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Patriot Acts
reviewed by Fred Backus
Nearly six years after the Patriot Act was first pushed into law by large margins of both houses of Congress, Emerge Theater Company from New Brunswick, New Jersey brings us Patriot Acts, a play that is part farce, part satire, and part detective story, but which manages to fall flat in almost every way.
Act One introduces us to two bumbling and incompetent FBI agents named Stan and Oliver who are trying to fill their quotas of arrests under the Patriot Act after being berated by their chief in the bureau—an agent whose speech patterns and Texan drawl sound suspiciously like our current president's. To fill this quota, the pair drags in a number of dubious candidates for prosecution, including a British journalist of Saudi Arabian descent, a Muslim cell phone vendor, a stripper who fulfills her artistic aspirations by painting national landmarks, and a high school teacher who took too many pictures on a class trip to the Empire State Building.
An announcement after the first act indicates that all of these vignettes are based on real cases involving investigations under the Patriot Act (though to what extent is unclear), and the piece would seem to be set up as a biting satire about the dangers to civil liberties that the Patriot Act poses. Unfortunately, Patriot Acts lacks the requisite teeth, and its erratic jabs—which are largely delivered by unbelievable characters at improbable times in brief polemics by those being detained—amount to a series of potshots that are not convincingly argued or tied together into any sort of cogent critique.
But it is in the second act where Patriot Acts gets completely unhinged, veering off into an unpredictable—and entirely inexplicable—direction. Shifting gears completely, the second act begins with federal agents knocking at the door of two unsuspecting college students, and it then unfolds into a bizarre and juvenile mystery involving a spiteful ex-boyfriend and a high stakes professional poker game that is clumsily contrived and poorly executed—including an utterly needless film segment. Notwithstanding a random and mystifying revelation at the end of the play that superficially ties the two acts together, how this story has any real bearing on the Patriot Act—or where playwright Marshall Jones III is going with all of this—is lost on me.
What is also lost on me is the humor—virtually every joke in Patriot Acts lands with a thud. Often it's hard to tell where the joke begins or where the punchline is supposed to be. With the more painful moments one knows exactly where the joke is trying to go, and it becomes akin to watching a would-be turn-of-the-century aviator attach wings to his bicycle and pedal off a bridge. Director Rico Rosetti can't be expected to make this contraption fly, but he still manages to make matters worse by pedaling this bicycle at half speed, and the show comes to many long and grinding halts as actors drag large—and largely unnecessary - pieces of furniture onto the stage during the show's too-frequent scene changes, at one point driving two audience members out of their seats to avoid getting hit by a bed.
Patriot Acts does provide some cautionary warnings as to the ease and scope with which the government can detain foreign residents and American citizens alike, but falls far short of offering any sort of insight. The large cast of Patriot Acts navigates through this material with varying degrees of success, though it would be difficult to hold any actor accountable for getting lost in this mess. Paul O'Connor perhaps manages the best in his three roles, miraculously creating three sharp and memorable performances. I hope to see him—and the rest of the cast—in other things in the future.
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Love and Israel
reviewed by Melanie N. Lee
Love and Israel: Collected Stories of an Enduring Romance is a sweet travelogue exploring impressions of love for Israel from American Jews, Israeli Americans, and American Israelis. A company of four women and three men presents 12 monologues about the troubled yet passionate relationship between person and country.
The play begins as a voiceover treats the audience like passengers on El Al about to land in Tel Aviv. A slender young woman with bobbed blonde hair (Sissy Block, also co-producer) appears on the bare stage, accompanied by "(I've Had) The Time of My Life" in the background, and tells in rapid-fire delivery how she and Israel fell in love: "I was 16; Israel was 38." Another woman (Iuliana Gedo), intimidated into picky eating by the American obsession with thinness, tells how she lets loose in Israel, gorging on hummus and other ethnic goodies. "(Israeli) bagels are not as good as the bagels I don't eat in New York," she says, adding, "I'm hungry for a place where there's something more important than how I look." A third woman (Mindy Raf) writes a letter telling Birthright how one of its agents, whom she discreetly calls "Really Common Jewish Name", seduced her with "a milk and honey body wash" and other amorous delights just to sign her up for a Birthright pilgrimage. (This monologue is preceded by a disclaimer.)
Women's voices seem to dominate, yet the men get their say, too. A Chicagoan (Paul Weissman), marveling that he is "Joe" in America and "Yossi" in Israel, tells of his dual-citizenship life with his father, which includes Ben Gurion and Meir at his bar mitzvah, and the unexpected killing of an old friend. A New Yorker (Nathan Brisby), a "reserve soldier" in the Israeli army, proud to be "part of a team of Jewish super heroes," agonizes over watching the Gulf War on CNN from the safety of his bed while his unit fights half a world away. The play comes closest to dialogue when, amazingly, the blond, burly Brisby portrays Palestinian diplomat Saeb Erekat as his car is stopped by an Israeli checkpoint guard (Weissman).
My favorite performer of the group, Jordana Oberman, plump with curly brown hair, portrays in one monologue an Israeli reporter who witnessed the bombing in Kenya ("How traumatized our nation must be!"). In her second monologue, after jumping up from a circle of listeners and dancing while a folk guitarist (Avi Reinharz) sings "San Francisco on the Water" in Hebrew, she conveys her joy in music ("I hear a Hebrew song and Israel is where I want to be"), even as she tells how the words of a peace song, "Shir Lashalom," were found in the pocket of the slain Prime Minister Rabin—"shot by a Jew at a peace rally!" Oberman is attractive, animated, and compelling.
Directed by co-producer Ilana Lipski, performed in a black space with folding chairs and black boxes, Love and Israel proves entertaining and informative, as the monologues, written by various writers, cover patriotism, relationships, culture, and war. I didn't find this work as gut-wrenching as I thought it should be, even as the characters talk about the violent deaths of friends. Maybe the characters, or the director, are too caught up in their romance with Israel to convey the depths of the dark side of this love. Still, I recommend Love and Israel as a worthy time at the theatre.
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A Line in the Sand
reviewed by Kimberly Wadsworth
Nine years ago, after hearing about the Columbine school shootings, playwright Adina Taubman was moved to do something for the community affected; so she flew to Littleton, Colorado to talk to the survivors, parents of the victims, and anyone who was willing, or needed, to talk. Her one-woman show A Line In The Sand is the result of her seven visits to Littleton and the conversations she had; for just over an hour, Taubman plays more than a dozen different parts, each someone she spoke to in Littleton.
The piece itself covers mostly familiar ground. We've heard from several of these people before—the parents of victims, including those of Isaiah Shoels, the only black victim, and Lance Kirklin, one of the survivors; we've heard the tales of the "Trenchcoat Mafia"; we've heard the theories that bullying or inattentive parents or gun laws led to the tragedy; we've heard complaints about the media's approach to the disaster and the controversy about whether Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold were troubled kids or evil ones.
But Taubman also brings us some surprises, and some striking details. One survivor reports that in the midst of the attack she was inexplicably worried about swallowing her chewing gum. Another survivor speaks out in favor of the Second Amendment. We hear one student complain about a question she got from a self-involved television anchorman during Columbine's memorial, and we hear a pawn shop owner relate a chilling tale of an encounter he had with the mother of one of the survivors who'd decided she'd simply had enough grief. We also hear one student tell a story from the Columbine School prom, shortly before the incident, when she and her friends all danced together—and among the dancers were her friend Dylan Klebold, and also there was her other friend Rachel Scott, one of those whom Dylan shot and killed days later.
We also hear from Scott and Klebold themselves. Throughout the show, director Padraic Lillis uses pre-recorded audio and slides, projected on a "banner" onstage, to give Taubman a bit of a break and to let us see photos of the victims. We also get to see more into the minds of the two, from journal entries kept by Harris and Klebold (read by Michael Hauschild and Michael Callahan), as well as hearing the journal entries of Rachel Scott (read by actress Olivea Wooden Virta).
The piece is still largely Taubman's performance. While at times, I felt one or two of her "characters" to be relying more on caricature than performance, others were especially affecting; particularly Devan, the girl who'd befriended both Klebold and Scott, and who at one point in the play discusses how she had been invited to both of their funerals. It's a decision no teenager should have to make, and yet, in Taubman's performance you see exactly how a teenager would behave when explaining what it was like.
The biggest danger Taubman faces with the material is its very familiarity—throughout most of the play, some audience members could wonder why we are looking so extensively at a nine-year-old incident. But a coda to the piece deftly responds to any such complaints—one last slide, showing a list of all the school shootings that have happened since Columbine, culminating with the Virginia Tech shootings this year. We may have heard Taubman's work before, but she implies that the dangers of not continuing to talk anyway might be too great.
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Stuck
reviewed by Robert Attenweiler
Rural America, the subject of Jessica Goldberg's play Stuck, is a funny devil. We hear about its power to suck the soul from those of its people cursed with enough self-awareness to realize that they should escape (inevitably to the culture and opportunity of the big city) but without the hope or means to think such an escape possible. Enough of us have stared this kind of thing in the eyes to have a good amount of sympathy for this show, currently being presented by Small Pond Entertainment as part of the Midtown International Theatre Festival.
The premise of the play is simple enough: two girls, best friends since high school, dream of escaping the drudgery of their lives and, in doing so, avoiding the fate of becoming stuck. Lula (Hana Mori Taylor) and Margaritah (Amy Lerner) work together at the local video store, get drunk at the local junkyard, and pass the time by playing games, telling stories, and listing reasons not to "end it all." Lula is held down by the dependecy of her alcoholic mother (Deborah Ramirez), while Margaritah busts at the seams of a loveless marriage that has left her with an infant daughter, who she carts around with her wherever she goes. Both girls enter into love affairs that stoke the urge in them to get out. Lula sleeps with Charlie (Tim Meinelschmidt), the father of one of her high school friends, while Margaritah begins a whirlwind romance with George (David Asavanond), a rich Argentinean whose father is linked to atrocities in his home country. Does it sound like all of this will turn out well?
Of course, it doesn't. Because that is Goldberg's point. In the world of this play it is impossible to have anything good in small town America. Even the closest friendships can be poisoned. The only safety exists somewhere else.
This production gives some very nice moments, but is not without problems. For a show about two girls trying to escape, I was more drawn to the older characters who were already stuck. That is, in part, because of the thoroughly engaging performances by Ramirez and Meinelschmidt. The two performances could not be more different, but both give solid homes to the sense of dread that the girls fear. Ramirez's Mom is deliciously larger-than-life, the picture of a sad clown with her recklessly applied then neglected make-up. The most resonant scene of the play comes near the beginning with Mom shouting over a flustered Lula to be quiet so Mom can watch the television. Meinelschmidt exudes a charm that perfectly fits a man who once got out of town but now finds himself back there for good. Both actors are perfect foils to Taylor who does her best work in the scenes with them.
Daniel Waldron's directing is clear and allows the tiny stage to work for him, keeping the action tight and claustrophobic. And Nathan V. Kotch's set design is well-realized simplicity. Overall, given the limitations of a festival production, the cast and crew do admirable work. But, as we heard Tom Waits music between every scene, it clarified something for me: Tom Waits is the songwriter of the adults in this play. The girls' story is sung by Bon Jovi.
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The Broken Jump
reviewed by Robert Weinstein
Baby Hippopotamus Productions' The Broken Jump takes place during the Influenza Epidemic of 1918 and tells the story of Julius McGowen, a wise-cracking, small time comic who has worked 20 years to realize his dream of hitting the big time. It begins with Julian and his partner, Milton Kean, arriving at a theatre in Grand Rapids, Michigan to find that their headlining status has been taken over by a 12-year old singing sensation named Christina Bell. To add to this slight, Christina is accompanied by her mother, Natalie, who Julius walked out on 13 years earlier to pursue his career. The child is not his but the sight of Natalie throws him for a loop: he still carries feelings for Natalie and her appearance acts as a reminder of what his life has not become.
The theatre is run by an ex-boxer named Jack Ruby and Jack has some problems of his own. A silver-haired, smooth-talking senator named Irving Drew is waging a crusade against the declining moral climate in the midst of the epidemic and targets the theatre's employment of the underage Christina as an example of this decline. Ruby's life, it seems, consists of fending off Senator Drew threats, paying health-related fines to an attorney named Mr. Klein, or patiently humoring a boisterous comic named Desmond Donegal, who spends all of his offstage time in Ruby's office, pushing at the bounds of his sanity. All this would seem to lie outside the sphere of Julius's responsibility but when tragedy strikes within the theatre, he is forced to take charge of the colliding events and, unexpectedly, an honest look at his life.
The Broken Jump lacks strong narrative cohesion. The sum of its parts don't come together in a way that allows the actions to build momentum and the characters to blossom, but the play is definitely worth looking at for the parts making up its sum. King Talent's script is especially effective at evoking the energy, atmosphere, and sheer tediousness of lives lived on the road. He is especially attuned to the dynamics of relationships forged between colleagues and competitors who are reconciling the pursuit of their dreams with the fear and disappointments which the chase has dealt them.
Director J.B. Lawrence also stages some wonderful vaudeville routines utilizing the smooth talents of his cast. King Talent as Julius McGowen and Tony King as Milton Kean successfully convey the impression that they've been working together for years. Caitlin Mehner proves her versatility by taking on the lead and the straight man in two very different sketches. Tony King also has some solo bits which capture the manic intensity of his character's desires. And don't venture too far from the lobby during the intermission: Jack Boice as Desmond Donegal belts out a tune that is sure to leave you laughing and happy.
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The Conjugality Test
reviewed by Michael Criscuolo
Michael Lazan's new drama, The Conjugality Test, is getting a strong production at this year's Midtown International Theatre Festival. Under David Gautschy's solid direction, and led by an all-around solid cast, this story of an Upper West Side family torn asunder by deceit and doubt is sure to be one of the festival's highlights.
David, a 50-year-old insurance man, is approached in a bar by Bernice, a significantly younger African American woman. At first, David is skeptical about her attempted pickup, thinking that maybe he's being punk'd, so to speak. It turns out Bernice has, indeed, been hired by an anonymous client to test David's fidelity. When he returns home later, David sets out to discover who tried to trap him: Debs, his longtime partner of almost 30 years; Baba, their morose 16-year-old Goth daughter; or Louis, David's father, who lives with them.
The Conjugality Test's inciting incident gives way to deeper thoughts as Lazan uses it to examine the strength (and practicality) of long-term romantic bonds, and humanity's desire for change and connection. David and Debs never formally married because of their mutual belief that "no one loves their spouse forever," so they opted not to put that pressure on their union. But, as David delves deeper into his investigation, he and Debs both wonder if their life together couldn't use a good shaking up.
Lazan also uses recurring motifs of leaving home and technology to great effect: everyone one pines to go somewhere else, either figuratively or literally; and there isn't a scene where someone isn't messing with a laptop, Blackberry, remote control, or some other device while trying to connect with (or disconnect from) someone else.
As for Bernice, she makes another few appearances, and everyone eventually finds out who hired her. But, I'll leave it for audiences to find out more about that on their own.
Gautschy guides The Conjugality Test with a confident hand, letting the script's inherent themes emerge on their own without spelling them out for the audience. Greg Thornton and Jacqueline Sydney are convincing as David and Debs, respectively. One easily believes they've been a couple for most of their lives. Shaun Bennet Wilson is alluring and sensual as Bernice. But, it's Warren Katz and Amanda Sayle who steal the show as Louis and Baba, respectively. Sayle makes mopey angst funnier than it ought to be. Katz's salty sense of humor serves Louis well, and is also a strong counterpoint to a particularly touching eleventh-hour proposition Louis lays on Baba late in the play.
Lazan could stand to tighten up his play in certain places—e.g., David figuring out he's being set up is a little too pat and convenient—but those pesky contrivances give way to some very interesting stuff later on. The Conjugality Test is a sincere and thought-provoking look at a family on the verge of deciding whether or not to stay with the comfort and safety of what they have or risk it all for something new (and potentially better). This production is an all-around strong outing for a group of artists I look forward to seeing more from in the future.
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To the Contrary
reviewed by James Comtois
To The Contrary, a play written by veteran stage manager Craig Jacobs and directed by James Valletti, has its heart on its sleeve and clearly loves its characters, but tells a story that's neither particularly new nor remarkable.
Bernie, a New York City photographer who shoots headshots for actors and pictures for models, has built up some serious walls around her heart. Yes, the metaphorical ones. It's a shame she receives some devastating news once she finally tears them down. Or then again, maybe it's perfect timing.
The play centers around Bernie; Michael, a very shy aspiring actor/model and one of Bernie's subjects; and Lesslie, a "60 years young" soap star and Bernie's best friend. One day, Bernie ends up falling for Michael, and falling hard. Since developing and acting on feelings is something Bernie absolutely does not do, she starts to become unreasonably paranoid that Michael may be manipulating her emotions to get superior photo work from her. Lesslie, who has a habit of trying to set Bernie up with young beefcakes du jour, does what she can to tell Bernie to get a grip on her proverbial horses and not be an idiot for letting a good thing slip away (she thinks he not only seems like a very nice guy, but man, what a hunk).
To prove to Bernie that he's serious about entering a committed relationship with her and not interested in merely "fooling around," Michael suggests they get tested together.
On the one hand, the acting and directing is uniformly good. All five actors in the cast are very talented, very likeable performers and Valletti's direction seamlessly blends meat-and-potatoes realism with scenes where characters break the fourth wall and have imaginary conversations with dead people. Also, the compassion and honesty displayed in To The Contrary is very admirable.
On the other, Jacobs's script doesn't exactly tread into original—or even that interesting—territory. It has a little more meat and character development than an "AIDS: It Could Happen To You" PSA, but not much more.
Laura Jordan is engaging and thoroughly believable as the neurotic Bernie, simultaneously evoking sympathy and frustration within the audience. Also, Jim Weitzer is charismatic as Michael, and Diane J. Findlay is just straight-up hilarious as Lesslie. Additionally, Todd Detwiler has an amusing cameo as an aggressively macho male model eager to show Bernie the proverbial "goods," and James Mills delivers a posthumous monologue as a young gay man who died of AIDS that Bernie admired in her youth from afar (and one of the reasons why she ended up not only loving to photograph men, but also wants little more to do with them aside from that) with a great deal of warmth and even whimsy.
At the end of the day, To The Contrary has a sweet and touching message: in times of crisis, it's important to open yourself emotionally to those who love you. However, it's one that's been told many times before.
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WEBEIME
reviewed by Kat Chamberlain
Poetry in motion. Story with music. Show and Tell in high style. All of above describe WEBEIME, yet none captures the entire experience. You simply have to see it to get it.
The story and spirit of the play itself are not complicated, just not easy to take for the sheer misery of it. It's about a death row inmate recalling his short and violent life, how the harrowing abuse at home has trapped him in a nightmare he cannot get free from. However, the forms this story takes are so intricate and free-flowing that even at its harshest—like the abuse scenes—I couldn't take my eyes off the stage.
"Stop! Don't blink. Look at his pain." One man says.
And that's just one of them. A total of seven men, sometimes as a group, tell the young convict's story while he sits alone at the back writing away in a little notebook. These men sing, dance, act, and give monologues, mostly in the first person. The transition from one narrative to another is seamless, often as a flashback from a particular memory—or a reflection on a memory.
It is one heartbreaking story shared by too many, which is why the joint storytelling is so compelling. Is it one man's life through different emotional lenses? Or is it a composite tale of many men's collective hardship, indeed the story of an entire group of people?
"Black men. We be who I be. That's me. Can't you see?"
Hence the title makes perfect sense, and makes its own poetry.
What drew me in most is how the inner torments are projected with incredibly vivid movements, in a multi-faceted fashion. The entire show is a layered labyrinth, with the despair running deep.
"If there is ever God, I need you now. Just please, talk to me..." One of the men prays, and then laughs."...Right." The others laugh too, "Right! Right!"
A sweet and all too brief encounter with a girl the inmate has a crush on in school, and some lighter parts of his life, are joyous, showing the innocent, childlike side of him. I almost wanted to sing and dance along with them, but the heartaches are always there, lurking behind the beautiful smiles.
There are a couple of things about the production that I question. One is the repetitive depictions of some of the scenes, using different styles and devices. I can take them as recurring memories, or an attempt to individualize the experience for each man, but it gives the sense of circling the same idea rather than expanding or deepening that idea.
The other is that when the reason for the young man's incarceration—indeed pending execution—is revealed, it is almost as a passing allusion, without much explanation. I wanted to know more about that crucial juncture that was bringing about his end.
I'd also love to see WEBEIME on a bigger stage. The theatre I was in is better suited for a smaller cast, though that did make the eight actors that much more impressive for delivering such a physical piece. Each man has his own distinct flair and temperament, and together they give the story divergent flavors. When they work as a group, they are a force of nature. Writer-director-choreographer Layon Gray deserves kudos for making the familiar new and shocking again. There were tears on and off the stage. When the young man as a child begged his father, "80 seconds of your time is all I ask," tears came to my eyes too.
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Cat-her-in-e
reviewed by Shelley Molad
Cat-her-in-e is a one-woman show written and performed by Amy Staats. An imaginative coming-of-age story, Cat-her-in-e is based on memories taken from Staats's childhood visits with her older, troubled cousin Catherine.
Like many memory plays, the narrative begins in the present day and follows with a stream of flashbacks; we watch Amy grow: timid at four, precocious at eight, free-spirited at 20, and apprehensively reflecting on her life at present. But the central focus of this play is not Amy, it is her cousin Catherine, as seen through Amy's perspective.
12 years old and flipping through Seventeen magazine, Catherine appears to be intimidating, self-assured, and rebellious. Amy is instantly drawn to her cousin the first time they meet and incites her to play. They engage in games that both excite and frighten Amy. Staats's portrayal of cousin Catherine as a make-believe evil nanny is humorous and at times shockingly funny.
The story takes place in Shelby, North Carolina and Charleston, South Carolina, and so the characters conceived for this piece may seem out of place in New York City. Playing herself, her cousins, her father, and her aunt (to name a few), Staats does a remarkable job creating a backdrop for her scenes. She inhabits each character from within, adapting to his or her physicality, voice, expression, and movement. By attaching identifiable traits to each character, Staats makes it easy for the audience to follow her rapid transitions. The transitions are so fluid there are moments that come as a complete surprise, and both we and the actor are lucky to experience them.
But when Staats portrays herself at the age of 20, the line between character and narrator becomes muddled. In order to differentiate between herself as a character and herself as narrator, it seems that she is forced to create a caricature of herself that feels distant and removed.
There comes a point in theatre where you must stop and ask yourself the following questions: What story is the actor trying to tell? Why is he or she telling this story? And what is the purpose of telling this story? Though the piece is written with the strength and clarity of a memoir, as a play Cat-her-in-e is far from cataclysmic. Rather, this is a simple story that relies on the strength of its characters.
Cat-her-in-e makes a full circle, with Staats returning to where she left off at the start—having confirmed that her perceptions of Catherine have changed, the impression and influence her cousin has had on her will nonetheless remain with her forever—a satisfying end to a seemingly aimless piece.
Perhaps we are meant to reflect on the important relationships in our own lives, and the people who have come to influence who we are. Do they know? Is it time to let them know?
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The Last One Left
reviewed by Martin Denton
The press release for Jason Pizzarello's new play The Last One Left describes it as "part John Guare, part David Lindsay-Abaire"; I'd throw a healthy dose of Chekhov into the mix of influences as well. But the play would be considerably stronger if it had its own distinct, personal voice instead. As is, The Last One Left is a bewildering and meandering comedy that unfortunately doesn't seem to have much of a point.
The title character is, I presume, Emma, a young woman who lives with her mother and uncle in some remote but unspecified American location. Also on hand is Emma's younger sister, Anna, but she's determined to get out, either by going to college or whatever other means are at hand; as portrayed by the always formidable Maria McConville she's so fierce that there's never any doubt that she'll get her way. Emma and Anna's brother Danny has already gotten out: he's in the armed forces, fighting in a war against Mexican robots. As the play begins, Danny is returning home, and he brings with him one of his buddies, a good-looking soldier named Eddie. Eddie falls in love with both Emma and Anna at first sight, and in order to woo the two very different sisters, he assumes a second identity, that of Edward, who is pretty much the same as Eddie except he has an eyepatch, walks with a cane, and professes more intellectual interests. The two women are taken in by Eddie/Edward's rather transparent plan, but eventually he's forced to choose between them.
Danny, meanwhile, is suffering from what could be paranoid delusions about the robots he's been fighting (post-traumatic stress syndrome?) and he's convinced that the family needs to flee to Canada, even though the Mexicans seem to have lost the war. The socially conscious satire that Pizzarello attempts in this section of the play sits rather uneasily with the rest of the piece, and fails to signify much that's interesting or new.
Which leaves us with Emma's struggle. The playwright has loaded her down with lots of baggage: she wants to go to New York City but is obviously ill-equipped to act on that fantasy; she feels guilt about her mother, who, we are told repeatedly, was hit on the head by a fallen aircraft part and now has lost some of her memory and her wits (an homage to Fuddy Meers?).
Sometimes the dialogue is flowery and poetic, unlike actual conversation; and other times it's highly naturalistic. I wasn't sure why the shifts occurred. I was very aware of the kinds of plays—Guarian, Chekhovian—that Pizzarello seemed to be trying to write here. But for this dysfunctional family comedy to really work, the author needs to find his own voice and, perhaps even more importantly, to clarify and focus on specifically what themes he wants to convey to his audience.
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Twist
reviewed by Kat Chamberlain
There have been many shows that I liked but might have missed if I had just gone by their titles. But once in a while a title comes along that is perfect for the show. Twist is definitely one of them.
A twist on Oliver Twist, this goth, pop-rock, queer musical, described in its press release as weaving "Victorian Erotica, dark comedy and gender-bending into Dickens's famous tale," is indeed all of these things. I am more than impressed that the show manages to create its own recipe, and that it cooks all the weird ingredients into one tempting course. It might be an acquired taste, but it goes down rather easily.
Twist is a beautiful and impressionable boy-man who is not particularly afraid of being "bound and tied." He is first orphaned, then grows up in a workhouse before being auctioned off to an undertaker. He runs away and gets grabbed by a colorful gang of street hustlers, headed by Fagin, a drag queen in some of the most stunning costumes one can find. Twist becomes really tight—pun intended—with another handsome young man who is Fagin's favorite play-thing till now, Dodger. Twist is also watched after like a little brother by a sassy prostitute named Nancy. Finally Twist is taken in by the nice Lady Downlow, and he finds a home with her and happiness with Dodger.
Twist is one otherworldly little thing. He embraces his horrid encounters and surroundings with wide eyes and a ready smile. You never get the sense that he pities himself. People are drawn to him by his combination of naughtiness and open vulnerability. But I am getting too much into the character, which is not the point of the show at all. Rather, it is to shock and have fun.
However, the show treats all things seedy and lewd with such good-natured matter-of-fact-ness, I simply couldn't help but laugh and adore. It's hard to keep a straight face when the evil headmaster of the workhouse scolds with indignation, "Supper? It's Tuesday!"
Another high point of the show is without question the tunes. The music by Paul Leschen and lyrics by Gila Sand are wacky and clever, with endless innuendos and double entendres set to catchy melodies. There are a few that are sweet and even wistful. But with titles such as "Sucker' and "Whipping," they are destined to become cult favorites.
The acting is rightfully over-the-top. Reymundo Santiago's Twist features a graceful dancer with an uncanny allure. Travis Morin's Dodger is delightfully sly—and you will love him in the end. The star is arguably Garrit Guadan's Fagin, who, like most actors in the show, plays a second role as well. He is in-your-face fabulous. But my favorite is Shoshanna Richman's Nancy, whose every gesture and glance makes a study in finesse. I could watch her forever.
This show is some wicked fun. "Please, sir, may I have some more?" young Twist repeatedly says in the show; by the closing note I would indeed enjoy another taste of this unusual treat. I think Dickens would, too.
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Transit
reviewed by Debbie Hoodiman Beaudin
It's no mystery why autobiographical works are so appealing to writers and other artists. One basic tenet of all writing is to "write about what we know," and we are instant experts on ourselves. Additionally, one basic tenet of enjoying a piece of art is that we can connect it in some way to ourselves or our experiences; thus, our own autobiography is immensely interesting!
Unfortunately, however, though the genre of autobiography is so appealing and so easy to find ourselves doing, it is immensely difficult to do well. The same life experiences and feelings that an autobiographical artist is so attached to may mean nothing to audience members if they are not invited to relate to a larger human truth in the feelings. The details of an artist's life can seem confusing to an audience member who doesn't know the artist, but seem so clear to the artist herself who naturally fills in the gaps.
The autobiographical Transit is a one-woman show in which Mary Jane Wells recounts the main events of her life from her childhood to the present day and discusses her feelings about those events. The story is roughly held together by the themes of her relationship with her mother, her search for religious or spiritual belief, her wish to be an actress, and her identity as a wife and independent person. If that list seems long, it is because Wells covers a tremendous amount of ground in this show, jumping from subject to subject.
In the program notes, Wells writes that she was inspired to write her own life story after seeing Swimming to Cambodia on television. Indeed, the format of Transit is similar to Spalding Gray's format. Wells performs her show solo, speaking directly to the audience. The set, a cushiony chair and a table holding a glass of water and a fan, clearly makes reference to Gray's famous set. I never had the fortune to see Gray perform, so I cannot say what he did that made his shows so entertaining and successful that thousands of fans wanted to hear what he had to say. I can say that I found Wells's show—at 90 minutes without intermission!—long and in need of more focus and drama.
The director, Wells's son Ben Sander, allows her to remain in her chair throughout the show without getting up or moving about—like someone talking in a living room. Though Wells seems comfortable and calm as an experienced stage actress, she could do more physically to bring her story to life.
If Wells is attached to this work, and she mentions that she feels wonderful about creating her own work to do, I would suggest making it half the length, choosing one central theme to focus on, and dramatizing the events surrounding that theme in some way.
It's clear that Wells has a lot of heart and a lot of investment in the events of this piece. With the discipline of detachment, she can make something successful out of this material!
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