ALLIGATOR TALES
at the Leo K. Theatre
Reviewed by David-Edward Hughes
Eight fascinating characters, quite unlike anyone most of us have ever met or seen portrayed before, are assayed by one compelling and captivating actress/writer, Anne Galjour, in Alligator Tales. Less a one-woman show than a play where one woman plays every role, Galjour takes us on a 10-year trip through the Louisiana wetlands which passes by in what feels like 10 minutes, and while much credit is due Sharon Ott for her subtle and nuanced direction, the triumph here is clearly Galjour's.
The leading characters in this piece are the women, but their men are vividly depicted, too. Rosetta Cheramie takes pride in her frequently repainted statue of the Virgin Mary, but laments that her crochety husband Grady's collection of stuffed game animals seems more important to him than she is. Galjour delights with a discussion the pair have about cooking "wild" Cajun food for some city folk visitors (when the rattlesnake burns in the pan, turtle is substituted as the main course). Inez Dantin has a whale of a tale to tell about her catching a scuba-diving scientist named Marlon Skinner with her fish hook and having to keep him still enough to get it out. Later, the lonely Inez finds comfort and companionship with baby Beau, who washes up in a cow pasture during a fierce tropical storm.
Perhaps most memorable of all is Inez's sister Sherelle, an eccentric even by the eccentric standards of these characters: She finds her soulmate in businessman Urus Arcenaux, who also leaves her with child even as she is fighting for her own life against cancer. There is also Web Pitre, a slick character trying to buy the sister's cabin property cheap when the oilmen come to the bayou.
Galjour delineates each character with a rare and spellbinding clarity of personality, vocal quality, and physicality. Of actresses working today, only Tracy Ullman comes to mind with a similar chameleon-like ability, though unlike Ullman, Galjour is not aided by makeup, costumes, or prosthetics. The actress can make you feel the chill of the storm whipping up, the joys of simple living, and the bitter harshness of life in such a weather-dominated territory.
Kate Edmunds' spare but evocative set and brilliant tableau of a backdrop, lit magically and hauntingly by Kent Dorsey, and Stephen LeGrand's well-chosen background music and effects, are icing on the cake. This is hands down the best show of the Seattle Repertory season yet. And Miss Galjour: Y'all come back now, you hear?
"Alligator Tales," presented by the Seattle Repertory Theatre at the Leo K. Theatre, 155 Mercer St., Seattle Center, Seattle. Mar. 25-May 5. (206) 443-2222.
LES BLANCS
at the Angus Bowmer Theatre
Reviewed by Dani Dodge
Like Hamlet, Tshembe Matoseh (Derrick Lee Weeden) is a son returning home to a country that needs more from him than he is ready to give. Do his responsibilities lie in London with his wife and child, or in Africa where his people are fighting a war against colonialism?
Director Tim Bond answers the mythical question with remarkable force, power, and grace in this superb production of Lorraine Hansberry's play. There are no weak links here, no slightly off-key actors, no flaws in lighting or set or pacing--nothing to detract from the story Hansberry wants to tell. (Bond chose to do the play in its original form, instead of the rewrite that has been most often produced since Arena Stage did it in 1988.)
When a play works this well, it's difficult to describe the elements that contribute to its success. Of course, there's the acting: In the lead role, Weeden is masterful in conveying the depths of his dilemma. He deeply desires to go back to the life he's learned to love--to cast off his African robes and watch the telly in his London flat with his redhaired wife. There is no word, no movement, no pause wasted in his performance.
As an American journalist who reaches out to Tshembe but is repeatedly spurned, Bill Geisslinger has just the right touch, never giving into the resentment of the rejections too much. And Melany Bell, the dancer who symbolizes the African homeland, is all magnetism and seduction. She not only begins the play, but also in a later scene makes Tshembe face his fate when she symbolically she throws him a spear.
While there is a larger political drama going on in the play, it really comes down to Tshembe's inner issue. As he puts it: "It's an old problem, really. Orestes Hamlet the rest of them! We've really got so many things we'd rather be doing." When we're in the thrall of a show as good as this, there's nothing else we'd rather be doing.
"Les Blancs," presented by Oregon Shakespeare Festival in the Angus Bowmer Theatre, 15 S. Pioneer St., Ashland. Feb. 21-July 12. (541) 482-4331.
GREAT MEN OF
SCIENCE
NOs. 21 & 22
at the Lost Studio Theatre
Reviewed by Madeleine Shaner
Playwright Glen Berger has something on his mind and has found a splendid way of getting it across. His two forgotten 18th-century scientists, Jacques De Vaucanson (Matthew Allen Bretz) and Lazarro Spallanzani (Jim Anzide), are preoccupied to the exclusion of any normal lifestyle with such weighty matters as, Is there a God? Can only God make a duck? What is the origin of life? Why not put trousers on frogs?
Both men were fueled by love--of a woman, of the work, of life; both chose outrageous methods to prove their point; both have been forgotten, and both were later proved to be wrong in their conclusions. But the strength of their belief and their passion to strive beyond their reach is admirably noble and, in this brilliant playwright's hands, supremely intelligent, totally absorbing, and, above all, riotously funny.
Inspired by the lovely Gabrielle Du Chatelet (Alice Dodd), a saucy intimate of Rousseau's, and aided by a weirdly decadent Abbe (Bob Clendenin), Bretz gives hilarious credence to Vaucanson's mad scientist. Lusted after and irritated by his virgin housekeeper (a gloriously funny Melanie van Betten), Anzide proves himself a past master at apoplectic high comedy, able to provoke a laugh with a look while reveling in Berger's splendid dialogue. Paul Morgan Stetler as Lecat, a doctor who gives good prostate (onstage yet), and David Wichert as Condorcet, another scientist on the run from the French Revolution, bring their own fun to smaller roles.
Starring alongside these sterling players are Garry Smoot's set design and clever special effects: jumping frogs, swimming ducks, and furniture hoisted up and down on pulleys (you have to be there). Director Jillian Armenante steers her cast faultlessly through the raging rapids of Berger's fast-flowing words with miraculous speed and clarity. David Hakim and Mikael Sandgren's sound design, M.E. Dunn's costumes, and Dan Weingarten's lighting make it all happen volubly, colorfully, and in a suitably sprightly fashion. It's a truly winning production about a pair of noble losers.
"Great Men of Science Nos. 21& 22," presented by Circle X Theatre Company at the Lost Studio Theatre, 130 S. La Brea Ave., Hollywood. Mar. 20-Apr. 26. (213) 969-9239.
THREE TALL
WOMEN
at STC's McClatchy Main Stage
Reviewed by Barry Wisdom
All good things are worth waiting for, even when that wait is relatively short. Case in point is Sacramento Theatre Company's production of Edward Albee's Three Tall Women. When rights to the Pulitzer Prize winner were landed shortly after the conclusion of its national tour, STC bumped the previously scheduled Hamlet from its schedule. Subscribers won't likely queue up for refunds.
Blessed with a uniformly talented cast and on-the-mark direction by Peggy Shannon, STC's production meets the challenge of putting an essentially unlikable character center stage for two hours--offering a compelling, uniquely insightful examination of one woman's hopes, fears, and regrets. The woman, designated simply as "A" (Susan Corzatte) in the program, is 92 and in failing health. She's tended to by her steadfast if unemotional caretaker ("B," Victoria Thompson). Also on the scene is a bitchy 26-year-old lawyer ("C," Jennifer Seifert), dispatched by her firm to straighten out long-ignored paperwork.
It's clear from A's disparaging comments about minorities and gays she's no Nobel candidate. Coupled with her paranoia ("I'll fix you all! You all want something!"), it's hard to feel sorry for her. This introduction--which comprises Act One-- is relatively uninvolving compared to the second act. But, as I said, good things are worth waiting for--and Act Two is so very good.
Now in a coma, A's elderly incarnation faces herself as a cynical, middle-aged matron (Thompson's B) and as a young woman still hoping for the fairy tale (Seifert's C). Though he has admitted that A is based on his own universally disliked adoptive mother, Albee has said that the play is no "revenge piece." Indeed, he notes he may have gone too far in the other direction, unconsciously making the paranoid, bigoted A "fascinating."
The cast, personally approved by Albee himself (as contractually mandated), could not be more "fascinating." Despite the differences in their ages and experience, Corzatte, Thompson, and Seifert are equally accomplished in their performances. For her part, Seifert is a discovery and a half. As C, the recent USC grad deftly plays burning sensuality in describing her first sexual experience, as well as sickened revulsion at what she will become. Thompson's bitter wife has evolved beyond conscience, beyond personal responsibility. It's a controlled, detailed performance. Corzatte, like Seifert, goes from A to Z emotionally and completes the exceptional ensemble.
Three Tall Women is aided immeasurably by costume designer Allison Connor's creations. From C's drop-dead-gorgeous floral-print party dress to B's smart 1950s-era black suit, Connor's creations are appropriately distinctive. Also worth noting is Robin Sanford Roberts' finely detailed scenic design. We should all be so lucky to be bedridden in this bedroom.
"Three Tall Women," presented by the Sacramento Theatre Company at the McClatchy Main Stage, 1419 H St., Sacramento. Mar. 28-Apr. 19. (916) 443-6722.
DISTRACTED BY
THE LANDSCAPE
at Moving Arts
Reviewed by Les Spindle
Kevin Barry's bawdy comedy Distracted by the Landscape pulls no punches in its scorchingly hot depiction of libidinous yearnings among the sexually repressed white-picket-fence set in sleepy Middle America. Imagine crossing the audacious sensibility of such John Waters films as Polyester with the cynical satire of Married With Children, and you'll have a good idea of the razor-edged comic tone that drives this cleverly scripted and exquisitely performed dark farce.
Director Mark Kinsey Stephenson does full justice to Barry's provocative new play by eliciting a gallery of deliciously over-the-top performances, while anchoring the outrageous proceedings with the sobering ring of truth. The story begins when Connie (Thƒrse McLaughlin), a bored Midwestern housewife, ventures to the big city of New York as a presidential convention delegate and suddenly finds herself in bed with Dorado (Mark Pfau), a sexy Latin waiter who moonlights as a gigolo.
After Connie retreats to the safety of her small-town habitat, she is followed there by Dorado, whose catalytic appearance stirs up passions in just about everyone around, including Lolita (Frankie Cohen), Connie's aptly named 15 year-old daughter; Donna (Julie Briggs), Connie's horny neighbor, addicted to watching The Mambo Kings; and even Cliff (Richard Ruyle), Connie's emotionally constipated husband. Completing the lusty gallery of fools is Donna's redneck husband Jeff (Van Stewman Jr.), the only local yokel not lusting after Dorado. Instead, he fantasizes about ensuring that whatever Lolita wants, Lolita gets.
In the superbly crafted central performance, Pfau plays the studly Lothario with a credible combination of street-smart wit and shrewd manipulation. As a couple in marital crisis, McLaughlin and Ruyle expertly portray the torturous conflict between closeted desires and dutiful conformity. Briggs is a hoot as the none-too-sophisticated but refreshingly frank neighbor, matched by Stewman as her smarmy dolt of a husband. And as the daughter from hell, Cohen offers a hilarious portrait of gleeful amorality.
Brimming with intelligence and uproarious humor, this production is in the distinguished tradition of such daringly carnal comedies as the current Melody Jones and last summer's Catfish, Guns, and Corndogs (both at Theatre/Theater), placing it in formidable company indeed.
"Distracted by the Landscape," presented by and at Moving Arts, 1822 Hyperion Ave., Silverlake. Apr. 3-May 17. (213) 665-8961.
AGNES OF GOD
at the Severson Theatre
Reviewed by Donna Mulgrew
John Pielmeier's powerful drama Agnes of God, first presented 20 years ago as a staged reading at the 1979 National Playwrights Conference, has its latest and possibly most finely honed reincarnation with Pacific Conservatory of the Performing Arts' current production. Director Patricia M. Troxel succeeds in guiding her charges to that highest pinnacle of theatrical achievement: transporting an audience to another plane where disbelief is suspended and all miracles seem possible.
Combining the powerful scenic design of R. Eric Stone and the inspiring lighting of Robert Young results in a catalytic potion for the magic that transpires almost as soon as the house lights dim for the first act. And Andrea Jones' sound design proves equal to the hauntingly beautiful music composed by musical director Jeremy Mann.
The play opens with a single red presence lamp (itself more than five feet tall) suspended above the altar of psychiatrist Martha Livingstone's desk. An angelic Sister Agnes (Tiffany Ann Cole) seems to fly just above the audience as she begins with an otherworldly vocal chant. Resident artist Leslie Brott's Livingstone quietly and firmly commands our respect and sympathies, as well as those of Mother Miriam Ruth, Agnes' protector, whom Kathleen McKinley portrays with finely crafted movement and facial expression. Indeed, McKinley allows us to feel both disdain for the character's complicity in shutting off a vital young woman from the vision of the world that is her birthright and compassion for her surrogate mother position as guardian of modern saint.
Cole's characterization of Agnes is mature beyond her years (she's a second-year conservatory student). Her scene of regression through hypnosis to the labor of her soon-to-be-murdered child is among the most riveting stage experiences I've been privileged to witness.
These three women seem to draw on the energy and spirit of each other as the drama builds to its climax and is drawn through a denouement which, rather than exhausting us, serves instead to challenge our values regarding the truth.
"Agnes of God," presented by the Pacific Conservatory of the Performing Arts at the Severson Theatre on the Allan Hancock College Campus, 800 S. College Dr., Santa Maria. Mar. 26-Apr. 26. (805) 922-8313.
LA CAGE AUX
FOLLES
at the Granada Theatre
Reviewed by Donna Mulgrew
Santa Barbara Civic Light Opera delivers on nightclub owner Georges' promise: "If we have done our job correctly," he says, the audience will leave the theatre with more than a torn ticket stub and folded program. In this lavishly wrought production of the Herman/Carr/Fierstein/Laurents La Cage Aux Folles, Michael G. Hawkins recreates his award-winning portrayal of Georges in spine-tingling extravaganza that is everything musical theatre is meant to be. Hawkins' Georges is anything but the stereotypical homosexual depicted all too often on stage and screen; he is strong yet tender, debonair yet earthy. His speaking voice is of mellow timbre, and his singing stirs our heart.
But it is Lance Phillips as Albin who steals it. As the production begins, we aren't sure that this vampy, flashy drag queen will hold his own next to Hawkins. But as the first farcical act continues, Phillips almost innocently lures us from laughing at his antics to taking Albin's hurts on as if they were our own. His "I Am What I Am" leaves us with the depth of his pain.
Choreographer Eric Underwood's work is all as it should be: The chorus numbers of Les Cagelles seem to be an added character welcomed at each reappearance in the show. The Cagelles are a united ensemble, but the work of two of their ranks deserves special mention: Chris Castillo as Chantal is a first-class flirt with a wonderful voice, and Jeffrey Drew as Mercedes provokes laughter with but the slightest nuance of gesture or inflection.
Marl Nordke's Jacob, the butler ("No, I am not the maid"), Susie Lockheed's unsprung Mme. Dindon, and Shannon Stocke's sweetly thoughtless Jean Michel are all characters that linger in our minds long after the ride home.
Director Charles Ballinger has a well-deserved hit on his hands, thanks to consummate acting, lavish sets, and great songs performed by great singers and dancers. By the end of the play, we are glad the men and women (and the ones in between) of La Cage "are what they are."
"La Cage Aux Folles," presented by Santa Barbara Civic Light Opera at the Granada Theatre, 1216 State St., Santa Barbara. Apr. 3-26. (805) 966-2324.
NAKED BOYS SINGING!
at the Celebration Theatre
Reviewed by Wenzel Jones
Nobody is going to believe this, but I would gladly sit through this show again even if they had all their clothes on. Though committees are rarely an efficacious way of bringing about anything more than inertia, this phalanx of writers (Stephen Bates, Marie Cain, Shelly Markham, Jim Morgan, David Pevsner, Rayme Sciaroni, Mark Savage, Ben Schaechter, Bruce Vilanch, and Mark Winkler) and choreographers (Bubba Carr, Kenny Ortega, D.A. Pawley, Mic Thompson, Travis Payne, and LaVelle Smith) has wrought one of the freshest, funniest musical revues seen in quite some time. Add the crisp, clever direction (Robert Schrock) and the delightful costumes (God, Nautilus, and Sherri Grider, in that order) and you have well, just what the title promises.
Although the notion of an all-nude revue has a certain cheesy 1960s quality to it, any qualms are assuaged during the curtain-raiser, "Gratuitous Nudity," where it's pretty much laid out that, Hey, we're naked, you like to look at naked men, and there's not a thing wrong with that. Admittedly, the impressive voices are the second thing you notice. Numbers mainly feature themes that would be impossible to realize clothed. Brian Beacock is delightful in "Naked Maid," as is Tod Macofsky, giving us the guest-of-honor perspective at a bris. The sassy, upbeat songs work best, as the emotional nakedness of a ballad like "Window to Window" makes its physical manifestation, at best, redundant.
Steve Gideon carries the two numbers involving worn garments, one in which he puts clothing on during the number (ironically, the most intimate activity of the evening) and the other, "Robert Mitchum," an appreciation of the older, meatier man (very gratifying to much of the house). Vincent Zamora, Christopher Gilbert, Mike Haboush, Trance Thompson, Tony Davis, and T. Bedford Scofield complete the all-singing, all-dancing ensemble. For optimal enjoyment, I would suggest you attend on a warm night.
"Naked Boys Singing!," presented by and at the Celebration Theatre, 7051-B Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Mar. 28-May 31. (213) 660-8587.
MARY STUART
at the Geary Theater
Reviewed by Kerry Reid
Friedrich Schiller's 1801 epic about the power struggle between Tudor cousins Mary Queen of Scots and Elizabeth I of England doesn't receive many revivals these days. So the production currently on view at American Conservatory Theater should come as a pleasant surprise for both fans of German Romanticism and those unfamiliar with Schiller's work (among whom I must number myself). Carey Perloff, A.C.T.'s artistic director, helms the production, which boasts a new translation by Village Voice theatre critic Michael Feingold.
Despite a very slow beginning, this production holds together remarkably well, thanks in large part to Feingold's streamlined text (his version cuts the show's running time from an estimated four and a half hours to a more manageable three hours and 10 minutes), and in even larger part to the mesmerizing performances of Caroline Lagerfelt and Susan Gibney as Elizabeth and Mary, respectively.
Feingold has a firm grasp on the dichotomies at the heart of this story: Elizabeth the realist vs. Mary the sensualist, and true moral justice vs. the expediency of "justice" dictated by the needs of the state. Yet his version also allows for some fascinating gray areas. While it seems clear that Schiller intends Mary to emerge as the martyr, this staging also shows that she is not above the kind of conniving and trickery that Elizabeth has mastered. Indeed, the production suggests that her biggest failing lies not in lack of the will to perform perfidious deeds but in the lack of skill in their execution.
One of the text's problems is that so much of Mary's most objectionable actions--her (probably justifiable) complicity in the murder of her husband Lord Darnley and subsequent marriage to his rival Bothwell--is backstory, which leads to an exposition-heavy first act, and also makes Mary's heartrending pleas for heavenly forgiveness for her actions a bit distant emotionally. But Perloff's staging is cunning throughout, and Schiller's famous contrivance of a heated meeting between the two queens (in reality, they never met face to face) helps us see these two as pawns of powerful men from their infancy. Small wonder that Elizabeth declares early on, "My wish has always been to die unwed."
Gibney and Lagerfelt's nuanced and powerful performances are largely matched by the supporting cast, particularly Marco Barricelli's tortured yet venal Dudley, Penelope Kreitzer as Mary's loyal nurse Hannah Kennedy, James Carpenter as her stern but moral jailer Sir Amyas Paulet, and Tommy A. Gomez as the comically perplexed queen's secretary. Johnny Moreno turns in a sensuous performance as the fictitious and mysterious Mortimer, one of those plotting to save the Scottish Queen.
Ralph Funicello's set design of moveable columns nicely underscores the intrigues at the heart of the story. Peter Maradudin's lighting also works well at showing the shadowy world of the Tudor court. David Lang's score, sung by Chanticleer, and Deborah Dryden's costumes add the final fillip of lush detail to this handsome, solid production.
"Mary Stuart," presented by the American Conservatory Theater at the Geary Theater, 415 Geary St., San Francisco. Apr. 1-26. (415) 749-2228.
LABOR PAINS
at the Victory Theatre
Reviewed by Terri Roberts
Even before the first actor steps onstage, it's clear we're in for an unusual ride. For starters, there are the sky-blue kitchen cupboards with swirly, Van Goghish designs, the high-end thrift store decor, the stuffed rabbit with a phallic ear, and the long, long list of deceased friends scrawled across half the living room wall.
The next big nudge comes when Jake drags through the living room for coffee, looks at a little white stick, then suddenly starts screaming for Gino, who comes running. Gino is quickly followed by his new lover, Rob, who's understandably confused about why his boyfriend and his boyfriend's best friend, Jake, are bouncing off the walls, screaming with excitement that they're having a baby.
And, oh yeah: Jake's a girl. Details.
Well, it gets a laugh. And there are a lot more where that comes from in the world premiere of Lisa Diana Shapiro's very funny second baby, Labor Pains. After months of working out the ol' turkey baster, Jake (Shapiro) and Gino (Carlo Imperato) are finally pregnant. Of course, there are problems. She's straight, Jewish, and unattached; he's gay, Italian, and becoming attached to Rob (Michael James Reed). But there's also Dexter (Richard Israel), the pair's charmingly nerdy starving-artist neighbor, who secretly loves Jake, and Paula (Barbara Niles), Jake's loudmouth busybody sister wants her sibling to have an abortion. Later, there's Becca (Shari Ballard), the female rabbi from an unconventional temple who tries to help. The whole romp covers, natch, nine months, and in often hilarious fashion tries to answer the ever more perplexing question, "What the hell is a family, anyway?"
Imperato is fabulous as father-to-be Gino, and director Jules Aaron pulls a fair mix of joy, concern, anger, love, and outrageousness out of him. Both Israel and Niles offer strong, funny contrasts to Gino and Jake. Ballard makes a confident Becca. Reed starts out a bit stiff and self-conscious, but gradually loosens up (must be the yoga).
Interestingly enough, playwright Shapiro seems the most disconnected from her character, mostly mouthing her lines and giving us few real moments. She seems to feel more comfortable on the page than the stage--though even her script leaves some loose ends. How does unemployed Dexter support himself? And why does Paula refer to "your mother" when talking to Jake, as if they're not related (which they are)? Petty points, perhaps, but worth answering.
But the biggest question of all is answered: According to Shapiro, a family is a group of people, related or not, who love and support each other. And that is clearly evident on the Victory Theatre stage.
"Labor Pains," presented by and at the Victory Theatre, 3326 Victory Blvd., Burbank. Apr. 5-May 24. (818) 841-5421.
VILNA'S GOT A GOLEM
at the Black Swan Theatre
Reviewed by Dani Dodge
From its opening klezmer music to its dramatic surprise ending, Vilna's Got a Golem is a moving tale of a troupe of Jewish actors dealing with their anger about oppression by putting on a play about overcoming oppression. The thing is, the characters in that play-within-the-play can overcome the oppression only because they have supernatural help: a golem, a soulless creature made of mud standing ready to kill on command any who threaten the town of Vilna. But on both levels these characters face a dilemma: Once they have the power to overcome oppression, will it destroy who they are?
Ernest Joselovitz' remarkable play, now in its West Coast premiere, is about anger, but it uses a frantically comic mode to make its points. And it is indeed a story told on two levels: On the first, the 16th-century Jewish residents of Vilna are being brutalized by Christians. One of the characters, Zavel (U. Jonathan Toppo), suffers a horrifying attack in which his wife and son are tortured and killed before his eyes. To avenge the deaths, Zavel and his brother Zebi (Michael J. Hume) steal a book from their rabbi that gives them the recipe for the golem. The golem is successful beyond their dreams, killing Christians with swoops of its four-foot-long arms (James J. Peck plays the golem, until he gets fed up with the unspeaking role and rips the head off). For the first time in their lives, the residents of Vilna enjoy a feeling of safety.
On the next level, the actors are performing the play in 1899, but they are performing in front of a censor. Fortunately for the motley group, the censor doesn't know their language, so the actors do asides explaining a version of the play to the censor that of course doesn't jibe with what is going on onstage. It's a very witty effect.
The play is done with a three-piece band sitting slightly above the actor's stage. The music written by director Barbara Damashek fleshes out the wholeness of this production. The actors, all OSF veterans, are a strong ensemble cast. Reportedly, during the rehearsal process the cast watched Yiddish films together to understand the nuances of the genre. They certainly captured something unique.
"Vilna's Got a Golem," presented by Oregon Shakespeare Festival in theBlack Swan Theatre, 15 S. Pioneer St., Ashland. Feb. 26-June 27. (541) 482-4331.
WHAT THE WORLD
NEEDS NOW
A MUSICAL FABLE
at the Old Globe Theatre
Reviewed by Charlene Baldridge
We all need love. Alfie gets much more than he deserves in the slick, elegant, and simple world premiere of What the World Needs Now A Musical Fable. Conceived by director/choreographer Gillian Lynne (Cats and Kiss of the Spider Woman) and Kenny Solms (New Faces, Lorelei, Perfectly Frank), the revue is based on the songs of Burt Bacharach and Hal David, cleverly hung on a slim romantic fable by Solms.
People went home humming, some even backing up the aisle to catch one more glimpse of Bob Crowley's Manhattan-motif set, ingeniously lit by Kenneth Posner. The world of the show stretches between two torches, held aloft by Lady Liberty and Prometheus, the Golden Boy who tops Rockefeller Center. The attractive ensemble sings and dances with classic grace, and wear Gregg Barnes' costumes well. Why then, does one drive home feeling like that lemon-slice moon hanging in the sky, smiling but unsatisfied?
The show is easy on the eye, gentle on the brain, luscious in the ear. Sweet sax and trumpet celebrate Harold Wheeler's luscious orchestrations of such Bacharach standards as "The Look of Love," "Close to You," and "Alfie" (there are 35 songs in all). The show is blessed with the sweet innocence and vocalizing of Sutton Foster's perky Jennifer, and the virile Lewis Cleale as a commitment-challenged Alfie. Each has a same-sex sidekick: Paula Newsome as the worldly Liz and John Bolton as the unsullied Arnie. Alicia Irving makes a grand contribution as the Other Woman.
But there's not much meat here; one goes home sated on a lemon meringue of song and visual beauty. What the World Needs Now is slated for a late June opening at Roundabout Theatre Company in New York. It should do well.
"What the World Needs Now A Musical Fable," presented by and at the Old Globe Theatre, Balboa Park, San Deigo. Apr. 2-May 3. (619) 239-2255.
ON FOUR
at the Actors Art Theatre
Reviewed by Brad Schreiber
Four one-acts with wildly disparate themes make up this enjoyable program, with strong acting the common thread. Playwright Terry McFadden opens with No Chaser, as bartender Pete (Jim Swanson) amusingly counsels on-the-prowl patron Gregg (Dan Klass) about the mechanics of dating, including a dissertation on his "Comparison Theorem." It proves true, especially in the quite funny Klass' attraction to barmaid Vicki (the evening's talented director, Jolene Adams).
The Heist is the title of a run-of-the-mill script that Joey (Frank Uzzolino) has written, with input from his brother Stevie (Frank Ruotolo). When Stevie brings in actor Mike (playwright McFadden) to pep things up, staccato bursts of dialogue turn the plotline on its head. Some charmingly awful ideas are thrown out by these three, including an antagonist with his face on fire chasing a woman, but McFadden makes the error of going back to The Heist for a closer that adds nothing to this pleasant slice-of-indie-life.
The playwright also has a tendency to try to accomplish too much in too short a period of time. In 30 Love, the Man (Michael Albala) and the Woman (Adams) spar over the details of their divorce settlement. These two fine actors nail the humor and pathos, but their latent attraction to each other is overwritten.
Stained Glass posits that a diverse group of women, led by an amateur color therapist (Laura Richardson), can not only state their deepest problems but all have breakthroughs in about 20 minutes. Eighteen-year-old Rain (Danielle Weeks, smartly underplaying na•vetƒ) reveals she's pregnant, and no one, oddly, asks about the father. Addicted gambler Nancy (Nancy Wolfe) and hostile, separated Angela (Andrea Tate) round out the feminine dysfunctional set, and all acquit themselves well. It's clear Actors Art has a formidable acting ensemble, but it's not always served by the caliber of McFadden's writing.
"On Four," presented by and at Actors Art Theatre, 6128 Wilshire Blvd., Los Angeles. Mar. 26-May 1. (213) 969-4953.
SUNDAY'S CHILDREN
ALL FALL DOWN
at the McCadden Place Theatre
Reviewed by Scott Proudfit
Lara Naughton is a poet with a lot to say about the pain of giving up a child for adoption. Her writing is insightful, funny, and sometimes charming. Unfortunately, in Sunday's Children All Fall Down, her poetry doesn't completely transform itself into drama. The result is some thoughtful, beautiful monologues about relationships and life choices, combined with some flat, unimaginative scenes.
In a series of flashbacks, Sunday (Kim Gillingham) leads the audience through the emotions and realities of a birth mother, from conception to surrender. Gillingham has a delightful energy as the free-spirited mother-to-be, and the piece works best when she is simply talking about the conflicting responses she faces when considering what to do with her baby, or achingly reading the letters sent by the woman who adopted her son.
Mark Brady has his moments as the child's father, Patrick, too young for responsibility but old enough for the overwhelming guilt associated with giving up a child. An engineer obsessed with baseball and energy, Patrick's monologues about electric cars are revealing and subtle.
Naughton seems to understand and express her characters' yearnings quite effectively, taken individually. But when the two characters have to interact, little connection is made. From interesting monologues stuffed with original metaphors, she transitions to scenes which often come off as second-rate sentimental comedy writing. The relationship between the two young people is not really explored sufficiently, nor do the scenes have enough conflict to sustain them for more than a few minutes.
Director Murphy Cross energizes the piece with the use of music and dance. Sometimes the music supports and informs the text, other times it feels like a crutch, a rim shot to help out a weak joke. Paulanna Cuccinello's abstract set is like a Easter-colored circus tent, and actually goes well with much of the writing. Likewise, Robert Mellette's lights work with the more Expressionist aspects of the piece.
All great playwrights are poets of one kind or another. Naughton certainly has a remarkable skill with words, but Sunday's Children is torn between two kinds of writing, and suffers for it.
"Sunday's Children All Fall Down," presented by Nexus Theatre Ensemble at the McCadden Place Theatre, 1157 McCadden Pl., Hollywood. Apr. 1-May 10. (310) 298-3616.
THE AMAZING KOZMO!
at the Actors' Gang El Centro
Reviewed by Jamie Painter
From the moment you enter the Actors' Gang El Centro space, you're immersed in a Fellini-esque carnival where surprises lurk behind curtains and freaks and "carnies" hide just around the corner. Vahan Manoukian's set design, which uses striped, billowing canvases to evoke the essence of a sideshow circus, is by far the standout feature of this production.
Unfortunately, the content is not as effective as the visuals. While the ambience and premise are promising, the play, written by co-stars Kirk Ward and Brian T. Finney, is simply too gratuitously strange; its bizarre tale of jealousy isn't buttressed by strong characters or dialogue.
The story opens with the Amazing Kozmo (Ward), a veteran carny whose act involves escaping from a locked trunk and other foolery. After learning he's to be replaced by a younger carny (Finney), Kozmo vows to get back his job and subsequently thwarts his protegƒ via trickery and butchery. To say more about the plot would be nearly impossible, as I'm still trying to figure it out.
There are, indeed, some fine moments in The Amazing Kozmo!. Understudy Mike Uppendahl (also the assistant director) does a dignified job filling in as "the Talker," the carnival boss' right hand man. The Talker also plays all the ancillary characters who make up the carnival--from a cotton candy sculptor to an exotic female hustler--and Uppendahl proves to be up to the challenge. Likewise, Jerome Jeronimo Spinks is haunting as Roi, the carnival's midget poet, who serves as the play's chorus.
Leads Ward and Finney give uneven performances under R.A. White's direction. Of the two, Ward breathes more life into his character, especially when he's acting like a psychotic Tom Waits. As the young usurper, Finney didn't entirely convince me that he was gritty carnival material.
A much-appreciated touch is added by a live two-man band hovering above the stage. Joseph Oxman, on upright bass, and Scott Weissman, on drums, deserve kudos.
"The Amazing Kozmo!," presented by the Actors' Gang at the Actors' Gang El Centro, 6501 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Mar. 25-Apr. 18. (213) 660-8587.
DEFINITELY DORIS:
THE MUSIC OF
DORIS DAY
at the Falcon Theatre
Reviewed by Rob Kendt
There was the Doris Day who mattered, and then there was "Doris Day" the brand name. The first was a sunny, springy musical comedienne and persuasive pop crooner; the latter was the witless, scary icon of virginal feminine honor, a second career of sorts that Ms. Day embarked upon at the age of 35 (with Pillow Talk), and with which her name became synonymous. You'd think that a show put together by a trio of avid fans--in this case, performer/writer Patty Carver, writer/arranger Leo P. Carusone, and director/producer Jerry Goehring--might do a little sifting for us, and help us rediscover the Day who lit up the ageless film musicals Pajama Game and Calamity Jane and who not only admirably fronted Les Brown's big band but made a few elegant, mostly overlooked jazz trio records.
Instead, in the new revue Definitely Doris, we're treated to an ungainly sugar headache of a show. It touches on some obvious hits--"Sentimental Journey," "Que Sera, Sera"--but is top-loaded with some of the most inane and worthless tunes Day pressed to vinyl (does the world ever need to hear "By the Kissing Rock" or "Candy Lips" again?). And Carusone's arrangements, played by music director Dan Belzer at the piano and bassist Steven Cowee, are square and syrupy. That's fine for some of Day's upbeat cornpone material--"Anyway the Wind Blows," "A Guy Is a Guy," or Calamity Jane's rousing "Deadwood Stage"--but it condemns the jazzier fare, from "Ten Cents a Dance" to "Lover Come Back," to Lawrence Welk territory. Larry Sousa's musical staging steps in to provide a bit of business, most of it diverting if uninspiring.
It doesn't help matters that the five-member cast, which harmonizes nicely, is more strongly represented by the male voices: hulking bass Lyle Kanouse, suave baritone Perry Stephens, and plangent tenor John Heffron. Though Carver looks a bit like Day, her voice doesn't have its husky heft, and the charming Julia Gregory, an impish Bernadette Peters type, fares better the further she gets from doing Day straight.
Carver and Carusone's script, such as it is, intersperses fan letters to Day with the star's own reminiscences, as well as droll transcripts of her numerous commercial endorsements (which provide the evening's only real laughs--and they're on Day). There are some cute nods to her fans' obsessiveness, including a witty tango riff on "Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps," performed winningly by Heffron. Indeed, Heffron keeps his edge and aplomb most effectively, even when the treacle is flowing, and his choirboy turn on "Secret Love," set up perfectly by a story about Rock Hudson's final years, sends chills.
But all told, this is a show that pays "tribute" to its subject not so much by sharing a sympathetic or considered understanding of her best work but by slapping a dopey happy face on it.
"Definitely Doris: The Music of Doris Day," presented by Today's World Productions at the Falcon Theatre, 4252 Riverside Dr., Burbank. Apr. 3-May 3. (818) 955-8101