837 Venice Boulevard

Experimental dance is used to return to a world of limitless creativity, but that childhood world idles a little too long. It evokes interest, yet fails to fully enthrall.

Reviewed by Adrienne Urbanski

Picasso once said, “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up." The answer, it seems, is to return to that world of limitless creativity, the place where real and imaginary merge. The place where societal boundaries don’t yet exist and you are still discovering and finding yourself within your body. 837 Venice Boulevard refers to choreographer Faye Driscoll’s childhood address, and the programs and promotional materials all boast a color photo of Faye and her sister standing in front of their Californian home. It’s a jump back in time with experimental dance.

837 opens with dancer Celia Rowlson-Hall singing a warbly, surreal song on the lost feeling of childhood, the feeling of when all you know and hold on to for safety has been ripped from you. As she sings she alternates between shadowboxing and twitching her head stiffly to one side, ending with a screaming refrain that she, like the members of the audience, are “waiting for the show.” What follows is an exploration of the body’s state in childhood. The twenty-something dancers all expertly capture both the awkwardness and freedom of this age, moving with flying, clumsy limbs from one side of the stage to the other, or, halting suddenly, trying to find their steps and falling in sync.

The show frequently makes use of a form of dance akin to puppetry where one or two dancers take control of another dancer’s body, choosing their movements for them. This method evokes a childhood sense of identity displacement. At one point, Rowlson-Hall is instructed that it is time for her big dance number, the moment she has been waiting for her entire life. She falls to the floor in terror, exclaiming that she isn’t ready, while the other two dancers take control of her small body, spinning her and making her leap across the floor. Later, this struggle turns sexual. Rowlson-Hall tempts to fight off the dancer Michael Helland; his hands reach between her legs while she struggles to push them away until their fists push back and forth. When she later seems to accept his advances and begins to lean in for a kiss, a third dancer interrupts them with a gift of glimmering pink and gold superhero capes. This thrusts them back into the safety of their childhood innocence.

Although each segment of the dance fully evokes childhood sensibility, many of them stretch far too long or leave the stage empty and quiet enough for the clicks and whirrs of the stage lights to become audible. As an audience we often have the feeling that we too are "waiting for the show”—waiting for it to begin, always expecting the show to switch gears and really start. This start never seems to fully arrive. Instead, 837 Venice Boulevard comes across as one long prelude. There's worthwhile material, but we get the sense that Driscoll and her dancers are capable of more, and that a great, more enthralling work is somewhere right around the bend.

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837 Venice Boulevard (90 minutes no intermission)
Here Arts Center (145 Sixth Avenue)
Tickets (212-352-3101) $15
Performances through 11/22 @ 7:30pm

Twelfth Night

T. Schreiber Studio’s production of Twelfth Night more than succeeds at turning an old classic new.


Reviewed by Adrienne Urbanski

Taking on a classic Shakespearean work presents a problem for any modern theater company: how to create a production that is fresh enough to appeal to theatergoers already familiar with the Bard’s repertoire and with ample access to other productions of the work. Thankfully, T. Schreiber Studio’s current production of Twelfth Night more than succeeds in making a well known work feel fresh and compelling.

Much of the play’s success can be largely credited to its wondrous visual presence, expertly executed by costume designer Karen Ann Ledger and set designer George Allison. The play’s gender-bending attributes are well suited for the use of steampunk aesthetics, which merge modern punk and Victorian-era attributes, a fashion that works especially well when the plot spins around a girl masquerading as her twin brother, and a fooled would be suitor, who signals to the object of his affection with yellow stockings.

Juxtaposing technology alongside romantic Victorian designs also serves to add depth and richness to the work. A large screen at the back of stage plays videos to cue the audience into the setting of the work, and to provide additional footage of some of the play’s subtle comedic moments (such as Malvolio’s humorously forced smile). The ornate stage mechanically changes from scene to scene: gilded stairs fold and unfold, doors open and shut. The music of Minnesotan group Cloud Cult plays from a phonograph/mp3 player that the jester Feste wheels across the stage, a good tonal choice for both its traditional and modern aural aesthetics. At the center of the stage is a large crossword puzzle, upon which characters write words providing insight into the tone and motivations of each character and scene.

As is common in most Shakespearean comedies, the play centers on gender-bending and misdirected love: twins Sebastian and Viola are shipwrecked. Viola (Jacqueline van Blene) disguises herself as a man--Cesario--and works in service to Orsino (Shane Colt Jerome), who loves Olivia (Andrea Marie Smith). Except that Olivia falls for "Cesario," even as Viola falls for Orsino.

However, the play’s most comedic moments belong to prim, uptight Malvolio, who, the butt of a prank, is made to believe that the beautiful Olivia has affections for him. Through the letter’s instructions, Malvolio lets loose, donning bright yellow stockings, putting on a large grin, and leaping on the stage in sheer joy. Justin Elfer successfully solicits much laughter in the role, skillfully managing to communicate humor, despite his somewhat outdated Shakespearean English. The large cast succeeds in their roles, expertly conveying the play’s many moments of physical humor. Theatergoers may hesitate at seeing a work so frequently performed, but they can rest assured: director Cat Parker has turned a timeless classic into something new.

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Twelfth Night (2hr 30 min, 1 intermission)
Gloria Maddox Theater at T. Schreiber Studios (151 W 26th St, 7th Floor.)
Tickets: $25
Performances (through 11/23): Thursdays, Fridays and Saturday at 8pm, Sundays 3pm.

No Entrance

Access Theater's production of No Entrance seeks to expose the stories behind the Iraq War.

Reviewed by Adrienne Urbanski

For many New Yorkers, the war in Iraq has not directly affected our personal lives, and has rather existed as something distant and removed to us, a problem being played out in a far off country. Access Theater’s current production of No Entrance attempts to change this common view, taking the war to a personal level and shedding light on the pain and plight of the soldiers. However, the five scenes are uneven--some not even taking place in the real world--and what starts as something personal threatens to become just another story.

The work opens with James pacing around as his wife Natalie and her sister discuss their fear and unease at the news that he will soon be shipped off to Iraq to serve his country. “You know I can hear you,” he says, clenching his hands in frustration. Natalie is angry with James's calm acceptance and lack of terror, but James soothes her, promising that all will be well, that their life will pick up exactly from where they left it, that serving in the war will ultimately change little in their lives. As Natalie, Emily Loeb is radiant, fully embodying the sadness and frustration of her character, sometimes eclipsing the other characters in a scene.

The play’s most appealing scene consists of Natalie listlessly sitting in an airport with no purpose for being there other than escaping the reality of her own life. While sitting in the waiting area she meets William, a Midwestern farm boy waiting to pick up his grandparents from their flight home. Young, charmingly eccentric William is due to be sent to Iraq and he expresses his fear to Natalie, who tries, not too convincingly, to tell him that everything will be all right. Natalie then refuses to let William introduce himself, not wanting to become personally connected to someone who could very well turn up dead.

While the aforementioned scenes are strong, well-written works on their own, the other three scenes do not fully interlock with them. There is a sense of linear time to the vignettes, but they lack a clear sense of narrative. Each scene is successful in being emotionally evocative, but some run on too long or require rewrites, as when the soldiers are stuck in purgatory, seeking forgiveness for their sins, waiting for their names to be called so they can make it through heaven’s gate (hence the ominous title).

Despite the need for some nips and tucks, Alec Gutherz's script shows a lot of promise, particularly in his ability to create compelling characters and stories. Thankfully, there's a deeply gifted cast capable of delivering such emotionally charged work without falling back on bravado. Perhaps they'll find that entrance after all.

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No Entrance (1 hr 30 min, no intermission)
Access Theater (380 Broadway, fourth floor)
Tickets: $18
Runs Through November 2nd

Brew of the Dead

Brew of the Dead brings theater to the bar hopping masses.

Reviewed by Adrienne Urbanski
[See also: Aaron Riccio's review.]

With a plot and title that boast the promise of zombies and beer, a late night time slot, inexpensive ticket price, and constant encouragement to drink through the play, Brew of the Dead succeeds in making theater appealing to those who would rather spend their evenings at a bar than a theater. While in the past zombies have been used for social commentary and apt parody, beneath the enticing gimmick lies little else.

Brew of the Dead's plot is virtually indistinguishable from any standard zombie B-movie (the world is mysteriously overtaken by zombies, leaving a few survivors to hole up together and plan their next strategy). The new twist is the emphasis on beer: while the survivors of Dawn of the Dead sought shelter in a mall, our gang heads toward an abandoned brewery. As Dawn of the Dead equates zombieism with consumerism, Brew of the Dead equates zombieism with alcohol, but unlike its more socially aware predecessors, Brew of the Dead just wants to have a good time, beer in hand.

The zombies themselves remain off stage, seen only by the cast, which inhibits the play from reaching the level of parody and schlock so well displayed in Shaun of the Dead (one of its self-proclaimed influences.) Without seeing the threat, there’s no way to gauge whether it is serious or laughable: the actors remain straight-faced, never quite indulging in full-on irony or parody, with the exception of Craig (Peter Schyuler, who also serves as associate producer), the over-the-top, wise cracking drunk.

The cleverest moments center around a series of pre-show public service announcements (P.S.A.’s), which humorously tell the tale of those who were not fortunate enough to make it out alive: a girl who seeks to investigate a strange noise in her hallway, armed only with a whisk; an extreme vegan who wears homemade sneakers that are impossible to run in. Also included are zombie-themed newscasts and a "Mentos, the Fleshmaker” ad, which add breadth and humor to the work.

Those little touches are important because, staying true to its cinematic predecessors, the characters of Brew of the Dead are highly underdeveloped: their backstories are the P.S.A. videos. There’s the aforementioned drunk, Craig, and then Nexus (Amy Beth Sherman), a tough Goth girl; Kim (Amy Overman), a chipper honor-society square; Roger (Eric Chase) a jovial nice guy; and Derek (Tom O’Connor), a silver-haired college professor who seems to know it all.

However, beneath all the flash and atmosphere, the plot is thin: there’s a scene before the brewery and one within it, making the 80 minutes feel short and limited. Ultimately, Brew of the Dead is nothing more than a welcome detour for the bar-hopping Lower East Side crowd, but with a beer in one hand, the play is a good time, flaws and all.

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Brew of the Dead (55min., no intermission)
Under St. Marks (94 St. Mark's Place)
Tickets (212-868-4444): $15.00
Performances: 10/11, 10/18, 10/25, 11/1 @ 10:30