nytheatre Archive
FringeNYC 2003
SHOW REVIEWS ON THIS PAGE: The Tale of Rancor, How To Act Around Cops, Le Livre Blanc: the white book, Charles Phoenix's God Bless Americana, True Stories From the ER That You're Never Gonna See On Television, espresso trasho, Sharky's Den of Sunken Pleasure, Seraphita, Mingus, Mingus, Mingus: I Am Three, Blake… Da Musical
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THE TALE OF RANCOR by Kimberly I. Kefgen |
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The Tale of Rancor, by the company Blue, Inc., is a triumph of
simple imagination, outrageous creativity, and the solid and committed
work of an ensemble. With some of the flavor (and genius) of neighborhood kids putting on a play in the backyard, this troupe creates the town and townspeople of Rancor, a place where all smells are sinful. With umbrellas, sheets, a few brightly colored pieces of fabric, and what look to be pieces of cardboard covered in felt and cut into random shapes, this troupe of nine Lecoq-trained performers tell the story of Grub, the evil boy with a big nose who is the cause of their current state of smell-lessness. And it is BRILLIANT! The plot is inventive, but is secondary to the amazing work of this ensemble. The cast functions as one unit, moving effortlessly, not only from scene to scene, but from character to set piece to wind to animal to new character. They create the objects, the sounds, and yes, even the smells of this strange little town. And they’re great while playing the people, too! It would be impossible to single out any one performer, for good or ill, so integrated are each of them into the whole (plus the program gives no indication of who is who). That in itself is a grand achievement and a compliment to all the cast, and I suspect a strong reason for the success of the production. The piece is "devised" by the company, directed by Peter Bramley and associate directed by Carolyn Cohagan. The directors should be complimented for the unity and the simplicity of the production. Too many times with a physical theatre, ensemble-created piece, you end up with many interesting pictures but a disjointed whole. The vision is clear in this production and executed exquisitely. So many simple but perfect details! I want to clap my hands for the sheer theatrical creativity of it! Hurry and see it if you’re in New York, and if you miss it here, you can catch it in Philadelphia at the end of the month. |
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HOW TO ACT AROUND COPS by John Jordan |
The Present Company and Singularity have done
FringeNYC proud yet again with Logan Brown’s How To Act Around Cops.
This hysterical, on-the-edge-of-your-seat, noir whodunit is definitely
one of the best overall productions I have seen at FringeNYC over the
past few years. Two young men are pulled over for a routine traffic stop and the confusion/fun starts there. I dare not give away any of the plot, as one must experience it as it happens. I never want to be known as a spoiler of confusion/fun, and this is way too much confusion/fun to spoil. I will tell you that Cops is heavy on the paranoia, heavy on the suspense, heavy on the laughs, and at the head of its class for production values. The script is superb—Mamet-esque with a pinch of David Lynch and even a "Honey Bunny" serving of Pulp Fiction. But comparisons aside, it is original in its own right—very intriguing and, at times, very misleading. My only complaint is that there is too much left unanswered. I left the theatre with way too many questions that only the playwright can answer. I wish Brown would have done so in the script. The direction by Jon Schumacher is brilliant. The pace keeps up with the action as needed, speeding up when necessary and slowing down for that perfect suspenseful effect. The lighting and sound, which are definitely major players in this puzzle, are fantastically low-key, bleak and sleazy, adding volumes to the mood. Kudos to Technical Director Nick Keslake for setting the stage and the tone. The ensemble cast is outstanding, each actor giving a consummate performance. It is hard to single out any one in particular, but Susan O’Connor is an absolute gas as K.C. The rest of the company (Andrew Breving, Matthew Benjamin, Chris Kipiniak, Josh Carpenter, Marc Webster, and Veronica Welch) each shine at one point or another. They have obviously done their homework and work extremely well together. This is how theatre should be. Thanks yet again, Singularity, for single-handedly making this reviewer remember why he loves live theatre so much. |
| LE LIVRE BLANC: THE WHITE BOOK by Kevin Connell |
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I loved this piece. It’s strange using the "L" word so freely, but it’s
an honest expression marking the respect I hold for Chicago’s The
Journeymen Theatre Company and their production of Le Livre Blanc:
the white book, presented at the Greenwich Street Theatre, as part
of the 2003 New York International Fringe Festival. Jean Cocteau’s Le Livre Blanc: the white book was written and published anonymously in France in 1928. It is a semi-autobiographical account of the love affairs of a young man in the early years of the last century. Frank Pullen’s adaptation is written in a narrative style bringing to mind Stephen Spender’s letters to Christopher Isherwood and the more contemporary diaries of composer Ned Rorem. It is an honor to witness a performance of this Modernist play, taking into account the risks taken by Cocteau to write so honestly about same-sex desire in a time when homosexuality was most certainly an unspoken hidden reality. The company of actors includes Jean-Paul Menou, Timothy Klein, and Joseph Krstyen. Menou handles the narrative text beautifully as he brings to life Cocteau’s mirror image of himself. Klein and Krstyen effectively move throughout the piece portraying a multitude of lovers, intimates, and desired adolescent boys and young men. The production is guided by the sensitive hands of director Pullen, who tells this story through the simplicity of a gesture, the ease of a pose, and the honesty of a moment. Stephen Arnold’s lighting design finds its success in the subtlety of each transition as he illuminates Cocteau’s characters in the shadows of light. Ian Goodman’s original music evokes a Parisian cabaret with a seductive period accuracy. If you enjoy narration spoken as text and care for a glimpse into our hidden gay past, this is a production you must see. |
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CHARLES PHOENIX’S GOD BLESS AMERICANA by Liz Kimberlin |
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The appeal of Charles Phoenix's God Bless Americana may be
lost on anyone under 35—and most certainly anyone born after the
invention of the video-camera and cordless phone. But this show
is a thorough delight for the mid-30-somethings and up. And
bring a friend or two—it's more fun that way. Charles Phoenix,
the congenial host, invites the audience to be every bit as much
a part of his show as his presentation notes. Phoenix, a
California native (who claims to be 40) is defiantly dorked-out
in a loud, magenta, Hawaii-esque 50's leisure suit and straw
hat. The review which he presents here as "The Retro Vacation
Slide Show Tour of the USA" features amateur and travel 35mm
slides, mostly from the 50's and 60's. So, what makes it possible that there might be something even remotely interesting about other people's travel slides, especially from an era that's gone the way of the Edsel and Shake-A-Puddin'? Phoenix, himself, for one thing—he already has earned something of a cult following in L.A—as well as his assistant D-J Haanraadts, a totally far-out dude who greets people at the door and later runs the slide projector. Phoenix's slides run the spectrum of the era's tacky glamour and middle class pathos, not to mention endless dishes of ambrosia and bowls of dusty but decorative plastic fruit coast to coast. Early on in the tour we're just part of the crowd visiting the Grand Canyon, which apparently was that year's equivalent to being seen at Le Cirque. Men are in their best suits and hats. Women are in high heels, matching handbags, dress ensembles, gloves, jewelry, mink stoles, full make-up, very red nails and lipstick. And it's about 105 degrees before noon. There are several slides taken in hotel rooms where cocktail hour is taken very seriously indeed. Some shots are typical tourist kitsch, some mortifyingly funny, some even unintentionally lewd. My audience of mostly strangers suddenly became like an extended family reunited for the holidays as we shared commentary on the slides. When the hour-15-ish tour finally wrapped up at Disneyland's "World of Tomorrow: 1987" attraction (which I visited as a child in 1968) with the "Carousel of Progress" soundtrack playing in the background, I was a little teary-eyed singing along, as was the guy sitting next to me. The evening was one long smile, a couple of belly laughs, and a groan or two. Note: For anyone who doesn't know what ambrosia is or how to make it, Phoenix generously provides the recipe in the program. |
| TRUE STORIES FROM THE ER THAT YOU’RE NEVER GONNA SEE ON
TELEVISION! by Kelly McAllister |
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I hate going to Emergency Rooms. There is something I find horrible about
having complete strangers seeing me at my most vulnerable. Television,
almost from its inception, has keyed in to the inherent drama of
hospitals and doctors, blood and guts. These shows, and the lack of
continuity in them, led Rob Bronstein to write a one-man show about his
own experiences in ERs. The result is a very funny, at times harrowing,
hour of theatre. Bronstein starts off with his first visit to the ER, when he was all of four, and goes over several memorable occasions in his life where he found himself in the hospital, either as patient or as concerned husband. Most of the stories are humorous—from the time when he was a boy and another boy got his teeth lodged in young Bronstein’s eyebrow, to a game of towel-snapping that ended with Bronstein falling down a flight of stairs. There are also a few gross-out moments, like how after the fall down the stairs—well, I don’t want to give it away, but the end of the story made me groan and hold my head. Towards the end of the show, a few more serious stories are told: one involving an old lady and a very cold day in Chicago that I found sad and quite moving, and another about Bronstein’s ex-wife and anaphylactic shock that to me drove home how hard it is at times to communicate with other people when you really need to—you know, like when you’re in an Emergency Room. Bronstein, a former writer for Second City, has a natural ease on stage and a wonderful sense of comic timing. He combines a stand-up comic’s control of a crowd with an actor's sense of the dramatic. He shares the stage with Ethan Hein, who provides musical backdrops to all the stories. Hein’s original music is a great addition to the show, never distracting, always adding to the story. All in all, this is a really great show, and I recommend it. |
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ESPRESSO TRASHO by John Jordan |
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espresso trasho, the caffeinated musical comedy is just like the
once-hip coffee bar phenomenon. Set in 1998 Tribeca, this show, based on Richard Sheridan’s The School for Scandal, is about a pair of "star-crossed lovers" who must unknowingly fight the odds to stay together. There are subplots involving the girl’s plumber godfather and his younger, status-craving wife; the vixenish coffee bar owner who wants the boy all to herself; the smooth-talking narrator; the long-lost multi-millionaire "uncle" and the boy’s greedy "brother." There are quite a few good laughs, mostly brought to us via the incredibly-talented and versatile Kristi Tomooka (Lady T/Runaway/Cleaning Lady). Tomooka is a supporting player who breathes life into a scene just by making an entrance or an exit. I actually thought there was an acoustic problem at the venue, or vocal issues with the cast, but then Ms. Tomooka entered and, well, her vocal energy alone saved the day. Unfortunately, this is not Lady T’s story and we hardly get to hear her sing. The remainder of the cast does a capable job, most notably Richard Vida as the plumber Pete Toselli, whose rendition of "Tina" is hysterical, plunger and all. The score by Charles Leipart (book and lyrics) and Eric Schorr (music) is a mixed bag. The jazzy "Smoke" just simmers. "I’m On My Own" is the anti-original song title of the year. "The Ol’ Switcheroo" picks things up a bit, but with too many shades of The Fantasticks. The finale is a letdown. Josh Walden’s choreography and the direction by Marcia Milgrom Dodge are both fine. Overall, this is a pleasant production. However, with a jumpstart-your-heart title and the promise of backstabbing, gossip, and saucy characters possessing Dynasty-sized bank accounts, I expect to get my socks knocked off and I want to be dancing in the aisles. I left with my socks intact. I did, however, leave with a smile. I was not humming any of the new tunes I just heard, but I was smiling. So, if you like your musicals light and DEcaffeinated, head on down to the Linhart and you will be very glad you did. |
| SHARKY’S DEN OF SUNKEN PLEASURE by Fred Backus |
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Right off the bat, I should mention that FringeNYC was unable to find a
suitable venue to accommodate a trapeze safely. Alas, there is no
trapeze act in this piece. What’s left? Well, we are treated to a behind-the-scenes look in Sharky’s Den of Sunken Pleasure at the eponymous underwater cabaret owned and operated by Sharky (Lea Bender), a greedy and egotistical shark who is not exactly what he appears to be. His aquatic cohorts include Emeelio’da Eel (Damacio), Sharky’s simpering "yes" man; Gloria Goldfish (Patricia Rose), his "soapaholic" cocktail waitress; performer Nannette Bubblette (Lana Shively), Sharky’s ex-wife who is still perfecting her French accent; and Madame Succula Tentaculara, a giant octopus whom Sharky has locked in the water closet who can transform even the most talentless sea denizen into a full-fledged aquatic diva. Wandering into their world is society woman Francine Flounders (Phoebe Southwood), who for some reason they see as the perfect addition to their act, if only she will accept the ministrations of Madame Succula and find her true calling. To say that this plot has twists and turns would be to imply that it has some direction in the first place. Nor can one just sit back and enjoy it as a zany romp. The gags are lame and poorly executed, the situations clichéd in the rare moments they are not completely nonsensical, and there is no sense of pacing or choreography to be found anywhere. Lack of direction would indeed appear to be the main problem, for Sharky’s Den of Sunken Pleasure stands out glaringly as hopelessly amateurish in a festival that is less and less forgiving of such endeavors in comparison to the ever-increasing number of high quality artists and projects participating every year. Admittedly, the cavernous expanse of Cooper Union’s Great Hall does not help this production make a connection to the audience or highlight the details of some of the imaginative costumes and masks, though other companies have been able to bridge this barrier. Overall, one feels that these folks from San Francisco have been far too easy on themselves, for the piece feels as if it is designed to entertain their personal friends, rather than impress strangers across the country in an East Coast premiere. But who knows? Perhaps the trapeze act would have made everything fall into place. |
| SERAPHITA by Tim Cusack |
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A black-hooded woman sits in the sanctuary of an empty church,
immobile, with her back to us. Two long strips of fabric snake
away from her on the floor. Slowly, another woman, all in white,
emerges from one side of the nave. She walks with downcast eyes
and immense concentration; following a path only she can see.
Another woman, also in white, emerges from a raised platform in
the sanctuary. She rings a small bell as she moves. Given the
church setting, the viewer can’t help but think of a ritual,
albeit one whose purpose remains shrouded in mystery. This is the opening image of Seraphita, Naeko Shikano’s dance adaptation of Balzac’s novel of the same name. The two women in white are Minna (Megumi Onishi) and Wilfrid (Shikano), both in love with the enigmatic (and androgynous) Seraphita (Mana Hashimoto). Much of the piece shares this sequence’s aura of quiet gravity. The women gently tug on the pieces of fabric (they are actually Seraphita’s sleeves, or wings), fold them together, and lean their heads on each other’s shoulders. Everything is executed with the slow intensity of that first cross downstage. Onishi and Shikano inscribe circles and trace curves through the space with their arms and sink into luscious, deep lunges. Energy that had been tightly contained is suddenly released, and the women start turning with greater force and speed. Hashimoto makes her way up onto the platform—she has ascended to Heaven. This is all quite lovely—the black and white costumes and minimalist movement evoke the simplicity of calligraphy strokes—and the performers’ commitment to their material is admirable, but what any of this has to do with Balzac is beyond me. If it weren’t for the program note, little of his "plot" would have been communicated to the audience. I would be interested in what Shikano could accomplish if she took on the task of actually trying to tell this story through dance. I must thank her, however, for introducing me to Hashimoto, a performer unknown to me before this. You see, she’s completely blind, having lost her sight several years ago. She’s extraordinary and (dare I use a word that has become completely debased in our Oprah-sized culture?) inspirational. |
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MINGUS, MINGUS, MINGUS: I AM THREE by Judith Jarosz |
| In Mingus, Mingus, Mingus: I Am
Three, playwright-performer Karen Kaderavek attempts to show us the
life and persona of Charles Mingus…a worthy goal. As jazz fans will
know, Mingus was a virtuoso bass player, an accomplished pianist, a
bandleader, and a prolific composer. The show traces his life from his
childhood gospel beginnings, through his incredible roller coaster
career, to his untimely death from Lou Gehrig’s Disease at the age of
56. Mingus worked with the best of the best including Charlie Parker,
Miles Davis, Bud Powell, Art Tatum, Louis Armstrong, Kid Ory, Lionel
Hampton, and Duke Ellington, whose music he claimed awakened him to the
possibilities. This is obviously a labor of love and Kaderavek does a valiant job of portraying not only Mingus, but also various lady partners he had throughout his life. She also plays the cello beautifully. However the piece comes to a standstill for each not-so-quick costume change, and although I very much enjoyed listening to the Mingus recordings while the set was dark, I think using more actors in the cast could enhance the experience. Stephen Orlov, whose bio reveals no previous directing credits, makes some nice stage pictures with the use of a bass, cello, chair, and stool on an otherwise bare stage, but pacing is a problem at times and certain sections of the show go on far too long. The piece would be well served with some cuts. Lighting by Rachel Gilmore is simple and creative, and there is no credit given for the costume design, which could use some more thought. While the fact that this evening takes place in the cramped, hot, Independent Theater space may help it feel like an old jazz club, it is no help to the poor performer who struggles to concentrate through heat, sweat and the latecomers who must practically step on the stage to get to their seats. Ms. Kaderavek handles it all with panache. |
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BLAKE… DA MUSICAL by April Nugent |
| Blake… Da Musical tells the
tragic love story of Robert Blake and Bonnie Blakely. It examines their
relationship and follows the pair up to Bonnie’s final fateful evening.
This campy, irreverent and over-the-top production could be seen as a
public service as it offers a possible solution and a couple of very
plausible suspects that the L.A.P.D. may have over looked during their
initial investigation. Entering the basement of the Our Lady of Pompeii Church, you feel as though you are going to watch a high school assembly. This feeling is further instilled by Christi McAva and Steve Escandon’s painted backdrops. Make no mistake, however: the low-budget set, plastic jail cell, and cardboard props are deliberately designed and add to the white-trash feel the production is aiming for. Crooning songs like "Mail Order Porn" and "Lady Dyslexia," the ensemble is grotesquely dysfunctional. With his dead-on impersonation of Robert Blake, Rick Batalla has a great voice and a fun and easy rapport with the audience. A comedian from head to toe, Meleney Humphrey (Bonnie) does white trash with an irrepressible joy. JJ Snyder gives a noteworthy performance as Lady D and as Bonnie’s Fairy Godmother. The cast also includes Mike Teele, G’mo Robles, Andy Lopez, and Luke Fuller. The enthusiasm of these performers is almost enough to overcome the problems of the script, which is light on plot and lacks drive. The songs, written by Henry Phillips and Batalla, are fun, but they do little to move the story along and they become repetitive, especially in the staging. Blake… Da Musical is outlandish and bawdy with bold, vividly drawn characters. However while it may work in sections as comedy sketches, it falls short as a full musical theatre piece. The press materials state that CG4 Productions, which was founded in 2002, is "dedicated to taking unsolved murder cases, and setting them to music." They have plenty of material to draw from and I am sure they will have plenty of opportunities to perfect this highly specialized genre. |
