SCOTLAND ROAD
at the Pacific Resident Theatre
Reviewed by J. Brenna Guthrie
Although it's a subject that has intrigued people for decades, it seems that fascination with the "unsinkable" HMS Titanic is at an all-time high, what with the Tony Award-winning musical still selling seats on Broadway and James Cameron's over-hyped (and over-budget) epic set for a Christmas release. Now the story has been brought to Los Angeles audiences in the Pacific Resident Theatre Ensemble's presentation of Jeffrey Hatcher's gripping mystery Scotland Road.
Hatcher's play, set in the present, revolves around a woman (Katy Selverstone) found on an iceberg in the North Atlantic dressed in clothing more than 100 years old and able to say only the word "Titanic." The woman is brought to a special clinic by John (Matt McKenzie), a wealthy individual obsessed with the disaster, and Halbrech (Amy Warner), a doctor who specializes in patients who won't talk. John is determined to prove the woman a fake, and even tracks down the last survivor from that night, Frances Kittle (Nancy Linehan Charles), to help prove his case.
To reveal much more of the story would destroy the suspense, but suffice it to say that one character ends up dead and at least one character is not what he or she seems.
PRTE's production is flawless. Director Michael Evan Haney keeps the action taut and the suspense high. The production is double-cast, but the four actors at the performance reviewed so embodied their characters that one can't imagine anyone doing better. All are excellent, but it is Selverstone's mesmerizing performance that chills and haunts us. She has the ability to speak volumes with her eyes, and when her character finally begins to talk, she is utterly compelling.
Add to these magnificent performances Victoria Profitt's bare-bones, stark white set (with only an antique wooden deck chair gracing the playing area), Sean Sullivan's perfectly realized costumes, and Keith Endo's brilliant lighting and haunting sound designs.
My only quibble is with Hatcher's ending, which to my mind seemed to be leading up to a final scene of closure that never came. As it stands, the mystery still remains--which may, after all, be Hatcher's coup de grace.
"Scotland Road," presented by and at the Pacific Resident Theatre Ensemble, 703 Venice Blvd., Venice. Oct. 25-Dec. 7. (213) 660-8587.
HOMEBOUND
at the Hudson Theatre
Reviewed by Les Spindle
Writer/director Richard Christian's brilliant new seriocomedy Homebound is a compelling dramatization of the mental affliction known as agoraphobia (fear of open space and public places). In a broader context, Christian's complex labyrinth of co-dependent characters has much to say about the chains of repression that many of the ostensibly sane among us use to imprison ourselves.
With a nod to Tennessee Williams, Christian's lead, Laura (Nancy Hammill), is a fluttery Southern belle, part Scarlett O'Hara and part Maggie the Cat. Abandoned by her father and mentally abused by her mother, she subsequently became a wealthy widow. Together with Beau (Mitch Poulos), her basket case of a brother, and Beau's friend Bob (Jeff Holden), Laura retreats to a plush home in Michigan. The neurotic trio have not ventured outside the house in four years, their only link to the outside world being Scott (Mark Muse), Laura's baseball-player second husband. With the catalytic surprise visit of Bob's egocentric ex-con brother Mike (James F. Collins) and his spunky fiancee Alyson (Dyana Ortelli), the characters are all faced with a remarkable series of individual challenges.
Christian's eccentric style expertly juggles raucous humor with heart-wrenching poignancy, best exemplified in Poulos' masterful performance as Beau; he effortlessly shifts between a comically mincing overgrown child and an emotionally devastated adult. In the powerful scene in which Beau and Bob confront the truth that their emotional bond is more than platonic, Poulous and Holden are mesmerizing. Hammill is similarly paradoxically effective in her skillful portrait of a woman who seems helplessly dependent at one moment and calculatedly shrewish the next, such as in the Albee-esque scene in which she humiliates Scott in front of the guests. Muse provides a richly complex portrayal of an in-charge macho husband who may not be as confident as he appears. Also excellent are Collins as Bob's self-serving brother and Ortelli as the brutally honest fiancee.
Kudos are due for the spectacular set by Alexander and Nicholas Pantages, with vibrant color schemes of an obsessive symmetry that suits the characters' mental state. Likewise, Marc Rosenthal's meticulous lighting is superb. With three acts and too many subplots, the play would benefit from some judicious pruning. Still, this intelligent and impeccably staged production is a bona fide must-see.
"Homebound," presented by VCI Productions at the Hudson Theatre, 6529 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Oct 23-Nov 30. (888) 566-8499.
STELLALUNA
at the Eve Alford Theatre
Reviewed by David-Edward Hughes
A musical about fruit bats? Well, why not, if Lloyd Webber's cats and trains can sing their way into theatregoers' hearts? Indeed, Stellaluna, conceived for the stage from Janell Cannon's book by Onny Huisink and Saskia Janse of Speeltheater Holland, with haunting music by Guus Ponsioen and direction by Huisink, is as beguiling, touching, and visually arresting a piece of theatre as I've ever seen.
Lisa Estridge Gray, Richard Gray, Vickilee Wohlbach, and David Silverman, with the assistance of sign-language interpreter Billy Seago, manipulate and provide voices for the characters of this Bambi-like saga of a little fruit bat separated from its mother. Stellaluna is an adorable puppet, as are the family of birds with which she finds a home, if not proper nourishment, and Silverman adroitly and choreographically manipulates the huge and chilling owl that threatens our heroine. The puppets and the enchanting forest set are also by Huisink, whose European-schooled artistry lends a special flavor to the proceedings. No one who sees this enchanting piece will ever think of bats as merely predatory vampires again.
Because Stellaluna is a short piece, SCT has popular Northwest author and deaf theatre artist Billy Seago in a brief curtain raiser, A Day at the Beach, which is a refreshing return to Red Skelton-style pantomime as Seago depicts a beachgoers comic battle with a rather obnoxious large clam. Though pantomime and mime are not something young audiences see with any regularity these days, the mostly 5- to 10-year-olds in the audience uttered nary a peep during the 20-minute frolic.
"Stellaluna," with "A Day at the Beach," presented by the Seattle Children's Theatre at the Eve Alford Theatre, Seattle Center, Seattle. Oct. 17-Jan. 18, 1998. (206) 441-3322.
BAMBERWOOD
at the Met Theatre
Reviewed by Madeleine Shaner
In Kirsten Dahl's new play, Bamberwood, revisiting the 1970s reminds us how quickly the counterculture passes into ancient history. What seemed so avant-garde in '72 seems so passƒ now, a transient figment of the cultural imagination. Empowering and enlivening Dahl's entrancing play is a healthy sense of humor about the hefty matters we took so seriously as participants, or frantic parents of the participants, in that turbulent era.
Rudy (Scott Connell), an aging ballet Lothario who has sadly messed up his career and his life with his womanizing ways, is seduced into becoming a dance instructor at progressive Bamberwood College by old girlfriend Liska (Bari Hochwald), who teaches costume-making there. Caught up in the magic of the Vermont woods and the freedom of a whatever-turns-you-on school environment, Rudy starts to find himself in the creation of a ballet based on Mendelssohn's A Midsummer Night's Dream, for which he recruits an unlikely trio of dancers. Andromeda (Jenifer Kingsley) knows she's a feminist but isn't sure if she is lesbian; Wick (Chad Tillner) is unicycling his way through Advanced Clown Studies, and Thea (Michelle McDonald) is a woman of enormous creativity who considers herself a lump, especially after she is assigned to a lesbian nudist dorm.
Mirroring the misadventures of Shakespeare's enchanted lovers, the eclectic quintet weaves its way through the woods to a predictable but nevertheless bewitching destination: a greater understanding of themselves and each other. Dahl's dialogue, lightheartedly rooted in '70s psycho-twaddle, is fine, unself-conscious, even insightful. The acting is terrific, the actors sweet and appealing, and the dancers (from Westside Ballet) who double for the actors in the ballet sequences are divine.
The only chink in Bamberwood's romantic armor is Mark Torreso's intrusive set design, which has trees and cottages mingling clumsily with the action at every blackout. Director Glenn Kelman, otherwise impeccable, needs to re-think this unnecessarily complicated staging.
"Bamberwood," presented by the Met Theatre in association with Union Street Productions, Reily Henderson, and the Westside Ballet at the Met Theatre, 1089 N. Oxford St., Hollywood. Oct. 18-Nov. 23. (213) 660-8587.
EVOLUTION OF A HOMEBOY: JAILS, HOSPITALS, & HIP HOP
at the Julia Morgan Theater
Reviewed by Kerry Reid
I didn't see Danny Hoch's last solo outing, Some People, but I did see him perform a hilarious piece about his abortive attempt to appear on Seinfeld at a spoken-word benefit last year.
That piece makes a return in Hoch's latest full-length solo show, Evolution of a Homeboy, now in its world premiere with Berkeley Rep. The show has 12 more stops before hitting New York, but there is already much that is breath-taking, moving, intelligent, and bust-a-gut funny in Hoch's collection of dreamers, down-and-outers, wannabes, and fighters. Jo Bonney, who directed Some People as well as most of Eric Bogosian's work, does an admirable job with Hoch's work-in-progress.
Hoch has found a clever, sustainable subtext for this show: the process--the "evolution," if you will--by which subcultures are assimilated into mainstream media. The pernicious influence of television figures into almost every one of the pieces. The show begins with a rant by a young man arrested for selling Simpson T-shirts--Bart and O.J.--without a license. His jailhouse companions are glued to the screen watching the Tonya Harding trial coverage, and his rage at their interest in "cornflake bitches like that" carries with it an indictment of a society that prefers tabloid melodramas to coverage of the truly dispossessed.
The question of what constitutes a subculture receives a lot of play in Hoch's show. In the first piece, the vendor relates with visceral anger the relentless racial queries of the cops: "What are you? Are you white?" Later, in a comic high point of the show, Hoch takes on the persona of a white teenager in Montana wanting desperately to be a rap star, under the rubric of "Montana Gangsta Blood Thugs," and imagining, Rupert Pupkin-like, his appearance on Jay Leno: "My heart's in the ghetto, Jay."
Hoch has amazing control of his voice and body, and while there is a lot of anger in this show, he also knows how to play quiet simplicity with the same power, as when, playing a young man with multiple handicaps caused by ingesting crack in-utero, he pays loving tribute to his speech therapist. Hoch is also a smart enough writer to invest even his most potentially unlikeable character, a white prison guard sent to a psychiatrist for abusing a black inmate, with a sense of emptiness and confusion--someone who has lost his family (perhaps with good reason) and can't bear the thought of also losing his tightly wound sense of "strength."
The show still needs to find its architecture--it doesn't need trimming, exactly, just a restructuring to build to a dramatic resolution. The simplicity of sets, costumes, and lighting allow the alchemy of Hoch's transformations to shine through--with nothing more than a collection of caps, two file cabinets, and a couple of chairs, Hoch invites us into a kaleidoscopic, disturbing, funny, and vitally important world. I'll look forward to seeing this one again, after Hoch and Bonney have worked on it some more, but it's already a tremendously powerful work.
"Evolution of a Homeboy: Jails, Hospitals, & Hip Hop," presented by the Berkeley Repertory Theatre at the Julia Morgan Theater, 2640 College Ave. near Derby St., Berkeley. Oct. 22-Nov. 16. (510) 845-4700.
CALIFORNIA SCHEMIN'
at the Gem Theater
Reviewed by Kristina Mannion
As a no-holds-barred madcap caper, Ron House's California Schemin' has a lot on the ball: colorful characters, outrageous plot twists, and enough slapstick hijinks to rival a Three Stooges sketch. Peppered with a slew of verbal and visual acrobatics, this wacky comedy concoction presents some moments of pure frivolous fun as it follows the deeds of a none-too-successful Hollywood con man and the calamities that ensue when his estranged wife hatches a plan to evict him from their former home.
Unfortunately, the play's strongest assets--an absurd comic sense and some well-drawn quirky personalities--are overshadowed by an excess of overdone jokes and a lack of consistently tight dialogue. Given the similarly uneven and often hamhanded direction by playwright House, this Grove Theater Center staging loses its much-needed sharp edge, despite the sporadic success of some good old-fashioned sight gags and the enthusiasm of an able, unflagging ensemble.
That the playwright has an eye for pulling together broad comedy and contemporary wit is evident. Smarmy but harmless con man Roger Gallais (Mark Blankfield), in his quest to make bucks and outsmart his wife Lola (Marabina Jaimes), is a buffoonish character whose harebrained schemes are utterly ridiculous yet a joy to witness. The gaggle of misfits who enter his realm are also rich with questionable intelligence and laughably ludicrous motivations. Displaying an admirable group chemistry, the entire cast boasts pratfalling prowess and a facility for conjuring equal parts silliness and satire, especially in an inspired flashback mambo-dancing scene.
The best work comes from Donovan Scott, who portrays Roger's long-suffering partner Jules with unassuming yet charming panache, and Denise Moses, who brings country-mouse perfection to her role as an out-of-towner hoodwinked by Roger. Also summoning laughter are Amy Court as gum-smacking temporary secretary Shelly and Oliver Muirhead in a dual turn as Nobby, Lola's dopey lover, and Harvey Martin, the gay local politician whose rollerblading heroics end up foiling Lola's destructive plans.
The combined energy of these performances, however, is ultimately defeated by the script's unavoidable inconsistencies, which are most apparent in Roger's outlandish overreactions and the clichƒd characterization of Lola's Latino heritage. Although Blankfield is adept at playing the ham and Jaimes can admirably snap off caustic one-liners, their characters become more like commonplace caricatures--unnecessary exaggerations that only serve to dull the collective bite of House's original comic premise.
"California Schemin'," presented by the Grove Theater Center at the Gem Theater, 12852 Main St., Garden Grove. Oct. 24-Nov. 9. (714) 741-9550.
AN INSPECTOR CALLS
at the Alhecama Theatre
Reviewed by Starshine Roshell
Just in time for Halloween, director Robert Grande-Weiss and the Ensemble Theatre Company have scared up a heady whodunit guaranteed to generate goosebumps.
Inspector is J.B. Priestley's story of an upper-class English family, the Birlings, who are enjoying a jaunty 1912 evening sipping port and celebrating the recent engagement of their daughter when a police inspector arrives unexpectedly to inquire after the death of a beautiful young woman. Each of the party's guests is cleverly questioned and ultimately implicated in the crime, bound together in a sticky web of shared guilt. The inspector, played with haunting appeal by Robert Lesser, crawls like a spider, delicately but ever ominous, through their individual and collective consciences.
Tim Rice and Gretchen Evans are an effective match as the stubborn, aloof hosts. His sing-songy, rambling Col. Mustard lilt grates a bit, but contrasts nicely with her quick-witted, staccato delivery. Dena Anderson's fresh, no-nonsense, and often humorous performance as the bride-to-be is a welcome relief from a plot which becomes increasingly unsettling as the play progresses.
Attractive as always, Gary Wissmann's set and Janet Doran-Veevers' formal wear are a study in blacks and browns, casting a somber glow over the night's events. Spooky smoke effects and startling spotlights by Peter Gottlieb set a mysterious visual mood. Still, the cerebral storyline and the show's minimum of props, combined with Priestley's occasionally preachy and obvious script, make this psychological thriller play more like a 1930s radio show a la The Shadow.
Still, Priestley's keen plot tricks and the company's performance treats make for a bewitching evening of good, old-fashioned fright. If, when the house lights come up, you don't have chills dancing up and down your spine, you might want to check your pulse.
"An Inspector Calls," presented by by the Ensemble Theatre Company of Santa Barbara at the Alhecama Theatre, 914 Santa Barbara St., Santa Barbara. Oct. 10-Nov. 9. (805) 962-8606.
THE MUSIC MAN
at the San Josƒ Center for the Performing Arts
Reviewed by Judy Richter
American Musical Theater of San Josƒ brings River City, Iowa, 1912, back to life in a production of Meredith Willson's The Music Man that tries to recapture the innocence of that era but falls short of its goal.
Perhaps the cast and director Marc Jacobs have a hard time believing in the nostalgia and conveying it. Or perhaps the venue is so huge that it distances much of the audience. Whatever the reason, the production lacks a needed spark and energy, especially in the first act, though it improves in the second act. AMTSJ also gives the show some zesty trappings with James Fouchard's sentimental sets and Cathleen Edwards' colorful costumes. Dottie Lester-White's precisely executed choreography is another plus.
The appealing cast is led by Dirk Lumbard as Harold Hill. A graceful dancer with a good if light voice, Lumbard is likable but lacks the charisma to make his performance convincing. He also lacks chemistry with Cornelia Whitcomb as Marian Paroo, the librarian. Despite her gracious stage presence, Whitcomb seems stiff, and her otherwise pleasant singing voice has a sharp edge in its upper range. The supporting cast is strong, especially George Ward as Mayor Shinn, Shanon Orrock as his wife, and Lucinda Hitchcock Cone as Mrs. Paroo.
The show has some memorable songs, including "Seventy-Six Trombones" and its companion, "Goodnight My Someone," along with "Trouble," "Gary, Indiana," "Till There Was You," and others. It also has a brilliant opening number, "Rock Island," a tour de force for the salesmen who mimic the motions of riding a train while keeping up a rhythmic chant that sounds like the clack of the wheels. If the timing isn't exactly right, this number can be a dud, but here it works well, offsetting some lackluster playing by musical director/conductor Jeff Rizzo's orchestra during the overture.
Overall, this is a respectable production with much to enjoy, but it won't erase memories of the original and its star, the inimitable Robert Preston.
"The Music Man," presented by American Musical Theater of San Josƒ at the San Josƒ Center for the Performing Arts, 255 Almaden Blvd., San Josƒ. Oct. 25-Nov. 9. (888) 455-7469.
THE BIG SLAM
at A Contemporary Theatre
Reviewed by David-Edward Hughes
Considering it was written by Mystery Science Theatre 3000's Bill Corbett, you may go into his new play The Big Slam expecting cheap humor and lots of belly laughs. That would be a mistake. The Big Slam is a very mean-spirited satire of the self-help movement, with four characters who use and abuse each other almost for sport. Though directed at a jaunty clip and with good attention to character detail by Howard Shalwitz, the first act is so relentlessly unfunny that it may leave you pondering whether to leave at intermission, as one very disappointed fellow patron did at the performance I saw.
Four talented and very committed performers sharply etch one woeful and three unlikeable characters. As Orrin, a sad-sack, masochistic little nerd who lets his brawny, big-mouthed best friend misdirect and overpower his life, Willie Weir is ideally cast. No surprise to find Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors as one of this actor's past credits; he has the hapless schnook thing down pat. As the smarmily smooth Russell, who takes credit for another person's cartoon character and then names it after himself, Mark Deklin Schw…tzer has the studly good looks and insincere swagger required for the role, and in the considerably funnier second act, turns in a stellar scene when the character rises from potential ruin, his confidence and narcissism intact.
And Shelley Reynolds, whose throaty, Elizabeth Ashley-esque voice can make even the drabbest dialogue compelling, is riveting as Stephanie, a gal with a tough-broad exterior that has been created to sheild her from life's disapointments. As Gail, the real creator of the previously mentioned comic strip character, Julie Gustafson brings a breezy sense of fun into her every moment onstage, as a dumb (like a fox) blonde initially taken in by Schw…tzer.
Set designer Jeff Frkonja has created a techno-industrial, late-1980s metropolitan nightmare of a set that, while not pleasant to look at, serves the locales (mostly disco and office) and tone of the play quite well. It's hard to last through that first act, but the quartet of performances are such that a post-intermission return is worthwhile.
"The Big Slam," presented by and at A Contemporary Theatre, Krielsheimer Place, 700 Union St., Seattle. Oct. 21-Nov. 16. (206) 292-7676.
WAITING FOR GODOT
at the Hollywood Court Theater
Reviewed by A.R. Clark
Four Leaf Productions' inaugural production of Samuel Beckett's classic Waiting for Godot is a mixed bag of average to remarkable performances and serviceable yet unremarkable direction.
The show features a stellar performance from Josƒ Vidal as the swollen-footed Estragon. Vidal brings a lot of heart to this role and consequently provides this production with much of its fire. As Vladimir, Mark Primiano gives a capable performance, but he never makes the character his own, and the result is unsatisfying. Chip Nuzzo's performance as Pozzo lacks a little polish, but Nuzzo has such a tremendous amount of presence and charisma onstage that you can't take your eyes off him. Daniel Patrick is pathetic in all the right ways as the walked-on Lucky, and Brandon Hiott makes a good street urchin as Boy.
In a play about the tortures of seemingly endless time, of days blending into the next in a way that obscures memory and fills one with existential angst, it is unfortunate that we're never allowed to feel it. Director Aled Davies allows no lulls--no waiting in his Godot--and that's a disservice to us and his actors, as it prevents the humor of the play to come through, and denies the actors (particularly Vladimir and Estragon) the freedom that is so inherent in this play. Davies also sets the play in modern-day L.A., an interesting but innocuous concept. The actors deserve better.
"Waiting for Godot," presented by Four Leaf Productions, at the Hollywood Court Theatre, 6817 Franklin Ave., Hollywood. Oct. 18-Nov. 16. (213) 769-5442.
MUSEUM
at 450 Geary Studio Theater
Reviewed by Kerry Reid
Vector Theater Company's inaugural production doesn't have the worst acting I've seen all year, but it certainly has the most acting. And that's disappointing, considering the caliber of talent that Vector artistic director Peter James Meyers has assembled for this show.
A large part of the problem lies in Tina Howe's toothless 1980s satire, which I must confess has always left me cold. Howe's view of arty New Yorkers taking in a contemporary installation strikes me as a cynical play for the middlebrow theatregoer, making (lame) fun of those who take visual art seriously as well as those hick philistines who condemn it out of hand. It doesn't help that none of the clichƒd characters--the hysterical, bitchy fags, the polished WASP socialites, the spooky art-chicks in "exotic" clothing, the aforementioned hicks--are played with anything approaching subtlety here. Instead, we get bugging eyes, histrionic line readings, and so many jaws gaping open with "the shock of the new" that at times the actors look as if they're waiting in line for root canals.
Instead of playing against the obvious stereotypes, which might have invested the production with a refreshing and humorous element of surprise, Meyers seems to have directed his cast to go over the top and never look back. Over the course of 90 minutes, this becomes extremely irritating, especially in a small space like the 450 Geary Studio.
Some of the performers do find nice moments in the play. Andrew Hurteau benefits from playing only one character, instead of the two or three the other cast members do, and playing it well. As the gallery guard, he gets things off to a nice start with a hilarious pantomime, as he tries to remove a speck of lint as it migrates from his hand to his sleeve. Celia Shuman, as one of three giddy schoolgirls visiting the museum for the first time, does a lovely job with a monologue in which she muses about what might happen if the museum and the outside world changed places.
The installations themselves are quite nice, particularly Jennifer Craigie's bone-and-feather sculptures. Set designer Chad Owens and lighting designer Jodi Fedder have done an admirable job of converting the black-box theatre into a believable gallery space, complete with humidity controls on the wall. Dhyanis Carniglia's costumes, while in line with the stereotypes of the production, do have a richly polished feel to them.
Vector's mission statement is filled with lofty goals and all the right buzz phrases--cultural diversity, collective work, etc. Me, I'd be perfectly happy if, on its next outing, the company would simply choose a fresh, exciting script that really shows off the full range of what these actors are capable of doing.
"Museum," presented by Vector Theater Company at the 450 Geary Studio Theater, 450 Geary St., San Francisco, Oct. 17-Nov. 15. (415