nytheatre Archive
FringeNYC 2003
SHOW REVIEWS ON THIS PAGE: á la mode, The Celebrated Jumping Frog, Gotham Standards, For the Love of Tiffany, Shredders, Rockshow, Horror Vacui, Manifest: The Battle of Intergalactic Farces, One Shot, The Authorities, Gärung, Berserker
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Á LA MODE by Richard Hinojosa |
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Set in a Garden of Eden where the Tree of Knowledge is named Frank, á
la mode is a funny play. Funny and Delightful. And I don’t use the
word delightful... well, ever. The acting is solid. The direction,
courtesy of Amanda Brandes, is smooth. I especially liked her staging of
the Dance of Eve’s Temptation, speaking volumes without saying a word.
Matthew Lembo’s music in this scene and throughout the show is
excellent. But I found myself craving more scenes with no words, just
sound and movement. I grew more and more frustrated as the play
continued to miss golden opportunities for good satire. á la mode is an artless retelling of the first week or so of creation. Adam, well played by Eric Rosen, is busy naming the things of the newly born Earth. And Eve (Nicole Stewart, my favorite actor of the night), helps him try to figure out what "be fruitful and multiply" means. In a cabaret act that would surely sweep the nation, God (Nathan Freeman) tickles the ivories for a velvety voiced Serpent (Bryan Black), another highlight of the show. Unfortunately that is the extent of the highlights. The script, provided by Michael Oristaglio, Clifford Sofield, and Alexander Tepper, lacks urgency. Religious satire is a subject in which I have particular interest. But I like my satire biting. Challenging even. Filled with irony and clever turns of phrase. The Bible is chock-full of comic situations. á la mode seizes upon some of them but doesn’t follow through to their full potential. For example, in the scene in which Eve preaches about the need to rid Eden of all serpents, the writers fail to make any connection between Adam and Eve’s desire to be "like God, knowing good and evil" and our current human situation—the sin of knowledge is all around us today, but you wouldn’t know it from á la mode. It is as if the writers wanted to keep it rated G. However, if you are in the mood for a cute and often funny play that is suitable for the whole family, á la mode is your ticket. Hard To Get Theater Company delivers an entertaining product. I can certainly see them enjoying quite a bit of success with their mass appeal approach. But they won’t be provoking any thoughts or stirring up any controversy. I suppose there is enough art in the world to serve everyone’s needs from the silly to the shocking. But there is not enough vanilla ice cream in Eden that could help me swallow this tame apple pie of a play. |
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THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG by Hope Cartelli |
A comical warning against the perils of gambling,
Mark Twain’s The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County, as
adapted by Jess Lacher for The Delicious Theater Group, is a grand mix
of family fun, morals, misplaced guns, and amphibians. Framed by the live, melancholic bluegrass of Lee Overtree, the show swiftly engages the audience with its story theater rendering of gambler Jim Smiley (the hilarious and nimble Frank Smith), his wife Molly (a winsome Kristin Slaysman), and their scheme to make a mint off Daniel Webster, an amphibian with legs made for jumping, not eating With the cast amusingly commenting on the action at all times, the piece follows Jim’s gambling highs and lows, his temporary redemption through marriage, and his ultimate showdown with the nefarious Virgil Slade (Blake Longacre). The artistry in this piece comes in showing how the Smiley family’s unfortunate end comes to pass. This includes such prime scenes as the Smileys’ courtship from between jail-cell bars, a dogfight between canines by the names of Andrew Jackson and Aaron Burr, and the climactic frog jumping competition featuring the marvelous puppets of Nancy Lacher. The remaining cast members are spot-on in their portrayals of various Calaveras inhabitants, including Molly’s deliriously funny father Simon Wheeler (Drew Callendar) and Louella, the town lulu whom actress Kristen Schaal takes to dizzying heights of humor. Under the direction of Maureen Towey, the company seems to tremendously enjoy every aspect of the story, as if they’re telling it for the first time. Aiding their efforts are Sarah Krainin’s simple set pieces, which effortlessly evoke a barroom and jailhouse among other places, and Sarah Maiorino’s costumes, which seem to be lifted from both the Old West and a kindergarten class production to playful effect. Unfortunately, in an eleventh hour attempt to enlighten the audience with the gruesome TRUE story of what REALLY happened, Jumping Frog sinks and never resurfaces. But, I think all the piece needs to do is shed this extra pound. The group says in its press materials that it loves "a simple, well-told story" and most of this show attests to their sentiment. I think the more they trust what they’ve got right in front of them, the more true to their sentiment they will be. |
| GOTHAM STANDARDS by Seth Duerr |
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Writer/performer Chris Harcum’s Gotham Standards is about the
places we escape to so that we can live, when it seems the world around
us is dying. At once, powerful and insightful, Harcum’s show is a
75-minute solo tour-de-force that is something to be seen. The
characters that the actor embodies here include an elderly European man
waiting in a deli line, a little boy who triumphantly declares that he
thinks he’s lost his virginity because he’s kissed a girl, a failing
rock star, as well as Harcum himself. The story is one of attachments, loss, and how to deal with the harshness in between by constantly re-focusing your perspective to see something more positive. The writer’s playground is a dramatic wonderland of the severest contradictions—imagination vs. reality and life vs. death. Harcum is at his best when letting us know that if we can find solace in our imaginations, then perhaps there is hope we can find it in reality. As an actor, Harcum vibrantly expresses his themes through eight extremely entertaining character studies. These are not just cardboard cut-outs, though at times Harcum seems a little held back by Janine Marie McCabe’s direction, and the work feels a bit contrived at certain moments because of that. However, Harcum never loosens his grasp on his own imagination, constantly searching, questioning, re-thinking. There is a fine line between a strong metaphor and something that sounds like writing, and Harcum’s pen avoids the latter most of the time, offering the audience variety and depth. Harcum’s own sound design is effective, and Sean Crowley’s lighting design is surprisingly potent, again offering up attention to detail and strong storytelling. All in all, this is an engaging story, one that is obviously important to the storyteller, and ultimately one worth telling…go see this show. |
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FOR THE LOVE OF TIFFANY by Robert Kent |
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Matthew Brookshire and Thomas Mizer's whimsical new musical,
For the Love of Tiffany, begins with a scene from the
made-for-TV movie "Turn Another Cheek: The Tiffany Jenkins Story
Starring Tiffany Jenkins as Tiffany Jenkins." Portrayed
sportingly by Nancy Opel (Urinetown), Tiffany Jenkins is
well-known to viewers of Wifetime, a cable channel devoted to
melodramas starring actresses of a certain ilk (i.e., Joan van
Ark and Valerie Bertinelli). To her rivals, Ms. Jenkins is a
"poor man's Stephanie Zimbalist" (that's an insult, I think). To
her fans, however, she's a small-screen legend whose credits
include the tearjerkers "Flat on My Back" and "Hands to God: An
Artist's Journey." With lyricist Amanda Green and composer Curtis Moore, Brookshire and Mizer have concocted a flawed, yet entertaining musical that lovingly mocks "television for women." Brookshire's lively direction and Jen Bender's colorful costumes add energy to a script that cleverly re-imagines plot elements from almost every direct-to-cable film ever made. The wonderfully outlandish story follows Stephanie (Marnie Nicolella), a milquetoast receptionist at Shawshank Realty who considers herself Tiffany Jenkins' biggest fan. Soon, Stephanie and Tiffany's lives intertwine. The women get caught in a big-bucks real-estate scam that could land Stephanie in prison and cause Tiffany's financial ruin. Also part of the scheme are Stezen (Jonathan Dokuchitz), a handsome realtor with amnesia; Trevor McBain (Dokuchitz), Tiffany's mute, mysterious husband; Gretchen (Amanda Green), Tiffany's triple-amputee maid; Clay (Jeremy Peter Johnson), Tiffany's incredibly hunky gardener; and others. Surprisingly, Green and Moore's tunes end up being the show's weakest link. Several songs fail to match the script's broad, irreverent tone. For example "'Twas the Night Before Prison," a supposed parody of an earnest 11 o'clock ballad becomes exactly what it aims to satirize. Others, including "It's Over, Stephanie" and "Real Estate Broker," would be best if left on the cutting room floor. Despite a few musical misses, Green and Moore do hit their stride with two knockout showtunes, the often-reprised anthem "Let America Come" and "Half of Me," which are richly performed by Opel and the charismatic Dokuchitz, respectively. Although For the Love of Tiffany is not yet ready for prime-time, it's surely more fun than a night at home watching such Wifetime fare as "Lindsay Wagner in 'Bars Around My Heart'" or "Richard Chamberlain in 'Stranger with My Face.'" |
| SHREDDERS by Saara Dutton |
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David Ackerman’s comedy Shredders tries to mine comedic potential
out of the humdrum world of document shredders. Director Tore Ingersoll-Thorp
even instructs us before the show that Shredders is "a comedy, so
you’d better laugh." Despite that admonition, there are few laughs to be
had. However, this certainly isn’t for lack of effort. The energetic
cast gives us high-octane performances, working up a sweat as they try
to squeeze yuks out of the tired, sit-com style dialogue. This type of
ping-pong cadence was fresh when Seinfeld did it, but now seems
played out. Still, it is important to give kudos to the actors, who are a truly talented bunch. Scott Becker plays Presto, one of two document shredders in a nondescript office. Presto is the ring leader, and Becker’s manic portrayal is spot on. Michael Jay Henry imbues fellow shredder Werner with goofy charm. Gilbert Vela plays his part of a nebbish co-worker named Hector admirably. Trying to escape their dull work-a-day surroundings, Presto and Werner create a bizarre fantasy life, dreaming up ever more ridiculous scenarios. We watch them employing the piles of shredded paper as props in their dreamscape. This is one of the funnier aspects of the play. The set, with its stark black background, piles of white shredded paper and florescent lighting, is very effective. I also enjoyed the interesting choices of music in between acts. It is unfortunate that I cannot wholeheartedly recommend this play because you can really feel the effort being put forth. The actors are really giving all they have to make the audience laugh, which is why it’s so sad that the script lets them down and the show falls flat. |
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ROCKSHOW by Eric Winick |
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According to Rockshow’s press release, writer/director Paul
Stancato has set out to "redefine the bounds of traditional theatre" by
coining the phrase "Rock Theatre—A New Genre For a New Generation."
While the originality of said genre may be questionable, there’s no
denying Rockshow’s sleek, professional sheen, or the fact that
its performers are, for the most part, as talented in the acting realm
as they are musically. It’s a shame to report, therefore, that, in providing a glimpse into a night in the life of power-pop band Group Therapy, Rockshow manages to mine every Up and Coming Band cliché known to man: the lead guitarist (Chris Blisset) who pushes for a more "radio friendly" sound; the frontman (Jaime McAdams) who worries about "kow-towing to industry standards"; the drummer (Jonathan Roumie) who suspects that the manager (Sky Spiegel) might be pushing them in the wrong direction; the bassist (Jessica Isaacson) who struggles with her feelings for the lead guitarist; and, of course, the sleazoid, coked-up record exec (a histrionic Tyler Evans) who only has the band’s best interests at heart. Okay, fine. Rockshow is fun from time to time, but you can’t get around the fact that it’s plowing a pretty exhausted furrow. There’s nothing inherently wrong with stories about underdogs and the pressures that beset them—as long as they shine new light on their subject. The best shows of this genre—Hedwig and the Angry Inch remains the gold standard—weave their stories through their songs, not around them. Here, as Group Therapy launches repeatedly into its signature keening crunch, the effect doesn’t amplify your understanding of the narrative—it simply stops the show dead. Recently, Stancato joined the cast of bachelors on CBS-TV’s Cupid, a fact that was hammered home on the night I saw Rockshow, when a reality TV crew, complete with boom mikes and lighting apparatus, came scurrying after him and his fetching date as they entered the theater. All of which made for an amusing experience, until it became clear that the crew was also turning its camera on the audience. I tried to focus exclusively on the show, but found myself continually wondering where the camera was, and what it was seeing. Not an ideal way to experience theater, granted; then, given Rockshow’s predilection for leaving no stone unturned, I needn’t have bothered showing up. After all, I’d seen it all before. |
| HORROR VACUI by Maggie Cino |
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Theatre Run’s Horror Vacui is a wonderful bit of fun. Three
sisters run a hotel that hasn’t had a guest in a long, long time. Their
brother Charles, a poet, lives with them. Then one day a guest arrives,
and everything changes. The design elements are especially strong,
evoking Edward Gorey’s picture books. A few sheets, a frame, and a stool
are all the set elements they need to create the whole hotel, even
allowing for a complicated scene full of entrances and exits. The
costumes and makeup of the family are equally effective; the three
sisters and their brother have shadowy whitened faces and are dressed in
turn of the (20th) century outfits, giving them a stylized, antiquated
look that helps create the storybook atmosphere. Horror Vacui has a tight, effective plot aided by fabulous theatrical effects. A car, an explosion, and a couple of other magical moments are beautifully rendered. The story itself is a simple one, allowing for conflict and mayhem to ensue as their one guest tries to wrest control of the beloved hotel. The program says this is a work in progress, and while the work is tight it does seems as if they have sketched out a strong structure and will soon fill in more antics and delightful devices. The acting is solid throughout. The three sisters Von Vacui are especially enchanting, and their differences heighten their similarities. Charlotte, Maude, and Wilomeena (played respectively by Anne Sorce, Martine Eichenberger, and Molly Feingold) operate as a unit at all times, pointing, slouching, and flitting their way through their chores in the hotel. They breathe as one and draw you into their collective trials. Their guest Tallulah (Sophie Fletcher) seduces and horrifies the audience as well as the family, and brother Charles (Adam Paolozza) still charms while being a spineless creature who wrecks havoc by doing nothing but being his self-involved self. In the end, Horror Vacui is a lovely situational farce, the kind that has gone out of fashion because few people know how to execute it properly. Theatre Run breathes fresh life and new blood into this classic form and offers an evening of real entertainment. |
| MANIFEST: THE BATTLE OF INTERGALACTIC
FARCES by Loren Noveck |
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Serene Zloof, the writer and performer of Manifest: The Battle
of Intergalactic Farces, has a keen eye for the absurdities
of twenty-first century urban living, California style.
Beginning with Hamiken, the former "art fag extraordinaire" now
on a quest for "Something to Say," and moving through a broad
array of city-dwellers (among my favorites: Wilma, the New Age-y
spiritualist who truly believes in something, though no one’s
quite sure what, and Angry Joe, the modern anarchist whose first
target for revolution is the Toyota Celica belonging to a fellow
protester’s mother), Zloof’s portraits are both sharp and
compassionate. She acknowledges the ridiculous in her
characters, including her hapless protagonist Hamiken, without
mocking them. Zloof is also a spirited and graceful performer,
able to use vocal and physical tics to transform herself from
one character to another even in mid-conversation. Emily Ehrlich
Inget’s simple, stripped-down production is perfectly suited to
both the demands of FringeNYC and Zloof’s performing style. I thoroughly enjoyed Manifest as a portrait of twenty-something left-wing/occult/New Age San Francisco. However, its larger and more philosophical plot concept didn’t work so well for me: Hamiken believes that a race of superbeings (gods, aliens, spirits) are essentially movie producers, controlling humanity in a never-ending quest for superior entertainment. He thinks that perhaps by being in on their secret, he’s been granted special powers to make mischief and create a little chaos. Turns out he’s right—he, and he alone, is granted free will. However, Hamiken with free will doesn’t seem to behave all that differently from Hamiken without free will—but his actions now have an enormous impact on the world, setting humans off into a chain reaction of chaos that leaves Wilma as the embodiment of the Hindu goddess Kali, turns the city into a giant circus—literally—and makes humankind into its own deities. And although the image of tightrope walkers and flaming unicyclists taking over downtown San Francisco is appealing, the philosophy feels a little murky and unconvincing. Act Two is dragged down a little by the unfolding of this story, but the considerable pleasures of Zloof’s observations and performance remain. |
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ONE SHOT by Chris Toland |
| I must admit I developed a bit of a
sinking feeling as I waited for Mark Kilmurry’s One Shot to
begin, knowing only that it had something to do with Robert DeNiro. I
have long felt that too many actors today are obsessed with the American
cinema of the 1970s. Don’t get me wrong. Without question, many of the
films from this period are among the greatest ever made. But I prefer to
see new visions brought to life, rather than poor attempts to rehash
greatness from thirty years ago. Imagine my relief, then, to discover that Kilmurry’s fast-paced and disturbing play is no such attempt, but instead an argument against obsession with these films, and in this case with DeNiro. To say the least. One Shot is a chilling portrait of Charlie Murray, the personification of fan obsession with a fuse as short as a character you’d expect his idol to have played. His only friend seems to be Bobby himself (DeNiro, that is), to whom the play is a dictated letter. Charlie feels compelled to explain his actions involving Marie, a young woman who has briefly shared his appreciation of Bobby’s work (as an amateur, of course), and Ian Fisher, a television actor—a bad one, Charlie informs us—who has had the audacity to steal some of Bobby’s mannerisms. Ian has apparently stepped in to protect Marie from Charlie’s stalking. Charlie works hard to justify his behavior, often employing scenes from DeNiro’s films to relate a point. Mark Kilmurry is a very smart actor. Poorly portrayed craziness is the worst of bad acting, and One Shot would be doomed in the hands of an actor without Kilmurry’s skill. His performance is controlled, committed, and always eerily natural. To portray such a complicated character all alone on stage is no small feat, and Kilmurry more than meets the challenge. The high-intensity pace he sets—he has directed himself—is intoxicating. It’s fast, but never rushed. With simple but effective lighting and music, he breaks up the dialogue, giving us a few seconds here and there to catch up. Some non-verbal moments work better than others. Charlie’s repeated attempts to look cool smoking a cigarette are fantastic, but a semi-slow-motion pantomime of a brawl that occurs after Charlie becomes violent with Marie looks a little odd. Overall, One Shot is a compelling character study with first-rate acting that is worthy of attention. Just don’t become obsessed. |
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THE AUTHORITIES by Maggie Cino |
| In a futuristic world where people are
always being watched, the problem of black/white race relations has been
solved. The dreaded N-word (loud whisper: "nigger") has been erased from
the collective memory, but can still be unearthed by teenagers with
chips on their shoulders looking to cause trouble. This is the world of
Andrew Rosendorf’s new play, The Authorities. The piece is well crafted, but while the characters and the world they live in are clear enough, the stakes are not. Maxwell, the teenager in question, uses the forbidden word "nigger" and refuses to apologize, even at the risk of family disgrace and getting his own tongue cut out. But his refusal to recant feels like nothing more than adolescent pique. It is never clear what he has to gain by not apologizing. Another case of low stakes is the surreptitious love affair between Maxwell and the daughter of the principal of his school. Why two well-placed adolescents from affluent families with no known blemishes can’t conduct a romance out in the open is a mystery. Yes, they are having sex, which is severely controlled and perverted under the Authorities, but haven’t teenagers always kept their sex lives a secret? Since we never know exactly what the rules regarding sex are in this world, there is no thrill in watching the characters break them. The one character whose objectives are clear in the play is Maxwell’s mother, Mildred Kirkpatrick, played with high-strung edginess by Maggie Kettering. Mildred is on the verge of receiving an award and she might not get it if her son refuses to cooperate. Her desire for that award and her willingness to do whatever she can to make sure she gets it are palpable. In the role, Kettering goes after what she wants with a passion. In the end, The Authorities hangs together, commanding our attention for the whole hour-and-a-half. And the dystopian theme of the play is chilling enough, certainly kindling my desire to find out what to do to avoid a real-life future like the one foretold by this play. |
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GÄRUNG by Julie Blumenthal |
| The props: flowers, brooms, boxes,
shoes, bubble wrap, and those tiny barking dogs street vendors sell. The
set: 6 wooden chairs. The languages: English, German, French. The
musical score ranges from Prokofiev, to Dietrich, to Chevalier; the
cut-up text includes Shakespeare, Madeline L’Engle, and Eastern European
fairytale. Gärung, billed as Expressionist dance theatre,
operates wholeheartedly in the realm of dream logic, where visions,
images, and juxtapositions make inexplicable sense. Choreographer/director Madeline Dahm has formed a solid ensemble (Suzan Averitt, Kryztyna Hughes, Carol Katz, Terril Miller, Denise Pazienti, and Dahm herself), full of wit and unique personalities. Dahm clearly knows what she is about, and the sharpness and precision of her choreography are matched by the company’s execution; mixing movement, text, and irony in equal portions. The inspired moments are many, largely due to Dahm and company’s ability to subtly locate the tragic in the comic and vice versa. Much like a dream, images, more than an overall gestalt, are what linger: a teetering tower of chairs; a peculiarly riveting chorus line of those tiny barking dogs; a bouquet of flowers being wildly beheaded; an alluring dress; a German soliloquy delivered atop a chair. The intent of Gärung seems to be to offer a postmodern fairytale for the postmodern female, and I appreciated many of the sly insights into the experience of being a modern woman, from that crushed bouquet to a three-woman struggle with a zipper. However, if there is a greater purpose at work here, it is somewhat vague. Indeed, if I have any complaint about Gärung, it is only that the parts are, in the end, greater than the whole. The individual moments, most of them well-executed and enjoyable, do not cohere as strongly as they might into a larger event. The piece is at its strongest when it delves into the inarticulate logic of imagination, and makes no attempt to explain (indeed, during one of the sections delivered in French, I found myself having a rarely-experienced moment of wishing I could not understand the dialogue, as the meaning of the words felt distracting). As such, there are a few bits, like the Dietrich section or the extended use of the Witches’ dialogue from Macbeth, which feel overlong or obvious. Gärung is strong work, and Dahm’s ability to charm and communicate with an audience cannot be underestimated. If she continues to refine and strengthen her vision, Gärung will be very potent stuff indeed. |
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BERSERKER by Kevin Connell |
| This 60-minute one-person play finds
its roots in the idea of the "berserker," which turns out to be a term
attached to many "bloodthirsty" characters throughout history—such as
ancient Scandinavian warriors, Count Dracula, American slave Nat Turner,
and the cannibal serial killer Jeffrey Dahmer. Solo performer Paul
Outlaw interweaves texts taken from such sources as The Confessions
of Nat Turner, the Jeffrey Dahmer transcripts, and autobiographical
confessions based on his own life, to create a stylized performance
piece that explores the lustful desires of "supermen," or are they
"werewolves"? I am intrigued by Outlaw’s portrayals of Turner and Dahmer, and his ability to bring to life parallels to these seemingly different men while illuminating the dark obsessions within himself. The historical Turner was born into slavery in 1800 and led a small army of slaves on a thirty-six-hour rampage through the country, in which they axed or beat to death fifty-nine white men, women, and children. He was hanged and skinned in November of 1831. The contemporary Dahmer was born in 1960 and arrested in 1991 for the murders of seventeen young men, whom he had photographed, dismembered, sexually abused, and, in some cases, cannibalized. He was found guilty, sentenced to life in prison and killed by an inmate in 1994. The Dahmer and Turner texts serve as a springboard for the even more interesting autobiographical portions of this piece. I loved the simplicity of Outlaw’s retelling of his family lineage as he pointed to the various shades of his skin to identify each family member by a color on his own flesh. His retelling of a sexual encounter at the age of fourteen with a man in his mid-forties was brutally honest and arousing as it brought to climax the disturbing realities of the power one person has over another. Outlaw is enormously committed to this play, but he seems uncomfortable with most of the heightened physicality throughout, not seeming to finish any one moment before moving on to the next. The use of repeated gestures and dance-like moves fail to bring any deeper meaning to the script. His "Karen Finley-esque" smashing of tomatoes and rubbing of red-dyed spaghetti on his body seems only to force a style of performance art, but ultimately left my theatrical appetite unfed—which is unfortunate, as I found the source materials to be quite compelling. |
