FringeNYC 2005 Reviews - Page 10

Half Life
reviewed by Martin Denton

Robert Moulthrop's new play Half Life is about a middle-aged man returning home from prison after serving a two-year sentence for fondling a teenage girl. How does a convicted pedophile, after paying his so-called debt to society, re-enter ordinary life? It's a smart, provocative question; the sad (and, I suspect, accurate) answer that Moulthrop provides in this thoughtful drama is: he doesn't.

Douglas's wife Eleanor, after enduring a variety of traumas both social (jeers and insults from neighbors, etc.) and psychological (alluded to but not much explored in Moulthrop's script), welcomes her husband back with as open a heart and as brave a face as she can manage. But she's the only one. Their daughter Denise, who has gotten married and had a child during the period of Douglas's incarceration, finds herself unable to forgive her father and refuses to see or communicate with him; he eventually forces the question, with very ambiguous results. Their best friends, Bob and Phyllis, put off seeing Douglas for more than six months, and when they finally do reunite at a very strained Halloween dinner party, it's clear that neither couple can view the other in the same way as before.

As for getting a job, well, that's pretty much impossible. Bob tells Phyllis (though not Douglas) that no business in town will go near a convicted pedophile. Douglas is a teacher—indeed, the girl he molested was one of his students; obviously that profession is closed to him, despite his talent for it. So Eleanor gets him a job as a telemarketer. By play's end, there's little hope that he'll ever get a shot at anything more challenging.

The community, meanwhile, has closed in on Douglas relentlessly. He's terrorized by the prospect of leaving the house (and for good reason, as a couple of very vivid scenes confirm). His status as pariah is institutionalized, on the Internet and via signs at his home.

Half Life makes no judgments about any of this, to its great credit. Instead, it raises questions—very important ones: Is a man entitled to a second chance, even if he does something really terrible? Does the American justice system enable such a chance in this case? Are there crimes so heinous that the right to privacy must be superseded? Is it more important for society to be just or merciful?

Moulthrop's script is powerful, as much for what it withholds as for what it says. However, a recurring set of flashbacks—depicting Douglas teaching his science class, before he committed his crime (and attempting to link the play's title explicitly to the action)—is probably unnecessary and should be excised. Teresa K. Pond's staging is fine, particularly her use of three separate playing areas, which enables her to keep the action flowing continuously without having to break for scene changes. Mark Lynch does outstanding work as Douglas, really delineating the complexities of his situation and making this man—about whom the main fact we know is that he did this truly reprehensible crime—genuinely sympathetic. Lynch and Moulthrop are badly let down by the others in the cast, however, particularly Cynthia Foster, in the difficult but really pivotal role of Eleanor; she gives us little indication of the mire of confused feelings that must be afflicting this courageous, emotionally battered woman.

Half Life deserves more life, though, after FringeNYC. For making us confront the complicated grey areas of a subject that we're used to processing only in black and white, it deserves nothing but our respect and support.

Roller Skates and Mary Jane
reviewed by Laura Rohrman

Roller Skates and Mary Jane is a comedy set in the 1980s, and as such it is not without its charms. It features the requisite props of that epoch: a great soundtrack, including Cyndi Lauper and The Cure, and costumes that bring you back to the simpler times when there were only three looks: Rocker, Preppy, or Stoner.

Created by first-time playwright Caroline Liadakis, who also stars as the play’s main character, Roller Skates and Mary Jane follows a young girl named Caroline through her teenage years in Baltimore during the '80s. Retro and fun, yet almost clunky in its straightforwardness, the play has many highlights. Caroline and her buddies, played by Julia Amsterdam and Anne Teutschel, come off as an eighties version of Grease’s Pink Ladies—slutty, fierce, and often funny. A particular scene-stealer is M. Kathryn Quinlan who plays Caroline’s stuck-in-the-'70s pot-smoking, coke-snorting, older sister Colleen. She is simply hilarious.

For all the fun, the play has its share of problems. For one thing, the script has a confusing tone, which is not helped by Liadakis's use of monologues that directly address the audience every few minutes. Her “gee golly if I only knew then what I know now ” quips grow tired quickly. Better to let an audience get to know characters through their actions rather than constantly telling us how we are supposed to feel.

Despite the brilliant costumes by Liadakis, the soundtrack, and some good lines, Roller Skates and Mary Jane doesn’t quite amount to a finished play. What is obvious, however, is Liadakis’s ear for dialogue and her potential as an artist. The writing style needs polish, and characters need further development, but I feel that the play with a little re-working could become something great. For the time being, I recommend Roller Skates and Mary Jane to anyone nostalgic to relive the '80s. There are plenty of moments in here that will bring you back and will remind you of the things you loved—e.g., Madonna—and hated (Oakley sun glasses, The Gap). I kept thinking… is that black lace tee she’s wearing mine? Oh yeah, I had one just like it in 1986.

Dykapalooza
reviewed by Akia Squitieri

Dykapalooza is a work-in-progress which first opened in October 2004, in Philadelphia. In this autobiographical one-women show, Jeanie Antolini questions the roots of her sexuality and poses such questions as ”Destiny or Predisposition?”; “How do you explain a little girl’s love for Hai Karate cologne?”; and “At the moment of conception, did we have a choice?”

Antolini leads the audience through a show that is part comedy routine, part reminiscence, part lounge act and part fantasy sequence. You travel along with her through her childhood, focusing mainly on her various teacher crushes, the “light bulb” moments of realizing that she may be gay, her curiosity about the secret life of nuns (which includes a random audience lap dance), and a few folk music breaks (written and performed adequately by Ruth Wyand). As the piece progresses, however, she begins to sound more and more disappointed with what life has handed her.

There are moments where Antolini seems ashamed of her sexuality, including one point where she offhandedly mentions an apology to her sister because Dykapalooza got press in the local paper. She unfortunately never fully explores or explains this, and instead chooses to expound on some tired clichés of gay culture—the lack of fashion sense of lesbians (i.e., the mullet and flannel), and the way that your male gay best friend can make the perfect Cosmo.

Dykapalooza spends about 90% of its time on exposition and then ends rather abruptly, failing to answer or even acknowledge most of the questions our heroine posed at the start. After traveling through Antolini’s childhood in rather rich detail it was disappointing to have the story end at age 17 with Antolini never talking about her coming out, her family’s reactions, or even her first same-sex experience.

There were consistent technical sound issues throughout the performance and Antolini needlessly wears a head mic which is not necessary in such a small space. In addition, some of the recorded musical choices ("Born to be Wild," for example) feel predictable and it would be nice to hear some less obvious accompaniment.

While most of her reflections are not particularly original; Antolini has a wonderful presence and draws you in through her obvious pleasure in performing for an audience. Once Antolini stops trying to be “funny” and edgy and starts exposing the layers underneath, she creates some very witty and engaging moments.

Arias for the Mundane
reviewed by Ross Peabody

I wake up early in the morning to the sound of my coffee maker. I drink my coffee and contemplate the fact that, with so many options out there, I only drink Maxwell House. I get my mail. There are only bills. I go to work. I work. I daydream about having a different job. I leave work. I come home to set the coffee pot to wake me up in the morning. I love my coffee pot. It gives me the most pleasure in my life. I go to bed to do it all again in the morning. So simple. So mundane.

This is the content of the three arias that make up Arias For the Mundane, the diverting and whimsical new play written and performed by James Junio. On the surface, and aptly billed as a one-man mini-opera, Arias for the Mundane sounds fairly lacking. Take into account now, that these three arias (about ten minutes long, altogether) are sung completely in Italian and that James Junio has a fantastic tenor.

When a performer of the caliber of Junio takes on such mundane and potentially silly material, he does what any great performer should do. He dives in, goes all the way and never winks at the audience knowingly. Lacking in any self referential irony, the tedium of daily life set to music inspired by Mozart and Puccini takes on a particularly active malaise, and Junio milks it for all its comic potential.

The three arias are repeated a second time, only slightly altered. When the cylce begins for a third time, just when you’re prepared to jump up and scream “OKAY, I GET THE POINT,” Junio’s sad little office fellow receives an art test in the mail (remember those, with the turtle or the pirate for you to draw?) that inspires the dreamer in him, and shakes up his daily life. Suddenly making declarations in English as he imagines a glorious life as an art student, he is kept in line by his accompanist Jenny Washburn, who refuses to let him escape from the arias, the job, and the Italian. By the fourth reprise, he’s singing arias to Mr. Turtle instead of his coffeepot, and despite the blatant silliness of it, I’m laughing and rooting for the poor sap. It’s to Junio’s credit that he never lets these changes to character and story veer too far from the strict structure of the arias, and thus never allows the play to become indulgent.

Melanie T. Morgan’s tight and specific direction keeps the energy from lagging, and she always has a little gag in her pocket. The costumes and lighting, by Merideth Leigh Beckert and Erin Delaney, respectively, are pitch perfect, and the set, as defined by Morgan’s direction, takes on life in all of the locales it must portray.

I have to also give particular praise to Washburn. As an accompanist, she is fine, but as an actress, her accompanist character, with all of the attendant frills and flares of a huge opera hall, takes herself so seriously that watching her grumble, glare, and pout at her piano as her ward stops singing in Italian to go to art school and sing in English lends the final element to a thankfully short, but otherwise pleasingly satisfying little play.

Ankhst
reviewed by Kelly McAllister

Seeing Ankhst is like watching a really bad B-movie: the plot is elaborate and hard to follow, the actors are all hamming it up, and nothing works quite the way you think the writer had imagined it would. The plot is Byzantine in the extreme—a tough but discredited archeologist by the name of Alex, recovering from a recent concussion that she got at about the time that her husband died, is working on a dig somewhere in Egypt. Her boss, another lady archeologist, warns her not to go crazy again. Then a ghost, or rather Ku (which is a sort of ancient Egyptian ghost) shows up making funny noises. Soon, it turns out that the Ku is the lost soul of Akhenaton, the ancient Pharaoh who introduced the idea of monotheism, or there being only one God, to the world. The Ku shows Alex visions of his life. We see his father complain that he’s sort of a sissy. We see high priests talk about ancient Egyptian religion. We see young Akhenaton have a dream or vision (I’m not sure which) in which people from his life and a guy in some sort of cat suit dance about. And that’s just Act One. Seriously. In Act Two, most of the action takes place in Akhenaton’s time. We see his rise and fall, brought about by conniving priests and even his own brother. And, of course, at the end of the show Alex learns a valuable lesson about life.

I don’t want to single anyone out in this show, because I don’t think it would be helpful. Suffice it to say that the acting rises to the level of the writing, which is just not good. The costumes are equally so-so, as are the set and lighting. I think that if this show was done as a takeoff, like so many other FringeNYC shows, it would be hilarious. As it stands, it’s a long, strange trip with little reward at the end of the journey.

Travis Tanner
reviewed by Julie Congress

Travis Tanner is a “contemporary oratorio,” and, with nearly two straight hours of original music and a cast of 27 actors, it is an extremely ambitious and highly admirable endeavor.

To be honest, the libretto (by Melanie N. Lee) is somewhat confusing, and my companion and I had rather different takes on exactly what happened. Here’s my understanding of the story: Travis Tanner is a Dennis Miller-esque television comedian who, though once fiercely liberal in his views, has suddenly, and with little explanation, switched to the conservative end of the spectrum after being fired by HBO. This greatly distresses and baffles Leila, a liberal grad student. She becomes obsessed with Tanner, and begins writing her thesis on the puzzling media icon. The majority of the show consists of encounters (possibly imaginary) between Tanner and Leila, Tanner and the chorus, and Leila and the chorus. There’s a third character, a liberal comedian named Jim Frank (who has also been a long-time subject of Leila’s study). In a meeting with Leila, he provides some (unsatisfactory?) speculation about Tanner.

Louis Michael Sacco brings charisma, a strong voice, and just the right amount of sleaziness to Travis Tanner. Unfortunately, his costar, Lauretta, does not have sufficient power or range—either as a singer or an actress—to effectively portray the strong-willed Leila.

The chorus is refreshingly diverse in terms of race, age, and appearance, and contains some tremendous voices. Unfortunately, its large size proves to be a hindrance—when the entire cast is onstage (plus the lively four-person band) there is virtually no room left. Not only does this compromise director DJ McDonald’s attempts at choreography, but there isn’t sufficient room to differentiate one side from another when the chorus breaks itself into the Conservatives and the Liberals. Perhaps if each member of the chorus wore either a piece of blue or red clothing, the problem could be alleviated, but it still wouldn’t solve the space issue.

The music, by Robert Stephens, takes on many different forms, including rock songs, a number in the style of a Broadway musical, and a particularly rousing protest song called “Buck Fush.” Ultimately, however, the songs (other than the one song I mentioned) sound awfully similar to one another, and are rather unmemorable. The libretto, though confusing, fares better. In the second act, Leila reveals that although she is artistic and liberal in her leanings, she is also a devout Christian, and doesn’t feel as if she really belongs to either the Left or Right. This is such an incisive, thought-provoking, and long-overdue sentiment! I really wish Lee had explored this more—it is so important for us to realize that human beings are complicated, contradictory beings and cannot fit into the oversimplified labels the media spews at us. Perhaps Leila’s dilemma of not fitting neatly into a category is shared by Travis Tanner, and is the best explanation behind his switch in alliances. I’m not sure if that’s right, but it is worth exploring.

Travis Tanner may have more than its share of problems, but none of them is irreparable and the folks involved in the production seem particularly receptive to constructive criticism (you’ll find an Audience Member Response Form in the middle of the program). It’s also a show that makes you think, and any theatre that can do that (at least in my books) should be commended and supported.

Unholy Secrets of the Theremin
reviewed by Steve Chasey

The Theremin is a musical instrument consisting of two metal bars, which, as the player moves his hands in the air around them, produce eerie but seductive music. These haunting sounds feel like the background to a sci-fi movie, the kind that would escalate in volume until, in a crescendo, a previously hidden alien (for example) leaps into view. Kip Rosser and Jef Anderson’s play, Unholy Secrets of the Theremin, grabs at that insidious feeling, drawing it out and couching the drama of its inventor's life inside its wispy notes. But not to fear, Unholy Secrets of the Theremin is hardly morose: the Theremin can play the Beatles as well.

The fueling energy of this play is the dynamic between Rosser and Anderson. Anderson’s deep-throated enunciation and startling stares into the audience carefully balance Rosser’s spirited antics and snappy dance moves. The duo bounces off each other well, creating moments of pithy morals and humor. Their routine takes the audience through the life of the inventor of the Theremin, spiraling quickly through brief captures of his frenetic mindset, all strung between actual Theremin performances by Rosser. The general pacing of the show escalates in intensity, building up a fervor that accomplishes its goal, to mimic the “unholy” madness of the Theremin's creator.

Though the scenes between Rosser and Anderson do escalate with higher and higher intensity, the alternating musical interludes unfortunately break up the pace of the play. The audience’s attention to the highly intricate and esoteric plotline is broken up by long sessions of Theremin playing, which, though exciting in their own right, detract from the overall experience of the play.

Though the continuity between scenes is lacking, the spark between the two eclectic characters on stage (or three, or four, depending on how many times they are "possessed") is undeniably captivating. The duo’s direction of the show, like any good staging, is seamless and nearly invisible; the mayhem that Rosser and Anderson unleash on the stage bends and flows according to their will. It emerges much like the music of the Theremin, as an intricate, mysterious dance.

The Three of Clubs
reviewed by Sarah Congress

Juggling basketballs, knives, and super balls are all a major part of The Three of Clubs. This production is done entirely by teenage boys (around my age; I'm 14) and the trio all seem to have a great passion for juggling and the stage. They amused me with their juggling, magic tricks, and unicycle riding, but more importantly they seemed to really amuse the younger children in the crowd.

Joe Willens and Dan McMahon created The Three of Clubs after performing together in a sixth grade circus. Julien Rossant joined afterward, and they have since performed in the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, the Red Hook Performing Arts Festival, and in numerous Manhattan and Brooklyn performance spaces.

Julien Rossant has incredible skill as a juggler, and performs with such ease that it is a joy to watch him. Dan McMahon has excellent comic timing and a lot of poise. McMahon has a very flexible body, which allows him to walk on stilts, roll in a barrel, and a number of other amazing actions. I’d be very interested to see the three actors in the future, for I think that they have a lot of potential.

Throughout the performance there is a great deal of audience interaction. They ask kids to catch balls, attempt to juggle, lend a hand in magic tricks, and even pick out costumes. This proves to be an excellent idea, as it really draws the kids into the performance, and makes it a fun and interactive experience for them.

During the show, I scanned the audience and didn’t see a single child who wasn’t laughing or having a good time. The director, Gila Sand, seems to have let the actors have no boundaries as they walked in the audience, through the aisles, and jumped off enormous heights.

The one thing I did find slightly annoying was the fact that the stage manager, MiaSarah Lai, seemed to have a part in this production that was not just behind the curtain. She came on stage hurrying the actors along, and telling them that “you’re all late for your show” or “hurry up.” By doing this, I felt that some of the stage magic was lost.

The Three of Clubs is full of juggling, magic tricks, stunts, and fun. The trio of actors show a lot of skill, as well as passion for the stage. This piece is perfect for children under eight, and even the adults might sneak in a giggle.
 

Match Me
reviewed by Geeta Citygirl

Aurin Squire tackles a number of subjects in his 45-minute play Match Me. The conception of the story is credited to the two lead actors, Kerry-Jane Wilson and Niketa Calame. The story revolves around two characters, Jody and Lisa—both in different positions and yet in the same place. Each character is pushed to the edge—the line between sanity and insanity is blurred. It is a complicated matter that requires a solid play structure in order to keep the audience connected. Unfortunately the script is too vague and without the necessary definitive plot, the piece is hard to make sense of.

Earlier this year, Match Me was showcased as part of the Actors Studio Drama School’s 9th Annual Repertory Season. Under The Skin, a flexible repertory company formed in 2002 by students from the Actors Studio, presents this incarnation. I encourage the writer (who is a playwright to watch and whose works you can see at various festivals around town) to revisit this script and add a stronger hook for the audience to latch on to.

Another aspect to consider is the extremely comfortable and beautiful Mazer Theater, which opened back in 1889 (a piece of history is part of your experience too). The space, located on the edge of Chinatown, is a 199-seat, air-conditioned theater with a proscenium stage—way too large for this intimate play. This piece would be helped if it were performed in a smaller venue.

Kerry-Jane Wilson as Jody stands out and pushes her emotional range to a frightening extreme. Unfortunately and quite suddenly during her performance, an Irish accent creeps its way into the play, which made me stop listening to the story and question why that accent was unexpectedly introduced. Niketa Calame is acceptable as Lisa. Keisha Zollar is captivating in her various roles—none of which has any lines if I remember correctly. And David Spangler, also in multiple roles, modulates his voice and articulates the words with such precision that one wishes to use him as an example to beginning acting students.

At one point, the actors move downstage and are completely out of their light. And since there is no lighting designer mentioned, I imagine that explains the lack of proper lighting. Special mention to the director, Denise Owens who along with the set designer, Shawn Lewis, attempts to utilize the vast space as well as possible. Theresa Squire’s costume design, right down to the buttons and on-stage quick changes, is appealing. Costume mistress Iliana Amparo Quander assists her.

Match Me does trigger questions—a challenge for the two people to match their wits. My friend and fellow actor, Aly, attended with me and after the show ended, we found ourselves across the street at a café discussing the play—both the high and low points. Overall I would say that each member of the production put in their best efforts and for that, they must be commended.

The Philomel Project
reviewed by Charles Battersby

Philomel figures in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, and her story tells how she was brutally raped, then had her tongue cut out (to keep her from identifying her attacker). Refraction Arts is out to tell that tale in The Philomel Project, using avant-garde theatre, plus dance and performance art.

Upon entering the theatre, the audience finds the cast already onstage: mournful-looking young women in blue dresses, who are writing on red parchment, playing with red feathers, or dancing with strips of red yarn. On occasion one of the women enters the audience and presents an audience member with a scrap of parchment, a feather, or some yarn. All of which is symbolically related to Philomel.

After this prologue, the show proper starts. The first scene begins with just a touch of the surreal, as two gossipy Ancient Greek women discuss the story of Philomel. This is a funny scene, full of deliberate anachronisms (“Jesus!”), but it also provides the audience with vital exposition about the tale of Tereus, Procne, and Philomel, since the rest of the show is very symbolic, and might confused those who haven’t already read Ovid.

There follow numerous pieces in dramatic form, dance, and genre-bending styles, re-telling the story. Some of the sequences seem to run on for too long, such as an energetic piece where a three-ring circus in which phallic props such as bananas are used to "rape" yonic items such as bagels. The lengthiness seems to be a directorial issue (direction is by Sonnet Blanton and Julia M. Smith), and causes some genuinely entertaining sequences to overstay their welcome. Other sequences, including a parody of '30s showgirl musical numbers, don’t contribute a whole lot to the main story line, and at times it seems as though the show has been padded up to meet the one-hour mark. (The program encourages the audience to “try to keep up” for the whole hour.)

The five women of the cast (Aimee Lasseigne, Carra Martinez, Adriene Mishler, Julia M. Smith, and Carla Witt) are all quite dedicated to their work, and do a good job with the varied styles of performances. They all play an assortment of roles, plus have to sing and dance too.

I’ve never been a fan of the avant-garde, and I usually see nude emperors where other people see clothes spun from gold, but even I could see the professionalism and dedication at work in this production. The style of performance here is something that simply doesn't appeal to me, but I suspect The Philomel Project will delight those who do appreciate the avant-garde, and symbolic yarn-dancing.

Anaerobic Respiration
reviewed by Akia Squitieri

Anaerobic Respiration opens with Pegan leading you through her step aerobics class, and then onward through her controlled but spiraling downward life. Pegan lives in a neatly planned environment, which consists of teaching at the gym, maintaining healthy eating habits (simple spaghetti for dinner EVERY night), avoiding her genetic disposition for stroke, and attempting to get her not-so-smart grocery-clerk boyfriend Danny to leave her alone.

Pegan lives with her brother, Russ, who has recently become engaged to his Internet girlfriend of eight years, Kathy. This threat of drastic change sets Pegan’s world upon its side.

As the story progresses, Pegan begins to be haunted by flashbacks of her dog (or wait: was it really her father?) having a stroke and subsequently drowning in a six-foot dirt hole that she dug as a child. Mother’s yelling and constant reminders of avoiding a stroke, followed by Kathy's effort to cook Russ’s dinner, help to further derail Pegan’s sanity, until she finally makes several attempts on the innocent but meddling Kathy’s life, bringing  a whole new set of problems upon herself.

What carries this unusual and abstract story so well is the cast. Jessica Crandall portrays Pegan’s wound-up and controlling personality with precision while also allowing the character’s vulnerabilities to show. She glides easily from rapid-fire dialogue to a meltdown in a pile of dirt with ease and finesse. As her brother Russ, Brian Wallace plays up his bits as a neurotic recluse very well, but when it comes to the emotional blows with Pegan in the final scenes, yelling is all he can seem to muster. Danny is played to absolute perfection by Jordan Reeves. His bumbling and not-so-bright character is hilarious and riveting to watch, as he does not only play on the clichés of being dumb, but is so truthful in his love for Pegan that you can’t help but root for his delightful underdog. Samara Abrams, as the meddling and intrusive Kathy, is skillful in her character's subtle yet somehow innocent maneuvers for control over Russ.

Playwright Krista Knight deserves accolades for her original and inventive way of storytelling. Alex Torra’s direction, while slow-building, finally gains riveting momentum and provides the audience with an interesting staging to go hand in hand with Pannil Camp’s visually abstract set, which consists of layered aerobic steps centered by a pit of dirt. The sound design of heart beats and respiration sounds is clever and very fitting to the overall tone of the play.

Anaerobic Respiration is both disturbing and beautiful to watch, if you enjoy a little mania in your life—and who doesn’t?

The Rude Pundit in the Year of Living Rudely
reviewed by Frank Kuzler

The Rude Pundit does not pull punches, and there is no question as to his politics. In his one-man show at Dixon Place, Lee Papa, the self-styled political Rude One, rails against all the topics "we the people" would love to rail against: George W is a liar, W is a thief, Fox News is full of $%^@ and set fire to the objectivity handbook the way Hitler did the local library, etc., etc.

So here is the hard part. I know all that, and I agree with it. I’ve been listening to people saying it seriously, jokingly, desperately, with conviction, without conviction—for more than five years. So I have to ask myself the question: does all the same news with a rude spin stack up?

The answer is: sure. If I have to be reminded of the beating that democracy and freedom are taking in the name of democracy and freedom, why not hear it couched in terms of shoving WMDs and Halliburton up Dick Cheney’s wazoo? Why not get strapped (metaphorically) to a chair and get to become a deprogrammed Colin Powell who gets to join the loving ranks of people with a conscience? It’s live. It's comfortable—Dixon Place is like a big old living room complete with armchairs and sofas. And, it’s certainly better than turning on the TV, where the object is to slowly lull the discontent and dull the senses with endless tales of the runaway bride.

The Rude Pundit in the Year of Living Rudely is a brassy, bawdy, and brutally conceived show. We need more voices of people willing to be the voice of the people. I saw it when the blow-up dolls were absent (probably out trying to relocate some friends from last year’s RNC), but honestly, I don’t think the show needs them. Papa’s theatrical presentation could use some polishing up, but the strength of the show is certainly in the person and not the props.

The format is strained only in that it's like a series of broken attacks with the same angle. The segments are heavy on point-of-view and rude retaliation, but are light on satirizing the perverse details and facts. Thus, they don't build to a strong effective finish. So I left asking myself: Isn’t that what this cause needs? Haven’t we seen enough of the almost-made-its, nearly-got-ems?