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"The show is ever-evolving," Discordia says. He
is right, both in terms of the physical aspects of the production,
part,
and while the ideas and people from that whose
set design has expanded
and opened
up
much
of the play's action, and the performances themselves. The
comedy has gotten bigger and broader. Doran has enormous fun
toying with the now—flamboyant character of Andrew and
adds new bits from evening to evening. Amoroso has an 11th-hour
monologue that morphs from one performance to the next. A
running gag making fun of both Claire's vapidity and the career
of Ringwald, her original portrayer, has grown since opening
night and become even zanier. Even Tatch's back story for
the crusty principal has changed.
Breakfast is a show where familiarity breeds comfort rather
than contempt. This is a production designed for return audiences.
It is akin to hanging out with your best friends-you know
what you're in for, but you get something new out of the experience
every time.
You
See Us as You Want to See Us: Reflections From The Breakfast
Club runs through April 30th at the Kraine Theater.
To read Doug's review of the show, click
here.
An updated version of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, Fools in Love interchanges ancient Athens for West Athens, Calif., and sets the play in the 1950s. This condensed, one-act adaptation is aimed at children, and, with copious amounts of physical comedy and a soundtrack of pop music, it proves that Shakespeare can be understood and enjoyed by even those generally (and wrongfully) deemed too young for it.
The show opens with four lovers convening at a diner to sip sodas and lament their tangled love lives. Helena (Annelise Abrams) loves Demetrius (Antony Raymond), but Demetrius loves Hermia (Erika Villalba). That would be all well and good, as Hermia's parents want her to marry Demetrius, but her heart belongs to Lysander (Matt Schuneman).
Hermia and Lysander decide to elope, and both Demetrius and Helena follow them when they flee into the forest, where a group of resident fairies attempt to unravel and realign their heartstrings. Lovers' spats are also present in the woods, as Oberon (Andy Langton) and Titania (Margaret Curry) squabble over their own feelings and argue over the possession of a changeling child.
A cappella accompaniment to the action is provided by a group of doo-wop singers who drift in and out of the action singing 50's and 60's pop songs as a kind of Greek chorus. The oft-covered "I Will Follow Him" accompanies Helena's mad dash as she chases Demetrius deep into the forest, and when Hermia and Lysander sleep in the woods, the singers perform a snippet of the classic "Goodnight, Sweetheart." What the group occasionally lacks in pitch, they more than make up for with enthusiasm.
Besides that addition, however, the rest of the play stays the same. Though it is considerably cut down (while still running nearly two hours without an intermission), there have been virtually no changes to the language itself. Some characters have been tweaked ever so slightly to suit the time period, but little else needs to be changed to help kids get Shakespeare's comic characters. In this version, we have a pocket protector-wearing Lysander, and Peter Quince (Tom Falborn) and his gang are the diner's chef and busboys. The delightfully over-caffeinated Puck (Brandy Wykes) is constantly whipping out a steno pad on which he takes notes from the leather jacket-wearing Oberon.
Fairies flit throughout the play, and their sheer number is what allows children's involvement in the show. Children (and the occasional adult audience member) are invited up onstage to take part in the group scenes. They are welcomed with open arms by the fairies, who all do excellent work guiding the children. The fairies also rev up the energy in the theater, clapping along and chattering amongst themselves.
Sometimes, however, the fun gets a little overwhelming, as the chorus chitchat can draw too much focus away from the main action. Particularly when trying to keep kids following the story line, distractions like these are dangerous.
Some actors failed in making the material accessible, while others were wildly successful. Some actors were funny but lacked the overt comedy that's needed in shows for kids. The actors who were triumphant in their efforts
Michael Scott-Price has a lot to say. Much of it is said using four-letter words and racial slurs, making his Lynch PLAY a production not for those of a mild disposition. But American history (or history in general) is not for those with mild dispositions. Lynch PLAY makes sure that its audience is aware of this fact
Faust in Love, now playing at the Ohio Theater, is part two of Target Margin Theater's adaptation of Goethe's masterpiece. This second installment of the production's trilogy, which will be completed next year, concerns the most well-known aspect of the Faust legend: his romance with Gretchen (Eunice Wong), a young and innocent girl. As the story goes, Faust (George Hannah), aided by the demon Mephistopheles (David Greenspan), successfully woos Gretchen with gifts, sleeps with her and ruins her reputation, and then abandons her by taking a little vacation to hell. Upon his return, he discovers that his lover has gone mad and is imprisoned for murder. Faust finds himself torn between his desire to save Gretchen and Mephistopheles's insistence that he save himself.
Directed by Target Margin's artistic director, David Herskovits, Faust in Love is a slick affair, with plenty of sly winks and nudges to the culturally savvy audience. The show's self-aware theatricality serves as both its most impressive and most detrimental aspect. While Herskovits's attention to production values makes Faust a visual joy to watch, the style of the show is so attention-grabbing that it sometimes distracts the audience from the story itself. The lighting is distinctive and dramatic, the sound design is playful and engaging, and the set changes are fluid and magical. But against the ever-changing backdrop of such beautifully crafted shapes and colors, the characters' conflict and desires seem bland in comparison, despite the efforts of the energetic and talented cast.
The play really shines during its scene changes, unlike most shows, which simply try to get through them as quickly as possible. Herskovits turns these transitional moments into tightly choreographed mini-scenes, during which a flurry of movement is coupled with an exciting burst of music. As the show progresses, the set evolves, gradually revealing a striking depth that dramatically portrays a variety of locations and symbolically represents the distance that develops between Faust and Gretchen. During the transitions, the audience experiences a revelation of space, and when the curtains and flys are removed, one can almost feel a collective shiver of delight rolling through the crowd.
The play's heightened sense of theatricality sometimes works to great dramatic effect, as in Gretchen's prolonged silence when she describes holding her dead sister as a baby. During this scene, the audience's attention was rapt as she wordlessly rocked her empty arms, proving that silence really can speak volumes. At other times, the directorial choices seemed overly devised and even a bit smug.
For instance, a sparkly curtain often appears to hide certain actions from the audience. At one point, someone mimes stomping on a ukulele behind the curtain, while cartoonish sound effects add a comical effect. The curtain is removed to reveal a now-broken ukulele. Although somewhat amusing, bits of business like this often seem gratuitous and out of place. It is difficult to tell whether Herskovits is attempting to make the story interesting by highlighting certain aspects of it, or whether he is simply trying to distract our attention from the boring bits by using any possible means.
The last scene of the play, in which Faust attempts to rescue Gretchen, is a welcome relief from theatrical tricks and gags. Their confrontation is played out in a straightforward manner and thus generates one of the most meaty and thought-provoking interactions of the evening. Once the tongue-in-cheek commentary is turned off, the actors are allowed to get down to the business of really responding to each other, and it is a joy to see. Although it might be nice if there were more of these moments in the play, it is satisfying that Faust ends on this emotional high note.
Herskovits stuffs a surprising amount of humor into the production, and the action proceeds at a pleasantly quick pace. He has successfully put a fresh, new spin on an old play, and the superficial elements of the production shine with style, grace, and a lot of charm. Although the characters may not inspire much empathy or interest, this is still a thoroughly engaging piece of theater, and Target Margin proves that there is more to a good play than simply a good story. In Faust in Love the set is not just an indication of where the characters are; it is the hat from which the magician pulls a rabbit. The costumes do not merely keep the actors from being naked, and the lighting creates much, much more than simply a lack of darkness.
Dim the lights, hide the evidence, and slip into someone else's best clothes: it's time for rituals. Jean Genet's dark tale of fantasy and paranoia, The Maids, peers behind closed doors into the tormented lives of servants on the verge of cracking, and the masters who unwittingly live alongside them. Escapist Productions's version of this 1947 absurdist classic takes on a work by one of the most unique and defiant voices of 20th-century theater, playing it out with great ambitions though somewhat mixed results.
The Maids is the story of two sisters, Solange and Claire, who serve together in the same house. Their work has pushed them to the edge of their wits, so they dream up a desperate scheme to frame their master and murder their mistress. While the mistress is out, they play at the murder, enacting it themselves. When she returns, however, and it comes to the moment to act, they bungle their carefully laid plans and cannot accomplish their revenge. The mistress escapes, suspecting nothing, but the maids' plan is already unraveling at a dangerous pace, and the two sisters are left alone again, fearing for the worst.
The Escapist production at the Chocolate Factory
The stage is almost too small at Jewel Box Space, where Alex DeFazio's hauntingly beautiful new play, Radium, is being produced. And this is exactly how it should be. At the opening, six actors (who play five characters) walk to and fro onstage, at times narrowly avoiding bumping into one another. The effect is one of cramped claustrophobia. The inhabitants of DeFazio's world barely have enough room to negotiate their way through life and are incapable of taking a course of action without knocking someone else off his own course.
Radium follows the lives of five gay men who fall in and out of love and lust, and break each other's hearts, over the course of a year. We see three different strong relationships form and fall apart, in most cases for no real reason that the characters can understand. They cling to each other desperately but are equally quick to toss away their lovers if they don't fit into the carefully sculpted world they have devised for themselves.
The first thing we see, once the stage has been emptied of bodies bumping into one another seemingly at random, is J. (Bobby Abid) and Alexis (Nathaniel P. Claridad) loudly and graphically having sex. J. cruelly stops their lovemaking before either of them can find release and callously kicks the frail and fragile Alexis out into the night. The difference in their attitudes is as striking as the contrast in their physiques: J. looks as if he were sculpted out of stone, while a strong wind could blow Alexis over.
The human body, and a person's relationship to his physicality, is one of the main subjects of this lyrical and erotically charged play. J. can literally see only himself, and his body is
The mythical Second Avenue subway has finally come into being. But the line is set to run right through the apartment of three young people living together on the outskirts of Harlem. ...A Matter of Choice chronicles the conflict that arises between the roommates as they face their inevitable eviction.
The occupants of the apartment are an unlikely trio. Diggs, a white boy who grew up seven blocks from where they currently reside, is a direction-less, pot-smoking ex-messenger who endlessly defends his recent promotion to head of the mailroom. Chastity (Sarah Hayon) is a no-nonsense Latina girl and a loner (whether by choice or by circumstance is essentially the crux of her character development). Webb (Nyambi Nyambi) is an educated, gay black man involved in a tumultuous relationship with his boyfriend Michael (John Summerour).
Despite their differences, they are extremely close
In Brooklyn's refreshingly roomy St. Ann's Warehouse, the Wooster Group is remounting its 1999 creation House/Lights. The city's champion of the avant-garde has temporarily abandoned its snug Manhattan home, and, while the breathing room is welcome, one cannot shake the feeling of being dead-bolted into an asylum.
A conflation of Gertrude Stein's 1938 play Doctor Faustus Lights the Lights and Joseph P. Mawra's 1964 "lesboitation" film Olga's House of Shame, this 75-minute multimedia trip takes the audience on a mind-searing journey through sound, space, psychology, and sex. One of the Wooster Group's founding members, Kate Valk, plays both Stein's Faustus and Mawra's Elaine in a seductively manic performance. The nimble and gorgeous actress defies age, time, and space
Ask anyone if he or she has ever heard the story Miss Nelson Is Missing, and you will most likely be answered with a gasp of recognition followed by a wistful sigh of "I loved that book." Originally published in 1977 by Harry Allard, Miss Nelson Is Missing is a book that has been passed down from one generation to the next, and now to yet another crop of youngsters in the musical adaptation playing at the Tribeca-based Manhattan Children's Theatre. Since this story comes with a dedicated built-in audience, there is very little a theater can do wrong in the retelling of it. The remarkable thing about Manhattan Children's Theatre is just how much it manages to do right.
The stage resembles a quaint, little storybook town, with a green, pink, and yellow ice cream store next to a bright pink police station. The scenery's centerpiece is the schoolhouse: a brick building with white doors that unfold into a classroom complete with a chalkboard, a map of the world, and four little desks.
While this silly, colorful story expertly caters to the toddlers in the audience, it gives more than a few winks of acknowledgement to the adults who accompany them.
For example, when the soft-voiced, rosy-cheeked, angelic elementary-school teacher, Miss Nelson, attempts to engage her unruly students in a history lesson, she is horrified that the children cannot even answer the question "What is the name of the president?" One pigtailed student guesses, "Dick Cheney?" A boy with a spitball-stuffed straw dangling from his mouth answers, "Arnold Schwarzenegger!" Just when Miss Nelson thinks the lesson cannot go any worse, a third boy cries, "Martin Sheen!"
Desperate to regain the attention of her four sweet but dizzyingly hyperactive students, Miss Nelson takes matters into her own hands and turns up "missing." In her place she sends a "substitute"
A deer slowly bounds across the wide-open stage and finds a spot to rest and feed. Dark, percussive music plays as the animal is spotted by a man hunting in the woods. He very slowly, silently removes an arrow from his quiver, pulls backs, and shoots. The arrow pierces the deer's chest, and it shakes and struggles in pain until it finally falls dead to the ground. The man is King Agamemnon, and little does he know that this small act will displease the gods and set off a tragic chain of events for himself and the whole of Greece.
The opening of Theodora Skipitares's Iphigenia burns a powerful and haunting image into the minds of the audience. What's more remarkable is how this effect is fashioned by Bunraku puppetry, a traditional Japanese art form. The deer is carefully manipulated by three performers
The dangers of creating a piece of theater through collaboration are as numerous as the potential rewards. When the process works, the result is an organic fusing of many different artistic voices into a single, overarching vision. As with a choir, the power and nuance of such a synthesis can be staggering.
When the process fails, however, what emerges is a disastrously confused and meandering hybrid of intentions, divided and unable to stand. Unfortunately, The Astronomer's Triangle, the latest communal effort from CollaborationTown, now playing at Studio 5, runs afoul of many of the process' snares and offsets these with too few of its benefits.
Our narrator and protagonist is a prim cartographer (Jordan Seavey) who professes that things as intangible as love can be mapped. He has devoted himself to the welfare of an old friend (Geoffrey Decas), an astronomer despondent over his failure to cull from the stars clues about life's origins. In the breaks between forcing his astronomer friend to get out of bed and eat, the cartographer manages to strike up a relationship with a quirky local waitress (Boo Killebrew), who claims she communicates with her own private star.
When pressed, the cartographer learns that this star occupies not only part of her body
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