nytheatre Archive
FringeNYC 2002
SHOW REVIEWS ON THIS PAGE: Play, The Corner, Pigeon, Naked
Girls Drinking, Beringia, Resa Fantastiskt Mystisk, Laura McKenzie Feels Like
Makin' Love, Up Your Rabbit Hole, The American Revolution, Panichorea, The
Metamorphosis By Kafka, fourtyseven, The Sun Rises In The East
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PLAY (LONG LIVE TANTALUS) by Anna Drozdowski |
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Long Live Tantalus is the second name given to Play, now
at the Present Company Theatorium. Quite a name for a show that begins
with the line "C'mon Dickie," thus setting the scene for this story of a
Midwestern family. After moving back home, Dickie, Jr. (Noah Trepanier)
is caught between his overbearing mother (Yvette Lenhart), his Green Bay
Packing father (Ben Killberg), his beer-guzzling Uncle Pat (Brian Sacca),
and his hot-to-trot ex-girlfriend (Meghan Cass). Add to this mix talk of
his current girlfriend and psychotherapy and you have your average
middle-class psychosis. From this Chicagoan's perspective the only thing
that could have added to the scene they set up were a few more mullets
and moustaches. Presented by bipolar productions, Play (Long Live Tantalus) is an accurate and oftentimes painful look at the American family. Stopped short occasionally by dialect that veered a bit towards North Dakota rather than Wisconsin, the audience still reveled in the polka music and the sing-along. The characters, most notably Mother, proceed with the appropriately annoying characteristics and eccentricities that any child would abhor. And the fridge full of beer onstage certainly was a tantalizing alternative to the hotbox that the FringeNYC sometimes becomes. I wonder how it is that they have captured my bizarre upbringing to such an extent? |
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THE CORNER by Gregg Bellon |
Entering PS122’s upstairs performing space from the brightness of
noontime Sunday, I am thrust into "a vast emptiness… a place with no
space," save for four spotlighted, outrageously styled characters
engaged in physical non-sequiturs to the wailing of Tom Waits. Welcome
to the obscurity, ambiguity, and absurdity of The Corner, the New
York debut of writer/director Michelle Diaz and her company, Wreckio.
Hi, hello, Mr. Beckett… Hello, hi, Mr. Ionesco… it’s Ms. Michelle Diaz
knocking on your proverbial door. The lights go to black; the music fades; a single, wide spotlight fades up; and Two (Dechelle Damien) is seated center, bug-eyed through thick prescription bifocals, maniacally taking notes in a mini notepad that’s tethered to her skirt. Almost immediately, One (Karly Maurer), a diva-like has-been, comes literally flying on stage, expelled from somewhere into the nowhere of the here, her purse trailing her from the void, her make-up garishly Baby-Jane-ish. I realize rather quickly that any plot that pops up as the show continues would only be a slight diversion from the true scope of The Corner, the exploration of and experimentation with modes and forms. Eventually, the remaining characters, Three (Haydee Escobar), a 12-year-old, Catholic-schoolgirl triple threat, and Four (Randi Berry), a bearded testosterone-inspired, drag-king murderer, join us. And once complete, this group really embraces the deconstructionist intentions of Diaz and locks in to some solid ensemble work, highlighted by a painful, yet hilarious, group rendition of Wilson Phillip’s "Hold On." Their individual strengths maintain the integrity of the whole. Cast and crew biographies confirm their common New World University (Miami) training, and even their professional credits overlap. They make us laugh, though (especially this friend-heavy crowd that made me homesick and nostalgic for Miami). So, we have fun, Diaz’s only condition. Her Director’s Note on the program cover prepares you for "an exploration of limitations." Near the end, One says, (I paraphrase) "How can I learn lessons now that I’m dead?"—a line that alludes to a theme but doesn’t hold the piece together enough. With all due respect to its professionalism and execution, The Corner feels somewhat like school work. |
| PIGEON by Anna Drozdowski |
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Kim Kuhteubl ranges from surreal to sublime in Pigeon, her show
about the eponymous "flying rat" that also manages to cover her 30th
birthday, early-mid-life crisis, and quite a rant on administrative
assistants (not to be confused with secretaries). Caught between her
office desk, copier, bathroom, and apartment balcony, Kuhteubl pokes
holes in the notions of success and happiness with a sincerity that
makes you wonder what she really does believe when she isn't on the
stage. She’s accompanied in her endeavor to get a man, get a job, raise her pigeons, and change your ideas about office help by Mark McIntyre on double bass; the resulting duet is a rhythmic pleasure. Shifting between underscore and conversation in a very sophisticated version of the wonky-wonk Charlie Brown voice, the two play off each other effectively. Her almost-thirty desperation is believable but not depressing. "I put on at least ten pounds in the past three moths, and I don't even think I enjoyed it!" A great international addition to FringeNYC by Toronto's Girl Power Productions. |
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NAKED GIRLS DRINKING! by Don Jordan |
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Initial Warning: Naked Girls Drinking! does not
include the title-promised or postcard-advertised "naked girls,"
but if you pay close enough attention you might notice a girl
having a drink or two. What this production does offer for a small one-time-only price of $12 is a look into the world of New Jersey salesmen whining into their endless supply of beer. During which time, I was taught that if I invest in a new play and become a first time theatre producer, I will (almost by magic) become a sleazy man-handling jerk who only wants to see actresses make out with each other on stage; realize that women can be easily convinced (a) into selling their bodies and (b) that their lives depend on me for a chance to become famous; and, that the actual artistic merit behind a play need only be considered once these prior two requirements are accomplished. For that’s what happens to the salesmen characters in Gareth Smith's new play. This might seem like good fodder for a few laughs from the audience (and it is), yet the play takes its approach to this scenario too seriously to convince me that the world onstage is supposed to be imaginary. All too often the play-text seems to want to educate me about life through this bitter, self-deprecating lens. Additionally, there are so many references to film and theatre throughout the performance that I felt as though I should have needed the correct password to be allowed to enter. I must point out that regardless of these elements inside Naked Girls Drinking!, there were a number of funny moments and the audience members did seem to have a good time. However, despite my own attempts to do the same, I left the theater feeling unsatisfied. |
| BERINGIA, THE ROOT OF ASIAN by Gregg Bellon |
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I’m not what you’d call a dance fan, but I completely loved Beringia,
the Root of Asian, essentially an allegorical tale about Asian
pedigree, the perseverance of love, and its power to heal and complete
the cycle of life. According to the program (my nominee for Most
Valuable Program at FringeNYC), director-choreographer Masaru Inayoshi
and RAKUDO Dance Company have created a new style of musical, the
new-age musical made in Asia, a fusion of dance, narrative, song, and
cultural history. In spite of my preconceived apprehensions about many
of these concepts (dance, new-age, scene titles like "the wilderness of
the death"), I found myself completely engrossed in a journey
transcending narrative, language, or medium. Fourteen dancers—athletic,
talented, and loving every minute—run and jump and tumble and fight for
almost all 80 minutes. The story is there somewhere, gleaned in large
part through some study of the aforementioned invaluable program and
from the few narrative segments. A young girl and boy set out "aimed at
East Land." They cross snow-topped mountains, fertile lands, and "the
bridge of the land," only to come across a warrior tribe that attacks
and separates them. Masaru weaves a thumping, techno-new age fusion soundtrack into his own dance fusion of contemporary jazz, pop, ballet and modern. Scenes transition seamlessly through nuanced lighting changes as the dancers change costumes and re-enter almost quicker than seems possible: tight, tight, tight! "Requiem," a percussion piece where the entire company sits in a crescent shape each playing one of four types of musical instruments, is timely and manifests the dancers’ rhythm and precision even when not dancing. I must say that Beringia seems slightly indulgent and decadent in its scope and style at times. The finale is too long, a medley of small numbers featuring a handful of dancers taking bows, alternating line-ups, and finally coming together in a grand flourish… that leads into a final company bow… then a redundantly indulgent curtain call. But again, it’s very hard to begrudge performers who have given so much already and want to give you just a little more. |
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RESA FANTASTISKT MYSTISK by Danielle Duvall |
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Color me dry-witted. If you’re looking for a show that makes you simply
laugh out loud for 90 minutes, Burglars of Hamm and The Ghost Road
Company’s current production, Resa Fantastiskt Mystisk, is the
ticket. In a phrase, see it. It’s dry, hysterical and a rather
unconventional festival of dramaturgy—to say the least. "Director" (or perhaps not) Todd Merrill explains that he is going to take us on a whirlwind tour of a play written by his favorite playwright, the severely underrated and exponentially Swedish Mr. Lars Mattsun. Merrill is determined to educate and enlighten us all through Mattsun’s deeply symbolic writings, because (according to Merrill) this playwright has never been truly understood or appreciated. Apparently, we all just need a bit of assistance. Merrill leads his skillful ensemble of storytellers (they don’t have a choice), as they transport us to a time of days gone by in Sweden, where we begin our artistic journey. I don’t want to give any more of this away. See it. This is a beautifully directed piece of work (the actual director is Matt Almos). Merrill is quick-witted, a deadpan enthusiast and incredibly charming. While the ensemble seems to be rich with talent, co-stars Daniel Stewart, Carolyn Almos and Jon Beauregard indeed stand out, playing several roles riotously. That said, occasionally the pace drops throughout the play and momentum is lost—but for the most part, it is an enjoyable and swift ride. As Merrill’s demonstration goes from bad to worse, Resa Fantastiskt Mystisk becomes more and more of a sharp and witty romp. You’ll eat it up. And hell, even if you aren’t catching it all, you’ll be glad to know that a very helpful tour guide—our man Merrill; a shepherd of knowledge, if you will—is on hand to gently maneuver you through your experience. |
| LAURA MCKENZIE FEELS LIKE MAKIN’ LOVE by Joel T |
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Performing on a sweltering night in New York City, Chicago import Laura
McKenzie manages to transform her stage into a playground of memorable
characters each viewing love and femininity through their own unique
eyes with their own unique voices. And make no mistake about it: from
the moment the lights come up, it is her stage. From the wild P.
Diddy-esque tome "I Wanna Be My Husband’s Ho," to a side-splitting turn
as the leader of a husband-finding seminar, to a subdued and remarkably
effective look at a woman struggling to get out of bed for the first
time in quite a while, McKenzie uses her strengths as a writer and
performer to take the audience along with her without the over-the-top
abrasiveness that can often poison the "written and performed by" genre. Laura McKenzie Feels Like Makin’ Love is most effective when McKenzie plays characters that allow her to reveal her intelligence and vulnerability. For example, an academic examination of Bad Company and the entire "cock rock" phenomenon referenced by the show’s title is smart and funny, while a ghetto-accented performer accepting a Grammy Award seems a bit forced and falls flat. Perhaps a function of the show’s direction, the early moments of Laura McKenzie Feels Like Makin’ Love struggle to find a crisp thematic unity that is present later on in the piece. Once McKenzie hits her stride however, the show flows nicely from one vignette to the next, providing not only a showcase for a fine individual talent, but a poignant and entertaining look at the many faces and voices of femininity. And all this without a single pair of acid washed jeans or a mullet. A certain collection of 1970’s English rockers would be so proud! |
| UP YOUR RABBIT HOLE by April Nugent |
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Imagine being a recent high school graduate and having a play,
written by and starring you and your friends, presented in New
York City for a throng of admiring family and friends. This
describes the Queen Mab’s Theatre Company from Westchester, NY.
This young group is performing Up Your Rabbit Hole, an
original adaptation of Lewis Carroll’s children’s classic
Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Up Your Rabbit Hole follows Alice Liddell, an ambitious advertising executive, determined to win her company’s largest account. She is so focused, in fact, that she neglects other areas of her life. After some confusion on her morning commute, Alice winds up aboard the wrong train and soon finds herself in the world of Wonderland. This time around, the sadistic Queen of Hearts has set up a mandatory game of "Capture the Flag" in which the winner will be crowned the new ruler of Wonderland. Through her participation in this game, Alice learns that winning is not the most important thing in life and upon her return to the real world, chooses to follow her heart. Though there are some clever updates to Carroll’s characters, the script is predictable, full of cliches and lacking in forward momentum. The 75-minute piece seems considerably longer and is full of unfortunate reminders that you are watching an inexperienced troupe. Actors accidentally crash into one another both on stage and off, knocking over props and set-pieces, and crack up at flubbed lines. However, there are some performances that are worth noting. Peter Kennedy as Tweedle Dum, Eoin Cahill as the Cheshire Cat and Tweedle Dee, and Trevor Dawkins as the Caterpillar all have well-formed characters and some nice moments on stage. And Felicia Hudson, who plays two rather small roles, proves that good, solid work shines through. I am quite sure that we will see these performers again. Even though Up Your Rabbit Hole is a commendable example of theatre created by and for teenagers, it is not quite up to the standards of other FringeNYC offerings. However, Queen Mab’s Theatre Company should be applauded for their initiative and enthusiasm. |
| THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION by Michael Criscuolo |
| Inverse Theater's
production of The American Revolution, Kirk Wood Bromley's
excellent play about the birth of our nation, benefits from two (among
many other) things. First is its Shakespearean design. From its overall
scope to its many stock devices—the use of verse, soliloquies and songs,
a group of comic rabble-rousers, a woman disguised as a man for no
apparent reason—the Bard's fingerprints are all over this play. Second
is its sharp sense of focus. Despite having more than twenty characters,
The American Revolution ends up being a story about two men—George
Washington (Alan Benditt) and Benedict Arnold (Joshua Spafford) —and
what the revolution means to them. By making the focus so small, Bromley
is able to make larger statements about freedom, democracy, and man's
sense of duty both to himself and to "the cause" all the more potently. Director Howard Thoresen keeps the action moving at a fluid pace, and the entire cast is terrific. Hank Wagner is perfect as the unofficial leader of the Rebel Mess, an aimless quartet of American soldiers (and the play's comic relief). Benditt is effective and moving as a Washington who shifts constantly between stoicism, melancholy, and indignant rage. And Spafford is superb as Benedict Arnold. The scenes between Arnold and his wife (Billie James, who is also wonderful) mirror and rival those between Macbeth and Lady Macbeth, and suggest that those roles should be in Spafford’s and James' futures. Production of this size and magnitude are not uncommon at FringeNYC. Productions that succeed as well as The American Revolution does are. See it before it's too late. |
| PANICHOREA by Jeffrey Lewonczyk |
| Paranoia, stupidity, and
the popular delusion of crowds are classic themes for satire, themes
that America just so happens to have experienced in spades over the past
year. By taking them on in their sharp new show, Panichorea, the
KAiROS! Co. risks offending wide sections of the populace still stinging
from the roller coaster of recent events. But in shrewdly adopting a
framework that sidesteps the whole issue of the WTC attacks, focusing
instead on the aftermath of media, public, and institutional panic in
the face of the unknown, Panichorea will only give offense to
those who deserve it. The show’s title refers to a mysterious disease that the newscasters (who appear in recurring video supplements) tell us has been spreading through the nation via Colombian coffee. In a series of scenes that display the response to the unfolding events as they spread from the average schmos watching TV through the medical community, corporate America, religious establishments, and the government, the show manages to snipe at the zealousness of corporate sponsorship, the bomb-happy follies of American foreign policy, the ability of sex to sell anything, and the need for people in fear to grab hold of a God, any God (even if it just turns out to be a table). The clever writing (courtesy of Richard Hinojosa) creates a cohesive world in which nothing is sacred and nothing is certain: coffee represents both anthrax and foreign oil; doctors both exacerbate and soothe the panic; disaster is both bad and good for business. There are also a lot of fart jokes. The performers (Hinojosa, Joseph Langham, Clint McCown, and Teresa Ryno) are a beautifully tight ensemble, and they are each equally at home in the wacky roles AND the straight roles. Everyone gets a chance to flaunt their stuff, and they take full advantage. (Highlights include Hinojosa’s happy-go-lucky conspiracy theorist; Langham’s Crocodile-Hunter-esque Johnny Prevention; Ryno’s narcoleptic, cranky old bag; and McCown’s senile, Jimmy-Stewart-inspired General, who presides over a particularly scathing military tribunal.) My only caveat is that I experienced fewer true belly laughs than I expected, but that seems a quibble. Overall, the show is whip-smart, funny, and slick (in the good way). I left not exhausted from laughter, but satisfied that someone has addressed current events with imagination and panache. And fart jokes. |
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THE METAMORPHOSIS BY KAFKA by Matthew Freeman |
| For those of you unfamiliar
with the classic novel, Franz Kafka’s Metamorphosis (not to be
confused with Ovid’s on Broadway) begins as our protagonist Gregor Samsa
awakens to find that he has transformed into a large "vermin" overnight.
His state alienates him from his family and all of those who live
"outside his bedroom." Exquisite misery ensues in this, Kafka’s most
well-known work. In the Black Moon Theatre Company’s stage version anything happening outside of the bedroom is shown above the stage on black-and-white film. Several actors from the film appear in the real space, while Gregor never enters the false film world. It’s a tough balance to maintain, and although it doesn’t entirely succeed, it is mostly effective and beautiful. Director Rene Migliaccio has a very powerful aural and visual sensibility. His lead, Dario Tangelson, reflects this brilliantly. With his nearly silent performance, often mouthing dialogue played in distortion over speakers, Mr. Tangelson is emotionally rich, intense and specific. The effect of his work is nearly hypnotic, as is Migliaccio’s use of the Collective Unconscious space. While the style works well on stage, the film is problematic. The film acting is very broad, sometimes intentionally campy. The effect of this may not be intentional: it never allows the audience to invest emotionally in a situation that is already impossible. I’m sure part of my response is that, as an American, I’ve come to expect verisimilitude in cinema, so that theatrically large acting appears comic on screen. Regardless of my proclivities towards naturalism on film, though, if film is used to physically alienate the audience (a true "fourth wall"), there is little need for the acting to be so broad. In a piece so inherently abstract, why abstract it even further? The film, which is the weakest part of the show, is also front and center most of the time, which can become a bit frustrating. Nevertheless, Black Moon’s uneven production highlights a director with a clear love of the theatrical and nearly academic approach to his art: truly a rare find. |
| FOURTYSEVEN by Joe Murphy |
| If you’re in the mood for a
frenetic, non-linear, even bizarre theatrical experience, albeit one
anchored by an electrifying performance, fourtyseven might be for
you. If you’re not into racking your brain to figure out what’s
happening on stage, well, there are 180 or so other shows at FringeNYC
you could see instead. If you’re game, fourtyseven introduces you to a superheroine, The Pharoah’s Daughter, and her alter-ego, the troubled, institutionalized teenager Veronika. The dual roles, and an assortment of other odd characters, are all played by the energetic and pliant Nicole Manek. She stomps, she crawls, she sprints, she dances—and that’s just her body. Her expressive face stretches and contorts, accompanied by a variety of voices, to animate the circle of people who inhabit the strange fantasy world consisting of Veronika, her odd family, and her eccentric friends. The plot, suggestive of a comic book as Timothy Leary might have written it, has something to do with a sinister experimental drug regimen foisted on some unsuspecting young subjects. Then again it also has to do with a (possible) murder, a graffiti-scrawling punk girl, a maternal arch-villain, and several other strands that are, putting it mildly, complicated to relate. The schizoid narrative jumps quickly and often from one perspective to another, thus mirroring Veronika’s confused mental state, which is a neat dramatic choice. The intricate and colorful lighting scheme, moody pop music, and the sound design’s distorted disembodied voices work with the manic actor and the stylistic set to add to the trippiness. Initially curled up on a white mental hospital bed, Manek doesn’t just act around the set, she literally de-constructs and re-constructs it several times, moving it around piece by piece, always in character. The overall experience is an intense, multi-sensory kaleidoscope. What it means in the end, I don’t know, but the building blocks, human and technical, make it worth the confusion. fourtyseven (which refers, presumably, to the patient ID number on Veronika’s institution-issued shirt) was created by Manek and director Margaret Smith and produced by the Canadian theatre company Tecumseth Massive. |
| THE SUN RISES IN THE EAST by RIK |
| FringeNYC includes many productions that state a
relationship to the events of 9/11. Some see a connection between the
retelling of a classic and the tragedy and destruction of 9/11; others
feel their play or performance reflects the current state of the world
including 9/11. Only one, however, is the personal reaction of the
author to the events of that day in September and his desire to share
his having been ‘here’ with those who weren’t. The result is the
performance piece The Sun Rises In The East written and performed
by Brian Shapiro. Shapiro feels that the events (in fact all events) that occurred that day are of a “sense consuming nature”. Direct Experience (his having been part of the event) is not quite the same as Mediated Experience (his friends and relatives have been second hand witnesses via television and the media). He has created a piece that he hopes will enable others to share the Direct Experience, one that will reflect the energies, emotions and sensations of that day, one that will bring all the senses into play so that the audience will become part of the Direct Experience. Through the use of mime, dance, and spoken word, Shapiro takes us on a journey through that fateful day and those that follow. This journey is not necessarily comfortable or smooth for the uninitiated, for those who aren’t devotees of this type of performance. It is easy to become enamored of the talent this man displays as he writhes on the floor or gracefully gallops across the stage rather than feel the emotional meaning he is trying to get across to the audience. The audience was small for the performance I attended and his efforts at engaging them in a dialogue fell somewhat flat. A bigger crowd would make for a more meaningful interplay. Although not completely engaged and not completely understood by many, the piece ended by giving the audience a feeling of contentment, of solace. |
