nytheatre Archive
FringeNYC 2003
SHOW REVIEWS ON THIS PAGE: A Taste of Heaven, The Night Word, Slut, Expat/Inferno, The Hermitage of an Exiled Chain Smoker, They Ask Me Why, Medication, The Working Week and Sunday Rest, Box, Pinafore!, The Love Talker, Sextuple Indemnity
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A TASTE OF HEAVEN by Tim Douglas Jensen |
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Firsthand Theatre Project’s A Taste of Heaven, by Michael D.
Jackson, is a FringeNYC "must-see." The play, based on the diaries of
F.S. Ryman (c. 1885), follows the journey of two college friends who
open up to each other about their sexual identities as they grow closer
and closer. Eventually, though the Victorian times they live in demand a
traditional married life, the two men go beyond the boundaries of
friendship. The action is driven by the two men writing to each other and making entries in their journals. The simplicity and sweetness with which Jackson has written these narratives captures what is pure about love and intimacy between two people…any two people. This simplicity and purity sets the tone and makes A Taste of Heaven much more than a "gay" play. (I also couldn’t help but long for the days before email, when writing letters and journals was still considered an art.) Richard Gallagher and Andy Phelan are fine actors. Both deliver strong performances and are equally balanced when sharing the stage. It is refreshing to watch them live in these roles rather than see the "seams" so often evident in acting. Their sincere performances make the restrictions in the love between their characters that much more heartbreaking. Chad Ryan masterfully directs, always paying attention to pace and smooth transitions. I was delighted never to have the urge to look at my watch and was surprised that the play was over as soon as it was. If there is a flaw in the piece, it lies within the setting that the playwright has chosen to tackle. The sense of danger in admitting homosexuality in Victorian times is slightly underplayed. I never felt that it was enough of a concern. Whether Jackson set out to or not, he has struck a chord: there are real parallels between the restrictions about love between two men and the rules of marriage in Victorian times, and our current debates about gay unions and the sudden wave of new questions about gay rights. I wish George W. Bush and the Pope could see this lovely Taste of Heaven. |
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THE NIGHT WORD by Anthony Pennino |
Edward Cahill's The Night Word is a
difficult show to review. There are many intriguing elements in this
production, but, alas, the whole never succeeds in being greater than
the sum of the parts. The play is set in the hospital room of Francis (Marc Geller), a white homosexual book editor. He was savagely assaulted by Langston (Jason Quinn), a young African American male in financial services. In the script's greatest stretch of credibility, Francis has convinced the judge in the case to have Langston assigned to work for him during his stay in the hospital as a kind of community service. Francis hopes that the two can get to know one another and rise above their differences. Often the script calls for the two actors to serve as mouthpieces for their particular racial group. Yet, the play's strongest moments are those when the characters shed those roles and are just communicating as individuals. An argument over the novels of Jane Austen crackles with life. The play's take on race in America is very—excuse the bad pun—black-and-white, and it frequently oversimplifies a very complicated issue. This is a shame because it often feels like the playwright is laying the groundwork to explore that complexity. Francis, though a white man, is gay. Nonetheless, Langston constantly makes note that someone like Francis has "clout". Conversely, it is mentioned that Langston's skin is the color of coffee with cream. Unfortunately, the play does not delve into the possibilities of Francis being disenfranchised because of his gender orientation or of Langston having a white ancestor or two in his family tree. The staging by director Ken Hanes fluctuates between being too static in some moments and too manic in others; nonetheless, Hanes' character work with the actors is superb. Both Geller and Quinn give masterful performances, with Quinn in particular filling every moment with passion and the spark of truth. The Night Word is a good play in the making. Some trims and another rewrite or two, and this could be a fascinating piece of theatre. Credit should be given to Cahill for tackling this difficult subject; he just needs to dig deeper into his subject matter. |
| SLUT by Sharon Fogarty |
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One of the funniest musicals I’ve seen in ages, Slut is a
pleasurable, necessary farce that circumnavigates the New York dating
scene. Authors Stephen Sislen and Ben Winters test the waters and steer
very close to offensive material without ever quite taking the plunge.
For example, the misleading title Slut does not refer to a woman,
but rather, to a typical, likable New York guy named Adam Patterson. Nine actor/singers, all comedic time bombs whose voices slide easily from blues-rock to musical camp, play 34 characters. Stephen Bienskie plays the main slut charmingly with Man Show humor, but is touching when his character learns responsibility. Talented Josh Tyson plays the nerd so meticulously that when he switches to a sexy catch he’s almost unrecognizable. Nicole Ruth Snelson is lovely as the emotional gonna-be rock star with pipes to match. Victor Hawks stops the show with his character J-Dogg, gaining sympathy due to a sexually transmitted sub-plot. Comfortably gliding from character to character like a hologram is Michael Thomas Holmes; ditto Catherine Carpenter, whose mellow vibrato rings sensually over several demanding vocal parts. Natalie Joy Johnson is bawdy, beautiful and hilarious in her "True Love" duet with keeper Jeff Hiller, whose gold witticisms are revolutionary. Finally, Mary Faber, whose characters are the most clearly discernable, appears to be one of those actresses who can play or sing anything, including (memorably) the obtuse Veronica, whom Faber plays with bold abandon to intellect. The show sails under Sarah Gurfield’s smart direction, with only minor criticism to the occasional focus of the actors—at each other, instead of out towards us—making it hard to hear above the fan-blowers in the Wings Theatre. But I was thrilled to see this production in its Fringe state with its side-splitting choreography, its simple, tasteful set, and very present and focused accompanying musicians. The plot choice is currently a bit unbelievable when the lead woman falls for one guy over the other, and the show needs a stronger ending with a commitment by all to a finale. But that will come, as will decades of laughter from this very New York musical success. |
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EXPAT/INFERNO by Kelly McAllister |
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"You are dreaming" is the first line in Alejandro Morales’ play
expat/inferno, now playing as part of the FringeNYC Festival
at the Bottle Factory Theatre. The piece is a sort of dream
play, an odd mix of surreal scenes reminiscent of David Lynch or
Dante, and peppered with references to Jacques Brel, Proust, and
9/11. "Abandon every hope, all who enter," is written not only
over the gates of Hell in Dante’s Inferno, but also on a
sign hanging over the restroom in a raunchy gay bar in expat/inferno.
Characters pop up from behind bars and dance menacingly. Danny,
the main character, can’t figure out what’s going on, whether he
is in said raunchy gay bar, or walking the streets of
Paris—everything seems slightly off, as if somewhere very near,
something very bad is happening. It is clear by the second scene
that Danny is either dead or having one hell of a nightmare.
Characters keep showing up in places they shouldn’t be, and then
vanish again as quickly as they appeared. Specific lines get
repeated by other characters again and again, like "you are
dreaming." Bare light bulbs hang from the ceiling to give a
ghostly glow—and far too little light—to the action. I love dream plays, but they are a tricky thing to pull off, and while I think there is a good play in expat/inferno, it needs to find its way out of the darkness and into the light—I don’t think it’s quite there yet. The script could use some cuts—the play is over two hours long and very repetitive, and there is little to no comic relief. Which is a shame, because some of the scenes are very well written. The direction is a mixed bag as well: some scenes make you feel as if you are truly dreaming, while others get bogged down. Standouts in the cast are Drew Cortese, who plays Danny with a quiet sorrow and intelligence, Judith Delgado as the mother figure of the dream, and especially Polly Lee as Beatrice. Lee makes every scene she is in sparkle. One more note—the theater is very dimly lit by hanging light bulbs, and the chairs for the audience are on risers with no railings or glow tape to keep people from falling over the edge of the risers, which happened the day I saw the show. So if you go to see expat/inferno, be careful. |
| THE HERMITAGE OF AN EXILED CHAIN SMOKER by Leslie Bramm |
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Step down into the Ground Floor Theatre and you’re escorted into the
boarded-up refuge of a man too terrified to leave his apartment. The
play follows Caleb, who has graciously invited us into his neurotic,
spasmodic, asthmatic, obsessive-compulsive and mother-blaming life. His
range of social/mental disorders is only matched in magnitude by the
chemicals in his cigarettes, which according to the American Lung
Association number over 500. The Hermitage of an Exiled Chain Smoker is a one-man biting satire which tears into the current Mayor and the recent smoking ban. It’s written by Michael Cyril Creighton (who also stars in the show) and Liz Blocker. This collaboration considers the ban to be an attack on our civil liberties. They may be correct. The play is sharply comedic with brutal and black humor—the qualities I love most about a great play. It is deftly directed by Carl Andress, who keeps Creighton at a near manic pace for most of the play. The voices in Caleb’s head are provided by the versatile Sheila Head. The play warns us; "Sometimes your drug chooses you." If this is true Caleb was picked by loneliness. The cigarette is a substitution for a love that was never there. Caleb needs to fill a familiar void. Don’t we all need something and don’t we all use something to fill our own? It is on this emotional level that we sympathize with the smoker and where this one-time stand up "comedy routine" has blossomed into a play about a human being. The humor infuses the political rant which the writers make loud and clear. Blocker and Creighton present an intelligent argument for the ludicrousness of the recent smoking ban and how it could symbolically and economically hurt the smokers (and non) of this city. No credit was given to a designer, but lights, set, and sound all are professional and serve the piece well. Upon leaving the theatre I could see the play’s immediate effect. Was it an inspired call to arms (or lips, as the case may be)? A smokers’ revolution about to be ignited? Had the drug indeed chosen its future statistics? A quick count revealed one in five people lighting up as soon as they hit the sidewalk. |
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THEY ASK ME WHY by Judith Jarosz |
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Kudos to Refractions Dance Collective’s young co-directors Sarah
Donnelly and Charmian Wells, who have put together a group of talented,
well trained, physically strong, diverse and attractive dancers, many of
whom are recent graduates of New York University. The evening consists of six pieces (with one intermission) and is an interesting and musically diverse (everything from Philip Glass to Nine Inch Nails) program. One of the things that I liked about this group (and about modern dance in general) is that it allows dancers with different body types to participate. As lovely as the pencil thin swans at ABT can be, it is nice to see women of a more "normal" size expressing themselves through dance. Don’t get me wrong, all of these dancers—Sarah Donnelly, Charmian Wells, Serena Caspary, Anna Jordan, Kimberly Petros, Christina Orloff, Emily McKinnon, Elizabeth Motley, Courtney Drasner, Breean Brasile and Courtney Trammel—are extremely well trained and fit. They also look healthy, and not emaciated. All six pieces are engrossing, with strong athletic choreography that often brings to mind Martha Graham mixed with sensuous gymnastics. Some highlights for me include "The Culpability and Casualties of Citizenship" (a world premiere), choreographed by Sarah Donnelly. With electronic music & beat box by the talented Taylor McFerrin, this stark strong piece which features Serena Caspary, Anna Jordan, Kimberly Petros and Charmian Wells has a military feel, with the four dancers in cargo pants reacting with various emotions, while Mr. McFerrin’s soundtrack, which includes pieces of broadcasts of world events, blasts away. "Sensation of Light," choreographed by Charmian Wells to music by Philip Glass, is a very sensuous, strong and passionate duet performed beautifully by Breean Brasile & Sarah Donnelly. Lighting Designer Lucas Krech creates some very nice effects with limited equipment, and though no one person is given credits for the costumes, they are all simple, attractive and serve each piece well. The press publicity description of this performance rightly calls it "a fiercely physical dance theater program set to diverse sounds." For anyone interested in seeing the quality of the next modern dance generation, I highly recommend it. |
| MEDICATION by Eric Winick |
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Quick: name an American institution that’s so ripe for parody, it’d be a
crime to not take pot-shots at it. If you said, "the medical
profession," you wouldn’t be alone. This particular path’s been trod,
often, and with considerable success, most recently in TV’s Scrubs,
which has mined several seasons’ worth of yuks out of the predicaments
of some truly unfortunate souls. In throwing his own hat into this ring,
playwright Richard Homan proves there’s still blood to be drawn: albeit
slight, his Medication is a spot-on skewering of an industry
which has partnered with insurance companies and drug manufacturers to
effectively remove human beings from the social equation. There’s much to admire about Homan’s twisted tale, which clearly springs from the Mel Brooks school of the-more-the-merrier. The "plot" revolves around a mother’s attempt to see her comatose daughter revived—a daughter whose only signs of life are the songs she’s humming from Movin’ Out. Along the way she meets a lecherous doctor who explains his behavior with the line, "It’s just that I’m wicked stoned"; a hospital honcho who justifies his hostility with the non-sequitur, "Blame the Flemish. Those bastards"; and an HMO that implores its customers to "Think of us as a for-profit family." Sadly, Medication has been given a shoddy production by director Michael Birch, who has clumsily staged the work as a series of blackout sketches interrupted by interminable transitions. That one half of the cast is portrayed by the director doesn’t help matters, though as a performer Birch has appeal, contorting his face into a plethora of Groucho-like expressions, and expertly conveying a variety of lowlife doctors and administrators. He’s hardly matched by Bricken Sparacino, whose Margaret Dumont-esque straight-woman comes off as merely bland beside Birch’s diverting histrionics. The main problem, it would seem, is Birch the director’s insistence upon letting so many of the jokes land. Not everything hits its mark, which is fine, but it underlines one of the production’s key weaknesses: with this much hit-and-miss, anything less than machine gun pacing and timing is bound to undermine the cliché-heavy dialogue. The good news is that Medication heralds the arrival of Homan, a comic talent worth watching. Let’s just hope he’s able to secure a production that provides the zip and sparkle his work deserves. |
| THE WORKING WEEK AND SUNDAY REST by Tim Douglas Jensen |
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The Working Week and Sunday Rest, written by Micah Brown
Logsdon and produced by The Kentucky Theatre Collective, is a
collection of seven short scenes mostly about people recalling
the past. The production is dominated by monologues and the two-person scenes are primarily monologue-driven, with the exception of the final scene, "Sunday," about a womanizer and his guardian angel. The only link among the seven stories is the title (the pieces start with "Moonday", a woman’s monologue to God and the moon, and end with "Sunday"), which is not strong enough to make the overall production cohesive. Writing and performing monologues can be difficult. Too much recalling of the past and not enough present-time action can lose an audience. Unfortunately that is the case with this production, and since none of the characters ever talks directly to the audience I felt like an indifferent observer. That being said, Logsdon’s writing has great possibilities. It is believable and actable. One scene, "Time Capsule," is particularly engaging and more of an exploration of the past rather than a talky retelling of it. Special mention should be made of actor James Hamblin whose performance was forced to endure an insensitive audience member who not only neglected to turn his cell phone off but decided to answer the call as well. Perhaps producers are going to have to start reminding audiences that they are watching live actors and not television. |
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BOX by Lynn Marie Macy |
| Box by Fred Shahadi is a
moving exploration of the risks that oppressed individuals are willing
to undergo in order to obtain their freedom, real or perceived. Director
Clinton Turner Davis has assembled a particularly strong cast: Byron
Utley as Magnum, Craig Alan Edwards as Edgard, Rashaad Ernesto Green as
Toussaint, Harrison Lee as Christophe, and Yvans Joudain as Henry "Box"
Brown, the southern American slave who in 1848 astonishingly shipped
himself in a crate to Philadelphia and to his freedom. The juxtaposition of Henry "Box" Brown’s own narrative with the tragic story of four Haitian refugees who stow away in a cargo container en route to Florida gives the piece a thought-provoking twist of irony. Box also explores themes of spirituality and the nature of liberty itself. The experiences of Magnum, Christophe, Edgard and Toussaint, who have packed themselves in with a shipment of coffee, reflect a microcosm of the brutal society they are attempting to escape. Magnum declares himself their leader and dominates the others by sheer brute force. When the reality and danger of their situation finally sinks in, each man in turn must confront his fears and past deeds. With the aid of the spirit of Henry "Box" Brown they find salvation in the knowledge that "at least they tried", and that their valor as they strive for freedom, whether successful or not, lends the act meaning. The most powerful and touching performances of the evening come from the quieter moments of Edgard (Craig Alan Edwards) and Christophe (Harrison Lee) as they face death and bare their souls to Henry "Box" Brown. And here playwright Shahadi (whose name should be on the front of the program, by the way) is successful in putting a name, a face, a heart—a life—to the over-used and de-humanizing term "refugee." Costumes (Kalyn Shaible), lights (William Grant III), set (Aaron Jackson) and sound (Sean O’Halloran) design are simple but effective and serve the progression of the story. The first performance of any show has its rocky moments and technical problems are almost predictable. Yet, in this case, I have no doubt that the producer will aid the director and his talented cast to surmount the seeming lack of physical support from the venue. Box assuredly has something to say and as an evening of theatre is well worth seeing. |
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PINAFORE! by Robert Kent |
| If anyone asks, tell them Pinafore!
is fabulous! Adapted and directed by Mark Savage, this wildly entertaining and fiercely original musical looks at Gilbert and Sullivan's classic H.M.S. Pinafore with a sharply focused queer eye. Docked off Palm Springs, California, this Pinafore is more Love Boat than war vessel. "Below the deck, it's a barrelhouse of sex," warns—or titillates—Captain Corkinit (keenly portrayed by Michael Gregory), who runs a tight ship manned by sexy sailors dressed in Mia Gyzander's midriff-bearing tanks and stylish short shorts. Sweat glistens off seamen Jason Boegh, Brian Givens, Brad Murphy and the charismatic Christopher Andrew Hall, as they happily submit to the bump and grind of daily chores. Gilbert and Sullivan's light opera is now lighter than ever. In fact, it is a topsy-turvy treat. Honoring a tradition set by Charles Ludlum, Charles Busch and others, Savage cleverly twists his source material. The gifted writer and lyricist (who co-authored Naked Boys Singing!) creatively combines musical theatre, opera, burlesque, political satire, and camp. He also includes topical, hilarious references to Kevin Spacey, Queen Latifah, Rupert Everett—and Republicans—among others. Skillfully staged by Savage and whimsically choreographed by Ken Roht, this highly amusing Pinafore! revolves around the ship's sole straight crew member, Dick Dockstrap (Hall), and his love for Josephine—who is really the Captain's transvestite son, Joseph. Unbeknownst to Dick, Joseph/Josephine (sensationally played by countertenor R. Christofer Sands) is betrothed to trannie-chaser Senator Barney Crank (David Gillam Fuller). To complicate the situation further, the Pinafore is being seized by a trio of drag queens (Chadwick T. Adams, Scott Scarboro and Antonio Martinez). The sailors are planning a mutiny. And, Captain Corkinit has unresolved "heterosexual" feelings for the buxom Bitter Butterball (the deliciously talented Debra Lane), a mysterious peddler whose wares include crystal meth and piercing jewelry. "This is so confusing!" screams Harry Heavyseat (Wilson Raiser), a surly leather-clad sailor who foils Josephine and Dick's plans to elope. Of course, by the finale, everything is, um, straightened out. Let's hope Pinafore! stays docked in New York for a long, long time. |
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THE LOVE TALKER by Saara Dutton |
| With only a couple weeks to see
FringeNYC theatre, time is precious, so I’m going to get right to the
point: Deborah Pryor’s The Love Talker is excellent. Go see it. With its themes of awakening sexuality and dark corners of the human psyche, this play poses several provocative questions. Early in the show, little sister Gowdie Blackman says "What’s she gonna do when she can’t tell her house from the woods?" The woods, and our relationship to nature and the power of sexuality, figure prominently. Capturing a creepy girl-woman vibe essential to her role as Gowdie, Jessica Charys Tanner's performance is fascinating. Gowdie’s sister Bun battles against the "love talkers," lusty incubus characters trying to find their way inside the sisters’ remote farmhouse. The character of Bun Blackman is the meatiest role of the play, and Kerry Mantle portrays her perfectly. She is both sexy and powerful. She sweeps up the audience, keeping us riveted with her commanding voice and body movements. The three "love talkers," played by Shane Taylor, K.C. Ramsey and Johnson Cooley, prowl the stage, making the audience feel their sinuous pull. All three men are attractive and convey a sense of temptation. We understand why Gowdie invites them inside, despite Bun’s attempts to keep them out. Another mysterious character, known only as "the Redhead," is played by Marla Yost. She is covered by a hooded cloak for the majority of the play, but when she is given the opportunity to show her face, Yost shines. This play is being staged at The Washington Square Methodist Church, and Director Olevia White and Stage Manager Susan Manikas make wonderful, innovative use of this space. The woods are a prominent metaphor in this play, and it is clever the way the audience becomes the woods, with characters flitting in and out of the aisles. I highly recommend The Love Talker. It is intelligent, unusual, and offers the chance to see the Fringe NYC debut of Kerry Mantle, an actress who I suspect will be impressing audiences for years to come. |
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SEXTUPLE INDEMNITY by Josephine Cashman |
| Sextuple Indemnity is an
enjoyable take on the film noir genre with some gender role reversals.
Written and directed by Dana M. Gross, it follows hard-nosed female PI
Amanda Shepard (played by Lauren Terilli) as she tackles her latest
case, complete with the usual plot twists and multiple entendres.
Amanda’s client, Xavier Rated (X-rated. Get it?), is looking for proof
of his wife’s infidelity. Played by Matthew Sergi, he has more than a
passing resemblance to the dashing men of the 1940s cinema. The audience
is in for a rollicking time. The director makes marvelous use of its simple set, and a running gag involving the door to Amanda’s office never fails to amuse. The swing-dancing set changers also keep the show moving as the scene shifts from Amanda’s office to the local lounge to a street corner, complete with the standard lamppost. The cast is strong and has the witty repartee down pat. Clearly, they understand their roles and it’s obvious how much fun they are having, although at times the pace lagged. Most hilarious are Ara Glenn-Johanson as Maggie, Xavier’s trusted secretary, and Devin Proctor as the Bartender of the Pink Flamingo, who both turn in some laugh-out-loud moments with their timing and pratfalls. There are some marvelous nods to such films as Rear Window and Casablanca, but Sextuple Indemnity feels more like a faithful adaptation of a noir story, albeit with a few self-aware nods, than an outright spoof. The show is quite entertaining and certainly fun. It would have been more fun, however, if the gender twists were more, well, twisted. |
