nytheatre Archive
FringeNYC 2002
SHOW REVIEWS ON THIS PAGE: Die Like A Lady, The Dentist, Second Amendment Club, Thundermug, Billy Nijinsky, Giants Have Us In Their Books, Reference Material, Josephine, Aspic, In The Wire, Asians Misbehavin' In 2002, The Ridiculous Young Ladies
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DIE LIKE A LADY, OR WHAT BARBARA GOT by Martin Denton |
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Die Like a Lady, or What Barbara Got, the new film-noir-styled
play with music written and directed by Carolyn Raship, tells the story
of a wasted life. Barbara Graham, the piece’s subject, never got a break
in all the sad, sorry years she spent on this planet. As portrayed with
enormous sensitivity and compassion by the remarkable Maggie Cino, she
is a sorrowful and confused creature, living by her wits, and living for
the fleeting moments of connection that bring her momentary happiness. Raship crosscuts between two different timelines to tell Barbara’s story. We meet her first in the electric chair, where she will be executed for the brutal murder of an old lady. From here, Barbara’s life is played out in flashback: from her wretched childhood (her mother, 15 years old when Barbara was born, was neglectful and abusive, and the girl eventually wound up in a reform school) to the pivotal moment when she met smalltime crook Emmett Perkins and her life entered its final downward spiral, culminating in the crime for which she would be put to death. Die Like a Lady careens through the events of Barbara’s life like an eight ball on a pool table: stints as prostitute, secretary, restaurant manageress, convicted perjurer, and death row inmate play out in the staccato rhythms of a Barbara Stanwyck movie, reflecting the hard-living, easy-loving, goodtime girl that Graham pretended to be. A cast of four actors in addition to the indomitable Cino portray the literally dozens of supporting players in Barbara’s life. They’re an astonishing bunch: Abigail Bailey morphs from Barbara’s slatternly mother Hortense to a policewoman to Barbara’s second husband with effortless ease; Joanna Parson knocks us out as Barbara’s treacherous Marilyn Monroe-ish prison paramour Candy Pants; Christopher Yeatts handles assignments ranging from priest to sailor/john/mark to Barbara’s coke-addicted third husband, Henry Graham; and Justin Yorio sinks his teeth into smooth sleazy guys like boyfriend Emmett Perkins and Sam Sirianni, the man who was supposed to provide an alibi for that fateful night when Barbara consigned herself to the electric chair. Somehow it’s harrowing and breezy and cynical and affecting all at the same time. As Cino, clad in Barbara’s signature red silk lounging pajamas, takes on all comers with unbridled moxie, the aching emptiness underneath is palpable. A sad account of the waste of something so precious—a life. |
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THE DENTIST OR BE CAREFUL WHAT YOU PUT IN YOUR MOUTH by Sarika Chawla |
Open wide, here we COME! Jason Kendall’s The Dentist or Be Careful
What You Put in Your Mouth is a 90-minute farce that takes place in
a Time when Things were Simpler. Simpler they are not—at least not in
this tangled web, which plays out in a frenzy of passion, jealousy and
trickery. The show opens with Pantalone (Kenny Marshall), a wealthy
blowhard who dons a Burberry’s hat, professing his desire to wed the
flighty young Isabella (Catherine Munden), who unfortunately is in love
with Pantalone’s son Oratio (Brian Whisenant). The mad Pantalone
threatens to ship his son away to college, and in a fit sinks his tiny
teeth into the arm of his servant Pedrolino (Jeffrey Landman). Desperate
for revenge on his master, Pedrolino conceives a diabolical scheme to
immobilize Pantalone by sending him to a false Dentist (David M. Zuber)
who shops for tools at a toy store. Confused yet? It’s inevitable. Every character is infatuated with another, deals are made and broken, and magic licorice is thrown in for good measure. Farce is a difficult genre to pull off successfully, requiring impeccable timing, fast pacing, and deadpan seriousness in the characters. Fortunately, this cast is well on its way. Most notable is Munden, who prances across the stage tossing rose petals, while Whisenant is a delightfully over-the-top (and Alan Cumming-lookalike) romantic. Holly Pitrago, as Franchesina, the scantily clad maid, widens her eyes and giggles endearingly while speaking volumes of wisdom. Landman’s hyperactive physicality also deserves praise. While the setting is purposely left vague, it is also inconsistent. The flamboyant Captain Spavento (Jacob Zahniser) with tumbling curls looks like a Renaissance Festival escapee, while the oversexed Flaminia (Julie Sutton) fondles her micro-mini denim shorts. References to Enron, J. Lo and the Backstreet Boys are tossed around, yet they fall uncomfortably in a show that clearly takes place long ago. There are several mini-logues that address the audience directly, which turns the farce into an obvious joke. The Dentist works hard, and at moments the struggle is clear, but in the end the humor shines through. |
| SECOND AMENDMENT CLUB by April Nugent |
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In the play, Second Amendment Club, playwright Peter Morris has
turned to current events, such as the shootings at Lake Worth Middle
School, Granite Hills High School and Columbine High School, to find his
subject matter. He brings to the stage an engaging, thought-provoking
and sometimes offensive work centered on an arrogant, anti-social,
racist, sexist, homophobic, self-hating, spoiled, suburbanite teenager
who feels he’s been gypped by the world. Resolving to "bring order and
discipline" to his life, Martin (Teen for short) has destroyed all of
his childhood belongings and siloed himself in a small room above his
parents’ garage. It is in this environment that he feels free to vent
his teenaged angst, hatred and anger through his web-site, and where he
ultimately devises his plan to seek revenge on the establishment and
those individuals who, in his opinion, have wronged him and held him
back. The playwright asks the audience to sympathize with a character
that most of us would find deplorable and villainous. And we do
sympathize. Much of the credit for this accomplishment must be shared
with solo performer Ryan Harrison. Harrison’s charming, bright and
articulate performance leaves us identifying with Teen. Second Amendment Club is performed at Collective Unconscious, a small black-box theatre crammed with 50 seats. The close quarters and lack of air-conditioning only add to the awareness that Martin’s ramblings, though true to character, tend to be repetitive and long-winded at times. The play is billed as multi-media but, due to technical difficulties, the performance I saw was sans video and computer elements. While I wonder what these elements would have added, the script and the performance are strong enough to stand without them. Morris, Harrison and Wave Productions should be commended for their bravery in taking on such volatile subject matter, while honestly depicting a character who is so abrasive. The result is a powerful, unflinching look at an American sore-spot that will send you away with a new perspective. |
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THUNDERMUG by Ken Urban |
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The dynamic between an audience and a production is a tricky one.
When it works, there’s nothing like it. But sometimes, whether
due to the show’s subject matter, the production’s approach, or
bad audience karma, it just doesn’t work. Such is the case with
You Got Soul’s production of Thundermug. Based on a short story by Nelson Algren and adapted for the stage by Jeff Loshinsky, Thundermug follows Algren stand-in Cass McKay (Chris McBurney) as he is thrown in jail for stealing a typewriter in Depression-era Texas. To make matters worse, McKay was found hiding out with an escaped Black prisoner while riding the rails with his stolen goods. McKay’s fellow prisoners try to punish him for being a "nigger lover," but to avoid the lash, McKay capitulates to their racism to protect his own ass. Locked-up for ninety days, McKay bides his time documenting the power struggles among the prisoners as Judge "Nubby" O’Neil (Osborn Focht), the self-proclaimed leader, tries to maintain his place on top against Mr. Bastard (Joseph Fleming). The story itself is not all that compelling. The play features the requisite scenes of prison rape and bloody fights that we all expect of this genre. Adapter Loshinsky is a first-time stage writer and it shows. The play’s mix of narration and realism never gels. You get the sense that Thundermug’s story is better read than seen. Focht and Fleming give the strongest performances. They are highly believable as prisoners Nubby and Bastard. The rest of the cast, unfortunately, are less convincing. Director John Peterson does the show no favors by staging the rape and fight scenes with an almost polite demeanor. There is something prurient in watching men devolve into animals, and that is one of things that keep people tuning into TV shows like "Oz" and "Law and Order." Since the play’s story is familiar, this show needs to be full of atmosphere and intensity. Thundermug lacks both. I was never really transported back in time to Algren’s dusty jail cell and I never found my own desire for watching despicable acts satisfied. The elements for something interesting are there, but when I saw the show, I’m sad to say: It just didn’t work. |
| BILLY NIJINSKY by Robin Reed |
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Every Christmas when I was a kid, we saw the Boston Ballet’s
Nutcracker. And all I ever wanted for Christmas was to be able to
take the Snow Queen home and put her in my music box and watch her dance
for me forever and ever. Every once in a while, you’re lucky enough to
see a show that takes you back to times like these. I was delighted to
experience this through watching Randall Jaynes’ performance of Billy
Nijinsky presented by Spencer/Colton at the Harry du Jur Playhouse
this weekend. The story, written by Jaynes, is of the downward spiral of a man obsessed. He makes every effort to connect with the object of his obsession, a dancer with whom he shares a surname and a few grasping-at-straws sort of details, but to no avail. In doing so, he isolates himself from the rest of the world, eventually to the point of insanity. Jaynes is so incredibly engaging and endearing as Billy that you find yourself all at once embarrassed for his actions and rooting for his gumption. Every single one of his movements is crisp and deliberate. I never imagined that I would be so captivated by watching a man move in, on and around a chair. (It also helps that said chair, designed by Peter Agoos, has a life and character all its own!) I find dancers awe-inspiring for their mere skill alone, but when their physicality breathes life into a silent role, they bring the art to a whole new beautiful level. Edisa Weeks is absolutely stunning as the Spectre. She brings a grace and strength to the stage, while fleshing out the story as a symbol of Billy’s hope. Weeks and Jaynes’ pas de deux challenges and embraces everything that is beautiful about ballet—breaking all the societal and historical rules while hitting all the technical and emotional marks. Perhaps one of the cleanest all around pieces I’ve ever seen in FringeNYC, Billy Nijinsky is a delicious union of theater, dance and design exacted with precision and elegance on all levels. |
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GIANTS HAVE US IN THEIR BOOKS by Matthew Freeman |
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Giants Have Us In Their Books, produced by Noontime Theatre,
presents three deceptively difficult works. These plays, by playwright
Jose Rivera (best known for Marisol), are adult fairy tales. While
Noontime hits mostly the broadest strokes of these subtle works, there
is much to admire in the undertaking. The first of the three, Flowers, involves alarming changes in the complexion of the twelve-year-old Lulu. The play is brief, but features lovely poetry and a surprising journey. The staging is overly literal, but clear. As Lulu, the multitalented Amanda Pekoe has promise, but doesn’t get to show her wares: she pushes to "act twelve" and spends much of the play unseen. Christopher Lueck, as Lulu’s brother Beto, fares better here. In the second piece, A Tiger In Central Park, a frustrated couple is preparing to trap an escaped Tiger whose presence has frightened the sex-drive out of New York’s citizens. As the couple, Katie Hartke and Christopher Kromer are uneven; Hartke seems more comfortable with the style. As an unlucky jogger, Leila Lopez shows spunk, but is difficult to hear. The writing of this piece is the strongest, though, and Lueck shows charisma as the predator in question. The final piece, The Winged Man, opens with a killer image: A flashlight searches the stage, only to come across the bloody body of a fallen Angel. Daysi, played by the evening’s strongest actress Hillary Sinn, nurses and eventually makes love with this "Winged Man." The story follows her through her pregnancy, insisting that she is continuing the line of real (and rare) winged humans. This play never finds its stride: too many blackouts and listless speeches. Nonetheless it’s worth seeing Sinn’s expressive and charming work as the mother to be. Not yet entirely confident, Noontime Theatre has contagious energy. Their choice of material bodes well for them: Giants Have Us In Their Books offers the rare treat of lesser-known works by an influential living writer. |
| REFERENCE MATERIAL [3AM PIE] by Alex Roe |
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Jill Jichetti’s Reference Material [3am Pie] concerns two
20-somethings who tend to procrastinate. Ellie (Jessica Jackson), a
graduate student and teacher, is failing to write a screenplay while she
fantasizes about Hamlet, vexed as she is by his fictive nature. Pat (Tim
Kelly), for whom Batman is as tormented and noble a figure as the
melancholy Dane, is an aspiring actor who consumes his time playing the
video game Tetris. The fun part: these two bond by sharing pie at a diner, but they also share imaginations, which are populated by mentors, protectors, entertainers, and the audience. Highlights include The Informer, the delightful Ritty Mahoney as a sober and needy commentator who interprets pop and literary references for the audience until he is banished by other fantasies. Hamlet himself, appealingly played by Elias Toufexis, is enlightened in death and offers others advice on acceptance and action that he sadly lacked himself in life. And though over-long, the game show "Who Wants to Be The Most Famous Tragic Hero Ever" is a funny new actor’s nightmare. Further cross-referencing real-life needs with philosophical meditations, the play makes continual silent asides through video projections. Mixing media can be disastrous, but Reference Material’s annotation of its live performances both deepens and expands the characters’ wry and easily distracted psyches. Production values are Fringe, but the projections are well executed, as is the surprisingly versatile lighting (Michael K. Berelson). What’s not to like? With exceptions, the young performers lack polish, tending to step on one another’s lines and wanting the panache to really clear the footlights (a particular problem with a roaring A/C fan competing for attention.) The use of the projections is uneven—for every direct hit, there is a so-so volley. And the script itself would carry more impact if its lines were sharper and its layered structure built or unraveled to distinct effect. Still, the warmth of the central characters’ friendship, their sometimes lavish fantasies, their ultimate call to take some action in their lives, and the play’s quirky wit make for a touching and entertaining piece of theatre. |
| JOSEPHINE: THE JOSEPHINE BAKER STORY by Jeffrey Lewonczyk |
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I knew next to nothing about Josephine Baker going into
Josephine: the Josephine Baker Story, and, since programs
weren’t yet available at the first performance, any hope of
gleaning information from program notes was immediately
squelched. However, it turns out that the FringeNYC program
guide’s description of the piece is misleading: though Jo
Bouillon is given a writing credit, and the show is ostensibly
based on a novel by Baker about her life, this is not the type
of biographical one-person piece in which the famous figure sits
and tells the audience his/her thoughts. Except for some fuzzy
recorded voice-overs, all in French, Josephine is
actually a wordless hour-long solo dance piece; and though I
still don’t know much about the particulars of Baker’s life,
boy, did I see a show. After I got over being impressed that Aja Jung, the Belgrade-born dancer who choreographed and performs the piece, was actually dancing without stopping for an hour straight, I realized how unbelievably well she was doing it. Though she doesn’t hurl energy out into the audience the way the legendary Baker is supposed to have done, she utilizes a dizzying range of physical expression to convey the inner existence such a performer might have lived. Ranging from whooping sensual curves to the type of angular contortions you could draw on an Etch-a-Sketch, Jung’s tireless movements combine with her almost frighteningly intense smile to create the portrait of a person. Starting with Baker’s childhood, in which an innocent game metamorphoses before our eyes into what can only be called jazz hopscotch, we watch the story of a life unfold through gestures, beckonings, shrugs, sighs, lunges and leaps, all to the helpless rhythms of a tumultuous moment in history. The question remains whether the passion and the movement were a liberating force for Baker, or if she was a prisoner of her own restless gyrations, a la "The Red Shoes." But the time for questions is later: when in the presence of Jung’s incredible performance, as in those of the legendary Josephine, all you can do is watch, stunned. |
| ASPIC by Sharon Fogarty |
| Watching Aspic, Monkeyhouse’s
program of dance theatre, in the cool basement theatre of 45Below is
like discovering forgotten wallflowers left to climb the walls. When
Karen Krolak, Nicole Harris and Amelia O’Dowd are not poking fun at
etiquette or girlie wonder, they convey the strength and sadness of real
women stuck in a society of shallow babes. In What’s Next, choreographer Karen Krolak and Nicole Harris struggle to dance with one pair of stilts between them. Although the dance is shticky, it’s hard not to love their demonically sexy smiles and comedic timing. Clinquant features Amelia O’Dowd in a skirt made of men’s dress shirts. To her own text, a beautiful account of fresh found love turned into familiar sorrow, O’Dowd tumbles and spins as if caught up in a man’s laundry pile, never quite finding her feet. Karen Krolak shines in her two solos Invisible to the Eyes and Mourning After. Invisible features a vulnerable character who points to herself, or to some inner fairy, behind an exterior primness and protocol. Like the character, the choreography is left in its inspired, embryonic state. In Mourning After much is expressed through Krolak’s naked back. Learned defensiveness is evident, then enforced when she turns to reveal her chest, a halter made of nails. Armed with a single high heel, her broken figure struts pathetically, determined not to be hurt again. Nicole Harris’ solo Lachrymatory is as sad as its title suggests. Harris swerves, distrusts balance, falls, then lands in the safety of a lonely phrase. Her character infrequently focuses out towards the audience, and the more withdrawn she is, the more magnetic she becomes. Finally, Ramfeezled by Krolak and O’Dowd shows off O’Dowd’s clowning ability as she practices her flirting technique. Her smile distorts to a blessed leer over the text "Good flirts never attack!" |
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IN THE WIRE by Don Jordan |
| I sit inside Collective Unconscious
transfixed to a computer screen roughly 10’x15’ in size that delivers
information through email and image projection. Dance music provides the
background for this romp through technology, and I find myself admiring
the way the music and projections have brought me into this theatrical
world. I’m at the New York International Fringe Festival, where In
the Wire, written by Joshua Putnam Peskay and directed by his
brother Matthew Peskay, promises to de-mystify the technological
adventure of email through high-speed routers, super-secure Psychromoft,
and the hopping Cisco Disco. The intention and energy behind this new production is to be commended and the ensemble cast clearly enjoys their task, yet I mostly spend my time waiting for the stage-play to be as interesting as the projected computer-play. That’s not to say there are no interesting bits within the stage-play itself. For example, the creative use of an actor carrying another actor on his back to represent an attachment or virus becomes a clever piece of humor, and the ultimate location, the Cisco Disco, is a fun culmination of events in which to leave the audience. Ultimately, I like the idea of this production, but struggle to find a coherent argument or message in its eleven scenes. Inasmuch as each scene more or less represents another step in the email’s journey to its final destination, at these stops the three characters representing the email (or information packets) must be sent in the right direction (or next hop). The struggle to learn this singular piece of information serves as the stumbling block in each scene. But after several repetitions, this notion becomes more sketch comedy than play structure. Despite the lack of this normally expected element, I had a relatively good time, and hope that the creators of In the Wire view this as an opportunity for more exploration on their own journey in the future. |
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ASIANS MISBEHAVIN’ IN 2002 by Pamela Butler |
| Asians Misbehavin' in 2002 at
CSV-Milagro Theatre is an hour and forty five minutes of comic skits and
performance poetry by Asian Americans looking more like original
Americans than our current Caucasian population. Three writers/performers and three supporting cast members fire up wit and passion to enact stories of their lives with humor and sometimes not-so-underlying sarcasm. The skits are set off by Michelle Myers’ poetry—angry, proud, anguished. She performs passionately, with nuanced emotion, but I found the fast-paced, intense rush of words sometimes hard to follow. What I heard was compelling; I wish I'd understood more. The comic skits cover just about every cliché regarding Asians—primarily Chinese, Japanese and Koreans (who inhabit 16 million square miles of this earth)—from their point of view. They’ve come to America (roughly a third the size, if size matters), to realize their dreams or the dreams of their parents: to escape poverty and oppression in their homeland: to honor their ancestors and culture, but in America; to become the next Yo Yo Ma or Silicon Valley whiz. Instead, this crew slams into the realities of prostitution, sweatshop labor, and discrimination. Daniel Kim highlights the universality of racism by opening with a hilarious exchange in a Korean deli, and as Model Minority Man, he and his sidekick, Backlash Boy (F. Omar Telan) heroically come to the defense of their fellow Asian Americans. Or do they? The audience laughed and cheered enthusiastically at their attempts. I particularly liked the skit "Plastique": an Asian youth (U-Shin Kim) decides plastic surgery is the answer. The doctors do the job, but the results are surprising, and thought provoking. The pace is brisk, the acting (I did not mention Regie Cabico and his wonderful character acting) and directing by Deborah Nishimura are on the mark. No credits are given for lighting, set, or costumes, but everything works well for the pieces. For a refreshing look at the Asian American experience from a slyly funny and illuminating slant, this is a worthwhile evening of theatre. |
| THE RIDICULOUS YOUNG
LADIES by Alex Roe |
| Random Arts’ playful adaptation of
Molière’s Les Précieuses Ridicules is a happy translation of this
one-act satire in most every way. The result is an excellent diversion
for a Sunday afternoon to enjoy some wry pokes at social buffoonery,
some engaging comic actors, and the particular pleasure of theatre by
the river. This short playlet presents the table-turning vengeance of two young Parisian suitors (Scott Addison Clay and Chris Catalano) on two disdainful and precocious young cousins (Amy Caitlin Carr and Christiaan Koop) who are infatuated with mannered behaviors, rules of courtship, and their misplaced social ambitions. Slightly emended by the performers, Albert Bermel’s English version of the play is easy and amusing, and it includes some pithy zingers. Director Nicole Lerario has moved the action from the 17th Century to the 1920s. While the flapper girls and their suitors are more East Egg than Paris, this distinctive era of social opportunism is easily evoked by the costuming and well suited to the contemporary young actors. The French Court and the Jazz Age receive slight illumination, but the characters’ relationships and their affectations are surely struck. Much credit for this score goes to the cast. Their exaggerated style strikes a good-humored affect that consistently winks at the audience, whether the servants (Ross Beschler and Beth Carusillo) wrestle with a recalcitrant boom box or the Vicomte de Jodelet (Michaelangelo Barasorda) salutes a pair of Old Glory boxers. Mark J. Dempsey truly shines as the sham Marquis de Mascarille; his comic timing and self-satisfaction as a lover of his own arts is the keynote of the production. Only an invitation to the audience to swell the ranks of the small cast for a ball does not quite jibe with the rest. Presented in the forestage of the renovated East River Amphitheatre, the play is simply staged to play with the environment without being overwhelmed. It neither exceeds its production limits nor undervalues the virtues of its performers. And perhaps what makes this incarnation succeed so well is its plain lack of pretension—a fine comeuppance for the social arrogance the play skewers. |
