nytheatre Archive
FringeNYC 2001

SHOW REVIEWS ON THIS PAGE: Break The Floor, Sticky Like A Frog, Mary Stuart, After Wednesday, Studio, A Touch of the Poe, Befriending Beau, Snapshot

BREAK THE FLOOR by Julie Congress
Loud rock music and fabulous tap dancing. The postcard of the show puts it even more succinctly: "Rock. Tap. New York." Break the Floor is new and innovative, passionate and powerful. It’s a bunch of young people doing what they love; an energetic, electric mass that takes tap onto their own terms and has a blast doing it. It’s a truly wonderful experience to witness people so incredibly in love with what they are doing, and if this is what it takes them to get excited, if they have to create their own art form to achieve this then I congratulate them for having the nerve to do it. With the atmosphere and clamor of a rock concert and an explosion of tapping feet, Break the Floor begins with the emergence of a dozen or more young girls who look like they’re right out of a dance studio recital. With one exception: they haven’t been made up to look like young beauty contestants. They’re adorned in normal clothes and are just letting the dancing take complete hold over them. After a brief stint on stage, they are replaced by the twelve older performers (probably late teens). The taped music is replaced by a live band which includes two of the dancers. Every number is unique and interesting: they use five-gallon water jugs, chairs, boards, boxes and pretty much anything they can lay their hands (or feet as the case may be) on in the course of the performance; each scene more inventive than its predecessor. Through the use of voice recordings used intermittently between numbers, we find out exactly what Break the Floor is trying to accomplish. They say in a very straightforward manner that they do not wish to be forced to live a life being cast in musicals such as 42nd Street which they can’t put their heart and soul into but would rather adapt tap dancing so that it suits them -- a union between tap and their other pursuits. Thus the rock concert ambiance. And the unmatching, but comfortable costumes. And the great din. And, indirectly, the extreme vigor and enthusiasm that you are not apt to find in many other shows. It really is impossible to not be caught up in the energy, the fervor, the passion, the oomph, the zeal of the show. It is an amazing theatrical experience that I urge you to go see while there is still time.
STICKY LIKE A FROG by Julie Congress
Four girls and one woman on a stage, expressing themselves through interpretive dance and "stream-of-consciousness" dialogue, questioning who they, and women as a whole, are. According to the program, the "text is derived from journal entries and poetry written by members of the Touring Company of A Company of Girls and oral histories taken from elder women at the Crescent House/Viking nursing home in South Portland, Maine." While the show doesn’t quite live up to this entire description, it is still a very interesting piece with a great deal of talent behind it. Sticky Like a Frog begins with stage veteran (and the only adult member of the cast) Claudia Hughes, crouching in a dramatic pose at the stage’s center. We do not have long to wait before the children (Jolene Bouffier, Chelsea DiPietro, Nhi Nguyen, and Sara Yakawonis) ranging from a 10 year-old to a high schooler, come prancing onto the stage. The bunch then begin reciting and acting/dancing out comments about their lives that seem random, until you realize that they are all snippets from the information they had collected from the young and old of Portland. Most of their actions are anything but realistic, but one must allow them their artistic freedom. Overall it’s likable and interesting. My one real comment for Sticky Like a Frog is that we become conscious of the fact that each cast member is playing many parts; almost every non-consecutive line they utter is a new character. However, these different individuals are never distinguished from one another, except occasionally with Hughes. This makes the show somewhat confusing to the audience, we do not see the many parts until a great deal of the way into the show or once it is finished, and only then after having reread the program and found out what the play is based on. And in our moments of unenlightenment, we end up looking for the nitpicky "mistakes" that we do not understand until later (such as one child saying she has a mean father and then later saying the complete opposite – it was two different characters but we don’t realize it at the time). The show loses some of its charm when you are not engaged in it but trying to understand it instead. Sticky Like a Frog is a pleasurable experience, it’s agreeable to watch and has some young gifted actors and dancers in it.
MARY STUART by Trav S.D.
It is a testament to the excellence of Queensize Productions’ Mary Stuart that I went expecting Schiller, didn’t get it, and wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed. This version was written by the Italian Dacia Maraini, with English translation by Christopher Pearcy and Nicolette Kay. Presented in the Present Company’s new ad hoc venue "Theatre 196" (a venue that could only have been conceived by the Japanese in The Bridge Over the River Kwai), Mary Stuart is overall the most satisfying bit of theatre I have seen in this year’s FringeNYC. Maraini’s script is an exploration of the relationship between Mary Queen of Scotland and Elizabeth I during the former’s long imprisonment for treason. The two large playing cards that adorn the set announce Denny’s emphasis on the theme of duality. We are invited to compare and contrast the two queens: Elizabeth, the cold and calculating virgin queen (Queen of Diamonds) vs. Mary, hot blooded, adulterous and impulsive (Queen of Hearts). Mary chides her servant for flattering her, only wanting to hear the truth. Elizabeth prefers the reverse, for only flattery lets her know she is in control. Elizabeth claims not to need men; Mary needs men desperately. They emerge as two possible models of womanhood, related, yet complementary. As one of the characters says, if one of them had been a man, they should have married each other. The two actresses (Gertraid Ingeborg and Elaine Hudson) play the queens and reverse roles to play their ladies-in-waiting. Scenes alternate in a parallel fashion showing us first the beleaguered and suffering Mary in her prison cell, then the imperious Elizabeth in her palace. Both actresses are superb in these demanding roles which require them to switch frequently on a dime from regal rulers to servile courtiers. Director Tanya Denny has meticulously studied her text; she clearly knows it inside and out. Every moment is specific, alive and serves a dramatic function -- which sounds elementary, but is rare enough indeed.
AFTER WEDNESDAY by Michael Criscuolo
After Wednesday takes a delectably intense and topical subject, high school shootings, and sucks the life right out of it. I assume playwright Louise Schwartz feels strongly about this topic, or else she wouldn’t have chosen to write a play. However, the production that’s currently on display at Theatre for the New City’s Cabaret space does nothing to confirm that assumption. The play focuses on the aftereffects of a school shooting in small-town Virginia, perpetrated by two members of a local group of outcast punks and goth kids. After the two assailants shoot up the school cafeteria, the shaken community casts a suspicious eye on the rest of the outcasts, even though they have nothing to do with it. The pressure of that scrutiny, and the police investigation, tests everyone’s friendship. Schwartz sets herself up with a potentially explosive dramatic story, but does nothing with it. Her general message seems to be one of tolerance, but she never gets any more specific than that. Nor does she tell the audience anything new on the subject, either. Schwartz is also in dire need of an editor. Many of her scenes go on long after their dramatic tension has dissipated, and her dialogue is so overexplanatory that it leaves no room for the audience to get involved and do any work. Director Ariel Nazarian and set designer Susan Barras don’t help matters much, either. Nazarian doesn’t have a clear point of view on the story or the characters, and her staging reflects that. The actors look like they’ve been given free reign to move whenever they feel like it. Consequently, the entire play feels random and confused. And, Barras’ set design—which places a den, a kitchen, and an interrogation room all on stage together—suggests that she has a little more to learn about spatial relations. With no specificity to guide and anchor them, the cast has nothing to go on. They all look lost on stage, not to mention a little underrehearsed (albeit I saw their first performance). But, there are some promisingly appealing actors on stage—most notably Jessica Charys Tanner as the protagonist, Lila, and Alison Looman as her best friend, Nicole—so, hopefully, they will settle into a comfortable groove after a few more performances, and bring something more interesting to After Wednesday than what is currently on stage.
STUDIO by Eric Winick
Perhaps the most gratifying moment for any reviewer enduring two weeks’ worth of Fringe Festival dross is the instant he comes across material that makes him realize that yes, there is, in fact, gold in them thar hills. Something akin to the parched soul, desperate for liquid refreshment, stumbling across an oasis in the midst of a wide-open desert. For this reviewer, the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow was called Studio. More a performance piece than theater, the Jerusalem-based Nee Group’s presentation of Studio is deceptively simple in its presentation. A model (Noa Hyman) sits nude before a sculptor (Eytan Ronel) who works a block of clay, while an engineer (composer Eran "Zax" Sachs) creates a soundscape utilizing both the sounds of the sculptor’s tools at work and original music. Behind them are three white screens upon which are projected still frames of the artist’s lovingly cluttered studio back home. For several minutes, we sit and watch this remarkable scene: the model sitting passively, the artist toiling away, observing her, molding his clay. But for the presence of Sachs, it’s not an unusual scene. About five minutes in, however, something incredible happens. On the screens, two people, recognizable as Hyman and Ronel, enter the studio and prepare to work. Before us, as Ronel’s lump of clay takes shape, Hyman has begun her own artistic process – she has picked up a video camera and trained its gaze on Ronel. As Hyman’s video camera examines Ronel’s work onstage, onscreen it begins to paint a portrait of the artist’s studio, which is literally filled with images of Noa Hyman. Hundreds of sketches, as well as sculptures large and small, dot his shelves and cover his walls. In voiceover, the two artists present their rationales. For Ronel, a sculptor fascinated by the human form, it’s a systematic, comprehensive research of one woman’s body. For Hyman, an artist herself, it’s an opportunity to view herself as others view her. All in all, an oddly symbiotic relationship that prompts more questions than answers, but it’s these ambiguities that make Studio so compelling. Why has the forty-nine year-old Ronel devoted five years of his life to exploring this twenty-five year-old woman’s body? Why does Hyman feel so comfortable being nude around Ronel? What, exactly, is the nature of this relationship? Why do we, the audience, find this so fascinating? By raising issues of exploitation, sexual obsession, and objectification, The Nee Group is clearly playing with volatile material here. Their unwillingness to tie things up neatly or hand the audience pat answers makes for a risky gambit. In the end, however, Studio proves utterly beguiling – a unique, unsettling exploration of the artist’s gaze, well worth the time and effort. I wish them well on their next stint at the Philadelphia Fringe – and hope we’ll be seeing more of their exciting work in the years to come.
A TOUCH OF THE POE by Julie Congress
Prior to watching A Touch of the Poe, my knowledge of the life of Edgar Allan Poe was very lacking. Unfortunately, it still is. Although I did not learn nearly as much as I would have liked to and I did not end up caring for the show very much, I have to admit that Kevin Mitchell Martin, who conceived, adapted and starred in this one-man show works incredibly hard and under many trying circumstances. Through the use of biographical information and the writings of Poe himself and some of those near him (such as his wife Virginia and the doctor present during the final days of his life), Martin attempts to provide insight into the life of this brilliant writer and poet. Unfortunately, the result is a confusing and misleading play. We find out very little about Poe’s life: that his mother died when he was very young, he was adopted, had a bad relationship with his adoptive father, went away, was a critic, married a woman named Virginia who died when very young, had a daughter, drank, and died when he was forty years of age. But that’s all he says. There’s no expanding, no details, nothing but these several raw facts. Another problem is the way the letters, stories and poems of Poe are presented. They all meld together. The effect is that you don’t know when something is being said about Poe or Poe is saying it about a character in one of his stories or poems. This becomes a real predicament when we learn that Poe was given to drinking and infrequent bouts of mild insanity. Juxtaposing this information and Martin’s reading from one of Poe’s stories ends up misguiding the audience terribly. The story is about a man who goes insane and does this horrifically gruesome thing to his cat. Now, the story is in first person. And we’ve just learned that Poe in later years was slightly mad. So we think this must be autobiographical and we now believe Poe to be a raving lunatic – which he wasn’t. This kind of mix-up ends up happening all throughout the play. The line between fact and fiction completely disappears, leaving at least this audience member quite perplexed. If Martin is able to clear up this one major problem and insert some real information about Poe instead, he will have a very good, very interesting one man show. Unfortunately, as it is now it is flawed and bewildering.
BEFRIENDING BEAU by Michael Criscuolo
David Gaard’s puzzling new play, Befriending Beau, tells the story of Tash (Adam S. Barta), a neglected, sexually confused teenager who writes a ‘zine and does drugs to fill the emotional holes in his life. He’s also not-so-secretly in love with his best friend, heterosexual Beau (Paul Sacci), who is a writer and heroin addict. Tash and Beau share a drug dealer, Chili (Michelle Slonim), who also wants to "befriend" Beau. Gaard, who also directs, obviously wants to make a statement about the unfortunate role that drugs and sex play in the lives of parentally neglected teens, but he works so hard to create a mood and make the audience feel that he forgets to tell a story. There’s angst aplenty on stage at the Henry Street Settlement Recital Hall. The characters bitch and moan convincingly, but they don’t change, grow, or learn during the course of Befriending Beau, nor do they want to. It wouldn’t nearly be as difficult to spend ninety minutes with this unlikable trio if any one of them had an interesting thought in their head. Plus, there is no clear theme or story to speak of. All of the scenes feel like they start and end because the characters don’t feel like talking anymore, not because Gaard builds and propels a dramatic circumstance. Sure, there are subplots about Tash being forced to move in with his indifferent father, and Beau trying to quit drugs, but, by the time both subplots reach their heights near the end of the play, they feel false because they’re incongruous with the rest of Befriending Beau. Despite all of this, Slonim manages to come off well as Chili. She is very funny, has a very strong stage presence, and takes over the stage whenever she comes on. Barta and Sacci, on the other hand, are completely out of their depth. Their skills, at this point, do not command the audience’s attention.
SNAPSHOT by Tim Cusack
Over the course of the 2001 FringeNYC I’ve seen many extraordinary performances, but none has moved me as much as Samantha Swan’s turn in the Cygnet Theatre Company’s production of Snapshot. Swan is not only an exciting acting discovery; as the author of the play, she is most definitely a talent to watch, albeit one in need of further cultivation. Her ear for the speech of ordinary people is dead on, neither too preciously poetic nor too TV prosaic. She manages to balance both a playful sense of the expressive potentials hidden within language with a realist’s commitment to getting it down as it really is. The combination, when she succeeds, is nothing short of riveting. Snapshot is very much in the Tennessee Williams tradition of the reminiscence-of-family-trauma play as relayed from the vantage point of the writer who survived to tell the tale. As in The Glass Menagerie, the telling involves no end of guilt on the part of the surviving character, in this case Jan, a cosmopolitan Toronto-ite, looking back on her blue-collar Catholic upbringing in a Canadian backwater. She is trying to write the story of her family, specifically her Aunt Sissy’s disruptive presence in their lives, but the sheer overwhelming emotional force of her memories keeps derailing her narrative, and she is forced to start over, jump ahead, or flash back, as long suppressed details jostle to the forefront, demanding their moment in the theatrical limelight. These shifts in time and narrative focus are dramaturgically the weakest part of the play. She hasn’t quite figured out a way for them to emerge inevitably from the ebb and flow of her writer’s thoughts, and, consequently, we’re much too conscious of the gears shifting from past to present and back again. However, her evocation of the simultaneity of desperate loneliness and overcrowded imagination inherent in the writing process always rings true, which goes a long way to forgiving the structural lapses. Interestingly, Swan does not give herself the part of the writer (actually played by Joanne Latimer, and with such utter conviction that it was not until after the show that I realized she wasn’t the author of the piece). Instead, Swan chooses to embody Aunt Sissy in all of her Rubenesque exuberance. Sissy has two obsessions in life: travel to exotic lands and dancing. She’s never been outside of Canada, so the only traveling she does is in her nightly explorations of the liquor concoctions evoking places she’ll never visit. As for dancing, she’s never actually taking a class; preferring to perfect her moves on the tiny dance floors of various local pubs. Dancing for her is a way of distinguishing herself from the emotionally repressed members of her family, as well as the first step in an almost nightly seduction ritual involving the various bartenders and bar flies she meets on her drinking rounds. Sissy may have two obsessions, but she also possesses two addictions: booze and boys. Definitely an alcoholic and probably a sex addict, Sissy is, regardless, the only one in the family to ever speak the truth about anything and the only one to recognize and nurture Jan’s talent. It is she who encourages Jan to leave their circumscribed life and venture out into the world to pursue a writing career. She only does this, though, after one of her "husbands" crosses the line from the avuncular to the predatory. I’ve never before quite seen a character like her on stage. Her appearance is not conventionally actress-y. ("She looks exactly like Monica Lewinsky," my companion pointed out.) Not a small woman, she moves with extraordinary grace and the physical precision of a ballerina. We understand the psychological insecurities that might compel this woman to seek the constant sexual approval of strange men, but we also completely understand why these men are more than happy to comply. The sex scene between Sissy and the Quebecois bartender she picks up one night is by far the hottest thing I’ve seen in this year’s festival. Sensitive to the woman’s emotional yearnings, yet uncompromising in her depiction of Sissy’s weaknesses, Swan’s song for this complex woman lingers long in the mind.