nytheatre Archive
Midtown International Theatre Festival 2003
SHOW REVIEWS ON THIS PAGE: Walking Through the Night, That Play, (Gone with) Miss Julie, Thrill Me, The Overdevelopment of Scott, The Winner: A Brooklyn Fable, Criminal, Who Am I, Just Us Boys, Stained Glass Ugly, Waiting for the Glaciers to Melt, What Men Talk About
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WALKING THROUGH THE NIGHT reviewed by Nick Brandi |
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You couldn't ask for a more well-intentioned work than Haerry Kim's
Walking Through the Night. It's sincere. It's touching. It discusses
in earnest the conflicts that arise when cultures, mores, and
generations young and old collide in stark juxtaposition. If only
intentions were enough. Walking Through the Night is the story of a Korean immigrant family that is caused to reunite following the death of the family's matriarch. The beloved Grandma's passing brings Bada (Suzie Moon) back from California, where she'd moved a year ago. More like fled. That's the ostensible upshot of being the product of an ancient culture that has changed relatively little over the millennia while everything around you screams modernity and rapid-fire change with stentorian clarity. It's a conflict external and internal that could throw any psyche into a schism. In even worse shape, however, is Bada's sister, Hanna (Haerry Kim), who's three months home after a harrowing trip to Korea that left the once bright 26-year-old traumatized and only slightly better than catatonic. Eventually we are allowed into the arcane recesses of Hanna's mind—and the horrors she witnessed and had inflicted upon her—that bring into full focus the sometimes searing consequences when worlds collide. Like Amy Tan's Joy Luck Club before it, Walking Through the Night delivers the complexities of being Asian American, tinged with the female's comparatively gentle but powerful voice. What the hour-long story could have explored better is the voice of the older generation. But given its economy of length, the script does manage valuable glimpses of Katherine (Ho Jung), the mother, and what must be the ineffably powerless frustration of one caught between the rock of Korean culture (personified by her austere husband) and the hard place of quasi-liberated and comparatively progressive American daughters. Sadly, the merit of the work is undermined severely by the production concept—or, I should say, the lack of one. With almost no props and a projector screen that flashes complementary images with varying degrees of efficacy, the presentation is perhaps most aptly described as multimedia minimalist. But Spartan sets are a natural part of the off-off-Broadway festival experience and, as such, really aren't fair game for criticism. What is, however, is the utterly rudderless direction, which not only abandoned the actors to onstage foundering for the several monologues but also failed to develop the relationships among and between them. When even the blocking is callow, you know the production is in trouble. I will add, however, that part of the responsibility for underachieving performances belongs to the cast members themselves, who can be expected to draw upon their own instincts, talent, and experience to craft at least the semblance of effective characterizations and relationships. What the future holds for this play is to me uncertain. Fortunately, that playwright Haerry Kim has something to say, as well as the ability to say it, is not. |
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THAT PLAY reviewed by Aaron Leichter |
Shunning a set, props, and even supporting actors,
Tom Gualtieri presents That Play, a speedy retelling of
Macbeth. His version still has the witches, the general who kills
his king to get the crown, the wife who’s driven insane, and Birnam Wood
coming to Dunsinane. He even retains a fair amount of Shakespeare’s
poetry. But this is definitely Gualtieri’s show: an 80-minute animated
revision that catches all the twists and many of the characters. But the
most important person isn’t Macbeth, or even Lady Macbeth, it’s a
narrator who sketches in bits of Shakespeare’s story that aren’t acted
out. Gualtieri’s narrator addresses the audience with convivial
assurance. Gualtieri himself is a skillful Shakespearean performer, his
voice melodic yet understandable, his young open face conveying the
inner lives of his characters. Gualtieri’s talent is especially notable in Lady Macbeth, a character that Gualtieri obviously adores. His performance doesn’t mock femininity: he raises his register a few notches, clasps his pants leg like a train, and poises himself regally. This performance is the highlight of the show, although it never overshadows his other characterizations. Gualtieri is careful to differentiate each role through voice, gesture and attitude, and, helped by director Heather Hill, he also defines a stage space and a tone for the most important parts. Setting Macbeth stage right and Macduff stage left creates a physical sense of opposition that matches the dramatic one. That Play (the title’s a reference to the curse that many theatre folk believe haunts Macbeth) revels in theatricality. More than a mere reduction of Shakespeare’s play, this work stands on Shakespeare’s shoulders while using some of his language. If it’s occasionally a little self-indulgent, it earns indulgence from the audience too. At eighty minutes, That Play is good theatre; it might be even better if it were an even hour. Gualtieri should keep working on this little piece: it’s a showcase for a young actor with talent and potential. |
| GONE WITH (MISS JULIE) reviewed by Aaron Leichter |
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Strindberg’s Miss Julie is a fiendishly difficult play, a brutal
psychodrama with weighty symbolism. On a festive midsummer night, Miss
Julie, a rich man’s daughter, flings herself at her father’s valet,
Jean. Her nighttime transgression turns into the stuff of Greek tragedy,
as events lead pitilessly to her death. Julie is a fertile
nymph—surrounded by animals, full of emotion—but she’s overripe and
getting rotten. Jean, on the other hand, is a man of naked cunning,
whose intelligence serves only impoverished, barren dreams of material
gain. In their simple conflict Strindberg subsumes class and sex into an
archetypal pattern of the struggle for power that exists between all
people. With its hard naturalistic dialogue, Miss Julie is one of
the most savage and horrifying plays ever written. So it’s baffling that director Shela Xoregos (in a program note) explains that she intends to emphasize the play’s comic elements. Nor does she shape the play towards this intention. Instead, she’s reset the action to the late 19th-century reconstructed South (an inexplicable decision on its own, since race may be the only type of conflict the play ignores) and then retitled it (Gone With) Miss Julie. Aside from this bit of whimsy and some color-blind casting, Xoregos hasn’t done anything more than block her actors well. She includes two ballets—one at the curtain and one when Julie and Jean do the deed—which might provide the light that she may intend as “comic.” In these numbers, set to period music, Xoregos implies an Eden just out of the antagonists’ reach. And although Xoregos generates some good stage tension maneuvering the actors’ bodies, it’s dissipated by the performers themselves. As Jean, Gregory Ward shows his character’s priggish sense of propriety, but can’t get at the callous diabolism that lies under that. He tries to hurt Julie with words—“whore,” “prostitute,” “animal”—yet his voice is too modulated to draw blood. But Talie Melnyk can’t even give Julie real emotions. Her Julie’s a moron, staring slack-eyed while Jean talks. Melnyk’s performance seems driven by instinct, which means that she’s uninhibited but she’s also aimless. Julie’s a clever woman who manipulates Jean with emotions feigned and genuine. But here she’s feeling everything, sending her emotions all over the place. Melnyk and Ward don’t seem to have parsed out every line of argument with Xoregos, and so their production drifts along a lazy river when it should slide down a razor blade. |
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THRILL ME reviewed by Martin Denton |
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The subtitle of Thrill Me is "The Leopold & Loeb Story";
though the subject feels unlikely for a musical, it turns out to
be a potent one. There's life in this show, I think; it needs
some tightening, possibly some recasting, and—mainly—a venue
with some breathing room. Then we can really see what we have
here. Thrill Me is a chamber musical, told as a long flashback by Nathan Leopold, ostensibly at his last parole hearing in 1958, more than 30 years after he and Richard Loeb committed the famous thrill killing of young Bobby Franks. The framing device feels like one, and it begs the question of what Nathan has been thinking about all these years, which is decidedly not what author Stephen Dolginoff wants to write about. Better just to jump into the story, beginning with the reunion of the 19-year-old Leopold and Loeb after the latter returns from a semester away at college. Dolginoff's theory about these two is that they are lovers of a sort, locked in a dysfunctional codependency: Leopold lusts after Loeb, and Loeb is willing to comply as long as Leopold agrees to take part in Loeb's increasingly criminal acts of rebellion. The relationship climaxes with Loeb's conception of a "perfect murder," one that these two supposed Neitzschean supermen can get away with; and the musical climaxes—hypnotically—with Loeb's scary, seductive solo, "Roadster," in which he lures his victim into his car. The release that ought to follow—Loeb is presented here as turned on by his criminal activities, which in turn turns Leopold on—never happens; Thrill Me, particularly as directed here somewhat stiffly by Martin Charnin (admittedly in the exceedingly confined quarters of the Abingdon Black Box), never heats up. Part of the problem could be Matthew S. Morris, who plays Loeb; in "Roadster" he's brilliant, but he stiffens whenever he gets near Christopher Totten's boyishly eager Leopold. The lack of chemistry hurts Thrill Me; I'd love to see the piece with the less restrained, wolfish Loeb that Dolginoff seems to have written. Dolginoff provides, by the way, a stunning twist that I neither expected nor have ever encountered in any previous telling of this sensational tale. It's neat enough to make me think it worth his time to work on the predictable rhymes that crop up occasionally in his lyrics, and the emotional sameness that characterizes some of his music. Thrill Me has the capacity to thrill us; with some development, it very well may do just that. |
| THE OVERDEVELOPMENT OF SCOTT reviewed by Seth Bisen-Hersh |
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The Overdevelopment of Scott written by Sharon Fogarty, is a
charming, funny sci-fi musical set in the year 2103. In this year, human
beings are subjects of experiments, much like the guinea pigs of today.
The show is really funny and just needs a little tightening and editing. The show starts as Technician 2 throws food at the seven caged test subjects. These subjects include a girl bred for sexual addiction, a man raised by sitcoms, a guy bred for eating disorders, a girl testing hygiene products, a girl bred to be a good listener, a guy who is forced to watch violence on television incessantly, and finally a tobacco addict. The two technicians hire a recycled test subject, Scott, who has overdeveloped love and compassion as well as a tolerance for monotony, making him perfect for watching caged humans all day. However, his sense of love and compassion brings chaos to the otherwise love-less world. The dialogue is very funny. The more over-the-top it gets, the funnier it is. The score is very guitar-based, and hence sounds folky. There isn’t that much variety to the music, but it fits the piece well. The lyrics are pretty funny for the most part. There are far too many slant rhymes for my taste, but that’s a personal preference. Also, the score rarely cadences, so it is nearly impossible to applaud some of the numbers. The highlight is “Broadway Musicals” which has the entire cast singing and dancing while making fun of such hits as Cats. The cast is very funny. They make the most of their characters’ idiosyncrasies and absurdities. Steve Deighan is particularly effective as Technician 1, the evil villain of the piece. The cast acts really well and plays every moment up for laughs. Unfortunately, their singing is not consistently up to par, and it is hard to hide that fact in a musical. Overall, The Overdevelopment of Scott is really enjoyable. The premise is really clever, and the execution has its moments. With a few adjustments and a little more developing, it could be wonderful. |
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THE WINNER: A BROOKLYN FABLE reviewed by Seth Bisen-Hersh |
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The Winner: A Brooklyn Fable tells the tale of Domenick Morelli’s
heartbreak when the Dodgers leave Brooklyn at around the same time that
his daughter is coming of age and decides to leave, too. It has heart
and some nice moments, but overall fails to hit a home run. The show starts just as the news is breaking about the Dodgers moving to Los Angeles. Morelli wins some money in a lottery, and starts a campaign to get the Dodgers to stay, much to his daughter Anna Maria’s distress, for she would rather he use the money to move them out of Brooklyn. Anna falls in love with a guy from Long Island named Anthony Prescott Hawthorne IV. What follows is basically just Morelli dealing with the two major things he is going to lose. The dialogue is at times funny, but is sometimes dull. The book feels choppy, and a few subplots get completely lost. The score is very old-fashioned. The music is lyrical and melodic, and at times pretty catchy, but it lacks complexity or much variety. Similarly, the lyrics are mostly fine, but they do not extend the story far enough. There are no major breakthroughs in the songs: they tend to linger on one topic and fail to grow. The cast is mostly good. Michael Ricciardone (Morelli) sings very well and does a good job of balancing his emotions on stage. Marnie Baumer shines in the limited role of Anna Maria. Jeremy Ellison-Gladstone (Hawthorne) has a beautiful tenor, as well. The entire cast is seated on stage throughout the entire show, which makes The Winner fairly confusing to watch. Cast members sing in the chorus numbers when their characters would not be present; an actor might have a line, but be seated in the back, and then disappear, so it is extremely hard to figure out who is actually in each scene, especially when most of the actors react to everything said as if they were there. Overall, the show feels a little long-winded without reaching a point. There is definitely potential here, however, and there is definitely a lot of talent involved. |
| CRIMINAL reviewed by Aaron Leichter |
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Criminal, an hour-long tragedy by Javier Daulte, one of the star
playwrights in Argentina's New Wave (translated by Rodrigo Cameron and
presented by Juggernaut Theatre Company) carries the audience along with
a real sense of urgency. Psychiatrist Juan Bueras suspects that one of
his patients will be murdered by her husband. He goes to the husband’s
psychiatrist to compare notes (and cattily critique each other’s
methods). Flashback after flashback reveals secrets about the couple and
their doctors; plot twist follows plot twist, and despite Juan’s
efforts, he ends up with a dead body. Obviously, it’s impossible to draw conclusions about the entire Argentine New Wave from one short show. But Daulte seems to be a smart playwright, and his Criminal is certainly sexy and well-constructed. As befits the psychological backdrop, the action has the quality of a dream. Random turns in conversation, the casual splitting of stage space between two or more far-off locations, and most of all, Juan’s inability to act—not because of his will but because his environment holds him back—all these demonstrate a comfort with theatrical flexibility that the more realistic American tradition could learn from. In its run, the play is fine enough, although director Gwynn MacDonald falters a little in the play’s final stretch, turning the climax into an anticlimax. Translator Cameron does double duty as Juan, stripping away Juan’s initially heroic image to show a confused, compromised, and even desperate young professional. As his fellow psychiatrist, Ralph Pochoda presents a formidable and elegant opponent whose ego overrules his ethics. They share several wonderful moments, and at times their discourse seems to mock the psychoanalytic process that defines every word and gesture as subconsciously deliberate. Pablo Ribot (Carlos) and Nicole Halmos (Diana) paint their married couple in the lurid colors of old pulp magazines and B-movies. When Juan slaps Diana during a therapy session, Halmos pants for more, like a blonde in a Mickey Spillane novel. Ribot’s weedy Carlos is the sort of deviant that Peter Lorre made legendary. In fact, underneath the modern New Wave claims, Gaulte’s intelligent dialogue and cunning characters, and the fine performances, Criminal isn’t much more than a standard 1940s film noir for the stage. Like those black-and-white B-movies, Daulte includes double-crosses, innocent dupes, casual drug use, and even long-winded and anticlimactic explanations of motives. There’s a mystery with a twist: not whodunit but who will do it. Still, in Daulte’s hands, these hoary old story elements tickle the brain’s dramatic receptors: you won’t notice the absurdities of the final twist unless you start thinking about it. |
| WHO AM I reviewed by Martin Denton |
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The concept of Rodney E. Reyes' play Who Am I, spelled out
right on the program cover, is an intriguing one: what would you
do if you were given a chance to talk to your creator? Reyes
devises four scenarios to explore this theme, with interesting
though decidedly mixed results. The play's pairings are a comic book author and one of his fictional characters, a conflicted gay man and his repressed "female" side, a dead woman and the now-grown-up daughter she never knew, and a stoned human and God Himself. All four conversations take place simultaneously, although each set of characters save the last is unaware of any of the others. Reyes has the dialogue shift sequentially among the stories, usually linking the vignettes with a word or phrase that ends one and begins another. Reyes casts a wide net here: Who Am I takes in genuinely moving self-examination (in the best of its four components, about the cartoonist and his creation) and whimsical philosophy (in the Man-God sequence); but also melodrama (the mother/daughter scene) and some rather questionable psychology (why is the gay man's inner self characterized as a woman?). The underlying notion of this play is tantalizing, but I wonder if stronger archetypes might be found to illustrate its points. Reyes' framing device, which is reminiscent of the one in Marc Chun's Match and like it reveals itself to us only gradually, adds real potency to the play, but it could use some more fleshing out as well. Reyes' co-director is Lillian Ribeiro. Their cast runs the gamut, with Jonathan Calindas and Daniela Tedesco the standouts as the cartoonist and the young woman in his comic book, and Patrick Annelli and Mario Corrales offering interesting though somewhat limited turns as the Human and God. |
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JUST US BOYS reviewed by Seth Bisen-Hersh |
| Just Us Boys is a
charming play about five chorus boys in a hit Broadway musical called
“Depression.” The show takes place in the dressing room over the course
of previews and the first few months of the run. It’s an enjoyable piece
of theatre with both humor and poignancy. The plot mostly revolves around the relationship between the dance captain, Anthony, and the confused swing, Mike. Thrown into the mix to add some humor are the flaming, promiscuous Joey and the hilarious stage manager, Ray. Thrown in to add some drama is the aging, committed Peter, whose boyfriend is going through a midlife crisis. And thrown in to provide a straight perspective (the rest of the characters are gay) is Sam. The show follows their escapades in love and romance. The show, by Frank Stancati, is very well-written. The characters feel very realistic and are all likeable in their own ways. We actually care about what happens at the end, which is a hard feat to accomplish. The show’s structure is also very well crafted, although it's sometimes necessary to check out the program to be sure how much time has elapsed between scenes. The actors are all wonderful. James Blanshard as Anthony does a really good job with his emotional arc. As Peter, Brad Thomason never misses an emotional or a comic beat. Emanuele Ancorini does a good job as Mike, giving mixed signals. Jarrod Cafaro is absolutely hilarious as Joey. Alexander Koltchak gives a fine performance as Sam. Finally, Mac Hardcastle is really funny as the overly excitable stage manager, Ray. My biggest gripe with the show is the fact that two minutes on stage is apparently fifteen minutes in the life of the characters. There are announcements made throughout about how many minutes to curtain are left. Thirty minutes will be called, and then two minutes later, it will be fifteen; two minutes later, it’ll be five. Having an accurate timing shouldn’t be too hard to calculate. The scenes that take place after the show-within-the-show are easier to get into because time flows normally. The only other criticism I have is that the show could be and should be raunchier. There is little talk about sex, which is completely unrealistic. The show would be much funnier with more sexual references. Overall, though, Just Us Boys is really good. It starts a little slowly, but by the end, the characters have made us laugh and cry. Exactly what a good play should do. |
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STAINED GLASS UGLY reviewed by Martin Denton |
| Stained Glass Ugly, by
Qui Nguyen, is about perspective. Indeed, "Perspective" is the first
word we see projected on the screen that serves as backdrop and set for
this play, which has been staged with intelligence and ingenious economy
by Robert Ross Parker in the postage-stamp-sized Abingdon Black Box. The
play's two characters, Adam and Madison, are testing each other: "Would
you still love me if I were bald?" "Would you still love me if I were
fat?" Finally: "Would you still love me if I were ugly?" Really, really ugly: Nguyen finds a terrific metaphor in a Picasso portrait to convey the awful disfigurement that happens after a freak accident blows up most of Adam's face. Jesse Teeters, conventionally handsome, plays Adam with a handkerchief covering the lower half of his face, so it's left for us to imagine the external damage. Nguyen and Teeters focus on the internal damage, which is severe. Stained Glass Ugly takes place during the week just before Adam and Madison's wedding, a wedding planned before Adam's accident and now possibly in jeopardy as both bride- and groom-to-be confront and assess their feelings. Nguyen shifts POV continually: the play has a linear narrative, of the couple going through the motions of the wedding ritual—a bridal shower, a bachelor party, a rehearsal dinner, and so on; crosscut within the narrative are monologues and vignettes that take us inside Adam and Madison's heads, delineating their complicated and conflicting impulses. Ultimately we discover, with them, just how deep and destructive Adam's tragic accident turns out to be. Stained Glass Ugly is not as grim as I've probably made it sound: Nguyen inserts a good deal of humor as he plays with his characters' perspectives on events. He's also created two strong, likable protagonists in Adam and Madison, both of whom balance—with a certain amount of success—maturity, self-deprecating humor, and utter despair. Teeters is enormously sympathetic as Adam, and he's well-matched by Mary Kickel, who portrays Madison. Parker's spare, simple staging serves the piece beautifully, making effective use of Christopher M. Domanski's "scenography" (i.e., screen projections) and an evocative score by Elaina Cope, performed live on accordion by Ian Dunn. |
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WAITING FOR THE GLACIERS TO MELT reviewed by Martin Denton |
| Brian Lane Green's new
musical Waiting for the Glaciers to Melt is clearly in the
developmental stage; the work on view at the Abingdon Mainstage is
choppy and confusing and not always easy to follow. But three days after
seeing it, I still can't get parts of it out of my head: Green and his
collaborators are doing something very right. I hope that a new version
of Glaciers will emerge in the future. Set in the mind of its protagonist Garrett, Glaciers is a stream-of-consciousness chamber musical in the style of Michael John LaChuisa's Little Fish and William Finn's A New Brain. What we understand about Garrett right away is that he's terribly troubled, presumably because he's waiting to hear from his doctor about what we're pretty sure is an AIDS test. (Back story, or more accurately the lack thereof, is Glaciers' main weakness: I had to read the press release to understand that Garrett has spent a hedonistic decade indulging in sex and drugs following the loss of his lover.) Concurrent with Garrett's story is a parallel tale of young man named Simon who has willed himself into paralysis following the death of his parents in a car accident; Simon blames himself for their death because they were on their way to pick him up from school. Simon now lives with his grandmother, called Memaw, a wise and loving woman who is urging him toward life. By the end of Act One, we understand that Simon is a metaphor for, or manifestation of, Garrett's troubled conscience; Glaciers is abstract but also oblique, so it's tantalizingly challenging but also a little obtuse. But there's the seed of a wonderful idea germinating in all of this. Right now, what's best is the score, which consists of a lot of the recitative snippets so common in today's musicals plus a few longer numbers. Two are terrific: "I Know," a life-affirming trio for Garrett, Simon, and Memaw, and the title number, sung exultantly by Garrett as the Act One finale. The cast of four all do fine work; two of them—Queen Esther as Memaw and Stephen Bienske as Garrett—are outstanding. Staging, by Kristen Coury, is at the moment fairly minimal. But I can't wait to see what Green, Coury and company come up with now that Waiting for the Glaciers to Melt has gone up for the first time. There's a potentially exquisite show in here for them to coax into existence. |
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WHAT MEN TALK ABOUT reviewed by Seth Bisen-Hersh |
| The premise of What Men
Talk About is that five guys improvise some comic conversation on
various topics, supposedly while they’re waiting for women. While the
idea sounds like it has the potential to be really funny, the show fails
to live up to these expectations. The five guys come out. They ask the audience for a location. (The night I attended, they were in a disco bar.) The lights flash, and they are there. They proceed to make small-talk about various topics such as anorexia, porn, and marijuana. This goes on for an hour, then the show ends. That’s basically it. The actors are pretty affable, if not entirely funny. They have good chemistry, but their attempts at humor just didn’t make me laugh. I mean, most of the audience seemed to laugh a lot, so maybe I just didn’t get the jokes. Or maybe you just have to know the people in real life to find some of the material funny. There are a few genuinely funny moments in the obviously un-improvised plot, but they are few. Most of the time there are only two men on stage. The others make up wild excuses to exit—to check on their mothers or slutty sisters, to try the bathroom facilities, etc. Some of the jokes are a little outlandish. Perhaps if they upped this ante to the bizarre and ludicrous, there would be more chance for some funnier moments. Or if they had the audience decide a little bit more of the scene or plot, so that it felt less rehearsed and more improv-ed. And definitely it needs more unexpected twists. Anyway, like I said the audience seemed to enjoy it a lot more than my friend and I did, so maybe the humor just went over our heads. In any case, there were definitely some funny moments, but unfortunately, they were ephemeral. Also, the show lacks a message or moral about what men talk about, which could’ve been a nice way to end it. Oh well. |
