywhere near the top of its form; but next month the company, in tandem with the Gingold Theatrical Group, will present George Bernard Shaw's Major Barbara, directed by David Staller. If Major Barbara has the style, pace, and Shavian spirit of last season's You Never Can Tell, audiences will undoubtedly forget the shortcomings of Uncle Vanya and may even line up to renew their Pearl subscriptions early.   

Uncle Vanya is playing through Oct. 12 at the Pearl Theatre Co. (555 West 42nd St.). Running time 2 hours, 20 minutes with intermission. Performances are Tuesday at 7 p.m.; Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday at 2 p.m.; and Thursday–Saturday at 8 p.m. Tickets are $65, senior $39, student rush $20, Thursday rush $20, and may be purchased at pearltheatre.org or by calling 212-563-9261.

70 Minutes on the Midnight Express

A stool and a water bottle.

That’s all Billy Hayes needs to weave a riveting 70-minute tale at the Barrow Street Theater.

Scratch that. Hayes didn’t create this tale with a needle and thread. The tale didn’t need to be woven. It was lived.

And this real-life story is probably more interesting than anything he could have dreamed up as an aspiring writer growing up on Long Island in the late 1960s.

In Riding the Midnight Express with Billy Hayes, the gray-haired writer, actor, director and ex-convict recounts his story succinctly, yet grippingly.

It began in 1969 with a big-dreaming twentysomething (himself) smuggling hashish from Istanbul to the United States as a quick way to make some money and finance his wanderlust. In the hard-to-recall days before the Transportation Security Administration and full-body scans, strapping marijuana to your body and walking onto a plane headed to JFK was apparently no big thing—and he was able to pull off the stunt multiple times. Until he didn’t.

Increased security in Istanbul after a terrorist attack in 1970 brought Hayes’ carefree drug-smuggling days to a grinding halt as he was searched before boarding a plane back to the United States. After removing two kilos (more than four pounds) of pot that were strapped to his body, customs officials transported Hayes to Sağmalcılar Prison, where he was sentenced to four years. Just 54 days before he was set to be released, Hayes stood before a court and was handed a life sentence (reduced to 30 years by the sympathetic judge).

So how did he come to stand before an audience on an Off-Broadway stage, telling his story to people who may have have read a book he penned or watched a film about his life? I’ll leave that to Hayes to tell you.

Given the 70-minute running time, Hayes is able to move things along without painting the picture of five years in prison with too broad a stroke. Imaginative language first depicts a young man exploring a beautiful city before portraying the far harsher scenes of life behind bars. The details that Hayes chooses to share with the audience range from eye-opening to heart-wrenching to humorous (a prison full of men being served beans every day?).

A number of times throughout the show, Hayes makes revelations that are shockingly honest and deep. While admitting to a sexual relationship with a Frenchman to a room full of strangers may have taken some guts, a more difficult concept to wrap one's head around is the thought that, at one point, Hayes found himself beginning to appreciate life in prison. It was there he was able to learn important truths about himself and life. Instead of sounding ludicrous, Hayes sounds intuitive and inspiring as he describes what it’s like to be always lonely but never alone, finding comfort and solace in yoga, and enjoying the sheer joy of existence.

While certainly not detached from the things that he speaks about, there are only a few key moments throughout the performance where Hayes is noticeably moved. By far the most emotional moment is when he recalls being asked to write his first letter home to his family.

Despite being scripted, Riding the Midnight Express does not sound overly rehearsed or robotic. No costumes, no set and no supporting cast are needed to keep the audience interested—though lighting does add an element of drama as it brightens and lightens along with the mood.

Hayes delivers a well-spoken, eye-opening, compelling and honest story—free from finger-pointing, anger or exaggeration.

Given the fact that I’m not a huge movie person and was born in the 1990s, is it acceptable to confess that before last night, I had never heard of Billy Hayes? Regardless, after seeing him tell his dramatic story on stage, I’m a little embarrassed about the admission.

But mainly I’m grateful that now I know. And instead of watching the dramatized Hollywood version, I got to hear it straight from the extremely well-spoken source. 

Riding the Midnight Express with Billy Hayes plays Wednesday through Saturday at 7:30 p.m. and Sunday at 2 p.m. at The Barrow Street Theatre (27 Barrow St.). Click here for tickets. 

Photo by Carol Rosegg 

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.