Babel Theatre Project

Insomnia and The Calamity of Kat Kat and Willie

Babel Theatre Project at the Medicine Show Theatre

www.babeltheatreproject.org

It has become a delight in reviewing theatre for NTC to bring a friend along and together ruminate and bounce reactions- theatre best when cohorting. In this instance, J’s particular friend joyfully commented upon curtain: "I could be critical right now but that just doesn't seem appropriate. My only critique is that now I have to chain smoke." Friend meant this in the most laudatory way.

We both agree, it is an overwhelming reassurance- a profound comfort- to find the Babel Theatre Project. A youthful collective of aspiring professionals, their theatre consistently demonstrates edgy smarts and artfulness without pretension or device. It shows joy and faith in the framework and possibilities of theatre as palpable and competitively conscious of contemporary experience as the best literature, art and music. Amassing new works from young playwrights and workshopping with young directors, actors, designers, dramaturges, etc, members mount a summer season of plays and readings, this year including here reviewed rep: Insomnia by Jessica Brickman/ directed by Geordie Broadwater, and The Calamity of Kat Kat and Willie by Emily Young/directed by Heath Cullens.

The first, Insomnia, came off as a light, playful trip through absurdity and dreamscape. The protagonist, Georgia, carries on in some sort of R.E.M. state, "flirting with the Sandman" and his pet sheep Doris, confronting dead mother, and dealing with omni-present bf in varying guises. It was an amusing 50 minutes, with good ideas and dialogue, however, the play never really breached simple entertainment. Actors seemed most engaged in tidbits of absurdity leaning toward sketch comedy rather than in fleshing out reality bits, glossing relationships with far too much volume in place of emotion. I have to say, “Doris” the sheep (played brilliantly by Diana Buirski), stole the show, lending credence to the old adage: “never act opposite a dog, child or sheep.” Just so cute- when she started nibbling on the wall… Still, the premise was cleaver and fuller than most dream-plays. A more nuanced treatment of waking moments and more specific character “journeys” for all would have tightened any fluff and grounded the matter of sleeplessness.

What Insomnia lacked in character relations Calamity gave in surplus. The play's actual plot line completely shrinks (to beautiful effect) under the weight of its rendering of individuals and their relative distance from as well as reliance on one another. Young has crafted wonderfully singular characters and the acting and directing served her superbly. Miriam Silverman pushes through as relentless soul-searching British ex-pat Kat Kat, opposite consistently good-hearted ex-swindler Willie, inhabited in all his confusion and unrelenting adoration by Jeremy Bobb; both were absolutely amazing, their relationship endlessly complex, potent and mesmerizing. Erik Liberman systematically show-stops with his one-man assemblage of ex-pat figurines, and Joe Petrilla, though hard to understand through his tongue-twisting Birmingham-brogue, stands his ground as British hooligan Jonesy. An unflinching balance of plot and anti-plot, realism and theatricality, Calamity becomes a summation of human experience, reveling in the delicate isolation of the individual and the beautiful complications that come from two trying to connect- simple and complicated as all that.

The most impressive part of this Babel experience: just how nice it was to leave a theatre completely, wonderfully satiated and to still be musing over it now with the same excitement. Jenny and Friend give two thumbs up. Comments Friend: "It was really good- something to be really proud of- a gem- they are all young and they represent!" We both agree that Calamity in particular was the best theatre we've seen this side of the Atlantic. Perhaps it is enough to report that there were tears in the audience- I heard it- witness- and it was lovely. I can’t wait for next season.

Review: Pig Farmby Eric Miles Glover

From the brain of Greg Kotis—one half of the pair that created the crude, raucous, and ridiculous Urinetown—comes the crude, raucous, and ridiculous Pig Farm, an escapist and entertaining albeit absurd freak show. Rife with subject matter as diverse as agrarianism, manhood, politics, and socioeconomics, Pig Farm guarantees an unforgettable theatergoing experience no matter what one feels about the show.

Pig Farm explores the eccentricities and quirks of husband-and-wife pig farmers, Tina and Tom, who await an audit of their operations. Before and during the audit, however, several interesting facts about the couple, the government agent who audits them, and a farmhand, Tim, are revealed through bits of well-written repartee and well-staged slapstick. As the exploits continue, the plot thickens and the suspense looms: How does Tom dispose of the excess waste his swine produce? Will he, Tom, father the child Tina wants? Will she, Tina, usher Tim into manhood? Will he, Tim, outdo the government agent in the battle for her affection? Will he, the government agent, never die? Each ensemble member delivers a brilliant performance. John Ellison Conlee and Katie Finnernan are riots as the couple. As Neanderthal and senseless Tim, Logan Marshall-Green is the newfound "Man of a Thousand Faces." Each time the government agent, Denis O’Hare, graces the stage one anticipates impressive theatrics, and "impressive theatrics" are what he delivers.

Pig Farm induces epileptic fits and seizures of laughter all right, but the repartee and slapstick grow tired, predictable, and irksome as the show progresses. In the end, one concedes to the ridiculousness of the plot to uncover the heart and the humor in the otherwise over-the-top circus. That said, Pig Farm is, without doubt, for the carefree and liberal theatergoer who knows how to have a good time.

Click here for information about the show.

CRAZY FOR THE DOG

Written by Christopher Boal & Directed by Eric Parness
Bouwerie Lane Theatre
330 Bowery
Extended run through Aug 26th

Like little yappy dogs, the characters in this play just seem to irk more than interest. Why do I care about these people and their strange back stories, secrets, manipulations and animal-involved traumas? This was my question through out the performance, all the while waiting, willing and able, to be amazed by some twist of events, uncovering a depth and complexity of human emotion and relations. All I found was a middling opinion of humanity; a sad non-complexity and over-simplicity of four messy, individuals. Perhaps this is the point.

Equally uninteresting is the plot which unfolds as angst-ridden sister Jenny bribes good-for-nothing boyfriend Kevin to dog-knap straight-laced brother Paul’s dog in order to get a confession for the back-in-the-day murder of the family cats. It is of course a cry-out from indulgent sister, which amounts to the break-down of usually stable brother. Wife and boyfriend add buffering/prodding.

I guess the point at the end of the day is that people are pathetic and selfish; sad matter that, but explains a lot about the world. That said the acting was good, with strong physical thoroughness from Wrenn Schmidt (Jenny) and an easy humor from Ryan Tramont (Kevin). The dialogue seemed repetitive, however, the first act especially trying, and the climax- an emotionally/mentally ugly, ultimately estranging confession from Paul- was thoroughly expected. I am open to think that others may find these characters recognizable and sympathetic (the play has been “critically acclaimed”- good review from the NYT) but they seem to me cliché and without rescue here. At least the dog didn’t die.

Altar Boyzby Aaron Riccio

Though both the boy band and Christian rock are already pretty much parodies of themselves, Altar Boyz finds enough mileage in playing stereotypes to come across as a cult musical sensation and one of the few true “guilty” pleasures. Though the substance is as flimsy as Godspell, the up-tempo, modern groove makes it more than bearable—pleasant, even—and the cast is talented enough to make certain songs and gags (the two are interchangeable) infectious.

For about eighty minutes, Altar Boyz kicks it old school with everything from beat-box rap (“The Miracle Song”) to Latin funk (“La Vida Eternal”) and highly choreographed pop (“Rhythm in Me”). There’s break dancing, puppets, and even some love songs, all of which is slathered in satire. For instance, when the closeted singer, Mark, finally comes out in the song “Epiphany”—he uses the word “Catholic” instead, a humorous assault on the very institution that condemns being gay. Kevin Del Aguila’s book and Gary Adler & Michael Patrick Walker’s lyrics also take turns playing on verbal expectations, such as the assertion that “charisma and spunk equals crunk” or a lovely verse in the abstinence song, “Something About You”: “You make me want to wait/so until then I’ll master.../my own fate.”

While some of words grow a bit redundant as the show continues—“Use your soul every day/or it will go away” doesn’t have the same sterling tone as “Jesus called me on my cell phone”—the cast keeps the energy up, which is a “testament” to their strength. Each plays a specific role: Matthew’s the leader, Mark’s the “sensitive” one, Luke’s the gangsta (speaking straight to G.O.D.), Juan’s the Spanish lover, and Abraham’s the Jew. Andrew C. Call, who plays Luke, winds up stealing the show with his straight-up antics and unbelievable range (while break dancing in the gospel-icious “Body, Mind & Soul”), but the rest of the cast isn’t far behind. (For example, Zach Hanna plays Mark way over the top (think Mario Cantone), but wonderfully so.)

Altar Boyz is most certainly a cult hit. There are a few half-hearted attempts to reach a moral about unity, but it’s really just a jukebox musical with all-original songs. Assuming you’re not overly offended by lighthearted jokes involving all the souls in the audience that have gone “downright obese” with sin, you’ll have a good time.

Food for Fishby Aaron Riccio

With his manic juggling of a one-note joke for the sixty minutes of Nerve, playwright Adam Szymkowicz seemed to be modeling himself after Christopher Durang. With his new play, Food for Fish, Szymkowicz is both more polished and less manic, but he’s still modeling his scripts: this time it’s Anton Chekhov. The urbanized result tries a little too hard, and Szymkowicz is still struggling to flesh out his characters, but two (Bobbie and Sylvia) come across as genuine, and the play itself is eerily entertaining.

Food for Fish opens with Bobbie, a writer, plunging a knife into his hand to convince himself that it wouldn’t be a stupid thing for a character to do. This man, less than sane, is the Konstantin of this piece, and has a tendency both to flirt with his loaded pistol (which, per Chekhov’s rules, you know is going to go off) and to kiss random strangers in the middle of the night. It is through one of these lip-locked interludes that he encounters Barbara, an agoraphobic person, and later, her two sisters, Sylvia and Alice. (These “three sisters” live together, pine for New Jersey—at least in one recurring joke—, and use the encoffined body of their decomposing, gravedigger father as a coffee table.)

Bobby falls for the youngest sister, Sylvia, but is unable to escape the story unfolding in his head (one which, ala Well, leads to the other characters correcting his narration). Unfortunately, as Bobby keeps reminding us, this is a story about him, and the cryptic pieces we get of his personality, no matter how well portrayed by the arresting Orion Taraban, end up not telling much of a story at all. That leaves us with the melodramatic affairs of three sisters, one of whom is inexplicably played by a male actor (his/her husband is played by a woman). There are a few moments of gender struggle late in the second act, but the overall choice is poorly directed, poorly acted, and poorly scripted, and takes away from the momentum. Every time there’s a build, Luis Moreno (who plays the “wife”) speaks, and the play becomes a bad episode of Kids in the Hall.

Szymkowicz is good at imitating Chekhov’s natural rhythms, but I wish he maintained the soul of Chekhov’s characters too. Ana Perea, who plays the cold, curt, and depressed middle sister, is a fine actor, but making her character believable seems impossible. All the subtext in the world can’t save her from the nth “I feel empty.” And it is not the dead seagull itself, but the idea behind it: Bobby’s solemn sacrifice of a pigeon seems more like a sight gag than a statement. Then again, Taraban and Anna Hopkins (Sylvia) manage to plumb the depths of their characters, so maybe director Alexis Poledouris isn’t to blame. (And I wouldn’t want to: the blocking on this “no”-budget set is phenomenal.)

Szymkowicz is still growing, and growing in the right way; if Food for Fish suffers from anything, it is that it too-resembles Chekhov’s so-called comedies: it isn’t very funny.

[Aaron Riccio]
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Kraine Theater (85 E 4th Street)
Tickets (212-352-3101): $17.00
Performances: Wednesday-Saturday @ 8:00

Her Majesty the King

Presented by Dramahaus

HERE Arts Center

June 10-July 1

www.here.org

It helps to know a little about the historic events surrounding the War of the Roses- a familiarity with Shakespeare’s history plays gives apt introduction to the characters’ driving the bloody feud over the English crown- but this play, written by Sarah Overman, with skillful simplicity, in prose reminiscent (thankfully unsentimentally) of language of the time, shifts the focus and stage-time in favor of toils of the “weaker” sex, shedding honest light on the power struggle behind Male-lines.

The production lent an honest portrayal in every respect; excellently written and well-acted by all, the nuanced characterizations lend a more personal conception than any by the Bard himself and the brutality of masculine war pales compared with the rich struggles of the play’s protagonist Queen Margaret (brought from France as the child bride of inept King Henry VI)and female contemporaries- ambitious confidant Elizabeth Woodville, wizened matriarch Mary of Gelderland and innocent Lady Anne Neville.

Augmenting the script, a simple mixology of set changes (beautiful in white timber and gold accents), video projection, and audio fills further the modern treatment of historic events. Though sometimes (for better or worse) reminiscent of History Channel recreations, all in all the effects lend well to the script and bolster actors. Double cast with 16 parts among 8, and sans pretentious Brit accents, the actors interweave past and present events in Margaret’s life, with memorable caricatures in Michael Keyloun’s befuddled Henry VI, Jason Kolotouros’s luxuriant Spider King, and Lisa McCormick’s obedient Lady Anne.

Good female parts are hard to come by, thank god these juicy historic characters have been salvaged from the tomes of Shakespearean lore and given the treatment they deserve and in language to match the Bard’s counterpoint male faction. A woman’s battle is armed with different weapons- alternative strategies- and it is beautiful to see this illustrated: “You are not a man,” Mary of Gelderland reminds Queen Margaret. Acting as such, she continues, “defies your necessary wisdom.” Wise words and an excellent take home message.

Tommy Tiernan: Looseby Aaron Riccio

If words are Tommy Tiernan's bullets, then jokes are his gunpowder, and his manic, explitive-heavy charisma is the trigger. His easy smile and giddy motions across the stage (he often skips) enable us to “laugh at the things we’re not supposed to laugh at” and his words are true enough to pierce the heart.
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Cracked, the name of Tommy Tiernan’s last stand-up tour in the US, doesn’t really capture the aggressive joke-telling of this Irish comic. Loose, the name of this year’s tour, is much more appropriate. It’s wrong for the right reasons when Tommy’s at his best (tightly wound on a sensitive subject, like God as a selfish fucker, or the following knock-knock joke: “Who’s there?” “Not Mickey’s fucking dad!”). It’s right for the wrong reasons when Tommy ambles between highlights, leaving the audience to chew the cud through some unfortunate dead space. Luckily, there’s very little downtime, and there is a lot of laughter (hyena-like guffaws, up from the root of your soul).

Tommy’s act isn’t the most original (he draws immediate comparison with Dennis Leary), but he does have the saving grace of charisma, and the better grace of some genuinely funny material. It’s not your mother’s humor though: Tommy makes it clear early on that he (like all the Irish) uses “a fundamental darkness” to tell his jokes, and points out that when he first went to a shooting range, he was perturbed to only fire on targets. It’s a happy person he wants.

Well, if words are to be his bullets, then jokes are his gunpowder, and his manic, explitive-heavy charisma is the trigger. His easy smile and giddy motions across the stage (he often skips) enable us to “laugh at the things we’re not supposed to laugh at” and his words are true enough to pierce the heart. As for his jokes, they’re not all winners, but Tommy changes clips fast enough to get away from the blanks and back to his powder keg of material. Everyday observations, mixed with that sarcastic cynicism: “Have a nice day, they say. I don’t want that kind of pressure. I’ll have the kind of day I want.”

Among other things, Mr. Tiernan has a reputation for stirring up trouble with his religious material. Maybe I’m too jaded to tell, but I found him to be going a little too easy on the Church: save for the obligatory pedophiliac preacher joke, and a few remarks about what Jesus would really look like (Danny DeVito-ish), it was pretty light stuff. Plus, Tommy’s delivery sort of abnegates any serious implications he might try to make during his act; early on, he points out that “I’d hate you to think that I know something about something.... These are just words.”

They are just words, and, for the majority of the show, fairly funny ones. This may be a slightly diluted form of the Tommy I’ve heard talk of, but it’s still a set worth seeing. Laughter’s healthy for you, so consider Loose a Get-Out-Of-Gym-Free card, good for burning a heck of a lot of calories in the most enjoyable way.

[Aaron Riccio]

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Actor's Playhouse Theater (100 7th Avenue South)
Tickets (212-239-6200): $20.00-$35.00
Performances: Wednesday-Saturday @ 8:00; Saturday @ 11:00PM

Macbethby Aaron Riccio

The energy is robust and the pacing brisk, both necessary for the free theatergoer’s attention span, and the visual effects only solidify an already top-notch production. A successful fusion of various theatrical styles on one of the classic greats, this Macbeth is not to be missed.
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(6/25) Macbeth, when produced in scope and with a full ensemble, is a bloody Shakespearian play. Soldiers die en masse, chaos reigns, and power corrupts, absolutely. The Public Theater’s outdoor version, at the Delacourt Theater, is not only well served by the enormity of the space and the backdrop of mighty nature itself, but by Moisés Kaufman’s highly aesthetic approach. Here, corpses parade across the stage like a stricter version of Sweeny Todd, and 1940s sound effects collide with harsh modern lighting to rapidly contrast Macbeth’s guilt-ridden psychosis with the all-too-cruel world itself.

If you reap what you sow—and Macbeth’s tragic downfall is surely a measure of his overzealous attention to prophecy—then it’s no surprise that Kaufman’s adaptation is so delicately beautiful, nor that that the beauty cannot be sustained. His costuming—straying from classic trims to, by the final act, a modern tux—makes no sense, but looks stunning, and the makeup—particularly that of the Weird sisters—is compelling. The blocking of certain scenes—notably the banquet where Banquo “haunts” Macbeth and the famous “double, double, toil and trouble” cauldron scene—is arresting, and at least the comedic bits, like the Porter’s out-of-place monologue, are aimed at the audience, where such throwaway distractions work best. The set does more for effect than the rest of the show itself—the flimsiness actually works in its favor, a castle even more in decay than the missing chunks and scattered rubble belie.

Where Kaufman loses the beauty is in the second act, where scenes start to grow melodramatic and rushed, and actors like Lady Macbeth (Jennifer Ehle, who shone in the first act) don’t seem up to their “out damn spot” speeches. The acting is, on the whole, very consistent, and Liev Schreiber, as Macbeth, almost underplays the role, though I find myself agreeing with his wry and dry portrayal (especially since this leaves Schreiber with somewhere to go in the second act). By the climactic showdown between Macduff (the fiery Sterling K. Brown) and Macbeth, Kaufman is back on track; I just hope the slight imbalance is ironed out by the opening.

This production of Macbeth has nothing to be ashamed of: even in that mid-act slump, the cast still slings its phrases more naturally than most actors perform contemporary works. The energy is robust and the pacing brisk, both necessary for the free theatergoer’s attention span, and the visual effects only solidify an already top-notch production. A successful fusion of various theatrical styles on one of the classic greats, this Macbeth is not to be missed.

[Aaron Riccio]

Pig Farmby Aaron Riccio

What Pig Farm misses in cleverness, it makes up for in crudeness--the most lascivious, delightful kind. The kind that makes you wonder how you ever watched a political satire without such "hams" before.
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(6/20) Pig Farm is a ridiculous comedy. That’s not exaggeration: Greg Kotis writes like a man freefalling through the sky while being devoured on the inside by piranhas even as his fingers spontaneously combust like fireworks on the fourth. And that’s ignoring both the surreal ending (pigs may not fly, but they might as well) and the farcical shifts in plot. Pig Farm isn’t near as good as Urinetown—much as director John Rando tries to carry that tune through to a straight show, with a bunch of lyrical blocking. But what it misses in cleverness, it makes up for in crudeness (and really, it’s a filthy, filthy play)--the most lascivious, delightful kind. The kind that makes you wonder how you ever watched a political satire without such "hams" before.

The plot, so much as there is one, is an expanded anti-government riff that stems, at least in invective and straightforwardness, from Kotis’s little-seen Eat the Taste. There is a pig farm, somewhere in America, that represents the economic plight of all pig farms, and through that, the economic plight of all mankind. For all their suffering, Tom and Tina have taken in a juvenile delinquent, Tim—a reminder not just of the free labor of a work-release program, but of Tina’s desire to have a child of her own. To make things harder (as if counting approximately 15,000 pigs wasn’t hard enough), a g-man named Teddy is expected at any moment, which means Tom’s got to dump the sludge before the rain comes and makes everything into mud. So it goes.

If these characters played it straight, this would be a terrible play. But Tom’s a violent drunk, Tina’s a baby- (and therefore sex-) crazed woman, Tim’s determined to prove himself a man, even though he’s clearly still a boy, and Teddy is one heck of a ham (and Dennis O’Hare busts his comedic chops). As the straight(est) man, Tom, John Ellison Conlee really serves as a foil for his boyish competitor, Tim, played by the exuberant and beautifully reckless Logan Marshall-Green. Green has consistently been the best thing of his last several productions (including Dog Sees God, and TV’s The O.C.), and his limitless energy seems to have raised everybody’s else’s spirits too, particuarly the fiery Katie Finneran, who might just have theater’s best and most accurate deadpan.

The art direction here—Scott Pask’s overwhelming staircase to the hidden second floor and Brian MacDevitt’s illumination of the unseen chaos out the window—also deserves note. Not only does it allow for some spectacular stunt/comic devices, but it keeps the focus on this one little slice of Americana, and our particular struggle with the adversity of age, government, and circumstance. Kotis doesn’t get eloquent about it—in fact, the majority of his script garners laughs from repeating lines—but he’s direct, and he’s honest, and most importantly, he’s funny.

[Aaron Riccio]

The Busy World Is Hushedby Aaron Riccio

The three actors of this tight, witty drama are all great enthusiasts, and their energy is well-tapped by director Mark Brokaw to tell this play of passion (not a Passion play).
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(6/23) For a little over two hours, The Busy World Is Hushed lives up to its title. Not a single cell phone goes off during the performance—it wouldn’t dare. There’s too much life onstage for such a rude interruption, and though I despise theological thinking plays, Keith Bunin never proselytizes—he just uses God as an all-inspiring passion. The three actors of this tight, witty drama are all great enthusiasts (even though Jill Clayburgh is forced to reel it in to play the restrained “bad guy”), and director Mark Brokaw has no problem tapping into all that energy.

So here’s a different sort of passion play: three characters subsumed by different levels of religious zeal, and each for their own reason. Though Bunin’s obviously written a play, there’s no sense of predestination for any of them, and their worlds joyfully, and then tragically, commingle. The first, Hannah (Clayburgh) is the full-on Episcopalian, a minister trying to make the world better, all the while failing to see her own personal hell. Her rival, Thomas, is the traditional rebellious son—wild, agnostic, and self-confident. Brandt, an inhibited but spirited ghostwriter, is the pivotal third, stuck in the middle after being hired to help complete Hannah’s discourse of a newly discovered gospel.

Brandt is in turmoil because his father has an inoperable brain tumor, but he falls in love with Thomas’s world-wizened ways anyway, and begins dating him after some surprising encouragement from Hannah. Then again, perhaps not so surprising, given Hannah’s role as a friendly manipulator who hides her own staggering hurt behind a religious shield. As the play continues, Hannah’s callous chessmanship seems perfectly natural—shouldn’t a mother try to prevent her son from following too far in his suicidal father’s footsteps? And that, perhaps, is the most revelatory moment of The Busy World Is Hushed: how perfectly normal it all seems. These are real characters: you prick them, and they do bleed.

This is truest of Hamish Linklater, who plays Brandt. Though Brant uses the classic loner act to bolster himself—sarcasm and self-deprecation—Linklater finds all the little movements, shifts, or pauses that expose, ever so slightly, all the cracks. We watch him bloom in his relationship with Thomas, and when he finally breaks, it’s like watching all the groundwork come to fruition. As for Thomas, he is such a rebel that in lesser hands, his charisma steals every scene (and thereby ruins the dynamic of the show). As played by Macfarlane, the role instead becomes that of the invaluable player on the court who takes one for the team with an assist rather than a slam-dunk.

One of Bunin’s themes is that notorious contradiction: why would a loving God allow there to be such pain? Wisely, he doesn’t take a stance. He steps back and allows his characters to show both sides, and their balanced treatment does more for religion than a million angry voices. (Bunin’s beautiful, beautiful prose doesn’t hurt his cause: “All souls are forged in pain, and burnished in death.”) The Busy World Is Hushed is one more reason never to sacrifice character for politics, and a reminder that the quiet are often louder than the shrill.

[Aaron Riccio]

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Playwrights Horizons (416 West 42nd Street)
Tickets (212-279-4200): $65.00
Schedule: Tuesday-Saturday @ 8:00; Saturday/Sunday @ 2:30; Sunday @ 7:30

The Happy Idea by Maria Perez-Martinez

Little Miss Maple Leaf McCoy…living in a house with three other unforgettable characters: Angus (old and stubborn), Mrs. B. (Landlord) and Terence Harper (quite a mystery for a while). It is no wonder with names like these, and living in such a quaint little situation that life would seem happy. But as we soon find out, things are never what they seem.

It is no surprise that Maple Leaf (a name the character adopted) sounds a lot like Make-Believe and that she is not the only one in the show who pretends they live in a better world than they actually do. Angus is an old actor, struggling to write his memoirs. A man who claims he has “worked with the best of ‘em”! And Mrs. B.: an old woman whose lost her family and is desperately trying to replace them with her new tenants. Maple Leaf sings in a nightclub and tries her best to believe that she is famous. And Terrence... well he is the least like what he pretends to be.

At one point, Terrence states, “Kindness is just an idea, no one really uses it”. The parallel is immediately present. Happiness as just an idea. It doesn’t really exist at all, nor can you make it appear by pretending your life is one way when it is simply another.

This dark-comedy is cast exceptionally well and is a work of creativity and uniqueness. It speaks to all of us who many times pretend that life is exactly the way we want it to be. But as it seems, life is just one big Happy Idea.

45th Street Theatre
354 W. 45th Street
New York
212-868-4444

Nosotras Lo Hacemos Mejor!/We Women Do It Better! By Maria Perez-Martinez

So what exactly do we women do better? Well, according to Roberto Ramos-Perea’s play, Everything! From learning not to live like our parents to knowing how to change when after our mistakes, we women do it better.

This hilarious one-woman show (oddly enough - written by a man), showcases the life of Teresa Allyson Perez (played remarkably by Merel Julia). In a workshop that the audience is attending, Teresa teaches us life’s by using her own life as support. As she says, you have to live everything yourself. Everything Teresa talks about and teaches about, comes from experiences within her own life and she can therefore, teach us what not to do. And by us, it’s mainly women I’m talking about.

Still, while the show is geared toward women, there are many moments within the show where the men become involved. Teresa talks to them and throws questions at them. She simultaneously tells the women what not to do while showing men what it is that they actually do.

Throughout her life, Teresa reveals how everything around her has had to do with men. As a child, she idolized her father (drunk and abusive as he was) and for most of her life, found herself running into men just like him. Teresa’s lessons (and there are many!) are used in order to show women (and some men) what we look and act like from an outsider’s perspective. Because while it may be Teresa’s life we are watching, every person in that audience related to at least one of her stories, if not more.

But why, how and when are women better? Because they learn from their mistakes, they change their lives with this newfound knowledge and they keep it with them permanently. This show is inspiring, funny and fantastic for any person who would just like to debate why women are better…because we are.

Thalia Spanish Theatre
41-17 Greenpoint Avenue
New York
www.thaliatheatre.org

Cherish

Reviewed by: Nicholas Linnehan

Nicu's Spoon, a non for profit theater company, premiered Cherish by Ken Duncum. This melodramatic story of two gay couples trying to raise children is thought-provoking. Duncum's script is overly dramatic and too episodic at times, detracts from the power of the play.

However, Alvaro Sena (Tom) does an excellent job of finding honesty in his portrayal of a man trying to raise a child after his best friend betrays him. He fills his acting, with bravado, passion, and urgency. This makes him a delight to watch!

Despite partially Duncum's flawed script, Cherish will stir your emotions and make you laugh. The content of this play outweighs the manner in which it is being told.

The Gold Standardby Aaron Riccio

You need more than miles and miles of heart; you need characters too. And Daniel Roberts, with his new play, The Gold Standard has them: four standards revolving around one marvelous eccentric, and the wonderfully poetic dark comedy that follows.

Is like, Daniel Roberts found an engaging character, latched on to him, and rode him all the way home. Is like, the script is full of such clever dialogue that you don’t mind the standard “man steals other man’s girlfriend” plot. Is like, the rhythm of this eccentric Korean poet, this hurdy-gurdy machine of broken words and fortune cookie statements, fuels something so much bigger than itself that The Gold Standard appreciates in value with every minute he’s on stage. In the words of the playwright, is like life is a dream for people like that, but “only problem is world full of alarm clock.” Well, this is the play that lets you stay in that dream.

Short of a horrifically staged fight scene and an all-too tidy resolution to this dark comedy, there’s nothing negative I can say about The Gold Standard. Like the play’s drink of choice, the sea breeze, all the dialogue is loose, sweet, and airy, and despite the play’s violent, bitter—necessary—second act, quite comedic. Somewhere in the midst of John getting the girl of his dreams, Olivia, wooed out from under him by his ultra-smooth former classmate, Krego, it stops being a laughing matter—even more so when we tack on the baggage these characters are holding on to. Somehow, even in the midst of molestation, Roberts keeps the script buoyant, though it takes Yasu Suzuki's spellbinding performance to bring Krego’s drunken meltdown to life.

The effort to maintain a side-plot for the bartender, Malcolm, and his assistant Nomi, is valiant, but doomed to mediocrity. The two serve better as foils, especially since Jordan Charney’s gruff, but lovable bartender is a cliché, and Alie Carey’s sassy, but lovable apprentice isn’t far off from being the same. To that end, director Alex Lippard jumps at every opportunity to get the two offstage so that he can focus on the lovers, and while this does leave a lot of empty space—the emptiest bar in the world—it also makes it clear where the action is taking place. Not that any of it’s ambiguous: if anything, Antony Hagopian (as the loser, John) and Sabine Singh (as the user, Olivia) are so believable that Roberts barely needs to fill in their back-stories.

Even if the plot isn’t exactly surprising, the way it unfolds is—all the while punctuated by the beautiful broken English of Krego: “Too bad dying human don’t look as pretty as dying leaf. Hospital would be colorful place.” Or, “My man Jackson Pollock; he say genius is to madness like flair gun is to atom bomb.” This is the gold standard: a consistent play filled with soft, yet firm, beauty. A play that can only appreciate, and be appreciated.

[Aaron Riccio]

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Irish Arts Center (553 W 51st Street)
Tickets (212-868-4444): $15.00
Performances: Thursday-Saturday @ 8:00

Dead Cityby Aaron Riccio

“Yes I said yes I will yes,” reads Joyce’s Ulysses, and it ought to continue with, “see Sheila Callaghan’s new play Dead City.” Callaghan’s work is inspired by Joyce, but not so much in plot as in the telling: a one-day account of Samantha Blossom’s (get it?) life and her fated encounters with Jewel, a starving poet. With a set of earthy revolving walls and a projector screen, director Daniella Topol flings open Callaghan’s already loose words, and for a hundred minutes, the city becomes like an oyster filled with infinite pearls.

Through a series of encounters in various Manhattan locales (like The Strand), Dead City traces the everyday struggle to feel like one exists. The internal creeps into the physical, which is where we see echoes of Joyce (though Callaghan’s beautiful language is her own). One minute, Samantha is catching up with an old friend, the next, that friend is asking about Samantha’s dead son. At a massage parlor, two masseuses are suddenly grilling her about the affair she’s contemplating with her postmodern online beau. Later, her thoughts project across the wall in a multimedia frenzy of stream-of-consciousness, and, in a dream sequence, as animation. For all the surreal tactics and alternative forms of expression—like a flying taxi—none of this seems out of place; Callaghan has created a fluid, lyrical world that riffs on reality as if it were jazz (which, if it’s not, should be).

To accommodate the myriad characters, Dead City presses an ensemble of five to the limit, casting each in at least three roles. Some are clearer than others (like the endlessly talented Rebecca Hart), and some are more versatile (like Alfredo Narciso), but the whole ensemble reeks of talent. Outside the ensemble, Elizabeth Norment (Samantha) centers and uncenters the show with her brilliant mental oscillations, while April Matthis (Jewel) grows more genuine by the minute.

Save for a humorous funeral, there’s nothing dead in Dead City; this sweeping production revitalizes an art form that prefers to imitate. This is the real McCoy, illusions and all, and like Ulysses, should soon fit the oxymoronic bill of a modern classic.

[Aaron Riccio]

Dead City by Maria Perez-Martinez

Oftentimes, when you talk to a married man, he’ll tell you that the one thing he hates most about his wife is when she asks him, “What are you thinking?” Women seem to be just fascinated with knowing the every thought and dream of the ones we love. Why? Because we think and dream A LOT ourselves. And if you don’t want to take my word for it, then Dead City is a show you must see.

Following the character of Samantha (portrayed stunningly by Elizabeth Norment) throughout the course of one day, we get to see every single one of her thoughts as she grows and changes with every person she encounters. It is obvious from the beginning that Samantha is just one of those people who others never notice. One of those people who are practically invisible their entire lives. But as the play progresses she learns a lesson from one of the most unexpected places – a homely character by the name of Jewel.

Jewel is actually the first person you meet on stage. Played by April Matthis, Jewel seems very different from everyone else in this New York City based life. She is the poet. The outcast. And yet, Samantha understands Jewel’s language perfectly. They are two women lost in this maze that life has thrown at them and together, they learn from one another. Samantha learns that she actually exists (a defining moment for her) and Jewel learns that there are other people in the world besides herself. That there is someone out there who actually understands her.

From beginning to end, we watch as Samantha grows and changes throughout her day (it’s no coincidence that her last name Blossom). She becomes something entirely different from where she started and by the end, she makes herself known. A perfect touch added by the playwright at the finale, is having Samantha end up in the same place she started. But everyone has seen her mind, her thoughts, her past and her future. You almost never want the play to end just to see where she goes next. Dead City (aptly named) is a fantastic show with a superb, multi-talented (multi-roled) cast. A feast for the eyes and mind.

3LD Art and Technology Center
80 Greenwich Street, New York
Open until Saturday, June 24th, 2006

Hello, Dolly! by Matt Windman

The sexiest possible moment in a musical does not involve nudity, but it does date back to the days of Ziegfeld. It happens when a young or adult woman (think Ruby Keeler) dances with an abundant army of men, or vice versa (think Fred Astaire). As such, is it no surprise that the title song of “Hello, Dolly!” – where Dolly sings with a corps of waiters – has become one of the most beloved scenes in musical theater.

Jerry Herman’s “Hello, Dolly!” which is based on Thorton Wilder’s “The Matchmaker,” is all about embracing life’s possibilities. Allow us to summarize the musical in song: “Before the Parade Passes By,” you must “Put on Your Sunday Clothes,” go “Dancing,” get some “Elegance,” proudly put “Ribbons Down Your Back,” remember that “It Only Takes a Moment” to fall in love, and finally shout “Hello, Dolly!” in happiness.

But in spite of the musical’s popularity, its title role continues to be associated only with Carol Channing. (Barbra Streisand played the role in the film, regrettably). As such, musical theater fans had been guessing for months over who would play Dolly in the Papermill Playhouse’s revival. The choice of Tovah Feldshuh, who is best known to theater audiences as the Israeli Prime Minister of “Golda’s Balcony,” was a big surprise.

It is a relief to report that Feldshuh is fantastic as Dolly Gallagher Levi. Those familiar with the show should be aware that Feldshuh performs the role with an Irish accent, a choice that stresses the Gallagher side over the Levi (i.e. Jewish) one. To be successful, Dolly must be confident, warm and sarcastic. But above all, she is a clown. Feldshuh has made new choices that make authentic eccentricities. And to add icing to the cake, she is a wonderful singer!

As director, Mark S. Hoebee also brings out effective performances from Kate Baldwin as Irene Molloy, Jessica-Snow Wilson as Minnie Fay, Walter Charles as Horace Vandergelder, and Jonathan Rayson as Cornelius. Mia Michaels’ choreography is fine, though her staging of the title song resembles grinding rather than dancing.

The current revival of Jerry Herman’s “Mame,” which opened two weeks ago at the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C., is enjoyable but half-baked. This revival of “Dolly!” has no known plans to move anywhere, but it is one of Papermill’s best musicals in many years and a crowd-pleasing, smashing success.
Papermill Playhouse, Brookside Drive, Millburn, NJ. 973-376-4343. $19-68. Wed 7:30pm, Thurs 2 & 7:30pm, Fri 8pm, Sat 2 & 8pm, Sun 2 & 7:30pm. Through July 23.

Arabian Nightby Aaron Riccio

The nice thing about the modern fairytale is that even when it’s not particularly affecting, the presentation’s always worth the price of admission. I thought this about Devil Land; I feel the same about Arabian Night, The Play Company’s import from prolific German playwright Roland Schimmelpfennig. The script, which bounces back and forth between the thoughts of five mysteriously drawn-together tenants on a hot and magical night, comes across largely as wordplay—more a narrative trick than a necessity. Furthermore, Schimmelpfennig’s disparate blend of comedic drama often causes the one to obscure the other (as if the revolving narrative wasn’t already dizzying enough). And yet, while some might object to the sudden twist that places one character inside a bottle of brandy, and another in the middle of an Arabian desert, others might allow themselves to be entertained by the stupefying absurdity of it—a circus of the uncanny.

Would that Schimmelpfennig’s script made more of the premise, or that his endless devices actually worked their way to a resolution. Because they don’t, the play ends up with a limited scope (which is how I feel about other Schimmelpfennig works, like The Woman Before) and a mostly dispassionate set of characters running in circles through the circus’s three rings. So far as this big top imagery goes, director Trip Cullman makes for a brilliant ringleader, and the imaginative leaps of the script force him to be innovative (whereas with Dog Sees God, he was simply stilted and mundane).

Boxed in on three sides by the audience, Louisa Thompson’s three-dimensional, multi-leveled set is an amalgam of various parts of the apartment complex, each bleeding into the other, a bit like the Pompidou building. The scope of the stage succeeds where the script does not, and makes everything seem so much more important than it is. It also allows for some nifty physical feats, like a climactic chase through the hallways. In addition, thanks largely to Lenore Doxsee’s spot-on lighting, the performers also take on a larger-than-life presence, important for the jigsaw-like scenes that overlap one another. (In particular, Brandon Miller, who plays the bookish, doomed Peter Karpati, becomes arresting once he takes on a greenish glow and has an echo added to his voice.)

As I said before, Cullman’s orchestration of all the different tiers of action and design brings out his Broadway potential, even as Schimmelpfennig’s script persists in slowing down all the action. The cast needs to pick up their cues—that’s true—but even if they did this sixty-five-minute show in fifty-five, there’d still be a lot of dead space. For all the boundary-pushing narrative, Schimmelpfennig is careful not to take his idea where it needs to be: five truly overlapping narratives, filled with real missed connections, rather than neatly shelved moments.

A real fairytale has a moral—most often a warning—but Arabian Night seems determined to do without, intent on deconstructing itself. Allow me to supply one: all that glitters is golden, but you can’t take it with you.

[Aaron Riccio]

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East Thirteenth Street Theater (136 East 13th Street)
Tickets (212-279-4200): $35.00
Performances: Monday-Saturday @ 8:00 / Saturday @ 2:00

The Exonerated

Reviewed by: Nicholas Linnehan

The Exonerated, written by Jessica Blank and Erik Jensen, depicts the tales of 6 real life people sentenced to death row and are later found innocent. This show has the potential to be powerful. Unfortunately, Hope Productions delivers a mediocre version.

The casts performances are flat and lack emotional investment, leaving one to wonder about the connection to their work. However Kimberly Nicole and Melvin P. Huffnagle are exceptional as their work is vibrant and full.

This production was well-intentioned as it benefits the real survivors of death row. It was a noble effort that fell short of being a great piece of theater.

The Exonerated

Reviewed by: Nicholas Linnehan

The Exonerated, written by Jessica Blank and Erik Jensen, depicts the tales af 6 real life people sentenced to death row and are later found innocent. This show has the potential to be powerful. Unfortunately, Hope Productions delivers a mediocre version.

The casts performances are flat and lack emotional investment, leaving one to wonder about the connection to their work. However Kimberly Nicole and Melvin P. Huffnagle are exceptional as their work is vibrant and full.

This production was well-intentioned as it benefits the real survivors of death row. It was a noble effort that fell short of being a great piece of theater.