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Exhibit This!--The Museum Comedies
reviewed by Jo Ann Rosen
A festival such as the Midtown International Theatre Festival serves a valuable function. It offers experienced playwrights an opportunity to experiment with new ideas, and gives new playwrights a voice. It is rarely (ever?) meant to deliver a production directly to Broadway. So we go ready for new ideas, and that's what I got in Exhibit This!, Luigi Jannuzzi's new compilation of short musings.
There are several things that make Exhibit This! worth seeing. The playwright's goal—the appreciation of art through comedy—provides an interesting vehicle. The words art and comedy are not usually seen in the same sentence. Jannuzzi brings quirky, imaginative perspective to the Metropolitan Museum's familiar holdings.
The writing is informed and often clever, plenty of play on words and contemporary references that add humor and a twist. Seen through the playwright's eyes, portraits talk to one another and they argue with the artists who painted them: people from Georges Seurat's Study for "A Sunday on La Grande Jatte" disappear, Socrates in The Death of Socrates tries to escape but succumbs to reason, and Mary Magdalen disagrees with the interpretation of her portrait in The Penitent Magdalen.
There are others, perhaps too many others, and interspersed, a docent leads a group, imposing her own miserable life into the interpretation of the art before her. All told, there are six plays and six monologues, with the "misguided tour" adding six more parts. 18—that's a lot of skits at one sitting despite their being held together by a painterly thread. Under the direction of Elizabeth Rothan, the production does not result in a 90-minute play or even six short plays. It is an hour-and-a-half of skits. She opens solidly enough with a sharp decisive scene where the docent commands her lackadaisical group into decisive order so they move cleverly as a single unit. Timing and pace are among Rothan's strong suits. Partway through, though, the spool begins to unravel, and the thread ostensibly holding the pieces together—the docent—pops up unexpectedly or independent of the scenes featuring the artwork.
Jannuzzi's second goal—to create a hunger for a visual medium through a verbal medium—is a bit ambitious, as is the size of the cast. There are 12 who weave in and out of a backdrop of a sheet while slides of art appear as reference points. The acting is mostly very good, although periodically it falls into the enthusiastic genre of "Let's put on a show", leaving the audience in the dust. The actors are: Bruce Barton, Emily Beatty, Dustin C. Burrell, Kristin Carter, Jaron Farnham, Joseph Franchini, Billy Lane, Dawn McGee, Perryn Pomatto, Jasmin Singer, Peter Stoll, and Charles F. Wagner IV. Alan Kanevsky designed lighting and sound.
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Storia
reviewed by Natasha Yannacanedo
Troy Diana stars in Storia, a one-man show that he wrote that tells the stories of four generations of a family. The first character is a sweet, young Italian woman who comes to the United States from Italy. Diana plays her with a beautiful innocence and reminds us of the excitement of being young and in love. He also shows us the pain of lost innocence. This is my favorite of his characters.
The second character is an exuberant young Italian man who marries the daughter of the first character. He provides a lovely contrast to the first character and shows us the struggles of being a young immigrant and dealing with discrimination. He also shows us the thrill of being in love.
The third character is an elderly woman who is the daughter of the Italian man. She exemplifies the loss of language through the generations but shows us the one cultural staple that always seems to remain—the food. She provides some great comedy as she educates us as to the ignorance of North American restaurants and how the Olive Garden feeds us "peasant food" as if it is gourmet. This character makes us sad as she reveals that her alcoholic husband beats her but she stays with him because she "loves him" and in defiance of her father, who never approved of her husband. She opens up a beauty shop in her home in order to survive financially. Her son marries the daughter of a Peruvian woman who works for her.
The Peruvian-Italian-American fourth character is a man who tells us about his experiences in rural China as a gay man. We also witness the beautiful relationship he has with his mother, even though she has difficulty accepting his sexuality.
Diana easily transitions from one character to the next. His specific, physical choices definitely contribute to the great success of his show. He really embraces the heart and soul of each character that he portrays. He brings great humanity and a vital sense of humor to every part. I would have liked Diana to have a bit more precision with the accents and I would have liked a different vocal placement for his third character. Also, I found myself struggling to connect each character to the previous one; I would have liked that laid out a little clearer in the text. It would have been nice to have each character's name in the program.
David Withrow, the costume designer, is a genius with his shower cap/curler wig creation, and the characters are costumed in a way that serves Storia well.
Director Jennifer Ortega does a superb job. I only wish she had pushed for a set piece that somewhat resembled a stove; it took me out of the world of the play when Diana "cooked" on a folding table.
Diana is a captivating performer and a joy on stage. He truly comprehends the art of the one-man show. Go see the fabulous show that is Storia.
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Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?
reviewed by Kat Chamberlain
Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? by George Axelrod is a biting satirical fantasy, a goofy, fun piece with a big heart. There is a reason why it ran for 444 performances on Broadway back in 1955. Although this revival in the Midtown International Theatre Festival doesn't have the polish of a Broadway hit, the high energy and enthusiasm of the actors more than make up for it.
The audience is greeted before the show starts by the sight of Rita Marlowe, Hollywood's newest pin-up girl, lying on a massage table on the stage getting a rubdown. It sets the tone for an all-out comedy. We meet almost all at once the key players as they flock to her room: George, the rookie reporter who is thoroughly star-struck; Rita's latest sweetheart, Michael, who hasn't written anything in two years since his smashing debut play; Harry, a brash studio head; and a (literally) devilish agent, Irving.
The story is familiarly Faustian: George has only written one interview piece, "Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter?", in his flimsy writing career and considers himself a permanent loser in life. No girls. No fame. No money. George is quickly approached by Irving, who claims that he can make anything happen for the price of 10% of George's soul—per wish. George tests this outlandish offer by asking for one million dollars. As soon as the handshake seals the deal, the call to George's bank confirms the deposit.
George is not at all concerned about losing his soul. He has nothing going for him anyway. So with Irving's help—and his soul diminishing rapidly—life changes and he gets everything he wants. Or does he? The play takes a few turns and I was very impressed with where it ends up.
Widely viewed as a caricature of Marilyn Monroe, the role of Rita is portrayed with zeal by the physically stunning Jennifer Danielle. George is at times a wide-eyed nobody and a magically transformed wonder boy, thanks to Morgan Sills's fluid delivery. Eric Rubbe's Michael is so natural that I believed everything he said. But the show rests on Tuck Milligan's mysterious and sly Irving. In the beginning his acting seems a bit rushed, but by the end the smirk and grind and all-knowing glint in his eyes really work wonders. Director Holly-Anne Ruggiero moves things along seamlessly. Costumes by Maria Zamansky are particularly eye-catching.
Hollywood and Broadway may or may not have changed much in terms of the jealousy, compromising, and lying, but Axelrod's play gets to me on a much deeper level—sometimes not only that we don't know what we are giving up, we don't know what we are wishing for and getting in return, either. We are not spoiled by the success. We lost sight of ourselves long before that.
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Secrets Women Share
reviewed by Shelley Molad
Secrets Women Share is a series of vignettes written by Meri Wallace that examine the intimate relations formed between women, whether they are young or old, closely related, or even strangers, and it reminds us that the tendency to share is a unique quality which often brings women together.
Of the six scenes in Secrets Women Share, it is the final one that makes the entire experience worthwhile. It is set in a spa where a Russian, Marta, busily pampers her customers. Erin Schmoyer steals the spotlight as Marta. Amusing and entertaining, Schmoyer's Marta lights up the room with her quirky behavior and genuine interest in the soap opera of her clients' lives. Also worth mentioning in this scene is a monologue from one of Marta's customers (played by Annalisa Loeffler) who speaks out her longing to feel desired. Loeffler has a nice moment of self-reflection, and we are reminded that while women are compelled to share secrets with other women, at times they must first admit them to themselves.
In an earlier piece, Torey Marks and Allison Colby are charming and humorous in their portrayal of two sisters, Rachel and Sarah, who are stuck atop a roller coaster. But when Rachel reveals a shocking secret to Sarah, it seems as though the focus resides on the humor of the situation rather than the looming issue at hand. We are left without a resolution.
The unexpected meeting of two women (Maureen Griffin and Annalisa Loeffler) in the waiting room of a gynecologist's office shows us that the developing relationship between two strangers linked by a man can be interesting, surprising, and even touching. This particular scene seemed to resonate with women over 30, who have had to undergo mammograms and deal with the fears of breast cancer. Indeed, each vignette seems to speak to a specific audience, while the entire piece targets women as a whole.
Daniel Soule's simple, creative set and James Whalen's sound effects are quite clever; in one scene it almost feels as though we are in a women's restroom eavesdropping in line.
Secrets Women Share is definitely a show that some or all women can relate to, and it is worth the experience if you can get past some of the clichéd dialogue and array of unresolved stories, even if it's only to experience the delight which Schmoyer brings to the last and final scene.
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The House of Blue Leaves
reviewed by Isaac Byrne
John Guare's The House of Blue Leaves tells the story of Artie Shaugnessy, a middle-aged zookeeper living in Sunnyside, Queens in 1965 who wants to be a songwriter/star. At the behest of his daffy, shallow mistress, who thinks his songs could be her ticket to stardom, he tries to get a blessing from the Pope and reconnect with a now famous childhood friend, Billy Einhorn. Artie's quest for stardom is hindered by his marriage, his wife's sweet-tempered insanity, his son's conspiracy to blow up the Pope, three celebrity-obsessed nuns, and a number of unfortunate but hilarious events. In the end Artie gets the blessing and sees his friend Billy again, but fails to become a star as his family's insanity and the true origin of his talent relegate him to mediocrity.
The House of Blue Leaves was a smashing success off-Broadway in 1971 and an even bigger hit when it resurfaced on Broadway 15 years later. A host of zany characters, hilarious situations, and some very poignant moments have made this play a favorite among regional theatres and colleges. This dark, comic explosion of farce and tragedy, is also an intelligent commentary on 1960's America's growing hunger for celebrity and the relationship of the would-be dreamers, the actual celebrities, and the need for love and acceptance that both share, against the backdrop of the Vietnam war. The play is an interesting choice for a revival 36 years later as Paris Hilton, YouTube videos, and Al Qaeda compete for headlines.
Unfortunately, Ryan Metzler's production focuses less on the human and emotional aspects of the story than on symbolism and themes. On paper, there are a lot of laughs and quite a few heartbreaking moments in The House of Blue Leaves, but this production feels bogged down by a focus on ideas and concepts. The direction by Emily Plumb, sometimes seemed a little unfinished; the big chaotic scenes with large numbers of people onstage felt rough, unfocused, and slightly out of control.
In general, the actors concentrate on broad physical comedy and the director's stylized choices—skimming many of the nuances and subtleties in the play. This extremely broad style of acting often comes across as emotionally cold, and I rarely felt like there was anything really at stake for the characters. This was especially true of the men in this production. The broad, exaggerated characterizations are distracting and keep the events of the play on a superficial level.
The one contrasting performance, William Demanlow as Artie, is still disappointing. He has the heaviest load to carry in the show but seemed unwilling to really put himself into it. There is a trace of occasional pathos and manic desperation, but his performance tends toward a low-key caricature of a failed, middle-aged New Yorker, complete with distracting accent. The main female characters fare a little bit better. Jessica Love-Adcock as Artie's insane but sympathetic wife, Elizabeth Yocam as his bulldozing mistress, and Ayelet Blumberg as the Little Nun all come close to a few touching moments and display decent comic timing, but often I felt a lack of connection between the actors and their more intimate moments. Plumb's frequently awkward staging does little to help and the set design by Brett Van Aalsburg, while minimal, often feels clumsy and slows the action.
This production left me feeling a lot like the main character, Artie Shaugnessy, at the end of the play: empty, tired, surrounded by inscrutable people and a strange sort of chaos, and sadly yearning for more.
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Sons of Molly Maguire
reviewed by Kimberly Wadsworth
History plays are tricky for playwrights; you have to find just the right balance between putting in enough context to help the audience understand the event itself, and taking enough poetic license to make the story work as a play. John Kearns is to be commended for trying to include as many of the details of the event as possible in his Sons of Molly Maguire; however, erring on the side of education doesn't always make for entertainment.
Kearns's story deals with the Molly Maguires, a vigilante group active in the coal region of Pennsylvania in the 1870s. Irish immigrant miners had to contend with xenophobic and anti-Catholic mine bosses, who gave fairer treatment and easier jobs to immigrants from Wales or England. Even worse, the mine owners mostly ignored the appeals from Irish labor activists, who tried to start unions in the mines and use peaceful means of resolving conflict.
A handful of men chose to take a more forceful approach. Calling themselves the "Sons of Molly Maguire," after a similar vigilante group then active in Ireland, they started by engaging in criminal mischief—blowing up stretches of mine track, and sending harassing notes to mine bosses—and soon escalated into killing some mine employees who they felt opposed their efforts. One mine owner hired the Pinkerton detective agency to bust the Maguires, and they in turn hired another Irish immigrant to work undercover as a miner and Maguires member; Agent McParland spent three years among the Maguires, secretly feeding evidence to the Pinkertons and ultimately testifying against his former fellows in court.
McParland is one of the characters in this work, but the story mainly follows Jack Kilbride a young Irish American man who at play's rise is locking horns with his father about how to fight back against the mine owners. The elder Kilbride feels that a peaceful approach is best, while Jack, frustrated with the mine owner's indifference, is ready to use force. He joins the Maguires, where he soon meets McParland, and comes under McParland's investigation.
As with any historical work, the political and historical back story is complex: there's the influence of the Catholic Church, the social divide in United States society (and, surprisingly, in Irish immigrant society), the question of peaceful struggle over armed resistance, and the like. But while sometimes Kearns's treatment uses arresting theatricality to grab your attention and make his point, at other times, he simply puts speeches into the mouths of the characters, and the effect is more pageant-ish than theatrical. One scene even baffled me; Kearns tells one story by flashing forward in time to the present, to a scene with a docent at a history museum telling some bored tourists an anecdote from the Maguires' trial. It was different, but may have been simply too different to fit the rest of the work.
The cast, rounded out by an ensemble who easily move in and out of a wealth of roles, does make the best of the material; but one scene, and one actress, are the real standouts. McParland starts a romance with the sister of one of the Maguires, in an effort to win the trust of the community. In a scene from very early in their relationship, McParland tries to woo Alice by reciting a poem he's written for her; Emily Moment is utterly charming in this scene, and the dialogue is refreshingly free of politics; Kearns lets the scene simply be about a boy and girl flirting. And it's that simplicity that makes a later scene, where Alice reacts to news about McParland's true identity, all the more poignant; Kearns gives her a few speeches in the scene, but we know what she is really thinking and saying. The earlier scene is a place where Kearns and the cast didn't seem shackled by trying to Teach A Lesson, and it is lovely to see.
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Bloody Lies
reviewed by Pete Boisvert
Absurd humor is very tricky to pull off on stage. There's a constant danger of losing the coherency of the play to its own silliness. Unfortunately, Greg Machlin's Bloody Lies, playing at the Midtown International Theatre Festival, falls into this trap again and again.
Clem Vanrick and his mother Elsie live together in remote Bareneck, Maine. As the play opens, they are six months behind on their rent and are facing eviction from Landlady Doris, who wants to convert their home into a lesbian porn factory. Elsie reveals to her son that he is a descendant of the VonRichtenstein family in Rachvorgia, a small remote country in Eastern Europe. With his faithful sidekick and best friend Barney in tow, Clem sets off to visit the VonRichtensteins where he'll be able to claim his share of the family fortune and save himself and his mother from eviction.
When Clem and Barney arrive in Rachvorgia, we discover that Count VonRichtenstein VII, his daughter, and pretty much everyone else in the country are vampires. In fact, as the human population has been reduced to almost zero, the vampire clan is rapidly running out of food. The Count concocts a plan to use Clem's aid in relocating to America in order to find more food for his brood. Clem gamely signs up for the Count's plan, oblivious to the monsters around him, but his attentions are held rapt by the Count's daughter, the beautiful, mysterious, and ultimately undead Nina.
Samantha Schectman's production is sparse. The set consists almost solely of rehearsal cubes, configured and reconfigured around the space to create Clem's house, the Count's castle and various other locales. This could have been a strong asset; the stripped-down look of the play allows the audience to bounce from one scene to the next with a minimum of interruption. Unfortunately, Schectman's staging is clumsy and her grasp of the play's throughline seems shaky.
The cast throw themselves into their roles with abandon. Gabe Belyeu stands out as Renfield, flitting about the stage in an unsecured straight-jacket and stealing scene after scene. Thomas Lash and Elaine Matthews deliver solid, exciting performances as Count VonRichtenstein and his daughter Nina. Sadly, the human characters don't fare as well. Michael Buckley's Clem and Antonia Marrero's Elsie come off as flat, two-dimensional characters, and Marlene Morreis's Buffy/Lara Croft-inspired Vampire Hunter lurking around the corners of the play never feels fully realized.
Bloody Lies embraces absurdity at every moment. At times this serves the production well, landing individual moments of hilarity. Too often though the play resorts to silliness for its own sake, sacrificing story, plot, and character for the quick laugh. The play aspires to be a synthesis of Dracula and Monty Python, but it never achieves the gothic horror of the former, nor the clever wit of the latter. I wanted to like this production, but in the end it comes off as incoherent, with the performers apparently having a better time than the audience.
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As Long a Time as a Long Time is in Long Time Land
reviewed by Kat Chamberlain
Can time destroy memory? Or ease the pain that comes with memory? Can you hold on to memory if that is all you have?
I have more questions than answers after seeing As Long a Time as a Long Time is in Long Time Land by Todd Pate, and that is definitely a good thing. A heart-pounding interrogation of our relationship with memory, the answers the show provides are meant for you to probe even deeper. I would be hard-pressed to think of too many plays tempting intellectual exercise with such gripping tension.
We see a lone haggard old man in a dark cell attending to his routine—putting on clothes and walking around, seemingly without any real purpose. A door opens and a young man is thrown in. Disoriented and scared, the new prisoner demands to know why he is brought here, who the old man is, and how long the other man has been locked up in here.
"As long a time as a long time is in longtimeland..." The old man sing-songs.
"What is that supposed to mean?" The young man is not amused.
"I think it means...we have always been here? Or...something eternal..."
Time passes and the examination of memory is brought into ever shaper focus. The young prisoner tries all he can to figure out how he may regain freedom, but to his shock he cannot recall how he ended up here in the first place, or even some of the most crucial information. "What do you love more than anything in your world?" The old man asks him. "My family!" He proudly replies. "What are their names?" The old man inquires further. But for the life of him the young man cannot supply an answer, and is stricken by a horrible pain—emotionally and physically.
It's fascinating to watch these two men closing in on each other and themselves for the key to their freedom, here a metaphor for more than just getting out of a prison. The ending provides quite an absorbing twist as well. Pate's prose and dialogue is by turns hauntingly beautiful and brutally searing. There are two transitions I felt might be a little too abrupt: when the young man first gets lured into the philosophical discussion, and later, when the old man is pushed to admit certain truth about himself. I'd love to see more back story and action that might give this exploration of the mind more body. The questions posed are so deep that something real and tangible for us to attach them to would be greatly helpful.
But I love the sound, look, and feel of the play. An eerie dribble serves as the inexorable keeper of time. Michael Rushton's young prisoner is earnest and effective. However, the script demands more from Christopher Hurt's old prisoner, and he is truly something to behold. His eyes seem to impart a message as ancient as time itself. Director Barbara Suter fully utilizes the space (at one point the old prisoner almost landed on me, my seat being in the first row) to give this conversation a very visual impact.
So can we willingly forgo or retain memory? I want the running time to be twice as long for me to ruminate more on this eternal question.
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Papa's Will
reviewed by Dianna Tucker Baritot
Papa's Will is a play about a 25-year old man-child coming to terms with the death of his grandfather and the departure of his mother. It's a tender and introspective treatment of depression, loss, career, and friendship. The story centers around a budding writer named Will, his best friend Carl, his father, his deceased grandfather Papa Gene, and a triangulated love interest, Madison.
The five actors (respectively, Marshall Sharer, Brett Friedmann, Stu Richel, Sam Antar, and Kat Lower) give genuine, thoughtful performances, but seemed under-rehearsed during some of the rapid dialogue. The author has written scenes involving interrupted lines and cut-off sentences, which, in this particular performance, seem to have some unintended space between them.
The attention to technical details in this production is uneven. The production crew went to the trouble of ensuring a new outfit for each actor in each scene, even going so far as to provide bowling shoes for a date at the lanes, but when a ball is bowled (indicated by the bowler walking offstage, pausing, and then walking back on), it's done in complete silence. Is there no sound system? Actors sometimes find themselves delivering lines in pockets of darkness, walking in and out of the stage light. And I wish that Rob Egginton, the playwright/director, could have found a way to write and stage the play without a blackout after each two-minute scene, adding what must have been ten minutes to the production, and interrupting the flow of what might have been, under different circumstances, a smoothly told story (and also proving, due to scene change music, that the theater DOES have a sound system.)
While Will, the play's anti-hero, makes an interesting journey through his darkness with the help of his ghostly grandfather, the rest of the characters experience very little development. There are several instances of betrayal, jealousy, and competition (which is as much as I can divulge without risking a spoiler) that seem to evoke only the minutest of reactions from the characters being betrayed or disappointed: no one seems to insist on retribution for transgressions against them or to pay any real consequences for their own. I was also curious to know how any one makes their living; not one person mentions having a paying job. These are the little holes left in the story: Egginton appears to be "a sucker for the written word," as Will says he is, and I'd be interested to see what he'll bring to the stage in the future, but I'd like to see a more fleshed out work with a little more substance. Time spent workshopping and developing this particular script might help to bring out a more compelling tale.
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The Cholmondeley Chronicles
reviewed by Shelley Molad
28 and never been kissed, Cholmondeley is a lonely, overweight, hopeless romantic who reads Cosmo articles for advice on how to seek out true love. Intent on his quest and Puritan beliefs, Cholmondeley is a complete foil to his sidekick Frankie who can't seem to get his mind off women. When Frankie receives a letter from a secret society inviting him to Paris, he dumps his psychotic pyromaniac girlfriend Sandi for the chance to score a French girl. Meanwhile, Sandi plots her vengeance and follows the duo to Paris.
Blessed with a bold cast who are not afraid to take risks and one crazy plot line, Michael Rudez's action-packed The Cholmondeley Chronicles is sure to make you think twice about the conventions of theatre. This brave cast proves that not all actors need stunt doubles. Whether it is a result of stage combat expertise or superb directing by Michael Roderick, some of these wild moves are sure to impress.
Playing Cholmondeley, Kenn Mann is refreshing and charismatic as the atypical leading man. We empathize with him from the start, and we root for him throughout his journey. An unusual female villain, Daphnie Yang is neurotic and tantalizing as Frankie's crazy ex-girlfriend Sandi. Frankie's new French fling, Marie, played by the voluptuous Elizabeth Owens, is eye candy on stage with her dove-colored dress, red pumps, and wavy, dark hair. Denise Maroney's costume selection is well-suited; it is no wonder Cholmondeley falls in love with Marie at first sight.
At first The Cholmondeley Chronicles brings to mind one of Hollywood's popular teen movies. With Frankie's crass jokes and unflinching occupation with women, it may be no accident that actor Michael Mraz bears a striking resemblance to actor Sean William Scott, who played the notorious Steve Stiffler in American Pie. Imbued with loud statements, the show continues to mock pop culture and other big budget Hollywood films such as Star Wars and Titanic.
With its pop culture references and offbeat humor, The Cholmondeley Chronicles at times feels like it relies more on the humor of its social commentary than on the actual storyline. The concocted plot is tricky to follow at times. Every so often Cholmondeley's father Hector appears on the scene with advice. Though it isn't clear from the start that he is a figment of Cholmondeley's imagination, perhaps his random appearance with a suitcase and outdated top hat are meant to give it away.
The Cholmondeley Chronicles is a roller coaster that gets loopier along the way. As an audience, you must suspend your belief and trust that the story is going somewhere despite its wacky moments. Once you've made it through the ride, Cholmondeley's final monologue seems to genuinely affirm and justify his reasons (and ours) for experiencing the mayhem of his journey.
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The Hand and The Hen
reviewed by Lyssa Mandel
I never imagined that one day I'd be thankful for the volatile governments of South America. Then lo and behold, Chilean playwright Fernando Josseau appears at the Midtown International Theatre Festival, bringing to light his mistrust of political authority in two subtle, delightfully spiteful fables. Even as this woken'glacier production of Josseau's eerie two-playlet piece The Hand and The Hen does it only fleeting justice, the script shines with the bizarreness, witty precision, and political underpinnings to keep us listening.
We are welcomed to the world of Cipresses Street, a sort of single-room Bermuda Triangle, with several moments of complete darkness accompanied by superbly moody (though often rather loud) original music by Spiros Exaras. The suspenseful composition, a throwback to the days of Joe Friday, sets the tone for an interrogation. The Hand takes us into the apartment of Mr. Qu, a man whose hand has been mysteriously thieved when he stretched it out the window to check for rain. As he rocks and trembles in his armchair, given palpable panic and obvious mental deterioration by Jeffery Steven Allen, the Inspector, played with slyness and a permanent smirk by Paul Daily, circles the room in an attempt to break the case. As absurdity mounts, faintly reminiscent of Ionesco, the Inspector comes up with the idea that it is Qu's own fault that his hand was stolen. In a glimpse of just what Josseau is after, the victim is blamed and the authority can abandon its duties with impunity. Gruesomeness ensues.
It is a shame that Josseau's lovely dialogue often flies back and forth so quickly as to lose the dramatic weight and control necessary to infuse every line with meaning and deliver each joke to its full potential. This is especially true of The Hen, a second piece in which an emotionally absent husband is oblivious to the rape of his wife by a slimy but intellectually superior professor and neighbor. Allen and Daily do double duty as the husband—simply "Him"—and Professor Lamertier, respectively. Coco Silvera—"Her"—plays the wronged wife. Though the text is brimming with delicious, underhanded references to philosophers and Christianity and jabs at the disappointing nature of Authority, the execution falls flat. When "He" re-enters the room to find "Her" disheveled in the armchair, Silvera says quite simply, "He has raped me," as if commenting on the weather. I was jumping out of my skin throughout most of this second playlet, desperate for the stakes to be raised to the level of the script. The rape scene itself lacks the fervor of a rape!, I crowed silently, and the husband's descent into his title role as a "chicken" could be so much more pitiful! Josseau's plays call for shock value, nuance, and very careful treatment of each word, all of which I desperately craved throughout the performance.
Director Oscar A. Mendoza deserves credit for his innovative double use of the tiny "living room" space for both plays, surrounded on all four sides by white wooden arches of varying heights serving as symbolic doorframes or windows. It is clear that Mendoza recognizes the genre implicit in Josseau's unnerving scenes of questionable morals, but he stops several steps short of the walloping blow this intricate script has in its power to give.
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All the King's Women
reviewed by Nancy Kim
In All The King's Women, a series of scenes and monologues performed by a strong cast of four actors guide the audience through a period in American history when Elvis Presley was king. Although the icon never makes an appearance or engages with any of the characters in the scenes, he is referred to throughout the evening's presentation. However, the point is perhaps not so much about Elvis per se, but instead these scenes reveal snapshots of an American culture, people, and place.
Playwright Luigi Jannuzzi mines inspiration from actual events in Elvis's life as well as imagined situations involving characters, mostly women, reacting to the King. In a nearly chronological order, the stand-alone scenes take place between the 1940s and the present day. Each scene is listed in the program with a date and location, driving home the point that these characters and situations are best understood within the context of their period.
In the scene "The Censor & the King," three characters negotiate the rules of Elvis's television appearance in response to the now quaint censorship code of the 1950s. Also inspired by actual events, there is a nicely played scene of three excited White House telephone operators describing Elvis's bizarre visit to meet President Nixon in the early 1970s. The three interspersed monologues also follow a nice arc of characters who witness Elvis from childhood through the end of his career. Transitions between scenes are not, as one would assume, with Elvis's music, but anchored by recorded radio addresses that reinforce the appropriate historical flavor of the current events of the times.
Jannuzzi has a good ear for the periods and for his characters allowing his actors to show range. And while Jannuzzi capably uses Elvis as the historical frame for giving us these snapshots in American life, the current presentation as a whole still feels like it needs that extra step to tie it all together. Also, with the title All The King's Women, the female characters are mostly just reacting to Elvis's presence or are driven to act because of a situation he created. I would have liked to see more investigation or illumination as to why these female characters specifically were so drawn to Elvis Presley and what that might say in relation to women's roles during the periods that Jannuzzi sets up.
As a production, director Branan Whitehead gives room for his actors to shine in the intimate Where Eagles Dare venue. And actors Jessica Asch, Rebecca Bateman, Alisha Campbell, and Craig Clary deliver confidently.
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