Harsh Wordsmiths

The title of Brian Richard Mori’s new play, Hellman v. McCarthy, will ring bells for anyone with memories of the early 1980s. It is the case of libel brought by playwright Lillian Hellman (The Little Foxes, The Children’s Hour) against novelist Mary McCarthy (The Group) after the latter, in an appearance on The Dick Cavett Show taped on Oct. 23, 1979, called Hellman “dishonest.” Pressed by Cavett as to why, McCarthy said, “Every word she writes is a lie, including ‘and’ and ‘the.’” Hellman, sick, arthritic and chronically irascible, saw the broadcast and called her lawyer.

The prolonged suit for libel over the next several years was one of the most notorious literary feuds of the 20^th century and drew in scores of intellectuals. Those whom Mori mentions in passing include Norman Mailer, a friend of Hellman until he urged her to drop her case; Philip Rahv, founder of Partisan Review and McCarthy’s ex-lover; and Stephen Spender, the British poet who spent time in Berlin in the 1920s with Christopher Isherwood and W.H. Auden and invited the women to a cocktail party in 1948—where, in their first meeting, McCarthy challenged Hellman in front of student admirers about her glib defamation of novelist John Dos Passos in the Spanish Civil War.

Hellman v. McCarthy sticks to the timeline of the lawsuit, although Mori occasionally touches on longstanding political friction as a source of the women’s mutual loathing: in the 1930s Hellman was a Stalinist; McCarthy, a Trotskyite. Hellman was famous for telling the House Un-American Activities Committee: “I cannot and will not cut my conscience to fit this year’s fashions.” But she was also an apologist for Stalin long after the dictator’s purges of the 1930s had revolted most left-wingers.

Mori’s script is up to the juicy story, encompassing re-enaction, legal documents, and speculation, but director Jan Buttram has added an extraordinary coup of stunt casting. Dick Cavett himself re-enacts his interview with McCarthy, his own deposition in the case (he was a co-defendant, with PBS), and a run-in with Hellman at a cocktail party. He also serves occasionally as narrator, and his wry, self-deprecating humor helps blunt Hellman’s toxic presence. (Cavett has also apparently made minor alterations to his dialogue. When explaining why he prefers policemen to lawyers, the practiced comic provides a better-phrased punch line than in Mori’s script.)

As Hellman, Roberta Maxwell displays the charisma of a basilisk (Hellman's appearance in an ad for Blackglama mink coats didn’t need to mention her name; the tagline read “What Becomes a Legend Most?”). More important, Maxwell conveys Hellman’s arrogance and casual lying, the self-loathing she felt as a Jew, and the bogus sincerity she affected when it suited her. “Such a shame it was cancelled,” she purrs to Cavett about his ABC interview show—but she flashes a crocodile smile. Maxwell doesn’t neglect the physical either: one sees Hellman’s fingers gnarled from crippling arthritis.

Marcia Rodd as McCarthy finds both smugness and wit in the less financially secure author, and a bit of humor in her loquacious deposition. She’s attractive and elegant, as the real McCarthy was, and she displays McCarthy's confidence in herself, gained from being orphaned at an early age and surviving a brutal marriage to critic Edmund Wilson.

Jeff Woodman and Peter Brouwer play the women’s lawyers, providing contrast with their brisk, businesslike demeanors. Mori has added the character of a gay nurse for Hellman, Ryan (Rowan Michael Meyer), who endures her abuse but remains loyal to her, and their interplay includes a lovely scene that gives Maxwell a chance to show a brief flash of humanity. Mori also takes a leaf from Friedrich Schiller’s Mary Stuart: near the end McCarthy and Hellman meet so that McCarthy can offer a personal apology, though no such meeting ever took place.

To defend herself in the suit, McCarthy questioned everything Hellman ever wrote, exposing the falseness of the episode in Pentimento that became the film Julia. Hellman’s reputation was torpedoed, but her detestable personality guaranteed that sympathy for her was in short supply. As Cavett recalls, the night she died in 1984 he was working at the Williamstown Theatre Festival in the Berkshires. He heard a stagehand on the phone. “What? Lillian? She’s dead? Tell them to be sure to drive the stake through!”

Hellman v. McCarthy plays at the Abingdon Theatre Company, 312 W. 36^th St., to April 13, with evening performances at 7 p.m. Tuesday through Thursday and at 8 p.m. Friday and Saturday. Matinees are 2 p.m. on Saturdays and Sundays. Tickets are $40.

Nora Today

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

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

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

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

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

Château de Versailles

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heavy on the Ham

The cast and crew of Untitled Theatre Company #61 have gone to great lengths to create a festive, Czech-culture infused atmosphere around their production of The Pig, or Václav Havel’s Hunt for a Pig. Upon entering the space at the 3-Legged Dog Art & Technology Center, the first thing to greet audience members is a bar serving Czech Pilsner-Urquell beer as the scent of delicious Langos wraps by Brooklyn eatery Korzo wafts through the air. A traditionally-dressed maiden weaves among the spectators peddling fresh pretzels as the New York-based Cabaret Metropol sets the tone with their pre-show music. Indeed, music proves to be the central element to this production of The Pig, a play that was originally written by Václav Havel and Vladimír Morávek. While this production certainly succeeds in showcasing Czech traditions and the vocal talents of the cast, its ultimate downfall is that Havel's political message gets lost in the noise — buried beneath a heavily-produced evening of food, drink, elaborate technology, and hammed-up song and dance.

Written in 2010, The Pig is Havel's only work in which the playwright himself appears on stage as one of the characters. As a playwright, dissident, revolutionary, and eventual president of Czechoslovakia, many of Havel's plays conceal acrid critiques of the Communism party. While Edward Einhorn's English adaptation of The Pig seeks to make Havel's play accessible to an American audience, it feels like too much has been lost in translation. This adaptation follows Havel (Robert Honeywell) as he tries to obtain a pig for a zabíjačkais (a rural Czech tradition in which a pig is slaughtered and eaten as part of a feast) for a group of dissident friends. Havel's quest is narrated through interviews with a ditzy American news reporter (Katherine Boynton), footage of which is live-fed through a "news" camera and projected on screens surrounding the audience. The camerawork and technology is impressive, thanks to the brainpower and resources of 3-Legged Dog, who specialize in digital technologies for performance. There is also an array of projected images accompanying the show, and while these projections are visually interesting — evoking things like setting, weather, history, or emotionally evocative images — one wonders what this technological element actually adds to the production.

As if this wasn't enough for an audience to handle, Havel's journey and his interviews with the journalist are further peppered with a sequence of cabarets from the famous Czech operetta, Bedřich Smetana's The Bartered Bride. While the musical talent and voices of the cast are impressive and well-trained, it is unclear why the production takes the musical subplot of The Bartered Bride so far as to obstruct (aurally and thematically) the play's deeper meaning.  

In a relatively small performance space, the over-the-top characterizations, cheesy gags, and overdone facial expressions in this production read way too large for a small venue. While the overdone stylization evades subtlety, it is also not sharp enough to be parody. Overall, the stylistic choices guided by director Henry Akona do the talented cast a disservice. 

The Pig, or Václav Havel’s Hunt for a Pig, is playing at the 3LD Art & Technology Center (80 Greenwich St.) until March 29. Performances are Thursdays through Saturdays at 8:00 p.m. and Sundays at 7:00 p.m. Tickets including dinner are $45 and $20 without dinner. Patrons who wish to order dinner must book 24 hours in advance. For tickets, call Ovationtix at 866-811-4111 or visit www.3ldnyc.org. 

Office Hours

Until the 20^th century was three-quarters spent, television and movies were strictly censored. Writers in those media pulled their punches, skirting tough social issues and playing naïve on matters of sex and politics. But playwrights didn’t face nearly as many content restrictions as their colleagues in film and TV, and audiences went to the theater for grown-up entertainment. 

In an era of rigid content taboos, dramatist John Van Druten (1901-1957) supplied Broadway with intelligent plays in which characters talked forthrightly and with wit about the things that made Hollywood censors squirm. The English-born Van Druten, who became an American citizen in 1944, may not have been a household name, but many of his beautifully crafted plays – among them, Old Acquaintance, The Voice of the Turtle, and Bell, Book and Candle – enjoyed long engagements in New York and were performed all around the United States. He lives on, most prominently, in Cabaret, the endlessly revived musical and landmark Bob Fosse film, based on his comedy-drama, I Am a Camera (which, in turn, was based on The Berlin Stories of Van Druten’s good friend, Christopher Isherwood). This winter New York is having a sort of Van Druten fest, beginning with the Mint Theater Company’s engaging revival of London Wall, an unjustly mislaid West End play from 1931 (to be followed by the Transport Group’s all-female revival of I Remember Mama, which opens March 30).

Van Druten studied law and clerked for a firm of solicitors before transforming himself into a full-time writer. London Wall takes place in a law firm; and the play’s title refers to a thoroughfare in the City of London where the office is located. On the evidence of London Wall, it’s safe to say that Van Druten observed the inhabitants of the legal world, especially the women, with care and empathy. The play depicts four typists, employed at a pittance, with little prospect for social mobility other than fortuitous marriage. These women are of different ages with differing romantic prospects.

The hardboiled Miss Janus (Julia Coffey) has invested 10 years in her job and seven in an unrewarding relationship with a low-level Dutch diplomat. She's fed up with the law firm and on thin ice with her beau. Pat Milligan (Elise Kibler) is a 19-year-old, alone in the world, just entering  the workforce. Miss Janus, a graduate of the School of Hard Knocks, wants to steer Pat away from the fates of Miss Hooper (Alex Trow), a dewy-eyed romantic who may be putting too much trust in a married man, and Miss Bufton (Katie Gibson), a good-time girl who's about to age out of the romance market. 

In addition to the typists, London Wall involves two lawyers – Mr. Walker (Jonathan Hogan), the firm’s senior partner, and the much younger Mr. Brewer (Stephen Plunkett), a roué who can’t stop himself hitting on newly hired typists. The cast is filled out by a client, the exasperatingly eccentric Miss Willesden (Laurie Kennedy); an office boy, Birkenshaw (Matthew Gumley); and Hec (Christopher Sears), who is employed elsewhere in the building and is besotted with Pat.

The plot of London Wall includes some creaky, old-fashioned turns, but these are outweighed by Van Druten's elegant, believable dialogue and his intricately drawn characters. Under the able direction of Davis McCallum (lauded last season for The Whale at Playwrights Horizons), the cast of nine forms a remarkably balanced ensemble. The actors, most of whom are American, navigate the distinctly British text and its antiquated locutions with assurance and dialectal consistency. Amy Stoller, the Mint's long-time dialect coach, deserves special recognition.

Scenic designer Marion Williams has created a sturdy, eye-appealing set that the actors reconfigure between scenes to move the action swiftly from one room in the firm to another. Joshua Yocom has found period props, including antique telephones and telephone switchboard, that enhance the production's verisimilitude. And Nicole Pearce's lighting plot contributes significantly to the professionalism of the enterprise. To find fault with the Mint's London Wall, one would have to quibble about a couple of bad wigs. And who cares about the occasional bad wig?  

London Wall is running through April 26 at the Mint Theater Company (311 West 43^rd St.). Performances are 7 p.m. on Wednesday and Thursday, and 8 p.m. on Friday and Saturday, and 2 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday. Tickets are $55 and can be purchased at www.minttheater.org or by calling 866-811-4111.

The Power of Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dire Family Dynamics

“People can be barbaric,” says Mother in The Open House—a supremely ironic remark given the poisonous familial atmosphere in Will Eno’s new play. The matriarch has gathered with her family in their living room, but it’s Father (Peter Friedman), in a wheelchair, who dominates with his malignity. Visiting Son and Daughter are sitting on the sofa, unsettled; and Uncle (brother to Father) is standing uneasily to the rear.

In the long following scene, Father belittles and insults those around him. For example, recollecting the day he met Mother, he relates a story of a beautiful girl he saw in his youth, then turns it on its head: “On the way home I met your mother here.” Though it occurs early, Eno has so firmly established Father’s nastiness that one can see the twist coming. The man enjoys belittling others; it’s no wonder his family frequently retreats to speechlessness. Director Oliver Butler gives Pinteresque weight to the silences, and Friedman modulates the patriarch’s passive-aggressive attitudes with aplomb.

His influence has unexpected comic effects. Presented an anniversary present from her two children—a third, Richard, is absent, and no wonder—Carolyn McCormick’s Mother thanks them and then puts it unopened on the floor next to her. Is it a reflexive recognition that its opening will only give her husband an opportunity for more abuse?

Midway through the play, a turnaround begins, as the family characters leave and are replaced by a new set of people (played by the same actors). Father has put the house on the market, and the real estate agent, Anna (Hannah Bos, who was Daughter), arrives to prep it.

Soon a possible buyer, Tom, arrives (Michael Countryman, who doubles as Uncle). Then a workman named Brian (the Son reinvented) and eventually Melissa (McCormick), Tom’s wife. They are busy, cheerful, actively involved in life. Father has no power over them, and he is no longer the center of attention; he is, in fact, often ignored. The arrivals have their own preoccupations; they are chatty and outgoing and alive, and the door, closed at the start, is left wide open.

When Father tries to throw his weight around, Tom calls him on it, refusing to let him play the disability card. “I might threaten an asshole who’s a bully in a wheelchair,” he says. “Don’t you use language like that in here,” Father snaps. “I’ll say any word I know,” responds Tom. Friedman’s character gradually shrivels in his chair until he’s rendered helpless by the turn of events he has instigated.

Eno seems to be making the point that emotional abuse can only exist if one allows it to and mollifies the abuser, but the play suffers from its schematic structure. As soon as Bos reenters as Anna, one suspects where things are heading. It is cathartic to see Father get his comeuppance, but one wishes the play didn't rely so much on the actors’ skillful doubling, and strained credibility just a bit less.

Will Eno’s The Open House plays through March 23 at the Pershing Square Signature Center, 480 W. 42nd St. From March 3-9 the evening performance schedule is Monday at 7 p.m.; Wednesday through Friday at 7:30 p.m.; Saturday at 8 p.m. From March 11 through 23 the evening performance schedule is Tuesday through Friday at 7:30 p.m.; Saturday at 8 p.m. Matinees throughout the run are at 2 p.m. Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday. Tickets are available by calling the Signature Theatre Company at (212) 244-7529 or online at www.signaturetheatre.org.

Lips Locked Uneasily

Sarah Ruhl’s new play, Stage Kiss, examines the rekindling of a romance between a scattered actress and a struggling actor as they discover they have been cast as lovers 10 years after their break-up and estrangement. Foolish, egotistical thespians and their hangers-on have long provided comic fodder for the stage: George Kelly’s The Torch-Bearers (1923); George S. Kaufman and Edna Ferber’s The Royal Family (1928); So Help Me God!—a 1929 play by Maureen Dallas Watkins that was unearthed by the Mint Theater in 2009; the madcap Room Service (1937); Noel Coward’s Present Laughter (1942); Moss Hart’s Light Up the Sky (1948); Michael Frayn’s 1982 farce Noises Off; and, of course, Mel Brooks’s The Producers (2001).

Sarah Ruhl’s attempt to follow in those footsteps is stutteringly amusing but mostly tiresome. To be sure, the piece suggests that she is after something closer to the heftier entries (more Royal Family than Room Service), but Ruhl has significantly not given her main characters real names. They are She, He, The Director and The Husband, and they come off as ciphers more than flesh-and-blood people. Other hurdles include the disruption of comic momentum by songs in Brechtian fashion (including “Some Enchanted Evening”) and an interlocking monologue.

The show that the actors are appearing in is, crucially, an old musical. “It was a flop on Broadway in 1932,” says The Director (a nebbishy Patrick Kerr), “but we think with the proper cast, a new score, and some judicious cuts it will be really very well received in New Haven.” That’s a terrific line, but the arch dialogue and melodramatic situations of the revised book that are presented make it inconceivable that any sane producer would back the show. And The Director in rehearsal is earnestly incompetent; he would never have earned a reputation that would put a major musical in his hands.

This all undermines the essential grounding the comedy needs. No matter now farcical events become, there must be a kernel of truth, a modicum of believability. Director Rebecca Taichman has not imposed a singular tone or sharpened Ruhl’s intentions, and the lack of credibility and cohesion may be one reason the performers seem to flounder. Dominic Fumusa and Jessica Hecht as He and She have little chemistry and sometimes seem at sea in their parts.

The splendid first scene, as She arrives late for her audition, promises far more than the remainder delivers. She hasn’t read her “sides,” she asks for an explanation of the plot, and her photo résumé seems to have been trampled in a buffalo stampede. The Director asks her to read with the unprepossessing Kevin (Michael Cyril Creighton), the leading man’s gay understudy. She gets the job. When She discovers that her ex-lover has the role, one might expect comic fireworks on the order of Private Lives, but the results are sporadic cherry bombs and a drifting, angst-ridden affair.  

It seems Ruhl’s intention to contrast stage passion with real passion, the heightened romance and physicality of love with the routineness of marriage and workaday life. (“Love me just shy of forever, or love me till six o’clock” goes a song about the gossamer nature of it all.) The significance of a kiss is parsed by He, who takes the position that an audience only tolerates kissing “because it signifies resolution which people like to see on stage but they don’t really like to see the act of kissing on stage, only the idea of kissing on stage. That’s why actors have to be good-looking because it’s about an idea, an idea of beauty completing itself.” (How ironic that critic John Simon was often assailed because he held actors’ looks against them for a similar reason: good looks are a way for an audience to summon quick sympathy for a character in a play’s short span.)

A variety of kisses appear in Stage Kiss, by far the funniest being those of Creighton’s roly-poly substitution for He. The talented actor particularly enlivens a scene on a divan when he opens his mouth wide as if to devour She just before he kisses her (“like a placoderm,” She complains) and frightens her. His nimble physical presence is a choice asset in a comedy that promises much, but delivers little.

Sarah Ruhl's Stage Kiss plays through March 23. Evening performances are at 7 p.m. Tuesday and Wednesday; 8 p.m. Thursday through Saturday; and 7:30 p.m. on Sunday. Matinees are Saturday and Sunday at 2:30 p.m. Ticket prices start at $75 and are available by going to www.playwrightshorizons.org or calling Ticket Central at (212) 279-4200.

Lady Macbeth in Love

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Winter's Tale Ends in Spring

The WorkShop Theater Company’s production of The Winter’s Tale is a very traditional staging of William Shakespeare’s play, which emphasizes the beauty of the words and the great characters that define the Elizabethan bard. In the play, Polixenes, the ruler of Bohemia, has been a guest for nine months at the court of Leontes, the king of Sicilia. He is about to leave, yet Leontes’s wife, Hermione, lovingly persuades Polixenes to postpone his departure. That is the moment when jealousy blinds the Sicilian king. He subsequently accuses his pregnant wife of being unfaithful and imprisons her. Notwithstanding Paulina’s (a noblewoman loyal to the queen) defense of his wife’s innocence, Hermione gives birth to a girl in prison. Only after their young son and Hermione die of grief and the newborn has been abandoned in the dangerous Bohemian woods under his own orders, does Leontes realize the error of his ways. This is only the first half of a play whose surprising turns include a confirmation of innocence by the Oracle at Delphi, a fatal bear attack, and a statue that suddenly comes to life.

In the staging, the action is divided between two countries, Sicilia and Bohemia. Sicilia is portrayed as a barren and cold space. The walls are covered by curtains of black plastic bags and the nobility is dressed in dark suits. Leontes himself wears a black military uniform, which brings to mind the fascist dictators of the mid-20th century. Ethan Cadoff does a great job of portraying the frigidity of the character, whose only humanity is exposed with his jealous outbursts. Laurie Schroeder’s performance as Hermione exudes a flirtatious candor that somewhat explains her husband’s reaction. The production does a great job in staging the tragic first half of the play, the winter part of the tale referenced in the title.

In the second half of the play, the action moves to Bohemia 16 years after the incidents in Sicilia. At this point, the play is taken over by the light, humor and festivities of spring, whose overt sexuality follows the spirit of the pagan fertility rituals. The plastic bags slide open to uncover the mountains and blue skies of Bohemia. Michael Minahan’s set design marks in a simple and effective way the change in space and tone from the first half. Autolycus, the comic rogue, further establishes the merriment that distinguishes Bohemia. Robert Meksin plays the character with delicious abandon, singing and picking the pockets of the bumpkin clown.

Ryan Lee’s direction successfully portrays the Sicilian barrenness that opposes Bohemia’s chaotic innocence.

Angela Harner’s costumes also distinguish each space. The Sicilian dark suits are discarded for the colorful Bohemian garbs that allude to 1960s trends. On one hand, Polixenes’s attire brings to mind the Eastern influence on Western fashion, while on the other hand Autolycus’s clothes represent the errant hippie. Although some of the Bohemian costumes are too ridiculous and lack a general cohesiveness, they create an interesting effect since the same actors who wore the repressive and uniform suits during the first half, now appear as Bohemian revelers wearing neon colored see-throughs, heavy makeup and shiny pants.    

The whole cast does a marvelous job of juggling the two opposites of Sicilia and Bohemia. While Annalisa Loeffler’s Paulina fervently defends Hermione’s virtue while constrained in a gray skirt suit in Sicilia, her Bohemian Dorcas dons a feathered boa and red sunglasses. Along the same lines, Jacob Callie Moore plays the Clown with comedic energy and hence is almost unrecognizable as the much more serious Sicilian Dion. This production of The Winter’s Tale turns the bleakness of a tragic winter into the vibrant sensuality of spring.

The Winter’s Tale runs through March 15 at the WorkShop Theater Company's Main Stage (312 West 36th St., 4th Fl.). General tickets are $18; $15 for students and seniors. For tickets, call 866-811-4111 or visit www.workshoptheater.org.

I Want to Speak with the Writer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Big Canvas, Small Bytes

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

Two for Change

Dr. Du Bois and Miss Ovington, produced jointly by the New Federal and Castillo Theatres, is an historical drama about two people, one African-American and the other Anglo-Saxon, seeking a way to work together to reform an unjust society. Playwright Clare Coss has imagined a Sunday morning in 1915 on which W.E.B. Du Bois and Mary White Ovington, members of the group that founded the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), unexpectedly cross paths — and end up crossing swords — in the suite of offices where, on weekdays, they're accustomed to less emotional exchanges with each other. The production is directed by Gabrielle L. Kurlander and designed resourcefully on an Off-Off Broadway budget by Chris Cumberbatch (sets), Ali Turns (costumes), Antoinette Tynes (lighting), and Bill Toles (sound). It's an admirable contribution to New York City’s observance of Black History Month, though the principal attraction is Kathleen Chalfant as Miss Ovington.

The NAACP has been a forceful proponent of civil rights since its inception in 1909. For almost a quarter century, from 1910 to 1934, Du Bois (1868-1963), the most prominent African-American intellectual of the day, devoted the bulk of his professional effort to that organization, serving on its board and as director of publicity and research. As editor of the NAACP journal, The Crisis, he nurtured new voices among African-American artists and intellectuals. Born in the Berkshires not long after the Civil War, Du Bois earned B.A., M.A. and Ph.D degrees at Harvard, taught at a number of distinguished universities, including the University of Pennsylvania, and wrote numerous books (his most famous being the essay collection The Souls of Black Folk in which he wrote, "The problem of the Twentieth Century is the problem of the color-line").

Mary Ovington (1865-1951) was a Brooklyn-born Unitarian whose forebears were abolitionists. Educated at Radcliffe College, she committed herself to the cause of civil rights after hearing an address by Frederick Douglass. Like Du Bois, she was on the NAACP staff for many years, addressing discrimination in employment, education, housing, public services and voting rights. The producers’ program note describes her as “the first white woman to dedicate her life to anti-racist work in the twentieth century.” Ovington's writings include Half a Man: The Status of the Negro in New York and a history of the NAACP, The Walls Came Tumbling Down.

As depicted by Coss, Du Bois (played by Timothy Simonson) and Ovington display the scrupulous good manners of the Victorian era in which they grew up. Although they share a wholehearted commitment to fighting racism, their personal relationship is tense and volatile. Midway through the play, they acknowledge a mutual attraction that's physical as well as intellectual. That scene, despite some anachronism in the dialogue, is the most arresting part of the script. The characters' shared decision to sublimate a powerful urge for the sake of their common vocation is inherently poignant; Chalfant's performance enhances the moment with a complexity that's true to the text but far beyond what the dramatist has written.

Best known for multiple roles in Tony Kushner’s Angels in America on Broadway and as the dying academic in Wit by Margaret Edson, Chalfant is one of the foremost actresses working on the American stage. It's hard to imagine anyone better equipped to balance the genteel veneer of Coss's Miss Ovington with the substantial passions animating this character's brain and heart.

According to the production's playbill, Simonson has returned to acting after a period in finance. A formidable presence on stage, he resembles photographs of Du Bois in early adulthood. But it's the range and emotional color that Chalfant brings to her role that audiences are likely to recall most vividly about the 90 minutes they've spent at the Castillo Theatre.

Dr. Du Bois and Miss Ovington offers a number of engaging moments; yet it's not so much a play as a series of set pieces in which the characters spar on subjects related to bigotry, civil rights, and social change. Coss hasn't found a way to make the disparate scenes cohere or resolve themselves into a unified drama. Plays seldom spring full-grown from their authors' imaginations; they're more likely to develop in stages. With insights from the intelligent performances in the New Federal/Castillo presentation, the playwright may be ready to take the script to the next level.   

Dr. Du Bois and Miss Ovington runs through Feb. 16 at the Castillo Theatre (543 West 42^nd Street). Performances are at 7:30 p.m. on Thursday, Friday and Saturday and 2 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday. Tickets are $25 ($20 for students) and may be purchased from www.castillo.org or 866-811-4111.

Expressionism Lightly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Down the Road and Back Again

If you were born or grew up in the mid- to late-1980s, chances are the names Blanche, Rose, Dorothy and Sophia will strike in you a very nostalgic cord. When the four Miami-based retirees known as The Golden Girls debuted in 1985, they immediately became a hit with their post-menopausal, cheesecake-slicing antics. From the ditzy, air-headed Scandinavian Rose to the wonderfully saucy and sex-driven Blanche, it wasn't hard to laugh along with these Girls. The show ran for only seven seasons (practically a lifetime by today's standards), but it made an indelible mark on American pop culture; Thank You For Being a Friend, which is currently running at the Laurie Beechman Theatre is definitely evident of the sitcom's impact. The musical parody features an all-male cast as the Golden Girls themselves with music and lyrics by director Nick Brennan.

Here, the names are slightly different: Blanche is now Blanchet; Rose is Roz; and Dorothy and Sophia are Dorothea and Sophie. Despite the slight changes, the rest of the show is still in keeping with the original television comedy — from the dialogue to the overall episodic tone. Indeed, at the show's start, we find Blanchette (with binoculars in hand and her booty out to the audience, of course) snooping on the new neighbors next door. The other ladies soon make their entrances into the kitchen, and we learn that their new neighbor is actually none other than Latino pop star Ricky Martin (played by Adrian Rifat).

As dinner theater entertainment goes, Thank You For Being a Friend makes for a super fun night out. Each of the cast members have their share of the stage. Chad Ryan as Blanchet is spot-on, and both Luke Jones and John de los Santos are hilarious as the mother-daughter duo. However, it is Brennan as the naive but sweet Roz and Adrian Rifat as the pop star has-been that completely steal the show. Brennan doing Betty White's "aw shucks" mannerisms and Rifat's entrance with Ricky's signature "prayer hands" were hilarious.

As a group, they complement one another very well and seem to have an intricate knowledge of the others' rhythms, which only further helped the comedy along. Also bringing on the funny were the songs, among which were revampings of old showtunes, as well as originals written by Brennan. Some examples include "All That Jizz," an obviously classy homage sung by Ricky; "Roz's Turn," in which Roz proclaims her right to Shady Oaks fame; "Sex Changing," in which Dorothea goes through some, er...changes; and the oh-so-catchy finale, "Miami."  

Of course, one cannot write about a musical set in the '80s without talking about the clothes. The costumes by Jessa-Raye Court are absolutely fab in all their shoulder-padded glory. At one point, the girls do away with the talent show doldrums with some good old-fashioned retail therapy ("Fab Fads") with...what else? A fashion show with cardboard outfits and sequins. As for the set design, much of which revolved — literally — around a couple of multi-purpose panels, behind which was where all the mind-boggling quick changes took place (seriously, the cast of Broadway's Cinderella would even be impressed). The stagehands even donned as golden-aged girls themselves with wigs and tacky pantsuits.

If you're in for some great food, drink and some raucous laughter, then you'll love Thank You For Being a Friend. It will not only make you pine for the good old days of over-sized blazers and the "Latin Invasion" of '99 (a moment of silence please), but it will make you remember that aside from the fashion blunders and questionable musical taste, not all of it was bad. So head down to the Laurie Beechman Theatre and walk down memory lane — it'll make your life less of a, well...drag!

Thank You For Being a Friend is playing at the Laurie Beechman Theatre (which is located inside West Bank Cafe at 407 West 42nd St.). Evening performances are Wednesdays at 7 p.m., and Fridays, Feb. 28, March 14 and 28 at 10 p.m. with added shows Saturday, March 8 at 7 p.m. and Thursday, March 27 at 7 p.m. Tickets are $20 (plus a $15 food/drink minimum) and available at 212-352-3101 or Spincyclenyc.com.

American Terrorist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Black Sheep of the Flock

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Grandma's Kitchen

As one of three major productions this year, The H.A.D.L.E.Y. Players and New Heritage Theatre Group presented The Kitchen, written by Roger Parris and directed by Arthur French, at The Poet's Den on 309 East 108th Street. Featuring an all-black cast, the play is set during the 1950s in Harlem, where a boardinghouse landlord faces the predicament of allowing an ex-tenant a safe haven while he faces life or death. "Grandma" serves as a mother figure to everyone in the house — her kitchen their meeting place. Originally played by Louise Mike, Johnnie Mae steps in as Grandma after Mike sprained her ankle. Although she reads from a script, even using it as a prop, Mae did an excellent job conveying the message: blood is not always thicker than water.

During the opening scene, Taylor (Craig Anthony Bannister) is the topic of discussion among the tenants Ivan (Albert Eggleston), Muriel (Kimberlee Monroe) and Grandma’s cousin Philip (Ward Nixon) on a Saturday morning.  Taylor, an ex-tenant, is a known gambler. After giving all his winnings to the woman he loved, Taylor aims to get back on his feet after she flees the city with all his loot. During breakfast, Philip and Grandma have a pivotal fall-out, which confuses the audience — there’s really no basis but is the turning point of the play.

That evening, Taylor shows up at Grandma’s covered in blood, seeking refuge from the neighborhood hustler Raymond Peaks (Leopold Lowe). The scene is unseen, but Taylor describes the scuffle at the local bar; gambling, drugs, liquor and the badmouthing of his lover play their parts in Peaks stabbing him. It’s a bit unclear why Peaks is trying to murder Taylor; the story isn’t conveyed, but Grandma harbors him until he can plan an escape from the city. While at the boardinghouse, Taylor reflects to Muriel where he went wrong, acknowledging how he “always liked the fast life,” teaching her how to shoot craps. Muriel, just released from an asylum, conserves Taylor’s location, keeping him company during the day and playing Grandma’s numbers at night.

The show begins to pick up towards the second half where the more interesting scenes ironically happen outside of the kitchen between the male cast members. Over a bottle of whiskey, Peaks, Philip and Ivan are coming from the bar — Peaks hints at stabbing Taylor and tips the gents that he’s after him. The two men still have no idea Taylor’s hiding out in their own home; Ivan is unfazed but Philip is intrigued. Philip and Peaks appear to be in cahoots — Philip is leaving for South Africa and bringing Peaks back diamonds and possibly narcotics. 

In the next scene, Ivan relays the conversation he had with Peaks and Philip to Grandma and Muriel. Taylor is listening in the adjacent room. The girls continue to act aloof while the three of them celebrate Ivan’s birthday over a bottle of bourbon. Ivan tells Grandma she and Philip should reconcile to appreciate the meaning of family.

The next morning, Philip drops by and Grandma apologizes for losing her temper. He accepts but leaves with a piece of paper — a numbers slip with Taylor’s name and the date of a few days prior. The jig is up. He immediately informs Peaks that Taylor’s at the boardinghouse, on a park bench — a rather enjoyable scene with excellent lighting. They begin to conspire how Peaks can get into the house, posing a robbery to kill Taylor. Peaks asks why Philip would set up his cousin and he admits jealousy. 

In the last scene, Philip is able to rig the door for Peaks and leaves for South Africa immediately after, to avoid capture. Peaks holds Grandma, Muriel and Taylor at gunpoint and with an unexpected twist, Muriel stabs Peaks to death; causing her to slip into a mental state that lands her back into the asylum. 

The ending seems a bit rushed as they cut to three months later. Taylor leaves for Washington, D.C. to stay with his brother. Ivan brings Muriel to the house to visit Grandma; she hasn’t spoken since the incident, but after Grandma gives her a pair of dice left by Taylor, she instantly becomes herself again and the lights dim.

This show is very predictable in terms of racial issues and how they trigger thoughts of the time, but there isn’t much happening throughout the play besides the major scenes described. Centered around “the kitchen,” the only reference made is a spiel by Ivan and why it’s his favorite place. The story is good, but difficult to follow; the timing is a bit off and there are a few lines said with no transition, lead-up or explanation. However, the overall production is enjoyable, offering some comic relief and reputable acting.