nytheatre Archive
FringeNYC 2002
SHOW REVIEWS ON THIS PAGE: Stalking Christopher Walken, Blind Date, Fairy Tale, Chic and Sassy, Liz Estrada, D-P-M/(Dis-Place-Meant), What The Eunuch Saw, Dismiss All The Poets, Marginal Saints, Winter Under the Table, Bounce, Jump
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STALKING CHRISTOPHER WALKEN by Eric Winick |
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The trouble with most company-created performance art is that it only
seems to connect with its audience 25% of the time. Given that company
members are usually involved with a piece from its inception, the
resulting show inevitably means more to them than to the audience, which
often must labor in vain to explicate scraps of found text, random
bursts of movement, and monologues intoned into ubiquitous microphony.
In the end, you either take something away from it, or you sit there,
dumbfounded. Fortunately, one takes quite a bit away from Venus Fly Trap’s Stalking Christopher Walken, a free-associative romp through the psyche of that most inscrutable of actors. Stalking has all the hallmarks of the downtown avant-garde, including vibrant dance pieces, a terrific sound design (by Perchik Miller), spoken word interludes, and, presumably, a mad genius at the helm: Gabriel Grilli, who seems hell-bent on aping such avant-illuminati as Elevator Repair Service founder John Collins and Gale Gates chieftain Michael Counts. Of the speaking/dancing portion of the eight-member ensemble, there’s not a weak link in the bunch, from Tina Manchise’s lovely Natalie Wood to Javier Cobo’s impossibly cool Walken impersonator. The two dance an impassioned pas-de-deux, and the scene in which Wood’s death-by-drowning is reenacted is a masterpiece of theatrical economy. Best of all is Mario Tomic as a wordless Walken whose chiseled features never betray emotion, even while being lap-danced, and whose looks are eerily close to the real thing. Unfortunately, Stalking suffers from a surfeit of, dare I say, excess baggage. The piece’s stronger moments are lost amidst bewildering scenes of squawking aliens, rampaging skate punks, calls from movie studios, Hungarian gypsies, and Russian princesses. Stalking works best when showcasing the work of choreographer Dana Ruttenberg, making one wonder what qualities the piece might take on if Mr. Grilli ever combined these scenes with his spoken-word sections, which feature excerpts from interviews with Walken himself. Far be it from me to pontificate, but with this much talent on display, one wishes Venus Fly Trap would let the audience in just a little bit more. |
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BLIND DATE-BODY THEATER by Tim Cusack |
"Is it too hot in here to sit next to somebody?" the woman asked before
choosing another row of seats at the CSV/La Tea theatre from which to
watch MS-Tanzwerk’s Blind Date-Body Theater. It seems her anxiety
about the potential messiness of too much human closeness is shared by
Mario Heinemann and Sophie Jaillet, the work’s creators. In the opening
duet for Florian Eckhardt and Anne Poncet-Staab, the dancers seem to be
measuring off the myriad spatial distances separating each other. It’s
an attempt at emotional quantification, both formally elegant and
touchingly vulnerable, that also illuminates the alienated state of
contemporary interactions. On the film projected behind them, a pair of
sepia-toned feet walk over soil. The dirt and uneven terrain create a
textural contrast to the clean, Cunningham-like lines and deliberate
gestures of the couple. They repeat phrases over and over with calm
diligence. We see the same movement from every possible angle, adding to
the atmosphere of intense contemplation. Next two woman appear and recite singles ads in German while an English translation scrolls up the screen. The ads seem to be looking for a soul mate, but they could just as well be describing the perfect dance partner. The audience laughs at some of the sweeter items on the wish list, but this theme is not pursued. Later one of the women (Berit Jentzsch) dances a solo with a huge flexible drafting tool that transforms into innumerable shapes; it’s a geometry lesson as staged by Busby Berkeley on Quaaludes. This pattern, first the man and woman dance, then the two women, neither pair interacting with the other, repeats throughout the course of the piece. The formal rigor of this structure extends to the choreography—first we see the phrases executed slowly, with plenty of pauses, gradually the dancers work up speed, until they are whipping through the final section, which stitches together phrases from all the previous ones, with an almost manic energy. While this level of clarity is to be commended, 80 minutes of rigor veers into rigidity. One begins to long for a trio or a quartet, or at the very least different partnering. Human relations are surely more varied than what is presented here. How any of this illuminates the inherent uncertainty of a blind date demands a level of deductive reasoning I’m unequipped to undertake—after all, math was always my worst subject. |
| FAIRY TALE by John Jordan |
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Fairy Tale, by Amadeo Riva: Once upon a time, Cinderella and Snow
White were at a bar, having many drinks, sharing a few laughs,
discussing how miserable their lives turned out to be. Cinderella is
pregnant…Prince Charming is not the father…he is now into bestiality.
Ms. White is wrongly accused of the murder of Happy the Dwarf and the
remaining six dwarves are out for revenge. The premise is great, but it
fades soon after the first scene. Cinderella’s dilemma is tied up too
quickly, and she disappears for too long. Most of the play is Snow
White’s trial, with drawn out repeats of what was funny the first time.
I had a difficult time trying to pinpoint the style, so I’ve come up
with this: it’s Monty Python does straight-to-video Disney. Poor
man’s slapstick. This wonderful world of dismal is funny at times, but when the cast wished upon a star, they should have wished for more direction and a tighter script. M. Stuart Wallace does an adequate job of staging the piece, however, the problem is the pace. Directorial tweaking could definitely turn this show into something more than an attempt. The script can also do with a visit to Mr. Scissors. There are two exceptional performances: Joe Brooke as Insomnia (ex-Sleepy), who plays stoned way too believably, man, and Peter Scanavino as both Valerino (bar owner) and the Bailiff. The contrast between Scanavino’s characters is incredible; both are top notch. Lisa Louttit as Snow White and Robyn Simpson as Cinderella are appropriately enchanting. Daisuke Ishiguro as Bashful induces roars of laughter without actually saying much, which is always commendable. Assaf Ben-Shetrit, in the ever-popular role of Dopey, is also quite funny. Rounding out the merry cast are Ivo Canelas, Harace Carpenter, Paulo de Sousa, Yasu Ikeda, Lukas Loughran, Amadeo Riva and Marcel Simoneau. The stage crew of mice is a great gimmick. Suggestion: choreography. The costumes by Barbara Abbatemaggio and Jacob Daschek are exceptional. Six grown men very believably play six dwarves. Kudos. The upstage backdrop by Alexander “Sasha” Polyakov is fantastic. Sick, but fantastic. The End. |
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CHIC AND SASSY: THE HIGHER THE HAIR, THE CLOSER TO GOD by John Jordan |
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chic, adj: cleverly stylish, currently fashionable; sassy,
n: vigorous, lively; distinctively smart and stylish. Alas, to say this production is either would not be true. Written by and starring Chic and Sassy (neither the program nor the website lists any other names), Chic and Sassy: The Higher the Hair, The Closer to God is like the little train that wants to. Two “girls” in small town Texas want more out of life. They want to move to The Big Apple. They enter a playwriting contest at the county fair, with high hopes of winning the $5,000 grand prize. They fall in love (not with each other), rehearse their play, and contemplate life. Overall, it’s an uninspiring play about unfulfilled hopes and dreams. The production as a whole does not try too hard, which is where it does succeed. Chic and Sassy are both capable in their roles as two drag queens (as I am assuming they themselves are) wanting more out of life. Joanne Cunningham as Miss Sally of Miss Sally's Hair Salon and Live Bait Shop, where the “girls” work, is enjoyable. Stacey Raymond as the town dyke, Gerty, is quite good, especially during a hilarious dance with a hot, red bra. But David Meidenbauer (Billy Joe, a local), Chris Alonzo (Jesse, the mysterious stranger), and Will Harrell (Fairy Godmother and also the director of the piece) are mostly unconvincing. The staging is a bit “old school.” The costume design by Dana Burkart sells out on stereotype. The uncredited lighting design should remain that way. (Special note: I was thrilled to hear Dolly Parton’s new take on Stairway to Heaven during intermission. Now that was both chic and sassy.) I left the theatre unsure as to whether the general public of this fictional Little Rock is aware that Chic and Sassy are actually men. I am unsure as to whether or not we are to believe they are women or men. I wish that had been cleared up. But it made me think and at least briefly discuss afterwards. And isn’t that at least one of the things plays are supposed to do? Hmmm. |
| LIZ ESTRADA by Eva van Dok |
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Liz Estrada is playwright Ellen K. Anderson's new adaptation of
that saucy play written by Aristophanes a few thousand years ago. And
I’d say that her updated version, performed outdoors at the La Plaza
Cultural Community Garden, would probably make the original author of
Lysistrata blush. According to most historical accounts, that was a
damn difficult thing to do. Anderson succeeds in transporting Aristophanes’ ancient call for peace during the Peloponnesian War to our very near future—the year 2045, 100 years after Hiroshima. Peace seems hopeless as both sides are on the brink of leading the planet into global obliteration with their weapons of mass destruction poised and ready to fire. Sick and tired of the violence that takes their men away for years at a time, Liz Estrada and her glam-rock babe band "Daughters of the Dead" decide to take some drastic action to stop the ongoing civil war between the two opposing sides (which are aptly named "Our Side" and "The Other Side"). Liz and her band audaciously grab five minutes of unmonitored global broadcast time and declare a planet-wide sex strike—"Peace or no piece for you/Peace or no piece of me"—in order to stop the violence. The first fifteen minutes of the piece are the weakest—the ensemble came pretty close to losing me only because I couldn’t hear them in their outdoor space. Heather Ondersma’s directing is crisp and lovely in all other areas—it was a shame that the actors didn’t always win the physical and vocal battle over the sounds of Mother Nature. However, the sheer charm and talent of the cast, combined with Anderson’s fresh words, brought me back into the sex-charged action time and time again. There is a serious side to Liz Estrada, but it’s the most subtle part of the piece. We’re so entertained by the chaos that creeps up in a world without sex (polar caps melt due to extreme body heat, Mt. Vesuvius threatens to erupt), we don’t realize that Anderson’s adaptation is an introspective meditation on gender roles and the futility of war. Other highlights include Full Monty-esque dancing by the Chippensoldiers, "suicide ejaculators," and great one-liners ("Don’t masturbate, negotiate"), but what particularly struck me was Ondersma’s casting. Liz’s sexy rock band, and Liz herself, were a myriad of female beauties of all shapes, types and sizes that would, and should, appeal to all. |
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D-P-M/(DIS-PLACE-MEANT) by Liz Kimberlin |
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There is no ticket price to see this eccentric piece of performance art,
but bring your Metrocard, your most comfortable walking shoes and a
sense of adventure. You'll need all three. Waiting for me at the box
office was an envelope with a cryptic note directing me to go to a local
subway stop where I would be met. Oh, yeah, and I should make sure I
wasn't being followed. Once there, I met Bill, the artist, an
intense-looking but good-natured guy who is over from the U.K. The rest
of the audience showed up; we now totaled two. Instead of taking the
subway, the three of us caught a bus—chosen at random—and got off at its
last stop near the East River. While we traveled, Bill produced a
platinum blonde, Carol Channing-bobbed wig and began to explain the
nature of his performance: he was going to reenact his dreams (the sleep
variety) of three women in his life. I can't remember the name of the
first one, but the others were Ivanova 1 and Ivanova 2. As we got off the bus, he briefly told stories about each. Suddenly we were at a Lower East Side supermarket and suddenly the performance began in earnest. It consisted of Bill chalk-writing another cryptic message on the store's brick facade, going into the store and wandering frantically through the aisles while we followed, pausing at the cash register to tell another story, back out again with Bill now donning the wig and the performance growing increasingly eerie and surreal. As suddenly as it began it was over. Then we went for margaritas. I honestly have no idea how the performance related to the women, if it was Freudian or Jungian, comedy or drama, whether indeed it was art or bullshit or both, but I had a blast. The double-takes alone of the clueless passersby were worth the hour. Bill limits his audience to five, so reservations are strongly recommended. |
| DISMISS ALL THE POETS by Alyssa Simon |
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In 1968, Cuban poet Herberto Padilla was awarded his country’s national
poetry prize for Fuero del Juego (Out of the Game), a book that
reflected his growing disillusionment with Castro’s government. In the
following year, he was arrested, incarcerated, and tortured by state
security forces in the name of the same revolution he had previously
lauded in his work. Dismiss All The Poets is a fictionalized account of Padilla’s experiences and asks what an artist’s role is in society and the meaning of heroism. Adrian Rodriguez has written a great play. The lead character Roberto Arias (Jose Antonio) is not a noble martyr for any cause. He is a complex character with weaknesses and flaws. His human failings bring his situation much closer to home for the audience and allow us to question ourselves. What would we do? Would we sign a false confession under threat of torture? Would we publicly declare allegiance to a totalitarian regime to save our family? Would we report our friends’ actions to state authorities to save ourselves? Roberto is sent to Moscow by the Cuban government and meets his old friend and fellow writer Yuri Namchenko, wonderfully played by Emilio Delgado. (Those of you in your 30’s and younger will recognize him as "Luis" from "Sesame Street.") Yuri has a brilliant and talented daughter Irina (Angelica Osborne), a painter who, when threatened by the government, decides to take her own life rather than change her art’s subject matter. Even more disturbing than Irina’s choosing death as the most defiant and heroic act in an authoritarian state is the decision her father makes elsewhere in the play, giving a petty government bureaucrat information about his daughter to protect himself. Arian Blanco, the director, shows the passage of time, flashbacks and dream sequences in vignettes that move the piece along well. Unfortunately, the acting is uneven and the lack of voice and diction training makes some of the actors very hard to follow over the space’s air conditioning. I so wanted to hear every word to get a sense of the poetry and because I really like the writing. I look forward to seeing more of Adrian Rodriguez’s plays. |
| MARGINAL SAINTS by Seth Bisen-Hersh |
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Marginal Saints, written by Lee Gundersheimer with music by
Luther Blackwell, Jr., is primarily about a typical girl,
Christina, who accidentally gets knocked up by her jerk
boyfriend, Carlos, who also happens to be a gang leader. The
show is based on true stories about “blight, violence and
prevalence of teen pregnancy.” The other main characters in the
show include Christina’s best friend, the comic Consuela; BJ, a
homeless guy whom she befriends and who then becomes an angel
after he is brutally killed by the aforementioned gang after he
upsets Carlos; and a talking/ singing statue of St. Agnes. The
basic plot is that Christina gets pregnant, everyone finds out,
and then she eventually deals with it. Unfortunately, even though it’s supposed to be based on reality and true stories, Marginal Saints feels far-fetched and unrealistic. The plot attempts to put as many bad things about teenage life into every scene. The dialogue, which feels like it was written for an after-school special, painfully makes one cringe most of the time. The lyrics, which are too simple and ordinary, hardly ever rhyme (my personal pet peeve). The music is sometimes catchy, but the lyrics are crammed into the melody line way too often. To add to these problems, the sound system is completely out of whack, there is way too much time between scenes, and many of the actors seem inexperienced and/or at sea. There are some good things about the show, however. The monologues are really good and may well be the only things really taken from the original interviews. The dance numbers choreographed by Michael Belmonte are phenomenal but sadly sparse. Marsola Esaw as BJ, the homeless angel, is very good even if the material he is given is not. He sings well, too—his song is by far the highlight of the show (and the only bearable solo number). Celia Ortiz is very funny as Consuela. Waleska Morales acts the part of Christina very well. Finally, the program with lush illustrations by Ricky Mestre is wonderfully crafted. Overall, the show feels like it is trying very hard to be taken seriously. But one can hardly take a show seriously when there’s a friendly homeless guy who dies and becomes an angel. |
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WINTER UNDER THE TABLE by Joe Murphy |
| Winter Under the Table, written by
Roland Topor, a Polish-Jewish immigrant to France, was originally titled
L’hiver sous la Table in its original French and receives its
world premiere in English (with a bit of Spanish) here by Actors of the
World. Marco Aponte, who translated the play along with director Lance
Lattig, plays the part of Francisco, an illegal Latin American immigrant
who rents a space under the dining-room table of a lonely
American woman. This outrageous premise, juxtaposed against the mundane
domestic interactions of the two during the first few scenes, creates
what starts out to be a politically-loaded and hilarious anti-drama.
Claire (Sarah Matthay), a translator who toils away inches above
Francisco’s head, provides the slightly-embarrassed bourgeois manners,
bookish good looks and great legs that slowly drive Francisco wild. When
not working as a shoe-shiner off stage, he in turn is the bumbling and
eager-to-please innocent who wins her heart. Romance happens. Comedy
ensues. What the plot lacks in suspense, the players make up for with
charm and an unabashed embrace of the obvious plot destinations, such as
the growing attraction and the inevitable mutual seduction of the
inter-cultural couple. As the play expands, it initially maintains the delicate balance of social satire and romantic cutesiness. The new characters (Alexander, the unctuous American boyfriend and boss, played by Mitchel Syp; Tricia, the bad best friend, played by Amy Dickinson; and Gustavo, Francisco’s guitar-playing cousin, played by Rubén Luque), bring new possibilities for mining the politically-incorrect housing situation. (If you had a Latino under your table, how would you show him off to your best girlfriend?) Just when you think it will explode into outright farce, the play instead drifts into romantic comedy. The broad social commentary implied early in the play dissipates gradually until the final moment answers the question of the ages: will they or won’t they get together in the end? The minimal set and colorful scenic design help foster the innocent spirit that aids the dual sides of the political and romantic fairy tale. Live guitar and bongo beats between scenes by Michael Croiter, poised at the end of the stage, provide a Latin atmosphere and appropriate emotional tenor to the drama. This play might not know what it wants to be, but it’s enjoyable nonetheless. |
| BOUNCE by Sharon Fogarty |
| I usually feel sorry for dancers.
Their lives are hard. They’re sad, broke, hungry and depressed most of
the time. Choreographer Eva Dean, however, says "thank you for sharing,"
and completely obliterates this with a performance that celebrates the
joy of the bounce. Dean’s cast is made up of six women and about a hundred bouncing balls of different size and color. There is virtually no activity that doesn’t connect with the ball. Her strong dancers, also fine actresses, have good relationships with these perfect shapes. Whether trusting them to hold their weight gently, or supporting them like a beloved planet overhead, these women use their rubber companions to create a unique and inspiring brand of theatre. Kids love this, but adults need it more. The dance is mesmerizing, meditative, and comforting to watch. The stage presence and strong technique of Dean’s beautiful dancers is entrancing. Sharon Estacio and Mandy Sau-Yi Chan defy physics with astonishingly quick yet muscular accuracy. Jessica Calhoon’s focus and sense of play provide a necessary calm when rhythms get crazy. Cassie Mey, with beautiful length of limb and levity, appears to have the ability to fly. Angela Rauter’s beauty and tender strength are captivating, while Dean herself displays the sweetest wisdom as a performer who takes her playing seriously. A must mention are Jean Hill’s costumes, fitting perfectly, always complementing the globes effectively. Her pretty short suits are adorable in Beach, a funny, leggy tribute to Busby Berkeley with some healthy vulgarity left in. Also memorable is Dolphins where lighting designer Zoë Klein’s brave low sides and cool ocean tints agree with Dean’s sensuous meditation on the sea and its mammals. |
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JUMP by John Jordan |
| Jump is an extraordinary play.
According to playwright Jess Lacher, it is about "fear of loneliness,
fear of maturing and assuming responsibility for your life." Director
Maureen Towey characterizes the piece as "dark but funny, quirky and
delicate." Both are absolutely right. The script is phenomenal. The
direction is superb. The staging, the set, the lighting, the sound all
work flawlessly together to create a fine piece of theatre. I refuse to give away much regarding the plot, as I left the theatre with a The Sixth Sense/The Others/The Crying Game don’t-give-away-any-secrets type of feeling. Damn good play. Jess Lacher is brilliant. Jump is brought to us by the delicious theater group, which is comprised entirely of recent graduates of Northwestern University. I have been hearing good things about the theatre program there. Now, I concur. As for the actors, I will not be able to say enough in the space allocated about Laura Grey as Jane, the troubled woman who, while preparing to make pancakes one day, has an unexpected suicidal visitor fall through her ceiling. If Mary Tyler Moore and Ally McBeal were to have a love child, it would be Grey. She is simply outstanding. She brings this fascinating character to life and touches every emotion with impeccable results. I have no doubt that the world will be seeing a lot more of her. Jordan Eliot as Paul, the man who jumps, is quite good, keeping us guessing constantly as to who Paul really is. Great stage presence. Frank Smith, as Eliot, Lora’s blind neighbor, also does an excellent job, especially with the blindness and the wittiness. Julie Benner seems the least comfortable on stage as the newly-widowed Lora, and makes some rather odd choices. Matt McKenna gives an interestingly subtle performance as the Super, but could make stronger choices throughout. The only real flaw with the production is that most of the cast seem too young for their roles. But don’t let that stop you. You definitely should "jump" at the chance to see this production. Cheers, Northwestern! |
| WHAT THE EUNUCH SAW by Hope Cartelli |
| If the Eunuch could articulate better
than I what we both saw, I bet we’d still agree that it was a simple,
engaging enough premise that was, depending on how you look at it,
executed either too lazily or too maniacally. A queen (Shana Rose Harvey) must have sex every hour on the hour to fend off possible death from an affliction known simply as "The Woman’s Disease." This necessitates her staying in her room and being attended to by her king (John Krasinski). Concurrently, the castle is constantly under siege by the neighboring enemy king and nobody wants queenie to know what is going on. What to do? Keep her "bizz-ay", I guess, with the Eunuch (Randall T. Sullivan), who somehow delivers, though he lacks the necessaries eunuchs usually lack. Enter, as the plot—what I could follow of it—heats up, a "traveler" in Oriental garb (Jorge Cordova) and a drunkard resembling a lost member of the Rat Pack (David Edison). Each is after the queen’s crown jewels—both sets. A bad pun, I know, but it evokes the type of Catskills shenanigans going on here. Black Stone Theater Company wants to take "the classic sex farce a step or two farther." I advise them to start back at step one and perhaps by mastering the classic form they’ll reach their goal in a year or two. Playwright Emily O‘Dell is striving for modern farce, but what does that mean when you don’t address the tradition it came from? Eunuch misses the comedic gold mine under its nose by forgoing inclusion of almost all elements that go into making a good farce good. Instead O’Dell and director Isaac Robert Hurwitz drop what seem to be some promising actors into half-hearted attempts at commedia grandness, half-baked staging of what could have been some very good physical comedy bits—including one with the king disguised as a French maid—and a half-deaf ear to the calling of consistent, coherent plot and dialogue. Hopefully, over time, Black Stone Theater will learn better how to deliver the, ahem, goods. |
