The Alchemist
Reviewed by David A. Rosenberg
Presented by and at Classic Stage Company, 136 E. 13th St., NYC, Feb. 17-March 12.
By eliminating its pain, misanthropy, believability, and cleverness, director Barry Edelstein manages to turn Ben Jonson's fierce "The Alchemist" into a dim-witted evening. This Classic Stage Company production substitutes funk for fun, the juvenile for the jovial, in a botched attempt to update the 1610 comedy.
The trio of tricksters who set up shop in order to fleece gullible seekers of fortune and favor are here so inept, they wouldn't fool anyone above the age of two. Dubbed the "Venture Tripartite," the three don various disguises in order to bilk characters of their gold, in return for promised wealth, sexual pleasure, or power.
Throwing all traces of satire to the winds, Edelstein and company aim for cheap, physical laughs and a supposedly contemporary sensibility which, curiously enough, seems quite out of date. Modernization is fine if it's done with style that supports substance.
Occasionally, this let's-throw-in-the-kitchen-sink production does draw a smile. The line "You must eat no cheese, it breeds melancholy and that breeds worms" is a reminder of Jonson's interest in the humours of the body, given scant emphasis elsewhere. Yet, such moments are isolated in an evening that devolves into unfunny shtick, one in which Jonson's scornful language is mangled and fart jokes become the leitmotif.
Barely surviving the debacle are Dan Castellaneta, Steven Rattazzi, and, to a lesser extent, Jeremy Shamos, Hillel Meltzer, and Buzz Bovshow. Others in the cast are Johann Carlo, Michael Showalter, Lee Sellars, Matthew Sald"var, Ümit Çelebi, Reuben Jackson, and Yaani King.
The technical credits obviously follow Edelstein's eclectic concept. Adrianne Lobel's set, Stephen Strawbridge's lights, Michael Krass' costumes, and Robert Kaplowitz's sound design are a mishmash. J. Steven White gets credit for the fight direction, and whoever trained actor Shamos to negotiate the long staircase with such agility should be applauded.
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Defending the Light
Reviewed by David A. Rosenberg
Presented by New Federal Theatre, at Tribeca Performing Arts Center, 199 Chambers St., NYC, Feb. 6-March 5.
Staging a play is not the same as directing one, as is evident in Ron Milner's "Defending the Light" at Tribeca. Jay Broad blocks actors attractively on Robert Joel Schwartz's classical set, bathing them in David Segal's moody lighting, and dressing them in Anita D. Ellis' authentic costumes. But he neglects characterization, pace, and spine, further diffusing a work that is already episodic and repetitious.
Based on a true incident that took place in Auburn, N. Y., in 1846, this is the story of William Freeman, a black man who murders a white family. An ambitious man whose constant grin irritates onlookers, Freeman insists he was merely trying to right past wrongs. His trial is a political as well as legal battle between his defense lawyer, abolitionist William Seward, and prosecutor John Van Buren. Seward maintains Freeman's crime is a case of insanity, brought about by a beating he received in a prior incarceration, while Van Buren regards it as simply a case of murder.
The title comes from a speech given by an elderly black man who asserts that those who have a "light" see not just what is, but what can be. Since they're the ones with insight, intellect, faith, belief, and vision, they must be protected. Otherwise, brutal treatment will beget brutal retaliation.
The drama proceeds fitfully. Flashbacks give glimpses of the past without adding much to the evening's thrust, the language is made more stilted by some of the actors' hesitations, and the well-intentioned play ends up as a tautological exercise.
Coming off best are Eddie Robinson as Freeman, Victoria G. Platt, and Kathleen Turco-Lyon. As Seward, James Kiberd seems under-rehearsed, while Ned Coulter's Van Buren is one-dimensional. Max Chalawsky, Christopher Haro, Michael Oberlander, Robert Sonderskov, and Cullen Wheeler have fun with multiple roles. Others are Bridgit Antoinette Evans as Freeman's mom, Ramon Moses as a preacher, and Lex Monson as the Patriarch who delivers the play's portentous messages. B. H. Barry staged the fight scenes and the effective sound design is by Jairous L. Parker, Sr.
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Sara Pearson/ Patrik Widrig and Company
Reviewed by Phyllis Goldman
Self-presented at The Joyce Theater, 175 Eighth Ave., NYC, Jan. 11-30.
A scratchy recording of "My Old Flame," a wondrously melodic score by Robert Een, and the wit and wisdom of a text written by Sara Pearson and Patrik Widrig in collaboration with their dancers kept "Hereafter"-a collection of random thoughts on death and dying-from slipping into what could have been a maudlin recitation. Instead, as performed by a likeable rag-tag ensemble of dancers (all ages, sizes, and abilities) and structured wisely by the choreographers, the piece was a sometimes-loving, sometimes "good riddance" compilation of the particular idiosyncracies that grandmothers, husbands, friends (all deceased) had bequeathed to relatives and friends.
Pearson and Widrig tend to choreograph in rounded movements with bent knees, loose feet, and collapsible torsos. The choreography is uncluttered, energetic, but technically undemanding-a lot of dropping to the floor, rolling, and rebounding. The less-experienced dancers seemed at ease in performance, and the movement was matched to the skillfully written text, allowing determined characters to emerge-each delivering personal messages about his or her loved ones.
Pearson's soliloquy about her friend Richard, who was terminally ill, was especially well crafted. It was a clever assemblage of afterthoughts about a friend who took too long to die (as well as too long to leave after a visit). "You made dying the finest event in life," Pearson reflects. Both anger at his lengthy demise and affection for his presence in her life meld into a poignant eulogy to which Pearson adds vigorous movement or fanciful gesture.
At the end she quietly removes her shoes, leaving them center stage almost as if they were a tombstone or an urn, as the lights dim.
"Hereafter" is composed of many fine moments like this. Pearson and Widrig have tackled a thorny subject, fleshing it out into a reverent and compelling homage.
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The Time of the Cuckoo
Reviewed by David A. Rosenberg
Presented by Lincoln Center Theater, at the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater, 150 W. 65th St., NYC, Feb. 21-May 7.
Molta bella! Lincoln Center's revival of Arthur Laurents' "The Time of the Cuckoo" deepens what was once a sentimental, familiar tale of a poor little American spinster and her awakening in the arms of a sophisticated European. Director Nicholas Martin gives that theme an angry twist that not only shoves our noses in hypocrisy but adds a gay sensibility not likely when the work was first produced in 1952.
Now less concerned with xenophobia and more with the differences between love and sex, "Cuckoo" can be read as Laurents' manifesto on the limits that absolute faithfulness places on experience. The Leona Samish who succumbs to the blandishments of a smooth-talking, married Italian is here plainly no virgin or patsy. When her indignation at betrayal spills over into spilling the beans about the other guests at Venice's Pensione Floria, the audience is confronted with the shambles of a puritanical society that lauds fundamentalism over humanity.
In Debra Monk's superbly fierce performance as Leona, the play takes on a dimension sure to bother purists expecting still another distillation of the put-upon American. Romantic yet vicious, yearning yet vengeful, Leona veers into Blanche DuBois territory.
Significantly, she's surrounded with characters who barely hide their contempt. Adam Trese's cock-of-the-walk Eddie, Ana Reeder's uptight June, and the sadly retrograde Mr. and Mrs. McIlhenny of Tom Aldredge and Polly Holliday reek of frustration. Contrast them with the lusty Signora of Cigdem Onat and the pragmatism of Olek Krupa's Renato, Chiara Mangiameli's Giovanna, Paolo Pagliacolo's Vito, and the endearing Sebastian Uriarte as Mauro.
Peculiarly, the physical production fights the play. James Noone's set features an awkward non-Venetian backdrop, Brian MacDevitt's lighting design is too restless, and Theoni V. Aldredge's costumes draw attention to themselves. But Mark Bennett's music and sounds are in keeping with a work that is being daringly re-evaluated.
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All's Well That Ends Well
Reviewed by Eric Grode
Presented by basement flat productions at HERE, 145 Sixth Ave., NYC, Feb. 4-27.
With its schizophrenic tone and irredeemable male lead, "All's Well That Ends Well" is a notoriously tricky play. Director Andrew Grosso, then, should be commended for the wise and ruthless choices he makes here. While certain passages lose momentum and the performances don't always co-mingle harmoniously, Grosso has created a brisk, no-frills evening that brings Shakespeare's central themes into sharper relief.
With his directorial cuts removing the clown Lavatch, Grosso has jettisoned much of the play's humor and zeroed in on its central players-which proves to be a mixed blessing. This incarnation focuses on the dynamic between the virtuous, resourceful Helena (Erica Schmidt) and Bertram (Barnaby Carpenter), arguably Shakespeare's most unworthy romantic lead. Schmidt's intelligent, imploring performance exhibits both the gumption that drives Helena and the obstinance that prevents her from seeing the innate folly of her quest. Carpenter captures Bertram's darker nature but fails to find the charm that would attract Helena and his fellow soldiers. It can be argued that these qualities aren't there in the first place, but Grosso's streamlined version of the play makes Bertram's fatuousness harder to ignore.
Andrew Rein has mixed success as the unctuous coward Parolles. With so much of the play's comedy gone, his constant boasts feel rootless, and his gesticulations in the Act IV interrogation scene are overly broad and ineffective (as are those of his fellow actors). Rein fares far better in the more cerebral exchange with Schmidt early on and in his final, chastened monologue.
Arthur Aulisi, while far too young to play the aged King of France, gives the play some much-needed comic energy after a few obvious early bits. Also commendable are Mary Frank Swaim and Adam Smith in the more nuanced roles of the Countess and Lafeu.
While the set is nonexistent, the multitalented Schmidt contributes surprisingly resplendent costumes. Pianist Dan Neustadt also deserves mention for his skilled renditions of Beethoven.
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The Garden of Hannah List
Reviewed by David A. Rosenberg
Presented by the Hypothetical Theatre Company, Inc., at the 14th St. Y, 344 E. 14th St., NYC., Feb. 3-27.
Some plays grab audiences from the start and hold them to the end. So it is with "The Garden of Hannah List," Michael McKeever's accomplished melodrama being given a first-class production by the Hypothetical Theatre Company at the 14th Street Y. Yet, though "Garden" never fails to arrest immediate attention, it's also superficial in its treatment of moral dilemmas. Theatregoers riveted by "what's-going-to-happen-next?" works may overlook the plot-heavy tale's credulity-straining holes.
Taking place in 1938 Nuremberg, Germany, "Garden" entangles an anti-Nazi family in horrifying events leading to the outbreak of World War II. McKeever anchors his characters in domestic situations that glance off provocative conundrums on how hate begets hate, on how to decide between good and evil. Though provocative, these weighty questions are reduced to sometimes simplistic emotional levels, shortchanging the theatre's tools of language and symbolism. A line like "These are dangerous times we live in," delivered without irony, or flower arrangements set before a statue of the Virgin Mary, are what they are but not more.
Still, the evening is earnestly engrossing. Henry Fonte's restrained direction makes the eventual rending of the veil of polite banter that much more shocking. When the excellent Christine Jones cracks open Hannah's veneer of dignity to reveal the seething hatred underneath, the play crackles.
Although their characters are not examined in any great depth, the cast is consistently believable. Kendra Bahneman, Patrick Buonaiuto, David Fitzgerald, Antony Hagopian, Ryan Hilliard, Kimberly Kay, Callum Keith-King, and Joseph MacDougall are true to the period. Considerable credit for authenticity goes to Mark Symczak's scenic design, assisted by Rachel Bones' essential horticultural design, Rychard Curtiss' lighting, Marie Anne Chiment's costumes, and Dale Girard's fight direction. A special mention to Richard L. Sirois' sound design. Contrasting benevolent nature with malevolent humans is its own comment on the tyranny of men.
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On a Clear Day You Can See Forever
Reviewed by David A. Rosenberg
Presented by Encores!, at City Center, 131 W. 55th St., NYC, Feb. 10-13.
Alan Jay Lerner had it right: "Thank heaven for little girls." Never mind that he wrote that about Leslie Caron in "Gigi," not Kristin Chenoweth in the Encores! revival of the 1965 Lerner/Burton Lane "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever." But oh boy, does the description apply to the mite-sized dynamo who wraps tuneful ditties around her finger, although she can't do much for a stale, dispiriting libretto.
As the easily hypnotized Daisy Gamble, Chenoweth deftly juggles a love-struck psychiatrist, nerdy boyfriend, and several hangers-on. Flashing back to the 18th century, she's also Melinda, an Englishwoman pursued by various suitors.
The Encores! focus has always been the score. Lane's music-especially "Come Back to Me," "What Did I Have That I Don't Have?," and the title number-is a reminder of the talent that also produced "Finian's Rainbow." Lerner's lyrics range from daffy to sentimental, but his tale of reincarnation and ESP results in a book both too strained and too schematic to support much in the way of character, even as adapted by David Ives.
Chenoweth, delicious as she is, is not as helplessly, intriguingly neurotic as Barbara Harris who originated the role. But she's backed by an able company, particularly the show-stopping Brent Barrett and Louis Zorich. As the nerd, Roger Bart is properly wired; as the psychiatrist, Peter Friedman is properly puzzled. Brooks Ashmanskas, Gerry Bamman, Ed Dixon, Jim Newman, Nancy Opel, Darcie Roberts, and the ensemble help beat some life into the evening.
Mark Brokaw's direction proceeds by fits and starts, while John Carrafa's choreography is bland. Working their own magic are John Lee Beatty (set), Donald Holder (lighting), Wallace G. Lane, Jr. (costumes), and Scott Lehrer (sound). But the real heroes are Robert Russell Bennett's orchestrations (his swan song) and the fantastic Coffee Club Orchestra under Rob Fisher, with a special nod to bustling xylophonist Eric Kivnik.
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Night Blooming Jasmine
Reviewed by Dan Isaac
Presented by the Moonlight Group, at the Tribeca Playhouse, 111 Reade St., NYC, Feb. 10-March 4.
The idea of an Israeli version of "Romeo and Juliet"-the premise of Israela Margalit's "Night Blooming Jasmine"-seems so perfect a vehicle for advancing a variety of arguments, that one fears a preachy plot collapsing into clich . And in the opening scenes, "Jasmine" does seem to be all clich , for the dialogue sounds like select news clips combined with Israeli-style stiff upper lip. But this play springs to life when the two lovers meet; and inventive plotting provides a gut-wrenching resolution.
Frances Anderson plays Jasmine, the daughter of a respected Arab businessman, with so fine a combination of forthright boldness tempered by delicate modesty, that one instantly understands why David-the soldier-son of Jewish kibbutzniks, played with an attractive sense of good-natured enthusiasm by Ian Kahn-would become interested in her, especially if he believes she is an orthodox Jew attending the University of Jerusalem.
On reserve duty in Jerusalem, David meets Jasmine when he protects her during a riot, and she then asks him to lend her bus money to get home. Never correcting his mistaken impression that she is Jewish, Jasmine promises to meet him the next day. Hugely attracted to one another, they proceed to a deserted place to watch the sun set, spending the night together talking, and only occasionally daring to embrace and passionately kiss.
At the point that David discovers Jasmine hid her Arab identity from him, he feels betrayed; and when she discovers that her brother is a terrorist planning an attack on David's kibbutz, this play hurtles toward tragedy and loss-producing a totally unexpected ending that feels profoundly right.
Jeremy Dobrish directs for speed and clarity; and two supporting actors are memorable: Thom Christopher as Jasmine's father, and Joshua Annex as her brother. Lighting designer Tyler Micoleau and set designer Eric Lowell Renschler combine to create a beautiful still life: a green plant set on a table next to a bright green sprinkler, with floor and background flooded with orange light.