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nytheatre Archive
FringeNYC 2001

SHOW REVIEWS ON THIS PAGE: The Colonel's Wife, Mykronesia, The Snow Queen, Hanged Man's Lover, Trumpet of Freedom: The Saga of John Brown, Red Pajama Blues, Dead End, B$ll

THE COLONEL’S WIFE
by Martin Denton
The audience is ushered into the Downtown Variety Lounge at The Present Company, where a party already seems to be in progress. A pretty lady offers us wine; a suave gentleman sings something salty and Spanish nearby, swaying to the music. Once we’re all seated, a resonant voice from the back of the tiny cabaret space shouts for a salsa; the couple at the front of the room oblige with a Latin-flavored rendition of Weill’s "Mack the Knife." Then a stately woman all in white appears. She’s the owner of that commanding voice, clearly in charge of what’s happening here. She tells us that her husband, years ago, was a powerful Colonel in Argentina, a fervent opponent of the Communists who was assassinated in an attempted coup. Now she, the Colonel’s Wife, lives in exile in New York, singing boleros in places like this one and searching gamely (and vainly) for a love that might equal the one she had for her husband.

And then… a New York City cop rushes in, blowing his whistle (at least metaphorically): it’s a raid. The venue has no liquor license, there are too many people in the room… something. But leave it to the Colonel’s Wife to calm the intruder, to charm him into allowing her show to go on.

And so it does: Rightly billed as an "installation" instead of a mere play, The Colonel’s Wife captivates and thrills and, occasionally, interacts with its audience, creating a bravura sensory experience of dance, music, film, drama, and comedy. It’s the story of a woman used to getting her way who gets used and spit out by someone less vulnerable; shaped into a theatrical event that engages and disarms and compels and repels. One minute we’re appalled by this dictator’s widow and her astonishing hubris; the next we’re literally gliding onto the dancing floor with her. Things are never what they seem in The Colonel’s Wife, and they’re always precisely what they seem: that’s the point.

The text, by esteemed playwright Mario Fratti, recounts a visit to a Central Park café that results in a much-hoped-for romantic encounter between the Colonel’s Wife and a debonair American widower. It’s presented as a reminiscence by the Wife and also on film, viewed by the Wife and a two-person Chorus who comment on the story as it unfolds. Somehow it seems as natural as spring water, seeing and hearing this tale in this unconventional manner; it’s also about as sexy a theatre experience as any I’ve witnessed.

Saying too much more will ruin the surprises in store for you in this spectacularly original, eminently watchable piece. It’s created and designed by Roi Escudero "Bubi," who also stars as the Colonel’s Wife and directed it; her vision of what theatre can be is intoxicating and thrilling. Other performers include actors Alex McCord, Michael Earle, singer Francisco Cantilo, and dancer Paula Wilson, each of whom contributes much to the ambience of the piece. Francois Bernadi is responsible for the remarkable little movie at the center of the show.
MYKRONESIA
by Martin Denton
I love the premise of Mykronesia: Kron Vollmer, a New Yorker who specializes in folk dancing and supports herself fitfully in meaningless temp jobs, declares herself an independent nation. She calls herself Mykronesia, or the Nation of Kron; she invents a language (though she uses English for international commerce), she mints her own currency (though she trades in dollars at the local supermarket), and she issues herself a passport (which serves as the program for her inventive show). She’s in therapy, and in the throes of a Civil War, which has prompted the UN to provide her with two peacekeeping troops, the boyish American Josh and the seductive Frenchman Guy.

Mykronesia (the show, not the country) is an hour+ series of sketches about the trials and tribulations of this tiny nation of one, interspersed with some demonstrations of its main product (which is folk dancing, you will recall). Some of the sketches are genuinely inventive and quite funny, like the one in which Kron’s boss at the Temp Agency offers her a day job stuffing envelopes at a Wall Street firm ("Uzbekistan will do it for four dollars an hour"), or the introductory vignette, in which we encounter Josh and Guy writing letters "from the front" though they’re stationed snugly in Kron’s living room. Others contain great comic ideas but go on too long: the piece where Kron writes to Fidel Castro for aid is hilarious, in places. (She explains that she’s willing to go Communist, saying "maybe we can get that whole Domino Effect thing started again.")

No doubt about it, Vollmer is a talented writer. But Mykronesia doesn’t feel so much like a work of theatre as a blueprint for a sitcom, or, better yet, a recurring sitcom parody on a sketch comedy show like "Saturday Night Live." This is not meant negatively: the comic potential of this material is significant and well-realized here. But the nature of this entertainment suggests small weekly doses rather than a full evening of theatre. It will be interesting to see what Vollmer does with it.

The folk dancing segments are lovely; Vollmer is ingratiating and talented (though not as much at ease in scenes with other actors as she is working the house on her own). The staging, by Jonathan Bradley, still feels rather tentative; stage waits and transitions were longer and more awkward than they ought to have been, even at a FringeNYC offering. Robert Zwashcka (Josh) and Ludovic Moulin (Guy) provide outstanding support.
THE SNOW QUEEN
by David Fuller
At this writing, there are three performances of The Snow Queen remaining, Tuesday at 9, Wednesday at 3 and Friday at 9. Go. This Macduffie/Jones Performance production at the Harry de Jur Playhouse will not disappoint you. Choreographers Angela Jones and Noel MacDuffie, together with composer John LaSala, lighting designer Steve Mendes and costume designers Mr. Ken and Britt Nhi Sarah, have created a visual masterpiece of motion in this dance piece based on the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale of the same name.

The Snow Queen is a parable about the coming of age of a boy, Kay, and a girl, Gerta, who make the transition from adolescence to young adulthood with the help of a variety of fairy tale archetypes. The promotional materials provide a synopsis: "This story becomes a comic drama about sexual awakening and the difficulty of maneuvering through the icebergs of social judgment." Kay and Gerta begin at play; the play becomes potentially sexual, but neither is ready, so they go apart. Kay is seduced away by the Snow Queen, with whom he has an affair. Meantime, Gerta has a number of adventures herself, encountering women of questionable virtue (Flowers) and their madam (Sorceress), a lecherous Prince and his jealous Princess, a black clad seductress (Robber Girl) and a pair of snow children (Lapp and Finn). Kay, used and cast off by the Snow Queen, is reunited with Gerta. With innocence lost, they now confront their love on a new level.

The narrative is clear from start to finish and, take if from me, you don’t have to be a dance aficionado to love this work. It is an hour of music and movement in perfect synergy, performed by extremely talented dancers who give us gorgeous imagery and clear characterizations. For example, the opening scene in Kay and Gerta’s garden is a joyous duet of adolescent ardor: you immediately love these kids (portrayed by Noel MacDuffie and Emily Gayeski) and are compelled to follow their journey. Also, Jones is an ice jewel of sexual embodiment as the Snow Queen. Entering encased in tulle, her movements are at once erotic and mysterious – there is no doubt why Kay must leave Gerta to pursue the Queen. In their duets, Jones uses amazing strength coupled with sinewy grace and MacDuffie is the personification of youthful exuberance and adolescent angst. Other highlights include Carey Ott as the Robber Girl, who materializes out of black spandex with raw sensuousness, and Santiago Solis and Antonia Ferraro as the Prince and Princess, who supply humorous touches to classical etudes. The rest of the cast deserves mention for their unique contributions to this wonderful ballet: Christina Amendolia, Jennifer Bailey, Abbey Dehnert, Robert "Dolly Rand" Herrmann, Antonia Ferraro and Kimberly Kresge. Finally, the effective and evocative music by LaSala, ranging from Baroque to New Age, is always suitable to the moment and designers Mendes, Kenn and Sarah have supplied a visual delight.
HANGED MAN'S LOVER
by Eric Winick
According to the program notes, "Polish poet Rafal Wojaczek lived until age 26; he was born in 1945 and committed suicide in 1971. During his lifetime he was always on the fringes of official literary and artistic life." The notes go on to tell us that Wojaczek studied Polish literature for a semester at a Krakow university before dropping out to become a dispatcher in the Wroclaw city dump. This may explain, to some extent, why most people have never heard of Rafal Wojaczek. Nonetheless, Frank L. Vigoda of Boston’s Theatre Vigoda saw fit to translate numerous poems of his into English; these serve as the basis for Hanged Man’s Lover, the exceedingly odd revue now on at University Settlement.

The poems, all sung aloud by Ann Frenkel, are a grisly lot, chock full of images of death, violence and familial abuse. Rather than juxtapose narrative with the poetry, director Gwido Zlatkes presents the poems straight up, allowing us to draw our own conclusions. The staging is similarly unobtrusive. Frenkel spends most of her time sitting on the floor tapping out tunes on a toy piano or on an accordion-like device with a bellows. At times, Zlatkes places her at a real piano with her back to the audience, and, occasionally, Frenkel is allowed to move freely around the cluttered set, clapping her hands in time with the music.

As for the music, well, it all begins to sound the same about fifteen minutes into this hour-long show. At best, it’s got a Tom Waits-Kurt Weill feel to it, with a lot of thumping and churning, but Frenkel’s voice isn’t particularly easy on the ears. With no clear through-line or order to any of the poems, the show is distinctly lacking in momentum, such that its key questions become, simply, Where will Frenkel go next? What instrument will she play? And with lines like "I feel my sperm and saliva dripping," "Oh, how she howled when skinned," and "Death is androgyny," the show veers dangerously close to self-parody.

Ultimately, as I sat there, watching Frenkel belt out the line "May this rape never end" over twenty consecutive times, all I felt was pity. Poor Rafal Wojaczek. As screwed-up and gloomy as he may have been, something tells me he would’ve been downright disappointed with Theatre Vigoda’s lame tribute.
TRUMPET OF FREEDOM: THE SAGA OF JOHN BROWN
by Julie Congress
"What are we willing to give our lives to? What are we willing to give our lives for? How fiercely should we resist evil? Can we be corrupted by our own righteousness?" These ethical questions are all found in the program for Trumpet of Freedom: The Saga of John Brown. So what are the answers? The play makes it quite clear that nothing is clear-cut, nothing is black or white. Exactly what shade of grey it is--that you have to go home and figure out for yourself.

The play is set in John Brown’s prison cell on the morning of his execution. Brown is writing a letter to fellow abolitionists and, while doing so, recounting the story of his life. We see him as a twelve-year-old boy, witnessing the indescribable brutality of a master to his dying, child slave. We observe the massacre in Kansas, where Brown and his sons murdered seven pro-slavery families in one of the pivotal events leading to the Civil War. We see important figures of the time through John Brown’s disappointed eyes: Abraham Lincoln is depicted as a racist and Frederick Douglass is portrayed as someone who didn’t want to take action against slavery. We watch the failed attack of the arsenal at Harpers Ferry, in which Brown and a small "army" attempted to launch a war against slavery. Lastly, we see Brown’s last days and him dangling from the end of a hangman’s rope. It’s riveting.

Playing the infamous abolitionist, Norman Thomas Marshall brings the character completely to life. At some points you truly forget that it’s Marshall and not Brown standing before you. He also brings all of the other historical figures depicted in the play to life, from Harriet Tubman to Robert E. Lee to Brown’s wife, who visits him the day prior to his hanging. Marshall makes them totally discernable from one another using only accent, speech and body movement. He is a truly wonderful actor.

Writers George Wolf Reily and Norman Thomas Marshall have created an amazing one-man show, driven not only by the gripping life of John Brown but also by the age-old conundrum of knowing if you’ve crossed the thin line between "good" and "evil" and if the situation can ever justify it. Never do they judge John Brown’s actions, they leave that up to the audience.

Trumpet of Freedom is an exceedingly interesting and thought-provoking play. The writing, the story, Marshall’s acting and, especially, the issues the play raises all combine to make an engrossing dramatic experience.
RED PAJAMA BLUES
by Martin Denton
Brad McEntire’s play Red Pajama Blues is an entertaining but uneven offbeat comedy about depression. Its protagonist is Rex, a young man prone to bouts of anxiety who has sunk deeper than ever before: for the past two months, all he’s done is sit on his couch in his red pajamas, staring emptily into space. Rex’s sister Betsy and his best friend Thomas conspire to lift him out of his funk, eventually literally tickling him into submission. Rex agrees to a blind date with a young woman named Lydia, and meets her, hopefully but warily, at a local restaurant.

The climactic scenes, depicting Rex and Lydia’s date, suggest that Red Pajama Blues is about the redemptive power of love, or at least the healing power of human contact. But the denouement, which is something of a letdown, indicates that McEntire has something else on his agenda here—I’m not sure precisely what. McEntire sets Rex up as a victim of outrageous circumstance: his first girlfriend leaves him to spend time in an induced coma, Lydia turns out to be in the FBI witness protection program, his sister Betsy is pathologically needy and selfish, even the waitress in the restaurant scene has an unlikely optical disorder whereby she turns whatever she looks directly at into stone. The non-sequitur absurdity is funny but inconsistent, and it undermines whatever strength of character Rex might actually possess: in a world as off-kilter as this one, could anyone possibly keep himself afloat?

The production at FringeNYC is spotty, with Stephen Ross (Rex) and Nichole Greevy (Lydia) faring quite well in the central roles and Todd Faulkner (Thomas) and Jennifer Ward (Betsy) faltering in supporting performances that push way too hard; Jacqueline Kabat scores laughs as Rex’s first girlfriend and the weird waitress. McEntire has staged the play himself, somewhat unsteadily: the mood shifts from antic to serious and back again without much warning or sense of purpose, and to uncertain effect. (This is true of McEntire’s script, too, so who’s to say which came first.)

There’s certainly evidence of talent in Red Pajama Blues. But in its current state, the potential feels mostly unfulfilled.
DEAD END
by David Fuller
Sidney Kingsley’s 1935 drama about the clash of haves and have-nots along the East Side is at times melodrama at its best. The story primarily concentrates on the lives of a gang of young toughs, living at the edge, and swimming in, the East River. The play gave birth to an Academy Award nominated film by William Wyler, which in turn spawned the series of movie comedies featuring "The Dead End Kids."

The Nighthouse Company production at the Henry Street Settlement’s outdoor amphitheater, as directed by David Gaard, is a fine attempt at this difficult piece. It seems appropriate to set a play about life on the streets of New York, literally, on a street (Grand Street) in New York, though sometimes traffic noise competes for our attention. Still, the staging, using most of the amphitheater’s space, plus the surrounding walls, balconies and even the adjoining building’s entrances, is effective, giving the audience a "you are there" feeling. Gaard’s use of one wall as the edge of the river from which the youths go swimming was particularly inspired. And for the most part all the actors could be heard – there is a lot of yelling in the play, anyway.

Particularly worthy of mention are all the members of the "gang": Mike Dressel (Angel), John Gomez (Tommy), Andre Simmons (Dippy), Francisco Solorzano (Milty), Chuck Worthington (T.B.), and Che Yardan (Spit). These young men have constructed specific, believable characters that are great fun to watch. Jeremy Brena as Gimpty and Andrew Price as Baby Face Martin are also fine, as are Cheryl Finlayson (Kay) and Belinda Kalinin (Francey). Price and Kalinin’s scene is especially entertaining – it’s melodrama at its best because the actors’ intentions and motivations are clear and the emotions "real."

I marveled at how Gaard was able to assemble so large a cast. Many roles are little more than walk-ons or background characters, yet Gaard had a 50-person cast. The result, as could be expected, was that the cast was uneven, ranging from some very good performances in the major roles to some less polished work by some of the minor players. Regardless, it’s an entertaining way to spend two hours outside in the summer.
B$LL
by Tim Cusack
The air conditioning wasn’t working the other night at Henry Street Settlement, and as a result, one of this year’s most memorable Fringe moments occurred. About four fifths of the way through her extraordinary performance as Bill Gates (B$LL), Melissa Heston suddenly turned to her director and writer Helen Richardson sitting in the booth and told her that she had to stop. She then walked out of the theatre. Apparently Heston had become faint from a combination of the stifling heat and the demanding physical score of the piece. Aside from the inherent drama in a performer halting a show, this event will linger long in the memory because of where it occurred in the action—just at the moment when "Bill" was about to take the audience on a tour of his climate-regimented home: a house where the temperature is always exactly the way he wants it and the music he hears is always his favorite. It is, in other words, a place where B.G. will never, ever faint from the heat.

After about five minutes, Heston came back on and the show resumed. She had, however, violated one of the cardinal rules of the Bible of Bill—the urge to rest is the enemy. Successfully climbing the ladder of success means never admitting to any weakness and never stopping. Heston’s raw human frailty was the evening’s most powerful rebuke to the corporate dream of ever-expanding worker efficiency and productivity hungered after by capitalist visionaries such as Gates.

And Gates is nothing if not visionary. In this piece he’s quite literally having visions—visions of Biblical proportion. He’s not just out to beat the competition; he’s coveting the corner office of the Big Guy in the penthouse suite, too. Bill tells us about a contest his church pastor sponsors, promising a free dinner at the Seattle Space Needle to the first child who can perfectly recite Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. Naturally Bill wins. He may have memorized the words, but the inconvenient message contained within the sermon, all that stuff about "blessed be the poor" and "blessed be the meek" doesn’t really serve an ambitious player at the end of the American Century. As Bill demonstrates when he polls the audience about whether we would prefer to be rich or to be poor, the majority of us would rather be rich when confronted with the choice.

And so the old moral order, which at least gave lip service to checking the power of unbridled greed, has got to go. He’s going head-to-head with Yahweh. He comes to bring us a new Gospel, a new Covenant, the promise of an ever-expanding economy and prosperity for all. He brings us this new covenant, not on stone tablets, but on shiny, iridescent disks. The price he will extract from us for these sacred CD ROMS: The God-like power to know everything about us with the press of a button. He has already reversed the Tower of Babel. We no longer speak hundreds of different dialects but one universal binary language. And Microsoft will be the conduit for all of our interactions as we work longer and longer hours at our personalized workstations and then go home to sleep in our individualized sleep compartments, far removed from His dominion on Puget Sound.

All of these ideas are communicated through Heston’s remarkably precise gestural language. Bill runs in place (most memorably while suspended in the air), flexes his muscles, does smooth jazz turns to Frank Sinatra’s singing (kudos to sound designer Joe Payne). Herron does it all beautifully, while keeping up a constant stream of patter. Her choice to make Gates more preacher than nerd is a tad obvious given the thrust of the text; I wanted to hear how the words would resonate if it was the geeky Gates we know from television testifying to the power of capital. I also wanted more specifics from Gates’s life to ground the metaphysical concerns of the piece in the ugly realities of his business practices. After all his battle isn’t really with God, but with the rest of us. Still, this is a work in progress, and I eagerly await its next update.