Hunger Pains

Playwright John Patrick Bray, whose one-act On Top, one of six short plays that comprise Rising Sun’s current production, must have been excited when he picked up last Sunday’s New York Times Magazine. The cover story, a feature on sex columnist and activist Dan Savage, championed the notion that a healthy marriage may require an occasional infidelity. On Top, among the production’s strongest offerings, serves as a near perfect illustration of that argument. As the cuckolded husband, Joe Beaudin strikes a delicate balance of depressed neurosis and sweet optimism. We see why his wife would seek pleasure elsewhere, and at the same time, we understand why she loves him. The other five plays of the evening follow a similar structure to On Top – one character convinces another to accept the unthinkable – but with more outlandish scenarios than a couple discussing betrayal in a grocery store. The fantastic situations, however, seldom yield fantastic results. In The Craving, David L. William’s play which inspires the evening’s title, a couple’s sexy role play reveals still kinkier desires. While EJ Assi infuses his performance with naturalism both in and out of his character’s role-play, Ashley Kyle Miller, as the fetishistic girlfriend, reveals her character’s secret fantasy with the same sense of playacting that she maintains during the much tamer, make believe scenario. Without that necessary shift, what could be a glib examination of desire and consent becomes, instead, a one-note joke.

Some of All Parts, by Mrinalini Kamath, more playfully examines the disjuncture between ego and id, with funnier results. The script’s inventive conceit is carried off with admirable dedication by Jerrod Luke, EJ Assi, and Lindsay Beecher, whose sense of decorum doesn’t quite match her spandexy, reptile print dress, however desirous the character is of sex.

Costuming choices in Len Cuthbert’s Delilah are similarly distracting. Dressed in bright pink pants, an aqua top, and pink hoop earrings, with her hair in a high ponytail and skinny silver bracelets clinking on her wrists, Andrea Cordaro’s outfit screams mall princess to an extent that belies the character’s obsession with quirky chicken jokes. As her dying-of-cancer-best-friend, Tedra Millan contrasts her scene partner’s glitz in a loose, fuzzy brown sweater. Although the script is no subtler than the costume choices, with teenage girls debating the merits of ceasing chemotherapy treatments, if published, Delilah could have a healthy life in high school drama competitions.

Still darker twists on the tensions between desire and death are Jae Kramisen’s Sit Still, a detective drama about a domestic violence victim, and Greg Abbott’s Vultures, a history-based drama that riffs on the emotional baggage of photojournalists. The former juxtaposes scenes of a horrific marriage and a detective office interview following the husband’s disappearance, but the structure grows repetitive and the closing revelation fails to justify the scene's suspense, which builds unevenly in any case. The latter play, which closes the evening, would also be strengthened by some textual trimming, however with themes of starvation and guilt, it provides an appropriate, shadowy bookend to an evening of plays about consumption and want.

The counterweight provided by Vultures is perhaps especially helpful given the fact that each play has a different director, which prevents the evening from cohering as nicely as it otherwise might. That provides a lot of opportunity for members of Rising Sun’s enormous ensemble, as well as for a plethora of guest artists, but the end result feels less like a fully formed evening of theater than it does a showcase of scripts, whose staging could use more time in development.

Nobody's Dying Today!

Julius by Design by Kara Lee Corthron is the first production by the Fulcrum Theater Company, which “supports NY based writers of color to match the demographic reality of New York City.” The company stresses that their “playwrights are made the artistic directors of their own work.” This put me on alert because I wasn’t sure what this would mean in terms of collaboration with a director. The best thing about Julius by Design is the writing, so Corthron being the artistic director definitely worked. Talented director Debbie Saivetz creates a poignant, flowing, entertaining production with the story clearly told. The play begins with Laurel (Mike Hodge), a rather portly middle-aged black man, sitting in his favorite spot on the couch attempting a crossword puzzle. Hodge is not only an actor but the president of the Screen Actors Guild, which isn’t surprising. Hodge ‘s presence as an actor, particularly his voice, captures attention, and for a quick moment you may be reminded of James Earl Jones. His wife, Jo (Suzanne Douglas), sits near him drawing a face on a pumpkin as the couple banters back and forth. Though this seems like a typical day in the life of this family, there is something seriously wrong. We, the audience, don’t discover this completely because Corthron craftily reveals little bits of information about the plot throughout the play, keeping the feeling of tension and surprise.

It’s been seven years and Laurel and Jo are trying to recover from the death of their only teenage son due to a robbery gone bad. While Jo desperately and optimistically searches out new friends, therapy groups, and pen pals in an effort to fill her painful void, Laurel would rather not have the company or be subjected to unrealistic hope.

Every single character in this play is suffering from loneliness and despondency in their own, often amusing, way. All need to move on with their lives. Crystal Finn as George, the door-to-door knife saleswoman, is both hysterical and empathetic. I found myself at times feeling guilty for laughing at her incongruities of low self-esteem, science geeky-ness, and desperation, but I just couldn’t help it.

Another colorful couple, also dealing with a more recent loss of a child, adds to the feeling of family that this despondent bunch starts to form. Max, played by Curran Connnor, as the tech savvy, devoid of emotion husband, and her ultra-depressed, over-medicated wife, Casey, impeccably played by Christianna Nelson, are a hoot and complement each other nicely.

Ethan (Johnny Ramey), who plays their son’s incarcerated murderer, is a very strong actor. A secret letter writing relationship between Ethan and Jo soon becomes the focal point of the play. Lines blur as Jo starts to get maternal and aids in Ethan’s parole, causing almost fatal friction between Laurel and herself. Ramey also plays Julius, the dead son, in flashbacks and other scenes. His characterization of the two roles are so specific that at first I thought there were two actors. Kudos to Corthron again for giving a very interesting twist when Jo finally meets Ethan and sees what he’s really like as opposed to her impression of him through the letters.

What is missing a bit is the journey for the character Jo (Douglas). Douglas could dig a little deeper into the heart of the role, particularly in her connections to her husband Laurel. Throughout the play Jo is generally tormented and flutters about, but she seems to remain tormented in the same vein despite the changes she’s making throughout the play.

Sound design by Rodrigo Espinosa Lozano adds just the right effect to signify jail scenes in particular. On occasion the sound level is a little distracting, particularly when the TV runs during scenes. Lighting design by Scot Bolman is simple and effective for the three locations. The scenic designer Mikio Suzuki McAdams’s modest practical set works well, and I was glad to see that that no furniture was being moved on and off.

This play’s theme deals with an extremely painful situation, the loss of a child, but it’s also extremely funny and poignant. Saivetz and the talented cast keep energized and on track, so you won’t leave the theater feeling depressed.

Flattery Will Get You Everywhere

As the Irish are known for the gift of gab, it should be no surprise that The Irish Repertory Theatre’s Tryst is full of smooth talking. As an audience member, I found myself so wooed by the characters’ words that I wondered how it would end right up until it in fact ended. Tryst deftly achieves something paradoxically difficult: a clear vision of mystery. Through excellent character work, direction, and design, this production is both beautiful and energized from start to finish. Though at The Irish Repertory Theatre, Tryst is actually the work of British playwright Karoline Leach. It might be set in London and Weston Super Mare, but the play has quite a lot of “Irishness” in it, if you will. I have long been interested in Irish theater, both as a result of my heritage and my theatrical training. So it is that I can tell you some of the characteristics that make Tryst fit in so well. The beautiful language of Irish playwrights is often expressed in monologue form, as is the case in Tryst . Adelaide Pinchin (Andrea Maulella) and George Love (Mark Shanahan) tell their individual stories directly to the audience when not engaged in dialogue. Also, the mixture of comic moments with dramatic content is something often noted in Irish theater. This is certainly present throughout Tryst in a delicate way. We laugh at the situations, but we never laugh at the characters.

Instead, we learn a great deal about the humanity of both Adelaide and George. The performances given by Andrea Maulella and Mark Shanahan are both quite powerful. Shanahan’s self-professed con-man is exceedingly charming, and a good actor himself. In spite of, or perhaps because of, his honesty about his profession, we feel sympathy for him as we watch him lie. As soon as he sees his mark, Maulella’s meek and self-conscious Adelaide, he transforms before our eyes into a distinguished gentleman, complete with an upper class accent.

Maulella is the perfect foil to Shanahan’s bravado, creating a off-centered version of the Laura and Gentleman Caller relationship from The Glass Menagerie . Adelaide is fragile, and George wants to build her up. Yet because the motivations are so different than in the wholesome Tennessee Williams relationship, the audience is relegated to a state of constant questioning of exactly how much each character really knows and cares about the other.

Here I must pause and give credit to director Joe Brancato. It is often hard to see a director’s hand in productions, because all of the positive credit usually is given to actors and designers. But if you look for it, you can see a good director’s subtle shaping of a production. That is the case here. Several times I was struck by the excellent dynamics of the staging. Granted, I was seated so that much of the action faced me. I do wonder how I would feel if I had been seated in the bank of seats to the side. But I cannot stress enough how impressed I am at the visual variety Brancato achieves through blocking only two actors. Also, Brancato is an expert at integrating his actors into the mise en scene, something that is a key to any truly great production.

All the complexities of plot and character are perfectly supplemented by the scenic elements, which fully participate in the juxtaposition of known and unknown elements. Michael Schweikardt’s set is a chameleon. It begins as a stylized series of panels, instantly transporting us to a cold London street. Later we are treated to a much more realistic set, again fully functioning and appropriate. This transformation also owes a great deal to Martin Vreeland’s lighting design, which first creeps through the fog and then brightly reveals what has been hidden. Alejo Vietti’s costume design and Johnna Doty’s sound design are the final key players in this greatly unified design team, and each individual artistic choice forms a coherent whole.

This can be said for every aspect of Tryst . It is rare that I see a production which is so well conceived and executed on all fronts. The play itself is well-written and brings a surprising new take to a type of story that has been told many times before. In short, The Irish Repertory Theatre’s production of Tryst is a fantastic piece of theater, not to be missed. And I’m not just putting you on.

Ahoy, Mateys!

It’s not often that as a theatergoer you get to traipse around a deserted island, sail across the New York Harbor, or enter a real live fort when watching a play. Actually, make that two forts. New York Classical Theatre partners with the River To River Festival for a unique land-and-sea production of William Shakespeare’s Henry V that includes free ferry rides back and forth to Governors Island.

Most Shakespeare aficionados know the earlier part of King Henry’s story, laid out in Henry IV, Parts 1 and 2, when the ruler was a wayward, affable young lad called Prince Hal. But Henry V is less known, so all attendees are encouraged to read the “If you’re just joining us…” section of the program for a brief synopsis, which sets up the main crux of the story — a war between the English and the French.

Utilizing their signature “panoramic theater” style, NYCT begins the production at the historic Castle Clinton in Battery Park, which stands in for King Henry’s England. Audience members are led from place to place and scene to scene about every five to ten minutes, with ensemble members directing the crowd of up to 500 spectators to the next location. The text has been substantially cut, with about one and half hours of the two-and-half-hour running time devoted to the play itself.

When Henry (called “Harry” at this point in his life) rallies the troops to engage in battle with France, the audience itself becomes his army, led onto an awaiting ferry that whisks cast, crew, and spectators to Governors Island, which stands in for France.

The scale of the production is both challenging and limiting. Utilizing locations in lower Manhattan, the ferry itself, and the former military base in the heart of New York Harbor, the evening is in all honesty a bit exhausting. The many children in the audience loved running to the next bit, but many of the older adults lagged behind, missing the start of many scenes.

The ferry ride transitions were particularly prolonged — calculate how much time it takes to load and unload hundreds of people. The scenes on the ferry each way were mostly lost to all but the few people who sat inside the boat itself. Most of the audience were clamoring for topside views of the downtown skyline.

Astute audience members may ascertain that Henry is actually a warmonger and imperialist, but the early scenes are so fast-paced that it is hard to tell what is going on. The realities of the story are washed over in the spectacle of the presentation, which, though impressive, dilutes the complexity of Shakespeare’s play.

Choosing Henry V is a risky choice that doesn’t really pay off. Many of the characters become lost in a haze of accents. And the accents, for the most part, are pretty awful. It is impossible to sift the Welsh from the English, the Scottish from the Irish. And the raucous trio of British brutes — Pistol, Nym, and Bardolph — are sadly interchangeable and a lot less humorous than the boisterous Falstaff from the middle two plays of the tetralogy (which started with Richard II).

The French accents, in particular, are overdone and cartoon-like, much like the characterizations of the French in general. The Dauphin in particular comes off as a foppish, villainous cross between Pepé le Pew and Inspector Clouseau.

Only Montjoy (the excellent Ian Antal) offers a proper French accent coupled with an honest and sympathetic portrayal of a Frenchmen. His scenes with King Henry (an outstanding Justin Blanchard) are the most memorable in an evening more memorable for the locations than the locution.

The intrigue and political machinations of Henry V may be lost in NYCT’s ambitious production, but audience members young and old eagerly joined in the patriotic spirit on the ferry ride to Governors Island and during the decisive battles.

Overall, Henry V is truly an enjoyable evening from the always clever New York Classical Theatre company. But as Hamlet, the Bard’s most iconic character, would emphasize, “the play’s the thing.” And NYCT’s Henry V is really more about the gorgeous twilight ferry ride to and from Governors Island and the novelty of site specific theater than the play itself.

Ashes of the World

MoLoRa, created and directed by Yael Farber and presented by Women Center Stage, a Culture Project initiative, re-imagines the Oresteia Trilogy through the lens of post-Apartheid Truth and Reconciliation Commissions in South Africa. It is a riveting tale of violence, injustice, truth, grace, pain, and healing. Farber's play asks us to re-consider the larger questions about our humanity and the ways we, in this global community, are so often dominated by conflict, power, and vengeance. What is our truth? How do we react to violence and injustice? What do we do when faced with seemingly impossible decisions? Do replaying and continuing cycles of violence such as the curse of the House of Atreus serve any purpose? Can we choose a different path? Farber’s retelling of the Oresteia focuses on the first two plays in the cycle, Agamemnon and The Libation Bearers as well as texts by Sophocles and Jean Paul Sartre’s The Flies. The body of the show is the story of the three central characters Klytemnestra, Electra, and Orestes. Agamemnon, the king, is dead. For seventeen years Klytemnestra, played by Dorothy Ann Gould, and Electra, played by Jabulile Tshabalala, have been locked in a dysfunctional cycle of violence, grief, and pain. Mother and Daughter face off, waiting for the return of exiled son, Orestes, played by Sandile Matsheni, who is destined to take revenge against his mother for the killing of their father, Agamemnon. Orestes, when eye-to-eye with his mother, the embodiment of his hatred, is faced with a contradiction: his familial duty to his dead father versus that to his living mother.

The heart and pulse of this show is the chorus, performed by the internationally renowned singers and musicians of the Ngqoko Cultural Group – Tsolwana B Mpaxyipheli, Tandiwe Lungisa, Nofenishala Mvotyo, Nokhaya Mvotyo, Nopasile Mvotyo, Nosomething Ntese, Nogcinile Yekani. This group of performers is simultaneously participant, witness, and representative of everywoman/everyman.

Past and present members of the Ngqoko Cultural Group, founded in 1979 by the late NoFinish Dywili, provide vernacular text translations, the traditional instruments, and song arrangements. The show is driven by their voices, rhythms, wisdom, and experience. They set the stage and tone of the production and guide us on the journey through the characters' stories and testimonies. As noted in the production website, they also “reconstruct the context of the Truth and Reconciliation Commissions” and they represent the grace of choosing a different path out of a violent past.

The simplicity of the sets, by Larry Leroux and Leigh Colombick, belies the complexity of the emotional journey of the characters. Two desks with chairs and microphones surround a central platform with a dirt grave; a row of witness chairs is upstage for the chorus. The lighting, original concept by Michael Maxwell and designed by Caleb Wertenbaker, leads us into and out of the story and testimony in golden tones of everyday events contrasted by the harsh fluorescent lighting of giving evidence. The costuming, designed by Natalie Lundon and Johny Mathole, places us in a time between ancient Greece and rural South Africa.

MoLoRa, Farber tells us in her director’s note, is the SeSetho word for “ash.” It is the “handful of cremated remains that Orestes delivers to his mother’s door. From the ruins of Hiroshima, Bagdad, Palestine, Northern Ireland, Rwanda, Bosnia, and the concentration camps of Europe.” It is what remains after the burning fires of hate and violence. MoLoRa, told through Greek tragedy, asks us to consider this question in our own world: do we continue these cycles in vengeance and displays of power, or can we find a new path through the pain to healing and understanding?

Memories from Hurricane Katrinia

The Play About My Dad at 59E59 is a rare gem masterfully guided by an incredible new voice in theater. Boo Killebrew’s beautiful play depicts several heartbreaking stories about the lives of people she knew and loved that were forever altered by Hurricane Katrina. The glue of the play is Boo Killebrew herself and her father Larry Hammond Killebrew, an emergency room doctor who was on duty in Pass Christian, Mississippi during Hurricane Katrina. The stories the play tells are recollections of Larry and Boo’s memories woven together by their own turmoil. The play opens on a spare stage sprinkled with a few milk crates, old chairs and plywood boards. Larry (Jay Potter) and Boo (Anna Greenfield) enter with scripts in hand. Boo announces to the audience, “ We are going to play with magical realism and time travel and side stories and make the whole thing sort of like a tapestry.” After an awkward introduction from Larry, who reminds us he is not an actor, he and Boo introduce the other characters in the play. Kenny Tyson (Jordan Mahome) and Neil Plitt (TJ Witham) are two childhood friends of Boo’s who happen to be EMT workers on duty the day Hurricane Katrina hit. The scene opens with the two caught up in heated banter about whether or not Kenny, as he claims, can actually travel to other dimensions. Neil does not believe him, but his tone quietly changes when Kenny reveals a piece of news that sends a wave of fear through Neil.

Jay Thomas (Juan Francisco Villa), his wife Rena Thomas (Annie Henk) and their five-year-old son Michael (David Rosenblatt) are locals from Pass Christian. They are in the process of boarding up their windows before the storm hits. Michael is frightened by the loud thunder, but is quickly calmed by his parents who tell him they are going to have a hurricane party. Essie Watson (Geany Masai) is an elderly woman who helped raise Larry as a child. Larry stops by on his way to the hospital to check in on Essie. He tries to get her to go with him, but she refuses to leave her home. “You think I can’t take care of myself?” Essie remarks. “I taught you how to wipe your own backside.”

From there we watch the events of that all-too-familiar day unfold onstage. We watch as families and lives, just like memories and ghosts, are swirled up by nature. We watch as Boo and Larry, through the chaos of nature, gain the courage to finally confront their own memories and ghosts.

The entire cast is absolutely wonderful. Especially noteworthy are Anna Greenfield and Jay Potter. Both give nuanced and heartfelt performances, intimately capturing the complicated and universal relationship between a father and a daughter. During one of Greenfield’s monologues, the play was interrupted by a cellphone buzz. Without batting an eye, Greenfield paused the story and asked that the phone be shut off. It took me a moment to realize that this was not part of the play.

Lee Sunday Evans’s direction is subtle and effective. She creatively uses a somewhat awkward space to the play’s advantage through minimalistic choices. There are no sound effects or dramatic lighting or theatrical movements. She strips the play to its bare bones, allowing the audience to be swept up by the stories onstage mixed with our own memories of that event. Killebrew skillfully navigates a terrain that is full of very big landmines. How do you objectively write a play about yourself and your father? But she manages to do so while avoiding traps- such as sentimentality or self-indulgence or superficial dialogue- that a lesser writer could easily succumb to.

The Play About My Dad is about Boo and her father, sure, but it is also about much more. We waste so much time holding grudges against the people we love, but we never know when that devastating storm will hit in our own lives and never give us the chance to forgive. Luckily for Boo and Larry Killebrew, nature gave them a second chance that they tenderly share with the rest of us.

Putting the Man in Manipulate

The beautiful but creepy opening tableau of Cherry Lane Theatre’s production of Manipulation sets the tone for this cerebral production. A woman is lying down. A slowly spreading spotlight on her face gradually reveals several marionettes invading her space. This artistic representation of the greater metaphors of the show is a perfect example of this production’s brave interpretation of Victoria E. Calderon’s American debut. If you are looking for a high-flying (or crashing) action epic, this is not your show. Calderon and Cherry Lane bring you an aesthetically pleasing production of a complex play, making it an exciting prospect for those of you who enjoy the rare delicacies of thought-provoking theater. Set in a place designated only as “Latin America,” Manipulation does an excellent job of literally setting the stage for a story specifically not set in the United States. I am far from an expert on the “Latin American” play, a term that is complicated by the lack of discrete boundaries for Latin America. Yet there are certain aesthetic sensibilities that stand out in all of the Latin American plays that I have read, and it is of vast importance that these themes are being exposed to US audiences in such a well organized production. The most notable of these themes is the palpable violence. Both physical and emotional violence are inflicted on characters in the show, while shadowy camouflaged figures are occasionally seen around the periphery of the action.

This leads me to the overall wonderful design of the show, which does a great deal to facilitate Director Will Pomerantz’s clear stage pictures. Bill Stabile’s towering wooden structure is comprised of sticks, making it seem both permanent and permeable. With the addition of Kirk Bookman’s delicate lighting design and Jeremy Lee’s operatic sound design, the scenic elements are able to play many roles. Sometimes they are as ambiguous as the plot itself.

I can’t pretend that this is an action packed show, so if you are looking for high flying stunts, you should go elsewhere. But if you are ready to be intellectually stimulated, then this is the show for you. Calderon’s protagonist Cristina, well played by Marina Squerciati, is constantly abused by the men around her. The misogynistic power order of this world is clearly established, yet things are not so simple. Despite Cristina’s complaining about her philandering, king-like husband Mauricio (Robert Bogue), Cristina herself has affairs and is free to take extravagant trips to Paris for two months. Nothing in Manipulation is how it seems at first. In the end we must ask ourselves who is being manipulated by whom. Is Cristina the victim?

These questions are posed more often than they are answered. Adding to the mystery are a series of choreographed moments throughout the show that hearken back to the puppets who opened the show. In the midst of realistic dialogue, the highly stylized moments lead us to question what we are seeing. At one time or another each and every actor channels the marionettes. At one point Mauricio is Cristina’s puppet-master, yet again we see that things are not that cut and dry. In a scene towards the end, all of the other people in Cristina’s life are puppets, and Cristina watches them. Is this meant to suggest that everyone else is a puppet, but Cristina is separate? In this instance, Cristina is the only one who can see that she is being manipulated. Or are we to infer that Cristina is actually controlling these people who she sees to have abused her? Characters are constantly telling Cristina that she is the only one who can save herself.

The uncertainty is not disconcerting. In fact, the twists and turns keep the audience engaged, as does some of the eloquent prose. The performance that I saw was peppered with murmurs of appreciation after particularly powerful lines. Every person who goes to the theater secretly hopes for a moment of illumination in the show, a line or a moment that reveals some fundamental truth articulated in a new way. This play delivers. Indeed, this play delivers overall. Combining a solid production with the kind of play too rarely offered to US audiences, Cherry Lane Theatre’s Manipulation is a great night at the theater.

New York Classical Theatre’s Henry VTakes Place on Land and at Sea

Now celebrating its 12th season, New York Classical Theatre continues its mission of presenting free productions of classics of the theater in public spaces with their upcoming version of William Shakespeare's Henry V, opening Wednesday, July 6.

Partnering for the first time with the River To River Festival for that organization's 10th anniversary, NYCT will stage Shakespeare's seafaring, swashbuckling history play at Castle Clinton in Battery Park, on a boat ride across the harbor, and at the historic Fort Jay on Governors Island.

NYCT founder and artistic director Stephen Burdman calls Henry V "our most ambitious production ever, with a cast of 40, the company's largest ever," adding that "it's not often that theater artists and audiences get to enjoy a set that encompasses two islands and a waterway."

Previous NYCT programming has made use of Central Park (including the recent School for Husbands by Moliere), the World Financial Center (last spring's The Rover by Aphra Behn), and Battery Park (Friedrich Schiller's Mary Stuart in 2006).

NYCT's signature staging style, called Panoramic Theatre, literally makes "the venue a character in the play, much like an actor. The venue becomes an active member of the ensemble," according to Burdman. If someone or something interrupts or wanders into the staging area, the actors simply integrate them into the scene, bringing them into the play.

Because the audience follows the actors from place to place, the spectators become active participants in the drama itself. Burdman mentioned a particular instance when an audience member's dog barked wildly as Antigonus "exited pursued by a bear" in NYCT's 2002 Central Park production of Twelfth Night.

With Henry V, New York Classical Theatre will have produced 26 free plays in its 12-year history for over well over 100,000 spectators (which does not include those additional folks who watched the rehearsals that also took place in the public venues).

Burdman says that NYCT's hallmark is accessibility, offering open-air theater free of charge to people of all ages, ethnicities, educational backgrounds, and income levels. "We want to make sure everyone is having a good time, but this is not dumbed-down Shakespeare," he adds. "This is a quality theater experience."

"At a recent show," says Burdman, "a young woman introduced herself to me and told me she had been coming to New York Classical Theatre productions since she was in the sixth grade. When I asked her what grade she was in now, she replied 'college.' So she has become a lifelong theatergoer."

Burdman typically cuts the texts of the plays so that NYCT shows run under 2 hours, but this special semi-maritime show will have a running time of 2 hours and 45 minutes, which includes the 10-15 minute ferry ride (each way) back and forth to Governors Island.

Special wristbands (limited to two per person) will be handed out from 5-6:30pm in front of Castle Clinton on the day of each performance. Only 500 will be available and are required for the free transportation to Governors Island, which has been generously donated by Statue Cruises. Performances begin promptly at 7pm.

With Henry V, audience members will journey with King Henry (the now mature young Prince Hal from Henry IV Parts 1 and 2) and his army from 15th century England (Battery Park) across the English Channel (New York Harbor) to France (Governors Island) where the famous Battle of Agincourt will be staged.

In addition, there will be dramatic scenes on both legs of the ferry ride, with the final set of scenes in Battery Park with the King of France traveling to England to deliver the peace treaty.

"I always look to challenge myself as a director and producer -- and to challenge the audience," says Burdman. Staging a classic William Shakespeare play on land and at sea is a challenge indeed.

The Rednecking of the Shrew

It’s just like Shakespeare wrote it...with the addition of beer, trucker hats, and country music. This is DMTheatrics’ American Shakespeare Factory and Horse Trade Theater Group’s version of The Taming of the Shrew , and tame it certainly isn’t. This production, currently playing at The Red Room, is actually quite brilliant in concept: a modernized Shrew with a redneck twist. The text sounds oddly perfect in a southern drawl, and with the exception of a few mis-directions, I think that the overall production is strong enough to attract those in search of a new take on an old classic. The entire theater-going experience of this Shrew is decidedly opposed to most people’s conception of Shakespeare. Forget the high brow, folks, this show is about hitting below the belt. I will avoid spoiling the surprise of entering the theater, but suffice it to say that the tone and place are already established by the time we come upon a character watching a Nascar race projected on a screen. The southern accents at first seemed odd, but I quickly realized that they suit the meter quite well. Southern accents are arguably the most musical of our country, and therefore they adeptly support the greater range inflection best suited for Shakespeare.

The actors make good sense of the words, and their actions provide a gentle guide through the story. Occasionally I could not make sense of the words when the musical underscoring, sometimes country, sometimes vintage love themes, was too loud. Indeed, sometimes I found the actors themselves were too loud, flattening out the vocal inflection and muddling together, but this did not happen too often.

The acting is generally strong. Brianna Tyson’s Katharina is wonderfully dynamic as she nails the biting comebacks Shakespeare grants the character while balancing the character’s gentler moments. Likewise, Swiderski’s Petruchio is devilishly charismatic while also dumbly brilliant. Another standout is Kymberly Tuttle’s Tranio, whose comic timing is as wonderful as the gigantic overcoat she uses to disguise herself to Baptista. There is also something very lovable about Joshua Schwartz’s Hortensio, one of the suitors seeking the love of Bianca, also well played by Lindsey Carter.

The only acting I took issue with is that of Edgar Eguia, whose characters seem to be out of place. He is playing for laughs, which he was surely directed to do, but it just doesn’t jibe with the rest of the production. I was taken out of the action as he hammed it up, and I long to see him embrace the almost self-conscious ease of his peers. He is best when matched up with Tuttle when her Tranio attempts to communicate with his Mr. Pedant.

Now would probably be a good time for me to acknowledge that I was curious to see how the final scene would be handled. The speech in which Katharina says “I am ashamed that women are so simple” is one that has plagued feminist scholars for years. Is Shakespeare sexist? Is Katharina tamed? Or is it all an inside joke between Katharina and Petruchio? I’ve seen it played both ways with great success.

This production is particularly good at emphasizing Katharina’s spunk, and her verbal jousting matches with Petruchio are sharp and witty. Yet this final scene is played devoid of irony, and with a sincerity that led me to believe that Katharina had indeed been tamed. In scenes before this it is obvious that she has been wooed, but to go from such fire to such complacency surprised me because I did not see an arc. When we realize that Katharina loves Petruchio, we are also meant to enjoy the power they both have. To play this scene in all honesty does not make sense in this context, for Katharina is not her husband’s servant. She has just redirected her fiery spirit to be more amenable to his comfort, as this production shows. This is the only scene that seems like a misstep.

The design concept of this production is very interesting. If you are going to see this show, be prepared to sit on low bleachers! Again, without ruining the surprise, the audience does not begin on these bleachers, but then moves into the space. Frank Cwiklik, director and designer, has utilized The Red Room theater space to create a versatile set. The most impressive thing about the staging is the ways in which the production chooses to move in and out of the proscenium. The length of the stage allows the actors to be upstage and become perfectly enclosed in a picture-frame proscenium, while being downstage breaks this construct, moving the action into a less constricted space much closer to the audience. This movement brilliantly mirrors greater aspects of the show itself, which breaks out of Shakespeare’s words through repetition and minor additions while then returning from whence it came. This continual referencing of the framing devices, both literal and physical, lends the show its postmodern flair.

After seeing tonight’s production, I’m left slightly curious about the unevenness between the first and second acts. The first act is high energy and never lags, while the second act seems longer and more drawn out. I have a feeling that this energy might have been particular to the performance I attended, and I reference it here to say that I believe that an act two like their act one would be quite a sight to see. So put down your chicken wings (they might give you some at the show) if you want to see a theater group taking risks and doing truly interesting work, and head on over to The Taming of the Shrew .

Love and Deception

The Illusion is the final play in the Signature Theatre Company’s season of works by Tony Kushner, although it’s an adaptation of Pierre Corneille’s L’Illusion comique. Kushner has taken liberties with Corneille’s original, putting in new scenes and contributing his own vibrant language, darkening the tone of the neoclassical original, but there’s still much by Corneille that shines through strongly. The Illusion concerns Pridamant (David Margulies), a lawyer who drove his son Clindor away years before and now regrets his actions. To locate the boy, he calls at the cavernous lair of a sorceress, Alcandre (Lois Smith, taking on a role that was a male in the original). The brusque and initially unsympathetic mistress of dark arts shows Pridamant three visions of his son’s life. The scenes show his love affairs with different women, their jealous suitors, and a saucy maid, played adeptly by Merrit Wever in all three. In all three the characters have different names.

In the first, for instance, Clindor appears as a ragged peasant calling himself Calisto, declaring his love for the beautiful Melibea, who scorns him, but not wholeheartedly. Her maid cleverly elicits her mistress’s true feelings and arranges for the would-be lovers to meet. Calisto’s rival is a suitor named Pleribo.

Though The Illusion is a comedy about love, it comes with a heavy dose of cynicism, yet it all seems of a piece under Michael Mayer’s skillful direction. It’s not entirely love that leads Pridamant to seek Clindor: “I want to make him sick with guilt,” he says. Wittrock’s passionate hero describes his love for her mistress to the maid: “Inside I bleed.” His beloved reacts with shock to discover that he has no money after she has been disinherited for choosing him: “Both poor!” “Love is the illusion,” pronounces Alcandre, suggesting that the feelings of happiness it engenders are not real.

As the visions continue, a confused Pridamant complains, “Why has everyone changed their name? .... A man has a right to expect coherence.” It’s a bit of a meta-theatrical moment, with Kushner commenting on the French neoclassical rules of unity of time and place that Corneille managed to undermine in this clever work. By showing “visions” in a framing device that conformed to the rules—the French academy in the 17th century was brutal about breaking them—Corneille got around them. More important, Kushner’s intellectual playfulness opens the play up to modern audiences who don’t care about its historical significance; Kushner hints at it in Alcandre’s description of the visions as “a love and death spectacle worthy of Racine,” an icon of playwriting for the French academy.

The actors embrace the rich characters with verve. Wittrock moves gradually from peasant to military man (the final twist explains the nature of the visions), while remaining likable and noble whether he’s in rags or a uniform (by Susan Hilferty). Sean Dugan plays all three suitors with differing levels of arrogance and wrath. Wever’s maids move from helpful to mercenary, and she handles soliloquies of rhyming couplets with aplomb. Outside the visions, David Margulies’ Pridamant adds dryly comic touches as well.

Most delightful is Peter Bartlett as Matamore, a braggart soldier. The stereotype goes back at least to Plautus, but this Matamore is a fop, embodied by Bartlett with his trademark epicene flourish and comic timing. “I am so great at times I want to flee myself!” he declares. While describing a battle in which “the blood ran ankle-deep,” he wobbles and almost faints.

The darkness and mystery of the cave and the visions are enhanced by Kevin Adams’ inventively sparse lighting, while Bray Poor’s eerie sound design contributes dripping water and birds screeching.

Though at times Kushner wears his knowledge on his sleeve (there’s a line referencing the Ghost of Hamlet’s father, and occasionally the author’s love of language verges on turgid), most often he enhances the original, adding, for instance, a duel. (The French neoclassicists banned all violence from the stage.) He also provides an ending that gives Bartlett the opportunity to play emotions rarely associated with him, and the actor rises to the occasion. In a wistful, melancholy moment, Matamore compares himself to Hannibal and prepares to leave this world for a better one (indicated by a masterly projection). It’s a fitting, fanciful coda to a play that should be better known.

Broken Apollo

The one-hundredth anniversary of the birth of Pulitzer Prize-winning American playwright Tennessee Williams has brought a resurgence of his plays back to the New York stage, particularly his lesser-known works. Roundabout Theatre’s The Milk Train Doesn’t Stop Here Anymore starring Olympia Dukakis, The Wooster Group’s Vieux Carré, Mother of Invention’s, Austin Pendleton-directed Small Craft Warnings, and the Hudson Hotel site-specific staging of Green Eyes are but a few of the Williams’ revivals to hit the boards of the Big Apple in 2011.

Add to that list The New Group and Tectonic Theater Project co-production of Tennessee Williams’ One Arm, now playing a limited engagement at The Acorn on Theatre Row.

One Arm is based on a 1948 short story that was turned into an unproduced screenplay in 1967. As adapted for the stage utilizing both sources and directed by Moisés Kaufman (The Laramie Project, 33 Variations, Bengal Tiger at the Baghdad Zoo), One Arm is a fascinating curiosity featuring a star-making performance by Claybourne Elder in the lead.

Set in 1967 mostly in Williams’ beloved French Quarter of New Orleans with quick stops in New York, Los Angeles, and other U.S cities, the story centers on Ollie Olsen, a champion boxer from the armed forces described as “lighting in leather” who loses his right arm in a car accident.

After losing the appendage, Ollie also loses his ability to feel emotional connections, becoming bitter and detached. Forced into hustling to survive, the hunky Elder commands the stage as the broken Apollo, possessing a boyish beauty and naivety that belies his smoldering sensuality.

Through a narrator and a series of flashbacks (both well-worn Williams motifs), the audience learns about Ollie pre- and post-tragedy. They also learn of the circumstances that landed him in prison, awaiting the death penalty for the murder of a porn director who pushed the damaged protagonist to violence.

All of the other actors in One Arm play multiple parts, from johns to pimps, prostitutes to porn stars. Larisa Polonsky, in particular, is outstanding in the female roles, jumping from saintly to sultry and back again most convincingly.

The industrial set by Derek McLane, luscious lighting by David Lander, and evocative sound design by Shane Rettig create a decidedly decadent environment for the play’s action, perfectly capturing the barren isolation of a prison cell, the dark shadows of a park late at night, and a hair-raising car ride that ends in catastrophe.

Fluid direction by Kaufman keeps the 90-minute show at a brisk pace, although there are a few moments that seem to drag on, making the short show seem longer than it actually is. And the elegant production, although gorgeous and engaging, unfortunately only accentuates the story’s flaws and faults, especially the role of the narrator.

But Tennessee Williams aficionados and fans of provocative theater alike will find much to savor in this ingenious and exquisite production of One Arm. And be sure to keep an eye on Mr. Claybourne Elder. He’s a talented young performer with a bright future — a true triple threat who made his New York debut at the Public Theater in Stephen Sondheim’s Road Show. He’s definitely a star in the making.

Set Sail on an Historical Voyage

What might happen when a fledgling nation encounters a great foreign empire for the first time? Will these disparate cultures be able to find common ground despite a severe language barrier? Are there goods and services that each country can trade with the other to initiate continued economic connections? Such are the questions at stake in the Yangtze Repertory Theatre of America’s production of The Empress of China. This play, written and directed by Joanna Chan, tackles an important historical moment, attempting to display what it was like when China and the United States of America first began trading, but peppering the retelling of that event with some intriguing fictionalized fare. This play is well worth watching, both for its entertainment value and the history lesson that it provides. The play centers on the first trade voyage to set sail from the US to China. The piece jumps back and forth in time, taking us from the Americans landing in WhamPao Reach back to their early negotiations with their financial sponsors in the new United States. From the American side, scandal abounds: their first trade idea is to sell northwestern furs at an exorbitant cost and a substantial sum of money is “borrowed” from the coffers by one of the men. Although these conflicts appear to be the source of the dramatic action in this play, the real drama unfolds after the intermission. One of the young American ambassadors to China finds himself attracted to Miss Purple Lotus, daughter of one of the men with whom the Americans wish to do business.

The romance between these two characters is the highlight of the play. As Purple Lotus, Annie Q. plays the innocent young woman with excitement and demureness. She carries herself perfectly in the role and is well-complimented by the performance of Andrei Drooz as her new love interest First Supercargo Samuel Shaw. Watching him struggle over his own sense of honor in the dirty dealings of business is compelling. The lovers' few shared scenes are accentuated with the recitation of Chinese poetry as well as a lesson in traditional American dance of the period. These sweet moments bring out the real magic possible in a first intercultural exchange.

This play contends with the shaky ground on which such global negotiation occurs. Indeed, the distances between cultures are highlighted. The play is performed partially in Mandarin Chinese and partly in English (for the audience, subtitles are projected). The characters are forced to contend with translators and ultimately with some key misunderstandings that threaten to tear their trade enterprises apart. Yet, the play also highlights how much is to be gained by the opening of national shores to new cultures. Purple Lotus seems enchanted by the American ideas that she is learning for the first time; Shaw is also intrigued by the Chinese ways and customs.

These cultural details are enhanced by a gorgeous array of period costumes on stage, created by Xu HaoJian and Edmond Wong. The music, by Yuan Cheuk-Wa, is also a sumptuous feast for the ears, punctuating the acts in a fulfilling way. However, the piece does have moments in which it drags, particularly those which focus solely on business negotiations and politics. There is a bit too much talking on stage, which, at times, slows the piece down. Without a strong background in the histories of both nations during the period, some sections are difficult to follow, making the long discussions seem a bit distancing.

Overall, however, The Empress of China is a real treat for New York audiences. It is a chance to encounter a significant historical event with which one may not have been familiar previously. It is also a chance to delight in eighteenth-century culture and view not only how different a time it was from our own, but also, and more importantly, to realize the ways in which our modern moment is not so different at all. This play is worth watching, no matter from which shore you originally hail.

Art Brut

Co-produced by Playwrights Horizons and New York Theatre Workshop, The Shaggs: Philosophy of the World is a new musical based on a true story. Three sisters from Fremont, New Hampshire with no musical expertise were forced by their father to form a rock band and record their debut album in Massachusetts in 1969, which would later become a cult classic. Although there is much to recommend in this quirk-filled show, the sum unfortunately does not equal the individual parts. It’s a sad story about failed dreams and unfulfilled ambition — kind of a downer, to be honest. The Shaggs’ album, Philosophy of the World, faded into obscurity, only to be rediscovered and then rereleased on vinyl in 1980. The dozen songs are best described as “outsider music,” featuring earnest, unpolished, off-tempo, and atonal compositions with deeply accented vocals and simplistic yet existential lyrics.

Nonetheless, the strange innocence and youthful energy of The Shaggs earned them many fans, including Kurt Cobain. Frank Zappa called them “better than the Beatles.” A review of their CD on Amazon.com dubbed it “a Dada masterpiece.”

A lot of folks, however, would disagree with those assessments. “Many people in Fremont thought the band stank,” according to a 1999 profile in The New Yorker written by Orchid Thief author Susan Orlean. The Shaggs are definitely a love ’em or hate ’em kind of band. The Shaggs, the musical, however, offers decidedly more grey area.

Tony Award nominee Peter Friedman (Tateh in the original Ragtime) plays Austin Wiggin, the overbearing father who is a cross between Mama Rose from Gypsy and Joe Jackson — father of Michael, Janet, and the rest of the Jacksons. And make no mistake, Austin is the center of The Shaggs. It’s his mother’s prophecy that the girls will be in band that propels the misguided working-class dad to pull his offspring out of school to become The Shaggs.

But there is something off-putting about watching two-and-a-half hours of a father bullying his untalented daughters into making music when they display no passion or aptitude for it. His haranguing and berating borders on and sometimes crosses over into violence. It’s a harrowing performance by the magnetic Friedman, but it isn’t enjoyable or comfortable to watch.

Annie Golden (last seen in Xanadu and most famous as Jeannie in the film version of Hair) as the sympathetic mother and supportive wife adds a lighter touch. Her spectacular, helium-soaked voice takes flight in the gorgeous “Flyin’” — a highlight of the second act.

Regarding the three sisters, Jamey Hood gives dramatic heft to the role of Dot, lead guitarist/songwriter and the daughter with the fiercest loyalty to her father. Sarah Sokolovic adds both flirtiness and willfulness to vocalist/guitarist Betty.

Emily Watson (from Playwrights Horizons Saved) as the drumming sister Helen charmingly sings the first act showstopper “Impossible You,” but her character is mute (by choice) most of the play. Speechless characters can be problematic onstage, forced into physicality that can come off as clownish, childish, or both.

One problem of The Shaggs lies in making the father, not the girls, the main focus of the narrative. His drive and ambition are obsessively clear, while the trio of daughters seem interchangeably sullen and bored. None of the girls really shine through, although each is given at least one moment in the spotlight.

But the main flaw with The Shaggs is that the show is not true to life. In reality there were six Wiggins kids, many of whom had a hand in the live shows, including another sister, Rachel, who joined the band later and played bass. None of the other siblings exist in the musical-version world of The Shaggs.

The sisters were also all blonds, not brunettes like the wigged cast members. Even the ages of the girls are mixed up. Helen is portrayed as the youngest, when she was actually the oldest. And while the action onstage takes place while the girls are high-school aged, Helen was 22, Dot 21, and Betty 18 when their album was recorded.

Changes like these can be chalked up to artistic license, but they remain somewhat baffling considering the legendary status of The Shaggs story. Why base the musical on a true story if you’re not going to portray its reality?

Aside from these qualms, the most striking moments of the show occur during the recording of the album as we hear the songs performed onstage by the romanticized version of the trio and then also hear the actual output in comparison. The difference is startling. The times the actual Shaggs songs are reworked and turned into beautiful music — complete with sisterly harmonies — as opposed to the discordant originals are also deeply affecting.

A song in Act One called “Show Me the Magic” aptly describes my ambivalence about The Shaggs. A musical about musicians who couldn’t make music; a talented cast playing talentless people; a true story that is actually far from the truth. In the liner notes to Philosophy of the World, Austin Wiggin wrote “The Shaggs are real, pure, unaffected by outside influences.” Sadly, the same cannot be said of The Shaggs: Philosophy of the World.

The Anne Diaries

What would you do if Anne Hathaway stepped out of your TV and began to talk to you? This is the innovative premise of Shawn C. Harris’s creative play Tulpa, or Anne & Me now playing at the Robert Moss Theater. The production has a lot to say with its conversations on the difficult topic of race, but dramaturgically the pacing undercuts the power of the dialogue and plot. It has a lot of potential, but the piece still comes across as a workshop production. Tulpa, or Anne & Me is part of the Planet Connections Theatre Festivity, which consists of 35 productions that are categorized as both philanthropic and green. In this spirit, the space contains only a futon, some drawing materials, and the colorful outline of a TV set. We are introduced to [NAME], in this case “Star” as the character is played by Star Kirkland. She is the author of a comic called “Afrodyke,” and when Anne, played by Rachel Lambert, steps out of the TV seconds later, we discover that Anne is a fan.

We are then privy to a series of scenes in which Star and Anne attempt to connect on an interpersonal level while they are continually blocked by their views on race. These scenes are interspersed with those of Star and the two Guardian Angels of Blackness, played wonderfully by Mia Y. Anderson and Ayo Cummings. These two women work to explore Star’s own relationship with her Blackness, as opposed to the scenes with Anne, which also look at Blackness in relation to Whiteness. Throughout these scenes no tidy answer is implied or given, we are simply lead through a journey that makes us question the assumptions held by ourselves and others. This is Tulpa, or Anne & Me ’s greatest strength, as one of the purposes of theater is to challenge our views and expand our minds.

Where the production falters is in the pacing and timing. Part of this is actually due to the structure of the story, in which each scene contains its own climax while the story itself does not have a consistent arc. Director Sara Lyons does an excellent job of giving some of the scenes, especially those between Star and Anne, “realistic” pacing. The actors speak with the stops, starts, and pauses of normal conversation. It is rather startling to see this done on stage, and at first I thought that the actors were having trouble with their lines. When I realized it was a choice, I worried how that damaged the power of the play as a medium. When something is on stage, it is automatically not “realistic,” so instead it is up to the director to find the best pacing and tone for the piece to convey its message. In this case, her choices leave the piece feeling very long, even though it does not even run to its advertised 90 minute mark.

In between the breathy sighs and frequent pauses, I still believe that Tulpa, or Anne & Me has a certain something. My hope is that the artists can learn from these comments and the experience of this production, and that the piece is looked at dramaturgically before its next run. In the meantime, if you are really interested in issues of race then you should go see this show. At least then you’ll know what to say to Anne Hathaway if she ever climbs slowly out of your TV set.

Getting Real

The subject of reality television wouldn’t seem to have a place in the world of New York theater. One is an artless medium in which people try to sell themselves as celebrities; the other is an ageless art form involving trained professionals collaborating to tell a story. And yet, Cut, Crystal Skillman’s strongly observed new comedy-drama, charts the quest of three young Los Angeles reality television writers for dignity and fulfillment. Drama is drama, it seems, no matter where you find it. Reality television is alternately known as “Unscripted” television, admitting that the true lives documented aren’t necessarily “real.” They are people playing canned versions of themselves. But even the term “unscripted” is inaccurate. Networks hire aspiring writers to find thematic links and build conflict based on the recorded footage of reality stars.

What is so smart about Cut is how Skillman is able to take some very traditional sentiments and merge them with a very current feel so that they never seem trite. And as a result, all three of her characters are instantly recognizable. Danno (Joe Varca) is the story editor of “The Ladies of Malibu,” a fictional look at the fabulous and base lives of some rich SoCal ladies, but he’s an NYU grad who went west with the hopes of becoming an actor. Rene (Nicole Beerman) is the off-camera interviewer, but at one time was a highly-regarded writer. And Colette (Megan Hill), who catalogs the endless hours of “Ladies” footage, really wants to dance.

The three fly into crisis mode when management rejects the original season finale they compile. Now they have just a few hours to cobble together an improved version (Kyle Dixon’s cluttered production office set, coupled with Grant Wilcoxen's smart lighting, is totally believable). Adding to the pressure is a series of individual personal crises afflicting each of these three writers that rivals the material they assemble professionally. Danno carries a torch for Rene and also bears an enormous amount of guilt for abandoning his sister. Rene is in the middle of a divorce, while Colette not only feels overwhelmed by the job, but is also guarding a secret.

There’s an obvious, if artful, irony to this. Danno, Rene and Colette are adept at looking at others' lives to tell a story. They can chart the path of the coulds, woulds, and shoulds for the five women of “Malibu.” But when it comes to examining where their own lives need to go, they each hit a blind spot.

Director Meg Sturiano nimbly stages the show, which is peppered by the three characters’ reality-style confessions to the audience, with aplomb. (The show’s back-and-forth flashback structure does, however, take a little while to get used to). Skillman’s monologues feel so emotionally honest that they are riveting. And the playwright has an equally gifted ear for dialogue. There are carefully measured cadences to the lines delivered by Danno, Rene and Colette, but the scenes feel realistic, never overly stylized.

This is, of course, also a credit to the cast. Beerman laces her scenes with traces of weariness and regret, suggesting an enormity about the Rene’s journey prior to “Malibu,” and there is an amusing counterbalance between her and Hill’s more frenetic Colette. In particular, Hill digs deepest to show a complex portrait of a woman who has to face some scary adult choices, and yet she never losses Skillman’s sense of humor. One monologue regarding mail-order pills is riotous.

Varca is a solid actor, but eventually some of Danno’s hemming and hawing does feel repetitive. It’s terrible to say, but I found myself wishing that the character wasn’t such a “nice” guy. Danno could benefit from some more darkness, and I would like to have seen Varca get to play him with more edge. Perhaps several more shades of aggressiveness would enhance Danno’s later exchanges with Rene.

That said, Cut remains a smart look at not only reality television’s role in society but also at the changing landscape for show business in general. Talented, hungry writers must increasingly forgo substantial work to take flimsier paying gigs. Here’s hoping that’s a fate that never befalls Skillman.

Clown Porn

Ever heard of clown porn? Google it, see what comes up. Or head down to the Red Room to catch Animalparts’ fun production of Miranda Huba’s Dirty Little Machine. It’s a play dealing with, laughing at, possibly even warning about the depths of influence pornography has reached in this country, performed in an imaginative form of clowny physical theater. You’ll be surprised how a perfectly mimed threesome (performed by two actors) can tickle your (funny) bone. Huba kicks the play off with one of many narrated monologues, told in a mildly seductive fashion by the young and talented Joanne Wilson (Jane). She describes finding a disturbing pornographic novel at age thirteen (apparently a true event in Huba’s life), which eventually leads her toward the following decision: She will “seek out the most degenerate, repulsive, douchebag she can find and date him- in order that she may either fulfill her deep-seated sexual fantasies OR renounce all disempowering desires and become a true feminist.”

As we know, weasels are not hard to find, and Jane swiftly finds Dick (the exuberant Ben Mann) and promptly has silhouette sex with the loser. As the relationship between the couple develops, director Nathan Schwartz smoothly moves the scene from one location to the next, making clever use of the limited space of the Red Room. We watch Dick gradually lose his sex drive, openly watching more and more porn on Jane’s computer. Whenever things take a turn to the worse, Jane chooses to resign herself to further humiliation. It comes to a climax with Dick’s delightful question: “What are you going to do for me to get you an abortion?” Jane’s naughty response: “Anything…”

Aside from a few funny moments in the script, Schwartz manages to infuse the play with outrageous physical humor and other clown techniques. There is a sense of physical exploration and freedom that gives even the weightier moments an airy comic undertone. Both actors seem comfortable moving from narration to dialogue to physical buffoonery.

For Animalparts, one of the most interesting young theater companies to emerge on the scene in the last couple years, this play marks a transition. The play employs their frenetic blend of physical theater, wild video and sound design, and oddly touching bits of quasi-realistic insanity. This time, however, they are daring to use it toward a piece of more direct commentary.

Just when the storyline begins to lose its immediacy, Huba adds a smart subplot. Borrowing from the novel the author found when she was thirteen, Jane recounts the story of a young girl who learns to enjoy her uncle’s sexual manipulations. The blending and interplay between the relationship of Dick and Jane, and that narrated in the story of the pedophile uncle, give the evening renewed strength, and challenge the audience’s sense of decency.

Still, however dark, the play fails to shock us in an unfamiliar way, by dreaming up new horrid forms of domination and fantasy (although it does offer some funny scenarios, like a porn scene between a sleepy middle-aged husband and his boring wife). Instead of taking us further, there is a sense of stating what we already know about porn and society.

The play seems to be exploring feminism through the lens of fantasy and domination. How does pornography, and the tremendous freedom to humiliate and be humiliated by the other gender, play into contemporary feminism? Is there any form of female liberation inherent in porn? Does the humiliation of men in the form of dominatrix, another aspect of pornography portrayed in the play, tell us anything about women’s empowerment? Probably not, says the play, since even those scenes tend to end in a facial cum shot.

The evening does end with a warning of what these games of domination, explored so thoroughly online, can lead to. I walked out feeling as though the play was intended to be some new form of feminism, but actually worked the other way. There is a falseness to the premise, which the lead character never understands – “A true feminist,” as Jane thinks she might become, does not ignore and repress her natural inclination toward dominating and being dominated. She accepts that domination is part of her inner world and works with that to empower herself. Instead, in the play, she allows those impulses to lead to her ultimate disempowerment.

Still, Huba has drafted a rich offering, and Schwartz, Wilson and Mann flesh it into an enticing evening of theater.

Death on the Nile

The Sphinx Winx, a dire goulash of a musical, is an artifact unearthed from half a century ago. The creators wrote the show back in the early 1950s when they were attending Dickinson College. The script lay dormant all these years until librettist Robert Heuch pulled it out, thought it had possibilities, and contacted his collaborators to polish it up. They include composer and lyricist Ken Hitchner Jr. and his wife, Anne, who reworked the book with Philip Capice and Heuch. The result might provoke nostalgia for an earlier time if you have an urge to revisit a wildly overextended sketch on a 1950s TV variety show or, possibly, a labored skit in a theatrical revue of the period, like New Faces. It’s a show of sheer tomfoolery, and perhaps only clowns of the caliber of Sid Caesar or Milton Berle could make it work. Characters talk to the audience, react to sound effects, and put on inappropriate accents, such as Southern U.S., cockney, and upper-crust Brit, for no apparent reason. Anachronistic references abound but have little comic effect: “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn”; “Don’t cry for me, blessed Egypt!”; “Crecia, quick. Peel me a grape.” And an important message from Rome is written in hieroglyphics.

The plot involves Cleopatra’s failure to pay tribute to Rome for 14 months. Antony has been sent out to do an audit. Caesar (played by Bruce Sabath with a Jack Gilford nebbishness) says he doesn’t know where the money is, although he’s been showering gifts on Cleopatra, including building a sphinx that winks. Erika Amato’s vain, changeable queen is smitten by the strapping Antony, of course, and Antony falls in love with Cleopatra’s slave girl, Crecia.

Although much of the humor comes off as sophomoric, it’s really classic comic schtick. Sample: when Lunia reports to Cleopatra that Antony has been seen with her servant, the empress turns jealous: “Who was with him? Was it Rose? Or Lily? Or that Philodendron?” One can imagine that line scoring with Imogene Coca or Lucille Ball or Carol Burnett, but not here. In spite of the show’s try-anything spirit, it just doesn’t come together under Matthew Hamel’s direction. Indeed, much of the acting carries a strong whiff of desperation.

The writers have borrowed liberally and perhaps unwisely from better shows. The Soothsayer (an egregiously mugging Ryan Williams, with pink spectacles) introduces himself and claims to know from a recently discovered manuscript the true story of Cleopatra, Julius Caesar, and Marc Antony, and his opening number is modeled on A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. Whether it existed in the original version of Sphinx, which predates Forum by a decade, is difficult to judge, but it feels unlikely.

Later, Julius’s daughter Lunia (Beth Cheryl Tarnow, skillful in an irritating role) proves too meddlesome to the wily, slave-girl heroine, and is coaxed into a sarcophagus for a long-distance trip, much like Lorraine Sheldon in The Man Who Came to Dinner. A song that Caesar delivers about his numerous female conquests rather uncomfortably reminds one of “Where Is the Life That Late I Led?” from Kiss Me, Kate. To be fair, if you’re going to steal, Cole Porter is a great guy to steal from. (And heck, he stole from himself—“They Couldn’t Compare to You” from Out of This World recycles the same concept.)

Still, the score is serviceable, and the lyrics are sturdy and sometimes clever, especially in Cleopatra’s opening number. A dream of Antony’s and a song, “Act Yourself,” in which doctors try to revive a fainted Cleopatra, also have amusing moments, but tellingly, neither interlude is crucial to the slim plot.

However, as in New Faces, some pleasurable talent breaks through. On his first entrance, Bret Shuford makes an impression as a sharply drawn messenger (in spite of a cockney accent) announcing Antony’s approach. Shortly after, he enters as the general himself, bringing an authority and heroic masculinity to Antony that are winning. His love ballads with Rebecca Riker’s slave girl Crecia are sweet and wholesome highlights of the production. Shuford, who also has a few opportunities to show off his dancing, may not rise above the material in the final courtroom scene, but he never stoops for a laugh; his Antony is all of a piece.

Riker also combines charm with a lovely singing voice, and does quite a good impression of Sarah Palin when she plays Enobarbus, a female attorney, in the climactic court scene. Still, one suspects that if she and Shuford weren’t the love interest and had more to do with the comic business, their talents would be swamped as well.

Man of Music

Stylish and elegant, The Best Is Yet to Come is a fitting tribute to the late Cy Coleman (he died in 2004 at 75). Coleman hit his stride in the 1960s, with shows like Little Me and Sweet Charity, and his last Broadway outing was The Life, in 1997. Along the way, with a variety of lyricists, he penned music to hits like On the Twentieth Century, The Will Rogers Follies, I Love My Wife, and City of Angels, not to mention pop standards like “Witchcraft.” David Zippel, Coleman’s lyricist for City of Angels, is the director for this savvy retrospective, which blends much of the composer’s most famous show tunes—“Hey, Look Me Over,” “Big Spender,” “If My Friends Could See Me Now,” “It’s Not Where You Start”—with several entries from City of Angels and another Coleman-Zippel collaboration called N*, about Napoleon, which has apparently gone unproduced. There are scattered pop tunes from the late master’s oeuvre as well.

An eight-piece band inhabits the stage; Douglas W. Schmidt has backed them with a glittering silhouette of a harp at stage left, and a wall of ebonies and ivories at stage right. From upstage a staircase comes down, forking like an inverted Y on either side of the piano, sunk into a recess in the floor, where accompanist Billy Stritch conducts and plays. Three red roses in a glass vase suggest the elegance and simplicity of the evening (and are put to smart comic use as well).

There’s no narration, but the overall structure that Zippel employs is inventive. One number leads logically into another—with the actors conveying the emotions and relationships through the segues or the stage business at any given moment. Thus, Howard McGillin, on stage, sings “You Fascinate Me So” to Sally Mayes, Rachel York, and Lillias White. Establishing himself as a man and a player with only his carriage, inflections and smiles, McGillin at the end of the song tosses those roses to two of the women, and one into the audience, disappointing the third.

Later, after White sings “Don’t Ask a Lady,” David Burnham encounters her, there’s some byplay, and he sings “I’ve Got Your Number”—a nifty counterpoint. Establishing himself as a philanderer, he’s quickly subjected by White and York to “What You Don’t Know About Women” and pushed to the floor. (The song is from City of Angels, although it wasn’t one that York, who was in the original cast, got to deliver.) The battle-of-the-sexes undercurrent continues through the earlier part of the show, but the evening takes on deeper colors as it goes along.

The set makes for some awkwardness, however, as the steps limit choreographer Loren Lataro’s work—during “Those Hands,” a song paying tribute to Stritch, four performers sit on chairs, facing upstage, and basically danced with white-gloved hands.

Nonetheless, the musicianship is superb. Stritch not only conducts and occasionally sings (“It Amazes Me” and “Some Kind of Music”), but he participates drolly in the cast’s interactions.

White displays a warm vulnerability and a great belt, most notably when she recreates her show-stopper “ The Oldest Profession” from The Life, for which she won a Tony Award. The blond Mayes contributes a quotient of brassiness—“What I am is a broad,” she sings at one point—while still retaining a classy demeanor. York is a sultry sexpot, although she oversells herself at times to the point of seeming plastic. Burnham has a strong voice and delivers the standard, “Witchcraft,” strongly, with only a hint of Sinatra, who is so closely identified with it. McGillin, a stalwart Broadway star (he’s played the Phantom of the Opera longer than anyone), capitalizes on an ability to plumb the darker tones in “The Measure of Love,” a ballad about S&M from N*.

Zippel pays generous attention to the work he did with Coleman: four songs each from N* and City of Angels—although, to be fair, there are five from Little Me. But the selection leans heavily toward torch songs and more measured numbers, and the only bounce, until the final medley, comes in the title song from Little Me, sung delightfully by White and Stritch.

Unfortunately, that dearth of uptempo undermines York’s rendition of “Hey, Look Me Over,” introduced by Lucille Ball in Wildcat. One can applaud the ambition to make an audience hear a song in a different way, but in this case the song is taken too languidly. The brighter version would have been more welcome—as indeed, would anything from the wonderful Barnum score, which is ignored.

But those are quibbles. The final medley of “It’s Not Where You Start,” “If My Friends Could See Me Now,” “Hey There, Good Times,” and “We’re Nothing Without You” puts high spirits in the air, and the evening as a whole affords a great deal of pleasure in some wonderful music, well performed.

Neither Saints Nor Winners

The brightly colored wall of the Ideal Glass Gallery, covered in artfully arranged graffiti and clothing, announces that you have reached the home of Saint Hollywood . Unfortunately for them, this eye-catching artwork is the most dynamic part of this deeply flawed show. The strong visual representations on the walls outside and inside the theater are beautiful, but this creative cacophony does not translate to the plot or characters that comprise the piece. To say that Saint Hollywood lacks a plot is both true and misleading. Plot is not necessary for my enjoyment of a show, as sometimes concepts are so powerful that they can form a coherent piece of theater. There is a story in this play, as we follow Willard Morgan on a journey through a cast of characters that populate Hollywood. Rather the problem is that the plot does not support the character. In other words, there is no unifying frame for the piece. We watch Morgan’s failing comedy routines, but we do not have any introduction to him that tells us how we are supposed to feel about this failure.

This problem continues as Morgan takes on the various other characters whose surreal pictures adorn the sides of the theater. Besides the fact that several of these characters seem to be little more than ethnic and gender stereotypes, there is an uneven balance between their stories and Morgan’s. After seeing the video footage that ends the show, I believe that this structure was meant to simulate Morgan’s experience of meeting these individuals. Yet this effect is lost in a one man show, where we never see Morgan seeing these people. They appear, but their function is unclear. And the undercurrents of rascism and misogyny possibly read into a white man playing some of these characters are not considered. The characters are not treated with kindness by their actor, and therefore it is difficult to understand how we are supposed to feel towards them.

Perhaps this is the danger in creating a musical around the idea of a comedian who can’t tell a joke. And a modern musical it is, complete with a live DJ on stage. Unfortunately, just as the video design by Alex Koch and Lucie Jeesun Lee is beautiful but unable to save the show, the DJ’s cutting is a great concept left hanging by unmemorable songs. It's too bad, as the two female cast members, Shannon Antalan and Zoe Rosario, have good voices. These two women are used mostly as decoration, and I am once again puzzled as to their function in the show as a whole.

The trope of great concepts poorly realized seems to be the trademark of Saint Hollywood . At the end of the show, Morgan says that he spends most of his life between the set-up and the punchline. This gap is exactly what is wrong with the show. It needs to decide what it wants to be. I don’t even know how to make suggestions for improvement, because in many ways the whole conceit of the piece is just that, conceited. There is no way to connect with this protagonist, and I’m not sure why we’re watching a show about him. I hope that this is something that Saint Hollywood figures out so that they can improve. In the meantime, look at the beautiful artwork, but then keep on walking.

Tell Me More

Sometimes you really can tell. And I will tell you that T. Schreiber’s production of George Bernard Shaw’s You Never Can Tell is an utterly charming night at the theater. This well-done production does an excellent job of exploring the depths of Shaw’s words, making a somewhat dated play energized and relevant. From the minute the four servants of the play make the curtain speech in the intimate theater, You Never Can Tell endears itself to the audience. Here I must praise Robert Verlaque’s directing for his attention to detail. The simple act of having actors make the cell-phone and safety announcements is a formality that he uses instead to begin to establish character. The four servants are dispersed through the production in a way that proves once again that good characterization means that no part is small.

Of course, once the play has begun, we are introduced to our charismatic protagonist, the dentist Valentine (Lowell Byers). He is pulling out the tooth of an excitable lady named Dolly (Noelle P. Wilson), who is shortly joined by her brother Phil (Seth James). After discovering that the two siblings have no idea who their father is, the set-up for a series of coincidences and many instances of what the program refers to as the “Shavian paradox” (a way of saying the right thing at the wrong time).

The banter is witty and the comedy is drawing room, but it is the actors’ charisma and timing that keeps one engaged. Wilson’s bubbly energy and full commitment are perfectly balanced with James’s ability to switch between co-conspirator and more-mature brother. Their excellent comic timing immediately ingratiates them with the audience, and their duo becomes a solid anchor for the performance. It is by their interactions with these two that we learn what we do about all of the other characters, all of which are well-played in their own right. We see Gloria (Jessica Osborne) in all of her beauty and patience, Walter (Peter Judd) in his extreme affability, and Mrs. Clandon (Lucy Avery Brooke) in her motherly authority.

In the midst of all of the confusion of finding their father, there exists another matter of the heart. The love story between Valentine and Gloria is both humorous and touching. Byers and Osborne have good chemistry, and it is easy to root for them. There is a small matter of a vocal tick, as Osborne is often not “on her voice.” In other words, she does not fully support her words, causing the actress to have an affected manner of speaking that sounds constantly on the brink of tears. This is an understandable character choice, but I think it would be far more successful to be used at certain times, rather than as an overall treatment. But this is not to say that Osborne’s acting does not make up for this weakness, which it does. In a good love story, you should always want the characters to be together, which is precisely what happens here as a direct result of both of these actors.

The actors also have the benefit of a surprisingly versatile set. I say surprisingly because when I first looked at it I had no idea that it was movable. Although it is clear that they are working within budgetary constraints, Chris Minard’s design gives a good enough illusion of wealth. The scene changes sometimes take a bit of time, but it is the actors who do them, and they are therefore pleasant to watch. Andy Cohen’s sound design and Eric Cope’s lighting also help convince us that we are at a seaside resort.

Lucy Avery Brooke’s bio ends with the line, “She is grateful to all for reminding her that good theater is an actor’s best home.” Good theater is an audience member’s and a critic’s best home as well. Shows like You Never Can Tell make me happy. I enjoy seeing talented theater artists producing good work, and leaving with an audience who is smiling and laughing. You never can tell what you’re going to see when you walk into a theater, but you should walk into the Gloria Maddox Theatre and see You Never Can Tell .