2008 New York International Fringe Festival Reviews

The Disappearance of Jonah

reviewed by James Comtois

Aug 14, 2008

When a person goes missing without any clue as to where or how, it leaves the friends and family members in limbo, since that question of "What happened?" will most likely never be answered. Also, the idea that he could return any day, regardless of how improbable, can never be thoroughly ruled out.

The Disappearance of Jonah tackles this idea through an engrossing series of stories that tie in together as one giant story about how several people are directly and indirectly affected by one young man disappearing off the face of the earth.

Jonah, a young man from a small rural town, went off to college in New York and disappeared without a trace. Two years later, his younger brother Finn tells his mother (to her horror) that he's going to New York to find his older brother, find some clues as to what happened, or at least simply find some sense of closure.

In New York, Finn ends up meeting several people who had connections with his brother, including Natalie, Jonah's former fiancée; Ben, a newly famous author grappling with his newfound fame and harboring some much-deserved guilt; and Amy, a quirky actress/waitress at a coffee shop Jonah used to frequent. In addition to having some sort of connection to Jonah, they all have connections with each other (none of which I will reveal here, since part of what makes this play so enjoyable is watching how all these connections unfold).

Back home, Finn and Jonah's mother is still grief-stricken. She compulsively buys lottery tickets to buy a giant billboard ad to find her missing son. She throws birthday parties for Jonah, half-expecting that the act of baking a cake will have him come back home. She has one-night stands to stave off the pain and loneliness with Finn's burnt out, alcoholic English teacher, Edward (who, coincidentally, was Jonah's former mentor and Ben's former teacher).

Throughout the play, Jonah appears as a presence, sometimes seen, sometimes unseen, sometimes through flashbacks. Jonah also often addresses the audience to give his views on New York (but alas, no insight as to what happened to him).

What's really fascinating is seeing how writer Darragh Martin and directors Pitr Strait and Dan Blank intertwine all of these characters' lives and fates without making the play confusing or convoluted. To say that the play abounds in coincidences is putting it mildly.

Martin, Strait, and Blank seamlessly blend events from the past and present with scenes that have characters talking to Jonah before he went missing and his younger brother Finn in the present day. It may sound confusing, but to the contrary, gives the audience a very clear picture and timeline of events. It's quite impressive and compelling storytelling.

There are several neat ideas and impressive scenes in The Disappearance of Jonah. I liked the idea that because Jonah is no longer around, he will always be seen in the eyes of his friends and family as perfect, because he'll never grow old or fail in midlife: he'll be forever 20 years old with the world as his oyster. I also liked the scene where Amy espouses her idea of there being "several" New Yorks—that the New York Jonah lived in is not the New York that Finn is experiencing. I also found the mother's and teacher's parallel monologues about their feelings of loneliness, emptiness, and failure after their one-night stand very touching and honest (in particular because both of them pinned their hopes and dreams on Jonah in very different ways).

Everyone in the cast—Lori Kee, Jake Green, Jeff Brown, Asher Grodman, Birdy Sahagian, Paul Casali, and Lydia Brunner—is great, and they all have a lot to work with, since every character is well-rounded and fully realized. Additionally, Green and Brown, as Finn and Jonah respectively, look similar enough for one to believe that they're brothers.

Meticulously crafted and beautifully paced, The Disappearance of Jonah is a poignant portrait of characters overcoming grief, making connections, and trying to find closure, regardless of how difficult-to-impossible finding such closure is.

Written/created by: Darragh Martin
Directed by Dan Blank and Pitr Strait
Presented by Aporia Repertory Co.

Tim Gunn's Podcast (a reality chamber opera)

reviewed by Nancy Kim

Aug 14, 2008

Coincidentally, before attending the performance of Tim Gunn's Podcast (a reality chamber opera), I spent a good hour earlier in the day reading through several online message boards and blogs commenting on the latest episode of Bravo's marquee cable reality show, Project Runway, now in its fifth season. I join the legion of fans for the popular television competition seeking the best fashion designer among a crop of contestants. The unwavering consensus among fans and casual observers is a universal adoration for the show's host and mentor, Tim Gunn. As the former chair of fashion design at the famed Parsons The New School for Design, he lends his expertise and wisdom throughout the competition, but the absolutely unplanned gift to the reality show has been Tim's personality: part helpful critic, part sophisticated uncle, part TV naïf who unexpectedly contributed the show's catchphrases—"Make it work" and "Carry on"—to the pop culture lexicon.

As any respectable Project Runway fan will tell you, Tim Gunn's podcasts found on the Bravo website following each episode are special treats to hear the backstage events and Tim's unedited and detailed opinions as well as the nuances of his personality. If you are beginning to think that no person should spend this extraordinary amount of time thinking, discussing, and deconstructing a television host, then you may not find much appeal in attending Jeffrey Lependorf's creation at FringeNYC: an original chamber opera composed and performed using the full transcript of one of Tim Gunn's podcast.

Or, you may recognize that Lependorf has come up with the most brilliant use of reappropriation of a pop culture/low culture television program already appropriating the high culture of fashion design; in addition to the other level of taking a new technological format like the podcast and transferring that content into a old-fashioned opera libretto for one person to sing with piano accompaniment.

Lependorf chooses wisely with a podcast commenting on a memorable episode of Season 3. In this episode, Tim Gunn describes the challenge of creating a red carpet evening gown for Tara O'Connor, then Miss USA. Seven of the competitors are chosen to create designs based on their pitches to O'Connor while the remaining seven competitors are paired up with the designers to help them construct and execute the designs within the limited time. Tim describes the work and the chemistry between the paired teams, but provides the unintentionally hilarious details of his dislike for Vincent, one of the more bad-to-work-with/good-for-TV personalities on the show. Uncharacteristically for him, Tim admits that he must be pulled aside by show's producer because of his dislike for a contestant, and he shares all the details of the showdown in his podcast.

All this and more, including the "uh-s" and "um's" are sung by professional opera singer John Schenkel. With his warm baritone voice, he also captures some of the classic Tim Gunn facial expressions and tableaus as well as shows the athletic effort to maintain the vocal power and true focus to really tell us the story to the end (the performance clocks in at about one hour). Director Linda Lehr aids in shaping the journey and makes a good choice to perform this straight with not much winking to the audience, while Lependorf has created a wonderful range in the score and knows how to punch up the humor. But let's give Tim Gunn his due: only he could pull off saying both "tête-à-tête" and "bitch-slap" to describe a fashion situation.

Will people outside the Project Runway fanworld be interested? I don't know how to answer that, but I appreciated this truly creative, funny, risk-taking, and quirky experiment.

Written/created by: Jeffrey Lependorf, based on Tim Gunn's actual podcast
Directed by Linda Lehr
Presented by Jeffrey Lependorf

Not Dark Yet

reviewed by Michael Criscuolo

Aug 13, 2008

The premise of Timothy Nolan's new dramedy, Not Dark Yet—in which an up-and-coming writer sacrifices art over life—is both interesting and novel (no pun intended). But the playwright is never able to convert that premise into dramatically satisfying storytelling. A surprising lack of conflict and faulty internal logic doom a script that, on the flip side, contains a lot of wisdom about the creative life of artists. Unfortunately, Nolan never clarifies what point he's trying to make, and that confusion trickles down to almost every aspect of the play's current incarnation.

Tom, the protagonist of Not Dark Yet, seemingly has it all: a rising literary career, a supportive wife who doubles as his equally supportive editor, and a steady schedule of public appearances. He even has a muse—an enthusiastic bruiser named Norman—that visits quite frequently. But, dissatisfied with it all, Tom begins to fight back. He ignores Norman's endless supply of inspiration, starts skipping book readings, and even goes looking for a day job.

The big question, of course, is: why? Why does Tom forsake everything he has? Nolan is frustratingly vague about his leading man's motives. Norman suggests that loyal wife Anne may be carrying a torch for her former flame, Mitch (Tom's offstage publisher), but those claims go uninvestigated because Tom never asks her about them. Instead, he just emotionally shuts down, stops writing, and starts making frequent trips to the zoo. Tom's willingness to put stock in what is essentially an unverified rumor seems, at best, dubious and illogical.

And why would any artist shun the advances of a muse as attentive as Norman? True, he comes and goes as he pleases ("I don't work on a schedule. You can't schedule the wind," he says at one point), but he always brings creative gold with him. Yet Tom wants none of it. Or rather he only wants it on his terms. There's a fascinating play waiting to happen just within Tom and Norman's scenes—about the constant struggle between artistic inspiration and discipline—but it doesn't seem to be one Nolan is interested in writing.

Not Dark Yet does have some bright spots, though, namely the physical manifestation of Tom and Norman's interplay together: they dance. Nolan and director Christine Simpson hit upon the perfect metaphor for the creative give-and-take between artist and muse, and choreographer Deb Silver brings it to life with humorous effect. Actor Jake Suffian's alternately playful-yet-menacing performance as Norman is also a highlight, tapping into the story's high-stakes potential more often than not.

But the rest of the production never follows suit. As Tom and Anne, Kyle Knauf and Elizabeth A. Bell shy away from the play's bigger emotional moments, and who can blame them? It's hard to know what's at stake for their characters. Simpson does as well as can be expected under the circumstances, but there's only so far one can go with a script about a man who doesn't want anything, who merely is. Ultimately, Not Dark Yet feels more like a prelude to a future story about these characters than anything else.

Written/created by: Timothy Nolan
Directed by Christine Simpson
Presented by Present Tense

Secrets of Lamp Lit Blinds

reviewed by Joe Beaudin

Aug 13, 2008

Secrets of Lamp Lit Blinds is a series of three short one-acts written by Jason Williamson. While each one of them includes different actors on a different set, they all seem to suggest a similar theme of grief and longing. I am always intrigued by an author's interpretation of these subjects, but I think this production directed by Michael Petranek is both hit and miss.

The first play, Someone Else's Ghost, depicts the story of Odile, a woman who recently became a widow, and is dealing with the aftermath of the death of her husband. Things become sticky when a fugitive named Luke slips into her house for sanctuary. Odile seems to sympathize with Luke, takes him under her wing, and allows him to stay. The play unravels, and we discover that Luke, too, is dealing with a kind of sadness that only Odile understands.

The second play, Audrey in Dresses, is another story about the loss of a significant other. Audrey is dealing with the death of her mother, and Gene, her husband, is awkwardly trying to console her. The scene takes place in Audrey's parents' attic. She is trying on all of her mother's old dresses, reminiscing about them, while Gene is "trying" to kill moths that are swarming the attic. Each dress tells us a little more about Audrey's mother and the terse relationship they had together.

The final play, cleverly named BoyGirlBoyGirl, is about a peeping tom named Boy, and his infatuation with an attractive Girl who is searching for her lost dog. Boy is trying to muster up the courage to talk to Girl, but can only seem to watch from afar, and dream of what might be. These dreams and thoughts are portrayed by two actors who play a male and female chorus. Through the chorus, we can see the inner thoughts and demons of Boy.

The hit: BoyGirlBoyGirl is the most successful piece in this show. Sean Hudock as Boy is a joy to watch. He is a frantic peeping-tom clown and his energy carries the play along. Likewise, the chorus members played by Jono Mason and Keely Williams give us a clear and clever look inside the head of Boy and his deep need to be close to Girl, played lovely by Kate Rogal. I sincerely enjoyed the complexity of this piece and the actors' commitment to their parts.

Now the misses: While the actors of Someone Else's Ghost and Audrey in Dresses do a fine job, there seems to be something missing or something underdeveloped in these plays. Ghost needs more: more story, more character work. I was interested in the characters, but I think an entire full-length play may be needed to illustrate their complexities. And with Audrey, I think the relationship between Gene and Audrey needs work. Grief is a tough subject, a sensitive subject, and I just don't believe the stakes are high enough. Gene's consoling of his wife is awkward, which is good, but it isn't awkward enough. It only tips the iceberg of awkwardness, when more could be explored.

Written/created by: Jason Williamson
Directed by Michael Petranek
Presented by Tip My Cup

Now That She's Gone

reviewed by Roger Nasser

Aug 12, 2008

Now That She's Gone is a sweet, honest memoir play. It is about the relationship between writer/performer Ellen Snortland and her mother Barbro Snortland. It documents the mother–daughter relationship from Ellen's early childhood to her adulthood. Or, as Ellen puts it, it is "unveiling the mystery of my mother." Now That She's Gone is a very poignant, moving piece. At its heart, it's about Ellen's need to make her mother proud of her—or rather to receive the validation that all of us seek from our parents.

When I entered the theatre there was a slide show going of different family pictures. That was a very nice touch. The rest of the stage is set up as Barbro's apartment in the assisted living facility where she spent her last years. There are boxes that say either "donate" or "keep" on them. During the course of the show, Ellen is packing up her mother's things. Although that makes complete sense I felt that some of the action was unnecessary. Ellen's storytelling is enough.

Ellen Snortland takes us on a journey through her life and the relationship that she had with her Norwegian mother. She also discusses her relationship with her father and her two sisters, but her mother is the focal point of this touching play. Ellen shares many anecdotes about her life experiences and they are all worth hearing.

Aside from being a performer, Ellen is also a feminist activist and a lawyer among other things. She has had many great accomplishments in her life and after each one she looks to her mother for a "great job, I'm proud of you" but Barbro isn't very affectionate. Ellen eventually accepts that and later sees a plausible reason of why her mother was not outgoing. I don't want to give anything away—it's better that you hear it from Ellen first hand.

Barbro was a huge fan of humanitarian Eleanor Roosevelt and instilled in Ellen a love of Eleanor Roosevelt and The Universal Declaration of Human Rights. Articles from the Declaration are mentioned throughout the show. While this mention of history was important to their relationship, other events were also brought up that I felt weren’t as necessary to the story.

Now That She's Gone is really a beautiful piece. Ellen does a great job of letting us into her life. She is very candid at times and extremely honest. She has a knack for entertaining the audience and is at complete ease as she shares difficult personal issues to us. The fun choreography during the show is supplied by Leanne Fonteyn. John Mitchell has done a superb job directing a sweet and sentimental play. Now That She's Gone is a very interesting show about two very interesting women. It really shouldn't be missed.

Written/created by: Ellen Snortland
Directed by John Mitchell
Presented by EMP Theatricals, LLC

The Grecian Formula

reviewed by Megin Jimenez

Aug 12, 2008

The Grecian Formula is a play that reminds you what it means, in the best of all possible worlds, to be an audience member. Within the first 15 minutes, you know you are in good hands: there will be no bracing for bouts of cliché, no quiet forgiving of the "almost-there" moment. Nope, all you have to do is pay attention and enjoy, and easing into this role feels as right as every other detail of this stellar production.

Set in Ancient Athens, sort of, the play tells the story of the first drama, born of a contest sponsored by the ruling tyrant to distract the populace from revolt. But with a cheerful anachronistic spirit, what we get is a send-up of contemporary American culture, with the theatre as the most frequent target. Broadway in particular gets it bad, with the drive for profit artfully mocked in rhymed odes and the Golden Phallus (the trophy awarded to the prize-winning play) at one point compared to a Tony.

Carter Anne McGowan's script is unflaggingly energetic, quick-witted, and filled with refreshing asides. While no one—from producer to theatre critic—is spared from parody, the hero of the story is a writer, the author of the first drama (played by the versatile Todd Lawson). A talented slave belonging to an untalented bard, he is coerced into ghostwriting for the sake of his family. But despite the writer's nobility in this cosmos, McGowan even teases herself in her role as author, making The Narrator question his purpose in the story, while her playwright hero declares devices as tiresome and takes over the action.

Fortunately, the company is up to a sparkling delivery. Director Mary Jo Lodge has created a complete aesthetic on stage. A playful tone is at once established (witness the Greek wedding dancing in between scenes), building consistently to an over-the-top, hilarious finale. The approach is Shakespearean, with actors giving full attention to wordplay and embellishing lines with their own talents. Anthony Cochrane is in full command as the pragmatic dictator and Kevin Carolan brings a subtly comic edge to the role of boring bard. Jason Pintar, primarily playing a member of the tyrant's security detail, also manages to make diverse ensemble roles uniquely funny.

The Grecian Formula is highly recommended as a sophisticated comedy, and for theatre aficionados with a sense of humor, it's not to be missed.

Written/created by: Carter Anne McGowan
Directed by Mary Jo Lodge
Presented by Followspot Entertainment, Ltd.

The Dershowitz Protocol

reviewed by Jo Ann Rosen

Aug 14, 2008

Robert Fothergill addresses the ethical dilemma of sacrificing one life to save many in The Dershowitz Protocol, a play based on the theory presented in Why Terrorism Works, a book by Alan Dershowitz, an attorney and leading American civil rights activist. As one of 13 FringeHIGH festival offerings (plays designed to introduce young adults to thought-provoking theatre), the drama furthers discussion where there are no easy answers.

The Dershowitz Protocol places three people in an office where, for the first time under legal warrant, a suspected terrorist, journalist Iqbal Aziz, will be "rigorously interrogated" to gain information on the location of an imminent attack. Captain Jack McCall, an arrogant, over-zealous interrogator, is the only one privy to evidence that implicates the prisoner; Dr. Randall Watkin, a bureaucratic academic, is there to administer the various levels of electric shock. To qualify for this role, he himself has received the treatments. The third is Jane Cosentino, an assistant in the Justice Department whose presence assures that the interrogation will follow the proper protocol—a written procedure to which she was a contributing author.

Anthony Frisina's directorial vision wisely places the prisoner out of sight, except when a flickering light dimly illuminates his convulsing torso during shock treatments. And, he does a fine job of magnifying provocative questions raised by Fothergill's drama: If you could save thousands of people from a nuclear attack by torturing or even killing just one, would you do it? Is it preferable for torture to be "carried out under legal warrant, subject to safeguards and accountability" through written rules or allow those who use it to act freely in their unbridled brutality? What would such rules say about America and its values? What is the role of the public?

In the play, Fothergill sets up parameters. It is clear that a warrant or official nod has been issued for the interrogation to take place. All communication with the prisoner is through an intercom; and, the interrogation is broken up into segments that need to be re-authorized by both Watkins and Cosentino every ten minutes.

Fothergill's dialog is particularly effective when all three administrators, in conflict, talk over one another. Richard St. George as the Captain and interrogator is frighteningly impetuous as he assaults Iqbal with profanities, accusations, and suggestive details. He provides a discomfiting eagerness in his orders for Watkin to push the electric shock button. Played by Kevin Gaudin, Watkin is also alarming in his robotic responses to the Captain's demands. Whether it's seven seconds of electric shock or 30 seconds, Level 1 or Level 5, Watkin pushes the button without a trace of emotion, knowing exactly how it will feel. The excellent Ken Maharaj never overplays the role of Iqbal, and his fear and anguish are both convincing. Kate Geller travels a difficult psychological journey from competent, hard-nosed attorney to reluctant participant in her role as Jane. She gives the play its conscience when her character admits, "We have done something unspeakable."

Hilary Noxon designed a thoughtful, subtle set, using a wall map as a scrim through which we see the prisoner. Christopher Chambers outdoes himself with lighting, opening the play with the Captain seen from behind in dramatic shadow, and providing no more than a glimpse of the tortured prisoner—the rest is left to the audience's active imagination. Steve McIntosh does equally well with sound, and appropriate costumes were designed by Samuel Ellingson.

Talking about man's inhumanity to man has never been more timely. The Dershowitz Protocol gets the topic out there where everyone can and should participate in the discussion.

Written/created by: Robert Fotherill
Directed by Anthony Frisina
Presented by I Got Da Beat/The Beat Project

The Dream~Casting

reviewed by Loren Noveck

Aug 14, 2008

Full of striking visuals and murky symbolism, dimly lit, and with very little dialogue and no discernible narrative, The Dream-Casting feels in fact much like an unsettling, barely remembered dream. I don't really have any idea what the piece is meant to be about, if anything—with almost no dialogue in two-thirds of the piece and a fairly abstract movement vocabulary, meaning must be gleaned from the lyrics to the backing soundtrack, fairly generic sentiments about awakening spirits, entering the dream, and overcoming duality, with a strange central interlude involving two extraterrestrial witches in the form of sparkling hand-puppets—but it's filled with moments of eye-catching imagery.

The video projections (by the show's creator, Huilo Marvavilla, and 111) are mesmerizing—filling an entire side of the stage with a constant kaleidoscope of color and movement. Unfortunately, the first section of the show, "The Awakening," takes place pretty much without stage lighting; the video is really the only thing you can see clearly. There are shadowy dancers moving on the stage, and at the end, a giant, glowing spider puppet and two figures (wizards?) bearing vaguely illuminated abstract sculptures make an appearance. Throughout, a man in black creeps around in the audience. The whole thing is made even more dreamlike by the setting, one of the Spiegeltents, with mirrors all around the perimeter of the space catching glints of the video and reflecting them back. And the final section, "Liberating the Now," is kind of like the first section, only more so—instead of abstract dancers in the shadows, we have giant sculptural masks representing ancient Meso-American gods (Mayan, I think) dancing; the lyrics in the background music move from the first section's message of, well, awakening to this idea of ending duality, embracing the mercy of time, and freeing the spirit from some sort of constraints.

The middle section, "Tea with Duality," is, I think, supposed to bridge the two. Even though this is the only place where people really speak, I found it less comprehensible than the rest—a woman with a newspaper mutters and shrieks while two intergalactic travelers (sisters known as Witch Hazel and La Contessa, both puppets) talk about intergalactic and interdimensional travel and their purpose in the universe. Although not as shadowy as the first section, this part is also fairly dimly lit, with the video—here a swirling backdrop that I assume represents the intergalactic void—by far the brightest thing in the room.

In his comments to the audience, the master of ceremonies, Marvavilla, notes that he recasts the piece with local performers wherever he goes, and rehearses for only a few days; the physical elements are permanent and travel with the show but the actual performance elements are mostly improvisational. This definitely shows. Mostly hidden behind masks, big abstract costumes, or puppets, the performers become part of the visual landscape of the piece rather than characters or even dancers; although the piece is nominally movement-based, the dancing itself is very simple and rhythmic, not even feeling choreographed. The props, costumes, and videos, not surprisingly, are therefore much richer and more memorable than the performance elements—which is evocative but strange in a piece of performance art.

Written/created by: huilo marvavilla
Directed by huilo marvavilla
Presented by Teatro Jaguar Luna

The Redheaded Man

reviewed by Jack Hanley

Aug 13, 2008

Repression of painful memories, once commonly considered the arch-enemy of a peaceful mind, and still often targeted by therapists, may not be all that bad. Recent studies suggest that repression is an important defense mechanism that allows us to move forward in our lives and not ruminate on the past. It may be as important to our health as a macrophage wrapping itself around an invading microorganism.

In The Redheaded Man, a risky yet very successful mix of pharmaceutical farce and earnest drama, Halley Bondy tackles this fiercely debated new perspective and smartly avoids making any firm opinion of her own. Although she does swat us once too often with the over-medicated-America meme, it does serve for some great laughs in this quality production. (And if I'm laughing, I can't very well be objecting.)

Brian, the central character, is a young savant of architecture whose mind is tortured by a constant barrage of images depicting internal biological functions in action. Every bite of food he swallows he sees floating in the gurgling digestive acids of his stomach. He can see the valves of his heart slapping faster when his anxiety fits charge. Video projections, crafted beautifully by designer Jesse Garrison (with animator David Wicks), are seamlessly built into the production and convey Brian's anatomical obsessions as well as the very anatomy of his thought processes. Bravo to the director and the designer for their perfectly balanced use of the technology to underscore the narrative as well as the complexity of the character's inner life. The video is startling at times and at times poignant, but never distracting. The expert use of projection alone makes this show not to be missed.

Brian has one other mental abnormality, and that is the Redheaded Man; a longtime hallucinated person who comes in and out of his life delivering peremptory advice and sarcastic admonishments. Brian believes the man is some sort of manifestation of memories of his father, who died when he was a child. In a way he feels comfortable with the authoritative presence; the Redheaded Man has become a helpful means for him to process his world. The talented Bruce Bluett delights in the role as the eponymous character, delivering a corporate spokesperson-like persona with creepy charm. His monologue toward the end of the play is potent and unforgettable.

Also unforgettable is the fantastic Michelle Sims, playing Brian's kooky, pill-popping psychiatrist Dr. Jones. She's a force of comedy—with just a look, she can bring down the house. The doctor is a shill for a pharmaceutical company, and is obligated to push their new psychotropic on her patients. Brian is on the med, and although it evaporates his visions of blood and guts and the Redheaded Man, the side effects are intolerable. More problematic is that he finds inspiration for his architectural designs from the intrusive imagery and his redheaded visitor.

So is he insane, or are all his mental anomalies really gifts of inspiration, as the postcard for the play prominently asks. I don't think this question is as central as the playwright apparently hoped. It becomes a bit lost in Bondy's overly emphasized foreshadowing of some revelation of Brian's childhood—a repressed memory—that will explain his condition.

Waiting for the big reveal of the dark secret, Bondy's story comes close to stumbling into a TV drama plotted out by Dr. Phil. But it takes an interesting turn and avoids the conventional route whereby truth heals all wounds, and instead asks the controversial question: Is it better not to remember? And superficiality is not in director Jessica Fisch's playbook. She carves out haunting and hilarious scenes with an artful eye for movement and adventurous staging. Overall the show has a finely polished sheen and it may well be one of the finer productions of the FringeNYC Festival this year.

Written/created by: Halley Bondy
Directed by Jessica Fisch
Presented by Down Payment Productions

A Gathering of Eagles

reviewed by Martin Denton

Aug 15, 2008

I assume that Charles Garo's play, A Gathering of Eagles, is of recent vintage, but it feels like it could have been written during the time period in which it is set (the 1980s, I think), or even 20 years before that. Its premise is intriguing: a group of American veterans—ace fighter pilots who served in World War II—gather for the dedication of a monument to fallen heroes. Because this memorial recognizes not only American soldiers but those of all nations, two of their German counterparts are at the ceremony as well. Thus we have an occasion for one-time enemies to come together and recognize their shared histories and humanity.

Alas, that's not what happens. One of the Americans is of Polish descent and has never forgiven the Germans for attacking his homeland (where relatives perished during the war). Another is Jewish and has become virulently anti-German now that he understands the facts of the Holocaust. And one of the Germans is unapologetically clear-eyed about why Hitler came to power and why six million Jews were killed by the Nazis.

I was disappointed that Garo chose to push his story along these lines, reinforcing popular (and very dated) assumptions about World War II rather than challenging them. I was most disturbed by the choice to make General Hager of the Luftwaffe such an archetypal Nazi figure, a man who seems to relish baiting his American hosts even as he claims no responsibility for the acts perpetrated by the regime he defended/defends. Director Dan Drew ameliorates the problem with the casting of Philip Filiato in the role—he is undoubtedly the most commanding performer on stage, but he looks and behaves way too much like Erich von Stroheim to ward off caricature in his portrayal.

Garo also provides an awkward and unconvincing framing device for the story—various protest groups have obtained an injunction against the unveiling of the monument, just hours before the ceremony is to take place. This further serves to muddy the ideas being presented here. Is the play about the banal horrors of war? Is it a reminder that, in spite of those horrors, the brave young men (and women) fighting them are worthy of respect and honor?

The play's second act is mostly a succession of debates and monologues, covering very specific topics (the appeasement of the Nazis by the Allies, the reasons why Hitler became popular and why he targeted the Jews, the importance of remembering the Holocaust, the nature of forgiveness in Christian and Jewish theology). Are these the main ideas of the play? If so, little that hasn't already been covered in countless plays, movies, and books of the past 40 years is brought up here. Are we supposed to see resonance in some of this discussion? The talk of appeasement sometimes rang true, but the repeated assertions that the Russians were America's great enemy made this feel like a relic of the Cold War rather than something pertinent for today's world situation.

In the end, A Gathering of Eagles felt to me like a squandered opportunity. We can never learn enough about the ways people and nations are different and the ways they are the same. But this play spends too much of its time merely repeating the same old prejudices and assumptions that have made true understanding impossible for generations.

Written/created by: Charles Garo
Directed by Dan Drew

China - The Whole Enchilada

reviewed by Mitchell Conway

Aug 12, 2008

I love it when comedy reveals the truth. Many times China - The Whole Enchilada, by Mark Brown, is able to make a powerful social/political statement without losing its grin. Moments such as these make the play worth seeing and allow forgiveness for some predictable puns and major cliches. There is also some very well-accomplished slapstick that should not be ignored, and I never thought I could actually enjoy prerecorded orchestration. Brad DePlanche, Eric Hissom, and Philip Nolen, our three comic Caucasian tour guides through Chinese history in this show, have a ceaseless sense of play as they move from the Ming Dynasty to Mao.

With sped-up examples of history repeating itself, the production makes salient observations. For instance, a scene between a U.S. Customs official and a Chinese immigrant, chronicling the changes in U.S. policy towards Chinese immigrants, illuminates our country's racism, hypocrisy, and selfishness. A scene between British ambassadors and Chinese government officials reveals Britain's under-the-radar opium trafficking.

Some musical numbers really hit the mark, such as "Lotus Shoes," telling the story of a young girl (played by DePlanche) learning about the foot binding that will cripple her for the rest of her life. The audience is given an intensely disturbing and detailed description of what happens to a young girl's foot when it is bound. The brilliance of this song is how "she" could sing about something so horrible, yet still fit it into the world of the show.

Following the song, DePlanche moves into a dramatic monologue about female oppression in China, discussing the absurd amount of female abortions as a result of the one child policy. This is one of a few moments where the production addresses serious issues seriously, but then intelligently brings the show back into its fun atmosphere with the other actors commenting on how the moment does not fit into the show, followed by a goofy Benny Hill-style transition. Considerate moments such as these help to create a balanced show which moves forward without glazing over the difficult historical realities of China.

Although hackneyed references to Star Wars and some bad jokes which go on for way too long are bumps along the great silk road of this play, overall it is a funny and informative ride.

Written/created by: Mark Brown, arrangements and additional music by Paul Mirkovich
Directed by Jim Helsinger
Presented by Big Boy Strut Productions

Mourn the Living Hector

reviewed by Kelly Aliano

Aug 14, 2008

Mourn the Living Hector, written by Paul Cohen and directed by Shira Milikowsky and Julie Rossman, interweaves the story of Mike, a present-day young Marine on leave, and the tale of Hector, a leader of the army of Troy during the Trojan War. The play foregrounds the violence inherent in war and how this contrasts, and sometimes mirrors, the violence of the everyday world.

The play is directed to use its environment to its benefit, creating an all-encompassing experience for the viewer. The soldier lies asleep in bed as the audience enters, bright lights glare in the eyes of the audience (mostly to mark scene changes), and the broadcast of the sound of a helicopter whirring just above us brings Mike's war nightmare into the physical realm of the space. The opening is reminiscent of Apocalypse Now—a soldier looking back over the incomprehensible violence of war, as he tries to readjust to the everyday pressures of regular society.

The use of the story of the Trojan War reminds the audience of the ever-present nature of war in our culture. Modern warfare is not so different from ancient combat—only the technology has been updated. The play's structure operates as a nonlinear sequence of vignettes, flipping back and forth between Mike's encounters with those back home and Hector's growing realization of the futility of the war in which Troy is engaged. The plot is, however, quite complicated and often difficult to follow.

Despite this, the play is still an enjoyable and meaningful work of theatre. The beauty of the poetic text both engages the audience with the issues at work in the piece, while still alienating them enough to force them to think. The play employs a dark humor; I found myself chuckling about something as terrible as "armless orphans" before being made to confront what, exactly, it was that I was laughing at. The performances are all compelling —the actors make wonderful connections with one another and really seem to grapple with the deep concerns that the play raises.

The piece is able to be about violence without being gratuitous. The first scene depicts a young woman who has been brutalized; the side of her face is covered in blood, and more blood stains the sheets of the bed. This led me to believe that the rest of the performance would bring more of the same. In spite of this introduction, the play shifts focus and is much more psychological and philosophical than physically brutal. It raises the real question of how human beings glorify the murder and devastation of war while condemning violence, often of a similar nature, in ordinary society. The play contemplates the possible hypocrisy of this and really puts the soldier's role in society under the microscope. Mike, like Hector, has committed his life to serving his country—to being for the people—yet he finds himself entirely incapable of relating to the common folk he encounters. They, in turn, cannot relate to him and have often become nameless, without unique identities of their own. In addition, both Mike and Hector lead armies in the name of their people, but in both cases it is a war that the people do not actually want. In this context, the play opens the real question of why we fight at all, especially when we know that we most likely have little chance of victory. Like the best works of art, Mourn the Living Hector leaves these questions unanswered, for the audience members to consider for themselves.

Written/created by: Paul Cohen
Directed by Shira Milikowsky and Julie Rossman
Presented by Performance Lab 115