MEASURE FOR MEASURE/A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM
at the Ahmanson Theatre
Reviewed by Polly Warfield
Sir Peter Hall, Shakespearean expert, enthusiast, acknowledged master director extraordinaire, has crossed an ocean and a continent to demonstrate his conviction that American actors can play, and speak, Shakespeare, as well as any others, and sometimes better. He has done so. Sir Peter and his hand-picked, carefully taught cast of (for the most part) American actors give us Shakespeare without tears in these two well-paired, contrasting yet complementary, classics. Which is to say it is immediately accessible, readily understandable Shakespeare. And why not? This peerless playwright not only plumbed the depth and breadth of humanity, saw and understood all that's humanly possible to know (and maybe more), he also invariably explains it all for you, his meaning crystal clear. The director contends the message is conveyed in the breathing. If so, then his actors have mastered this prana as the breath of life.
Measure for Measure is saturnine and stately, and one of the darkest, most disturbing plays in Shakespeare's canon. Jacobean in its flinty cruelty, Olympian in its detachment from human suffering, it is concerned with dramatic values rather than polemics, but lessons may be learned from it. British set and costume designer John Gunter does not confine the play to a particular time or place (costumes are vaguely Dickensian, the sparsely elegant, adaptable setting is mostly generic hall of power) but a replica of the White House with the Capitol dome behind it, looms in the background as visual reminder that corruption, malfeasance, the threat of unbridled power, are always with us.
No one is totally admirable. Reigning Duke Vincentio, impressively enacted and eloquently spoken by Brian Murray as the only native Briton in the cast, commands respect but builds his case on deceit and lies. He disguises himself as a monk to get the goods on everyone. Richard Thomas acquits himself well in a surprise bit of casting as the Duke's powerful deputy, Angelo. (Wouldn't David Dukes seem more likely?) Angelo is a lecherous double-dealer, flagrantly contemptible. Pristine Isabella, a pious postulant nun magnificently, powerfully, fierily played by Anna Gunn, weighs her maidenhood's worth against her brother's lusty young life and decides to let him lose his head. His sin was getting his fianc e pregnant and there's irony here, along with plenty of plot.
Loss of virginity today seems no big deal, but Isabella considers it the equivalent of losing her immortal soul. Her brother Claudio, a "flowerlike youth" in the person of Hamish Linklater, urges her, not unnaturally under the circumstances, to give in; he doesn't come off as particularly noble.
David Dukes is delightfully humorous as dainty dandy Lucio, shameless gossip and lickspittle; he makes eloquent use of his cane and the quivering feather in his hat. George Dzundza is the slippery, seamy rascal Pompey, pimp for Mistress Overdone's bawdy house. Patti Allison is the buxom madam and a sight to see in her garish get-up. Measure for Measure's low-life and high-life sometimes overlap and an underlying message remains ever timely. Nobody's perfect.
A Midsummer Night's Dream's moonlight madness, mystery and magic, lust and lunacy, come as welcome relief, and its actors segue smoothly and impressively to its different moods and rhythms. David Dukes is now dignified and serene as Theseus, Duke of Athens, celebrating his betrothal to Cindy Katz, as Amazon queen Hippolyta, with midsummer revels. Peter Francis James as a feral Oberon and Kelly McGillis as a shimmering Titania, king and queen of the Fairies, are the otherworldly counterparts of this royal couple, and the opaque connection of the couples seems more sharply etched in this staging than in others. Richard Thomas emerges from the forest floor, a complete surprise as a wild, satyr-like, decidedly non-human Puck who must surely be related to the great god Pan. Thomas as Puck moves like quicksilver and he is a revelation.
The moon-struck, mixed-up young mortal lovers are Jennifer Dundas Lowe as lovely little Hermia, beloved of both Lysander and Demetrius, in love with Lysander, pledged by her adamant father Egeus to Demetrius, who is loved by Helena. Charles Janasz spits out Egeus' lines with acid emphasis. Helena has a distinctively reedy little trick voice. Hamish Linklater's Lysander and Mark Deakins' Demetrius are likely lads both. And the rude mechanicals with their ambitious, earnestly rehearsed, ludicrously amateurish, and always hilarious performance of Pyramus and Thisbe's tragic tale as usual almost steals the show. As the ill-used weaver Bottom, Brian Murray proves himself, as if he hadn't already, a fine actor of wide range and wondrously expressive vocal delivery. The other would-be actors in the ill-conceived amateur performance are David Manis, Ian Lithgow, Ted Rooney, Stoney Westmoreland, and Michael Keenan. William J. Bassett is a handsome Philostrate, Master of the Revels.
Titania's prize and Oberon's longed-for trophy, the Indian Boy, and other winsome woodland Fairies are enacted by students of the Hobart Boulevard Elementary School; Jennifer Leigh Warren is a dulcet-voiced, airy First Fairy, and Patti Allison in more wholesome guise is a Nanny Fairy. Throughout, designer Gunter's costumes and setting, Richard Pilbrow's lighting, sound by Jon Gottlieb and Philip G. Allen, and all design elements, contribute lyrically but unobtrusively to the text, and that's what this is about.
Sir Peter Hall's hands-across-the-sea staging of these masterworks was awaited with great expectations and is now received with many hands clapping. We are proud of the American actors' unexcelled ability under his guidance to do Shakespeare justice and we are reminded once again of what rich treasure has been bequeathed to humanity by great writers of England, and indeed of all the British Isles. We are grateful. Obeisance is in order. Even a little awe.
"Measure for Measure" and "A Midsummer Night's Dream," presented by Center Theatre Group/Ahmanson Theatre at the Ahmanson Theatre, June 22-Aug. 1. (213) 628-2772.
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THE GLACE BAY MINERS' MUSEUM
at the Phoenix II
Reviewed by Kerry Reid
Canadian playwright Wendy Lill's lovely and haunting The Glace Bay Miners' Museum, now receiving its West Coast premiere at the Phoenix II, is a memory play in every sense of the phrase; the weight of nostalgia for a forgotten way of life casts both light and shadow over the lives of the characters in a delicate balance that, as directed by Margo Whitcomb and played by a perfectly cast ensemble of five actors, leaves an indelible and affecting impression on the audience.
Set immediately after World War II on Cape Breton Island (off the coast of Nova Scotia), Lill's play traces the declining fortunes of the MacNeils, a family of hardscrabble coalminers beset by deaths (of the father and beloved eldest son in a pit accident), illness (of the silent, black-lung afflicted and wheelchair-bound grandfather, played with winsome charm and affecting poise by Robert Elross), and poverty. When headstrong daughter Margaret (Emily Ackerman) falls in love with the stubborn, handsome, and charismatic bagpiper Neil Currie (Jack O'Rourke), a brief glimmer of light and joy breaks through the dark coal-dust clouds of the family's life. Currie's love for the old forgotten Scottish ways of the Cape Breton settlers sparks pride and hope in the family. However, outside forces in the form of contemporary economic desperation send the freedom-loving Neil into the dark bondage of the pits along with Margaret's union-organizing brother Ian (Ian McConnel), with tragic results.
Lill's script is tough and tender, and her eye for the details of everyday life at times conjures the spirit of Dylan Thomas. The script, adapted from a novel by Sheldon Currie, does have a leisurely pace in its narration, but there are few lags in this production. Thanks largely to the truthful and engaging performances of the cast, this play unfolds like a sad, bittersweet dream. And Chad Owens' simple rough-hewn set and Mike Burg's lighting transform the tiny Phoenix II space (formerly the Jewel Theatre) into an evocative environment. Whitcomb's fluid staging allows no gaps between scenes, which keeps us firmly in the world of the play.
All the cast members deserve ample kudos for their work, but I particularly enjoyed Ackerman's defiant but romantic tomboy, Margaret, and Linda Ayres-Frederick's bloodied-but-not-broken matriarch, Catherine. O'Rourke's Neil is an appealing, strapping figure, and his scenes with McConnel's small but scrappy Ian have a comic, Mutt-and-Jeff contrast to them. (McConnel also does beautiful work with a monologue where he contrasts his condition as a working man with that of a tortured whale in the Bay.) And despite the overarching sadness in the tale, this is a play with plenty of humor, and Whitcomb's direction doesn't miss any of it.
The denouement is chilling, but provocative and oddly poetic. As a tribute to the sacrifices of laboring immigrants, and a reminder of the need for joy, love, and a sense of history as a means of surviving the most wretched of circumstances, Lill's play is thought-provoking, absorbing, and ultimately uplifting-a fine way for the beloved Phoenix company (which lost its space almost two years ago) to re-launch themselves as vital players in Bay Area theater.
"The Glace Bay Miners' Museum," presented by Phoenix Arts Association at the Phoenix II, 655 Geary St., San Francisco. June 12-July 18. (415) 567-3005.
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TRUE WEST
at St. Cecilia's Playhouse
Reviewed by Charlene Baldridge
Sledgehammer Theatre founding artistic director Scott Feldsher returns to San Diego to direct former Sledge performer Bruce McKenzie (Lee) and Jeffrey Jones (Austin) in Sam Shepard's 1980 play, True West. And he directs the brothers' scenes with terrifying, no-holds-barred physicality and brutality. The performers are intensely focused, and if it weren't for the nervous laughter, intended by the playwright and evoked by his characters' beyond-the-pale behavior, the tension would be too great for even the most appreciative audience. Seeing this brave, edgy production is an experience from which one needs time to recover. Or perhaps it is an experience from which one never recovers.
McKenzie, a Sledgehammer resident artist from 1987 to 1995, created quite a stir at the O'Neill Festival in Louisville recently (he was a resident actor at Actor's Theatre of Louisville during their 1998-99 season). He so captures the sociopathic, alcoholic, estranged brother Lee that his performance is almost too painful to watch.
Jones, who was last seen in San Diego in the North Coast Repertory production of The Heiress, initially plays the successful sibling, Austin, as an obsessive neatnik. An impressive performer and an excellent foil for McKenzie, Jones makes Austin's gradual unraveling believable and heartbreaking.
Playwright and director suggest that stability is a mere fa‡ade, that we are all just a Lee away from uncontrollable acts, a provocative thought ever more relevant nearly 20 years after the play was written.
On June 20, Lou Seitchik portrayed the easily swayed Hollywood deal-maker, Saul (normally played by Phil Johnson). Christina Courtenay plays the brief, comic-relief role of the men's mom, who returns to find that chaos has overturned her ordered kitchen. Courtenay's prattle during the ensuing action is masterful.
Craig Siebels' scenic design defines the era and mom's domain with macram wall-hangings and plant holders, a starburst clock, and a plastic, citrus platter. A perfect touch is costume designer Mary Larson's polyester pants for Lee. Pea Hicks takes sound design to a new level, first lulling us with Johnny Cash, then mildly disturbing us with off-key revelry, then setting teeth on edge with yapping coyotes. Martin Katz' fight direction makes indelible mayhem a reality. Ron Vodicka is lighting designer.
In the capable hands of the young Sledgehammer Theatre, True West is revealed as a true classic.
"True West," presented by Sledgehammer Theatre at St. Cecilia's Playhouse, 1620 Sixth Ave., San Diego. June 13-July 18. (619) 544-1484.
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THE CRUCIFER OF BLOOD
at Sierra Repertory Theatre
Reviewed by Barry Wisdom
From the dusky twilight of Agra, India, to the smoky opium dens and foggy docks of London, Sierra Repertory Theatre's production of The Crucifer of Blood is literally thick with atmosphere. In fact, there's so much stage smoke pumped out over the course of this exceedingly entertaining theatre noir piece, it might be advisable for director Dennis Jones to slap a warning label on the outside of the Sonora company's playhouse.
Actually, even those with severe respiratory problems shouldn't shy away from this moody Crucifer, as the combination of the suspenseful (if familiar) scripting, Jones' direction, and the ensemble's arch acting leaves you holding your breath most of the time anyway.
Freely adapted by Paul Giovanni from Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes mysteries (primarily The Sign of Hour), Crucifer opens in 1857 India at a British colonial fort near the Taj Mahal (well suggested here by Jones' sparse but effective set and lighting design). With the Indian mutiny in full bloom, the post's bigoted officers, Major Alistair Ross (Ty Smith) and Capt. Neville St. Claire (Gregory Hopkins) are pondering their futures back in England.
When they learn of one of their soldier's (Joel Christian) conspiracy with a rebel Afghan (Rick Reardon) and Hindu (Benjamin Loverin) to steal the Maharajah's secret delivery of treasure, they invite themselves in and swear a pact-or "crucifer."
Thirty years later, the game's afoot when St. Claire's comely young daughter Irene (Jennifer Massey) knocks on the door of 221-B Baker Street pleading for help from the coked-up Holmes (the intense Richard Neil) and his just-a-step-behind partner Dr. John Watson (Patrick Lawlor). Her father, now a disgraced opium addict, has been rattled by the recent delivery of a blood-stained scrap of paper from his past and she wants to know why.
This mystery turns out to be far from elementary-for either Holmes or the audience-with a host of twists that make you wait nearly two-and-a-half hours to exhale.
Though the evocative opening set piece is simplistic, Jones makes up for it with his meticulously conceived takes on Holmes' quarters, the elderly Ross' home, and an opium "palace." His coup de grace is a cleverly executed boat excursion on the Thames that ends with the beautiful effect of an early morning sun breaking through a cloudy sky.
The impressive production values don't overshadow the cast's efforts, however, who have teamed to evoke the Master Thespian approach to acting notably displayed in the Basil Rathbone-Nigel Bruce movies of the late 1930s and early "40s. Far from campy, it serves the material well and the ensemble is uniformly brilliant.
"The Crucifer of Blood," presented by Sierra Repertory Theatre at Sierra Repertory Theatre's East Sonora Stage, 13891 Highway 108, Sonora. June 4-July 11. (209) 532-3120.
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OKLAHOMA RIGS
at Lamb's Players Theatre
Reviewed by George Weinberg-Harter
This play helped launch David McFadzean's hugely successful television career as creator and executive producer of Home Improvement. First staged at Lamb's Players Theatre in 1986, when McFadzean was resident playwright and managing director, Oklahoma Rigs subsequently appeared at the Kennedy Center's American College Theatre Festival, leading to the author's first screen assignment as executive story editor for the debut season of Roseanne.
The play-an amusing family comedy full of well-rounded and mildly eccentric characters-could well have been titled Self Improvement. Set in an Oklahoma town during the spring of 1960, it focuses primarily upon the ambitions of Tom Sampson (Nick Cordileone), a hyperactive young enthusiast and sedulous reader of Dale Carnegie's How to Win Friends and Influence People. His enterprising scheme is to escape from the oil rigs-where he and his widower father Sam (Doren Elias) work-by building up, one by one, in partnership with his friend Finny Clement (Josh Stoddard), a fleet of trucking rigs. (Hence the title.) Trucks are for Tom what fishing boats were to Carousel's Mr. Snow.
McFadzean has chosen the year 1960 as a symbolic watershed between the '50s (and all that decade represents) and the '60s (and you know what)-the dichotomy that Blake termed Innocence and Experience. This is borne out by a character who represents the darker, hedonistic side of ambition (as opposed to Tom's clean-cut, sweat-equity entrepreneurship)-a popular local beauty, Karla Zeller, who has parlayed her exaggerated pulchritude into minor fame as a Hollywood model. (Elisabeth Heiner plays the role like a felonious impersonation of femininity.)
Karla's outlandish physical allurements lead into the play's secondary theme (nearly overshadowing the primary theme of ambition), that of frustrated (or even downright unsuccessful and sterile) sexuality. The emblem of this is a pair of chickens which Tom's kid sister, Cally (Anna Rapp), attempts with difficulty to mate together in order to produce fertilized eggs for an incubation experiment. These comic complications with amorous chickens mirror farcical erotic follies between Karla and Finny, as well as the continually dampened romance between Finny and Tom's other sister, Virla (Amy Scholl)-not to mention the non-starter of a match between paterfamilias Sam and his friendly neighbor, Edna Douglas (Veronica Murphy reprising her 1986 role), whose home-made apple-butter all desire to shirk (perhaps as a processed reprise of Eve's fatal apple of knowledge).
These disjointed human couplings seem like a series of mating experiments practiced by the playwright on his hapless characters in order to incubate some laughs. And as such they are successful enough, culminating in a magnificently extended and imaginative treatment of that ancient surefire slapstick standby, a man stumbling about with his trousers down around his ankles. But the real highpoint of the play, worth the ticket price, is an astonishing set piece (reminiscent of Peer Gynt's make-believe final ride with Aase) where Tom and Finny imagine and act out their rollicking future first truck trip across the interstates to California. Cordileone and Stoddard perform this brilliantly (the monkeyish agility of the one playing off the ursine lunkishness of the other) under the sure hand of Deborah Gilmour Smyth's well-paced direction, which, together with a fine cast, excellent set and lighting by Mike Buckley, and good costumes by Jeanne Reith, combine to make Oklahoma Rigs a satisfactory theatrical experience.
"Oklahoma Rigs," presented by and at Lamb's Players Theatre, 1142 Orange Ave., Coronado. June 11-July 25. (619) 437-0600.
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ARCADIA
at North Coast Repertory Theatre
Reviewed by Charlene Baldridge
North Coast Repertory Theatre's artistic director Sean Murray braves and rather admirably brings off the San Diego premiere of Tom Stoppard's complex, romantic, pedantic, scientific inquiry, Arcadia.
Spanning the play's two centuries is a turtle named Plautus, who begs the question: "Can we fully interpret events of the past based on available artifacts?" Set in Derbyshire, the play involves two sets of characters, the makers of history and mystery in 1809, and, in the same room nearly 200 years later, the would-be unravelers.
In the 19th century, Lisa Maria Guzman portrays the scientifically precocious 13-year old, Thomasina Coverly, in love with her tutor, Septimus Hodge, played with vocal charm and a certain rakishness by Manuel J. Fernandes. Guzman, a recent high school graduate, is graceful and unmannered physically; however, especially when playing Thomasina at 13, her affectation of extremely broad vowels tends to grate on the ear.
Ayla Yarkut effectively portrays the emotionally repressed, 20th-century landscape historian Hannah Jarvis, a research guest at the Coverly estate. Tim West physically and vocally overstates literary opportunist Bernard Nightingale, who brazens his way onto the premises, bent upon proving that here, in 1809, Lord Byron dueled with and killed a foppish minor poet named Chater (Fred Harlow).
Yarkut, who was seen several years ago in Springtime for Henry at the Old Globe Theatre, captures the reserve and steely qualities of Jarvis. She is an intense, though relaxed, actor. Richard Baird, a recent graduate of Patrick Henry High School, impressively portrays the sensitive teen, Valentine Coverly, who is in love with Jarvis. Erin Rhodes, seen recently in Orpheus Rox at the World Beat Center, is pert and sexy as Valentine's sister. And K.B. Mercer, Russell Copley, Bix Bettwy, Don Loper, Jeff Anthony Miller, and Don Loper are fine in supporting roles.
Scenic designer Marty Burnett creates a large room with an immense refectory table, suitable to the space and the action. Lorrie Blackard is the costume designer; Karin Filijan the lighting designer.
The pace is swift, though never cursory. Each actor seems to understand the nature of chaos and mathematical theories, and the classical and romantic allusions with which the play is rife. Michael Roth's minimalist music makes wry comment.
One could wish only for a greater consistency of diction and an acting company that believes across the board that less can indeed be more in so intimate a space.
"Arcadia," presented by and at North Coast Repertory Theatre, 987 D Lomas Santa Fe Dr., Solana Beach. June 10-July 18. (619) 481-1055.
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THE LAST NIGHT OF BALLYHOO
at Intiman Theatre
Reviewed by David-Edward Hughes
Despite its Best Play Tony nomination and a decent New York run, Alfred Uhry's The Last Night of Ballyhoo is a distinct let-down from the talented author of such far superior works as Driving Miss Daisy and The Robber Bridegroom. Intiman Theatre's well-nigh perfect production, directed lovingly and meticulously by Warner Shook, and performed by an ideal cast, does the play a greater service than perhaps it deserves.
Set in 1939, during the Atlanta premiere of Gone With the Wind, Ballyhoo chronicles a tumultuous holiday season for the Freitags, a well-to-do Jewish family of German descent, with a Christmas tree in the living room and a pork roast in the oven.
When head of the household Adolph introduces his attractive young, Brooklyn native employee Joe Farkas to his nieces Lala and Sunny, the play's central conflict is established. Joe passes over going to the Ballyhoo ball with the awkward but likable Lala, a Scarlet O'Hara in training, in favor of her more Gentile-appearing, Wellesley-educated cousin Sunny. While Lala's ambitious and rather desperate mother, Beulah "Boo" Levy, connives for her daughter to snag a gentleman caller/ball date with a southern-bred Jewish boy Peachy Weil, Sunny and the orthodox Russian Jewish-reared Joe grapple with the cultural differences that thwart their natural attraction. The Ballyhoo ball itself sets into play the events that lead to both girls getting their beaus.
Though clearly based on Uhry's own family experiences as part of a Southern Jewish family, the playwright tries too hard to make his script both funny and dramatically resonant. The class distinction/prejudice between the two Jewish cultures is touched on too lightly for us to care much about it, and seems at war with the more well-wrought family relationships and comedic aspects of the play.
Laurence Ballard, arguably Seattle's leading actor, triumphs in the uncharacteristically warm and touchingly humorous role of Uncle Adolph. His high-strung sister Boo is played with high-octane spirit and comedic know-how by Barbara Dirickson. The seemingly giddy but wise sister-in-law Reba is portrayed with consummate skill by the always luminous Jeanne Paulsen. This trio of actors were all better served by their roles as Ben, Regina, and Birdie in Intiman's The Little Foxes last season, but that Lillian Hellman classic is a far more satisfying piece of theatre to begin with.
As the over-eager Lala, Blair Sams steals the audience's hearts and tickles its funny bone. Her comedic diatribe against her poised and perfect cousin Sunny, played with spirit and spine by Debra Funkhouser is the most winning moment of the play. John Sloan makes Joe an earnest and appealing outsider, and James Garver plays the sitcom-styled role of Peachy with accomplished absurdity, set off by a Lucille Ball tinted hair color which induces laughter on its own.
Michael Olich outdoes himself with the setting for the Freitag mansion, a mixture of architectural and design styles as conflicted as the family's history. Frances Kenny's costumes are triumphant, especially Lala's antebellum ball gown, and Mary Louise Geiger's lighting is exceptional, particularly in the ball sequence. Too bad that Uhry didn't dig deeper, and concoct a worthier follow-up to Driving Miss Daisy.
"The Last Night of Ballyhoo," presented by and at Intiman Theatre, Seattle Center, Seattle. June 16-July 10. (206) 269-1900.
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CASTRO AND THE PITCHER
at Hollywood Court Theatre
Reviewed by Madeleine Shaner
The Cuban dictator is having problems. Not only is he getting visits from uninvited guests; they also happen to be dead. Che Guevara (Mauricio Mendoza), and Camilo Cienfuegos (Alejandro De Hoyos), his brothers in revolution, enter his nagging conscience, accusing him of betraying the cause, of settling for an easy ride on the backs of the people he promised to help. The regime is increasingly oppressive, defections are up, poverty is rife, and like the lubricious ladies who loll in the doorways, Cuba has become a whore.
All poor harassed Fidel ever really wanted to do was to play baseball. Now, Pepito (Lee Kirk), Cuba's star pitcher, who just might be his son by Sarita (Ellana Alexander), the lovely live ghost who's also haunting him, is flirting with defecting to a U.S. baseball team.
Oscar Valdes' Castro and the Pitcher is an earnest, sometimes silly, sometimes engaging, attempt to find out what keeps the exhausted Castro ticking. He's given up cigars; even the gamest playgirls in the briefest outfits can't budge him; the Soviet Union has collapsed; the American blockade is crippling the economy, and most of his fellow revolutionaries have fallen by the wayside.
Valdes has taken it upon himself to get the word out, about Castro (Valdes), Cuba, and what's-known-as-communism versus what's-known-as-democracy, a kind of hit-me-twice fairway game in which no one wins. To lighten the history lesson, every once in a while someone breaks into song. Olga Diaz's songs, while pleasantly unmemorable, are sudden, short, not well sung, and don't help the dramatic momentum.
Performances are uniformly good, topped by Alexander, who has a remarkably likable quality; Kirk, who really gets it up in a couple of highlighted moments; Jorge E. Cordova, who plays multiple roles, including a masterpiece as the recruiter who seduces Pepito into defecting; Mendoza, the perpetual revolutionary; and Valdes himself, who lacks technique, but seems to get there anyway, and the sultry trio of terminal bimbos (Teresa Corchete, Jasmin Solorzano, and Anna Lluch) who slither, attractively, through, over, above, and below the action.
Director Raoul Rizik has a lot to tackle with material that could easily become campy, but he mostly succeeds, keeping the tone eclectic and a little quirky, in tandem with the writing. Morrison Jackson's costumes and Luar Kizir's set and sound design complement the sometimes bizarre activity on stage, although a gentle hint to the sound man might reduce the endless opening "ambiance' to a more acceptable length.
"Castro and the Pitcher," presented at the Hollywood Court Theatre, in the United Methodist Church, at the corner of Franklin and Highland, Hollywood. June 17-July 25. (323) 993-8505.
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TRIBUTE
at Long Beach Studio Playhouse
Reviewed by Polly Warfield
Playwright Bernard Slade awards the palm to the irresponsible, irrepressible, irresistible life of the party, over others doubtless more deserving, in his well-crafted play Tribute. Slade's character-driven comedy is here given a polished, artfully balanced staging with a seasoned cast of professionals directed by Gregory Cohen, who declares himself fully in accord with Slade's choice of hero-"a man who isn't perfect but is perfectly wonderful," and (as Cohen reveals in program notes) reminds him of his father.
Well, yes, but everyone, including the playwright and most of his characters, willingly overlooks Scottie Templeton's grievous character flaws, because Scottie is such a card. Court jesters, it's well known, get away with impudence and effrontery that would cause anyone else to loose his head. Scottie's host of friends forgive him everything, because he makes them laugh. Not Jud, however.
Scottie's son Jud is sick and tired of the old man's clowning around, the way he ducks responsibility with a well-timed gag and a well-aimed grin, the aging playboy's insistence on "using the whole world as his straight man," his refusal to take anything seriously, even when doctors tell him he is dying. Serious-minded college student Jud has old scores to settle with his dad; when he arrives to settle them, Scottie's reaction is to show up in a ludicrous chicken suit and lay a giant egg. "It's not funny," Jud responds. And unless you have a predilection for puerile humor, it isn't. But give Scottie credit for consistency, even in the face of imminent demise. He simply can't help going for a laugh and, let's face it, in this world of woe, there's something to be said for that.
This Tribute is blessed by having Jack Thomas as a Scottie Templeton with underlying sensitivity and vulnerability, a subtext of complexity, and an ingratiating, likable pixie smile. A brash and bumptious Scottie can be a pain in the posterior. It's difficult to believe this Scottie is guilty of such dereliction of duty as, apparently, he is. As Jud, the one most affected by his father's failings, Brian McDonald is earnest, honest, and very good. Rend Rae Norman is strong, sympathetic, crisply attractive and womanly as Maggie, Scottie's ex-wife who holds no rancor for his faithlessness. Steven Shaw is Scottie's boss and loyal friend, a handsome New York public relations professional. Cathy LaCascia's Sally is the pleasantly pert young Manhattanite whom Scottie has arranged for Jud to meet accidentally, (on purpose). Lisa Alpi contributes sex and sass as Scottie's blithe call-girl pal Hillary. Sharyn Case is his solicitous doctor-she makes house calls yet! Only for Scottie would it happen.
The play may be shaky on matters of moral and ethical absolutes, but it knows how to please its audience. The dialogue is witty and slick, somewhat in the Neil Simon mode; the tone is sophisticated with grace notes of tenderness and sentiment. The well-played characters are attractive and enjoyable, as is Linda Garen Smith's New York townhouse set. Kysa Cohen composed the "Scottie's Theme" music and director Gregory Cohen the "Jud's Slide Show" photography shown during the "tribute" of the title-an on-going eulogy held in Scottie's honor, whether he deserves it or not, in a New York theatre, which weaves in and out during the play.
In the end, playwright, director, and star Scottie get their way. We end up forgiving him all, as do his son and the others encountered in the course of his happy-go-lucky life. Because he always left 'em laughing, they give him a big send-off, and he isn't even dead yet. The puckish fellow is likely to have the last laugh and outlive 'em all.
"Tribute," presented by and at Long Beach Playhouse Studio Theatre, 502l E. Anaheim St., Long Beach. June 11-July l7. (562) 494-l6l6.
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A GRAND NIGHT FOR SINGING
at the International City Theatre
Reviewed by Terri Roberts
There is something to be said for simplicity, and director Jules Aaron knows it. Put a quintet of singer/actors on a minimally adorned stage, outfit them in light suits and summer dresses, give them a five-piece orchestra and some of the most romantic music ever written for the stage, and let them go to it.
Simple concept? Yes. Is it effective? Well, sometimes.
There's a certain balminess in this hearts-and-flowers revue of the work of musical theatre's most enchanted duo, Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II. But that's more the result of a show conceived by Walter Bobbie than it is the fault of Aaron and his cast.
In no way is this meant to belittle such glorious songs as "If I Loved You" (Carousel) and "We Kiss in a Shadow" (The King and I)-which also happen to be personal favorites. But string a long line of them together, and you'll need to break the resulting trance once in awhile. That's hard to do when most of the comic relief numbers, like the bouncy "Honeybun" (South Pacific) and the anxiety-ridden, "I Cain't Say No" (Oklahoma!), have been so smoothed over that the show begins to resemble the taste and texture of rainbow sherbet-sweet, light, and refreshing, but still just dessert as opposed to a satisfying meal.
Nevertheless, a couple of Jonathan Tunick's and Michael Gibson's orchestrations offer rather pleasant surprises. The women-Jennifer Stein, Jessica Pennington and Stefanie Morse-get to play with a sultry, Andrews Sisters-ish version of "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair" (South Pacific). And later, the entire company (the women, plus Michal Connor and Robert Marra) turn themselves into a five-piece jazz band in a snazzy update of "Kansas City" (Oklahoma!).
Another treat is the opportunity to hear numbers from the songwriting team's less successful shows: Pennington is wry, knowing, and hopeful in "The Gentleman is a Dope," from Allegro; Pennington and Morse tease the newly-married Marra in "The Man I Used To Be," from Me and Juliet, and Marra and Connor contemplate affairs of the heart in the aching "All at Once You Loved Her," from Pipe Dream.
Stein shows off her more legit soprano in "Something Wonderful" and the mellow harmonics of the entire company are beautifully displayed in "I Have Dreamed" (both from The King and I).
Designer Bradley Kaye has graced the stage with long sweeps of chiffon and twinkle lights, a few select icons from Rodgers and Hammerstein shows, a trunk, and a table and chairs. His elegant set gains a nice level of intimacy thanks to Tom Ruzika's lovely, mood-enhancing lights. While it may be a grand night for singing, it is merely an all right night for listening.
"A Grand Night for Singing" presented by the International City Theatre at the Long Beach Performing Arts Center, 300 East Ocean Blvd., Long Beach. June 18-July 11. (562) 938-4128.
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WILD KINGDOM
at the Ivy Substation
Reviewed by Claudia Grazioso
There's a danger particular to two-person plays in which pretty much all the characters do is meet and talk-the danger is if the audience members are even slightly tinged with self-awareness they will eventually start comparing the overall cleverness of their barroom conversations to those barroom conversations happening onstage. And it had better-and I mean better-measure up. Maurice Chauvet's Wild Kingdom, currently running at the Ivy Substation collides head on into this problem, but, thanks to fairly steady performances for the most part, manages to overcome it by the end of the play.
A Man (John D. LeMay) and a Woman (Rhonda Aldrich) meet in a hotel bar. She is a deeply bitter, recent divorc e. He is a loner, ruthlessly pragmatic and inscrutable. They talk, and, presumably because of the human need to "connect," go to his room and ultimately experience intimacy sans sex, which may or may not have to do with the fact that, in the middle of one of her rants, she tells him she has a venereal disease.
LeMay is oddly affecting as Man even though exactly what his character might want is only clear in the last few moments of the play. Like most truly isolated people, LeMay's character maintains an almost clinical distance from both what is happening around him and the Woman he's drawn in. Aldrich gives a powerful performance as Woman. Though she is at times shrill, howling through emotional beats that hardly seem to merit adamant delivery yet alone strained vocal chords, her performance is ultimately moving. She perfectly portrays a woman wracked by corrosive hatred and yet deep, abiding love for a man who is no longer there and is not coming back. Danica Ivancevic is inexplicably surly as the barmaid, who stalks through the set once or twice.
It seems at times that Chauvet has forgotten that theatre is a performance medium. He offers his characters no pressing reason to do anything, no immediate need other than to avoid boredom. In the absence of a narrative thrust, he attempts to hang his entire play on a simple theory: Man is a social animal. Still, largely due to the connection between LeMay and Aldrich, these two characters and their lonely, unfulfilled yearnings do transcend the stage. At the end, I wanted them to consummate the intimacy they reached, wanted them to be in each other's lives, if only for a while longer. The tender thing about Chauvet's story is he knows all along that his characters can't have that. He smartly sets up happiness as a hope, but never a possibility.
The direction, by Michael Angelo Stuno, is competent and solid, if not overwhelmingly innovative.
"Wild Kingdom," presented by Hidden Theatre Company at the Ivy Substation, 9070 Venice Blvd., Culver City. June 14-July 7. (323) 655-8587.
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THE WIZARD OF OZ
at the Pantages Theatre
Reviewed by Terri Roberts
So you're off to see the Wizard, huh? Well, watch out, because it'll get you, my pretty-but not in the way you expect. The Radio City Entertainment production of The Wizard of Oz, adapted and directed by Robert Johanson, whizzes by at a breathtaking 90 minutes with no intermission. And while it retains much of the look and most of the lines of the beloved classic film, like the Tin Man it is built without a heart. Chalk it all up to wiping out the subtlety and nuance of the film in favor of MTV speed and broad direction bordering, at times, on burlesque-like buffoonery.
Nevertheless, this Wizard is sure to thrill and delight kids-and adults who favor spectacle theatre. There's lots of impressive pyrotechnics and special effects here to enhance everything you remember from the movie: the black-and-white opening farm sequence, the twister, the flying house (also the flying monkeys, the flying Wicked Witch, and the flying Glinda in her pretty pink bubble), the Lion and Scarecrow and Tin Man (oh my!), the Technicolor Oz-and Toto, too (who never misses a cue and steals the show).
And there's even something you don't remember-the jazzy Jitterbug dance number in the haunted forest, which was cut from the final film.
While no one can ever match the incomparable Judy Garland, 17-year-old Jessica Grov does an impressive job with the Kansas farm girl. Her voice is clear and plaintive in "Over the Rainbow," and while she has Dorothy's spunk, she misses some of her innocence (and that streetwalker red lipstick she wears doesn't help).
On opening night, headliner Mickey Rooney took advantage of the burst of applause which greeted the first of his multi-role appearances as Professor Marvel and the Wizard to inappropriately take a bow and wave to the audience. Perhaps the rigors of touring are wearing him down, for he also went up on his lines on several occasions and seemed confused and tired.
Co-star JoAnne Worley makes a big and brassy Wicked Witch, full of attitude. While she's not as scary as her film counterpart, Worley clearly is having a ball with the role and we have fun just watching her. Her witch's costume-black, with flowing cape and tall, pointy hat-has an elegance to it that is comically offset by her striped leggings (which match her dead sister's, natch).
Set designer Michael Anania gives us a brilliant kaleidoscope of color in Munchkinland (as well as a set piece that's reminiscent of Disneyland's "It's a Small World" ride, and features little Munchkinheads popping out of flap-like windows), and dazzling shades of green once we reach the Emerald City. And along the way, the yellow brick road even lights up under Dorothy's feet.
If a '90s version of The Wizard of Oz appeals to you, then catch the national tour before it blows out of the Pantages. Otherwise, stick to the movie.
"The Wizard of Oz," presented by Radio City Entertainment at the Pantages Theatre, 6233 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood. June 16-July 4. (213) 365-3500.
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THE SUPER HEROES
at Next Stage Theater
Reviewed by Wenzel Jone
I think this is probably a really funny little 90-minute play. At its current length of two-and-a-half hours, it's just a whole lot of raw material. There's a great deal of clever stuff in Chris Berube's script about the Super Squad, a pack of crime fighters with superhuman powers and life at the Mansion with their supervisor Stan (Berube again). Berube's low-key quality underscores the all-too-human aspects of scheduling appearances and working out the merchandising deals in addition to fending off android attacks. The hiring of the pert and efficient Judy (the delightful Conn Barrett) and the arrival of government liaison Katherine Waller (Denise Nogaras in full harridan hyperdrive) introduce more than enough elements to fuel the evening. Alas, Berube has also added a storyline for each of the five comic-book characters as well, bloating the show into an amorphous entity that doesn't know what it wants to be.
The characters suffer as a result since they're two-dimensional, yet called upon to be three-dimensional. Watching Fireman (an endearing Doug Brandl) and Speedster (Jacob Charney) as an oddly costumed Bill and Ted act is funny; watching them ruminate on the responsibilities of being a hero is just silly. The reformed bad-girl turned superhero Misterious almost has enough storyline to be a play unto herself, but maybe that's just because Kelly Anne Conroy made her so interesting (her best line: "Why don't we put an explosive microbe in your body and see how you react?").
David W. Bannick as Apollo goes for the gusto as the Greek god with a taste for ale and a figure of truly heroic proportions, while the running joke of having Dr. Sinistar (John Duel in a good/bad performance that hits just the right note) dash in and announce the imminent demise of the Super Squad, when he can't even figure out how the door works never stales.
The orgy of loose-end tying at the end would be hilarious if a similarly absurd approach had been taken all evening, but it ends up looking like an act of desperation on the part of the scribe. John Albrt's direction, while well-paced, is as indeterminate as Berube's script. The set and costumes are uncredited, probably as a kindness to the perpetrators.
"The Super Heroes," presented at the Next Stage Theater, 1523 La Brea Ave., #208., Hollywood. June 11-July 10. (323) 850-7827.
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GROUNDLINGS: A PLANNED COMMUNITY
at Groundlings Theatre
Reviewed by Hoyt Hilsman
The distinguished Groundlings Company is looking a bit dotty and frayed around the edges. The main culprit in its latest offering, A Planned Community, is unimaginative writing, but the low energy and enthusiasm of most of the performers doesn't help.
A Planned Community begins well with a tableaux of life in a mythical planned community, but this enticing premise goes nowhere. What follows is a series of mostly tired and offhand sketches about the major subject matter of contemporary comedy-small absurdist moments taken way over the top.
For example, in "Gay Be Gone,' written by company member David Jahn, a "reformed" (not really) homosexual tries without success to reform Jeremy Rowley and Cheryl Hines, with the help of his wife, Karen Maruyama. It's a one-gag bit that goes nowhere. Another piece, "Tax Paying Citizen," written by Kevin Ruf and Will Forte, about two brothers on a date, resorts to stupid accents and wigs in place of any real humor.
A few of the sketches manage to evoke a smile, including "The Trip," in which an enthusiastic participant in an Ecstasy-induced orgy claims afterwards to have "felt nothing." "Bank of America," written by Rowley, about a pathetic soul who tries to cash an illegible check at the bank is occasionally funny. And "Incident at Starbucks," written by Ruf, about a man and his pet Sasquatch is also mildly amusing.
The only really strong pieces were those written by Maruyama, Hines, and Amy Von Freymann, who seem to be the company members most in tune with the tradition and humor of the Groundlings. Maruyama's rendition of the Chinese-American murderess/cannibal facing trial is hysterical, as are Von Freymann's portrayals of both a stern millennium survivalist and the freeloading sister who makes a living as the subject of medical experiments.
Hines is marvelously understated in both "Infinity Dress," about the joys and perils of the infamous multi-purpose gown, and in "One Woman Show," about the one-woman piece from hell. The improvisational work of the company is tame, again with the exception of some fine bits by Maruyama and Van Freymann.
Once again, the Groundlings prove that less is more, and that dead-pan is infinitely funnier than stupid and over-the-top. Only with more attention to the writing and execution of the sketches, can the company continue its fine tradition of comedy.
"Groundlings: A Planned Community," presented by and at Groundlings Theatre, 7307 Melrose Ave., W. Hollywood. (323) 934-9700.
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BEIRUT
at the Jewel Box Theater Center
Reviewed by Richard Scaffidi
Alan Bowne's grim, enraged vision of the near future, Beirut, imagines an ultimate epidemic (AIDS isn't specified, but sadly that was the late playwright's reference) in which the infected are forcibly quarantined and everyone else is forbidden by law from having sex or any intimate contact. Specifically, the scene is one victim's cell into which sneaks his non-infected girlfriend. She would rather risk brutal capture-not to mention catching his disease-than endure their separation. For him, the thrill of reuniting with her is in anguished conflict with fear for her safety, in every sense.
It's a blunt and compelling premise, although it would be more so if it had been written shorter than its roughly 70 minutes by excluding so much needless exposition about the disease itself. What's important for Beirut to succeed (apart from shaking us by the lapels with its obligatory social criticism) is bringing to life and poignancy the relationship between this man and woman. Here director Andrew S. Barth falls short, as do Randy Irwin and Carol Anne Raffa as the would-be lovers. Their problem is that the production is more preoccupied with flesh than heart.
Horniness is all. As alluring as it is to watch this beautiful, barely clad couple groping and writhing about, it would be far more erotic and altogether impactful if we sensed that their passion was not entirely crotch-bound. In this interpretation one imagines that if the disease magically vanished, people would emerge from their forced isolation not to embrace loved ones, but to throw a great orgy.
"Beirut" presented by Lower East Productions, at the Jewel Box Theater Center, 1951 Cahuenga Blvd., Hollywood. June 10-July 25.
(323) 469-4343.
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A DEVIL INSIDE
at the Whitefire Theatre
Reviewed by Les Spindle
A rose is a rose is a rose, but when is a mess not a mess? It's hard to describe the convoluted plot of David Lindsay-Abaire's absurdist farce A Devil Inside without giving the impression that the script is as dysfunctional as the bizarre characters. Surely there's something more to this nihilistic comedy about ultra-obsessive people than the sum of its parts. Think again. There's such a thing as a fine mess, but fine is not an adjective that readily comes to mind when pondering the hotbed of insanity currently inhabiting the stage at the Whitefire Theatre.
With nods to classic Greek tragedy and somber Russian literature, Lindsay-Abaire seems to be aiming for an apocalyptic parable about man's penchant for amorality and violence. As the diverse adventures of six characters unfold and eventually dovetail, one character happens to mention that Manhattan is sinking into the ocean. (Isn't that supposed to happen to California first?) But it's the all-over-the-map script that sinks first.
The grab bag of deranged characters includes the hyperactive Mrs. Slater (Christine Estabrook), who stores the enormous feet of her murdered 426-pound husband in a pickle jar; Gene (Danny Strong), her nerdy son, whom she pushes to avenge the 14-year-old murder; Carl (James Harper), a psychotic English Lit professor determined to act out the tragedies that he teaches; his student Caitlin (Linda Cardellini), a conniving student whose "nipples get hard" when she hears the nutty professor speak; Lily (Nancy Bell), a mysterious artist whose forte is painting feet, and Brad (Kevin Crowley), a slow-witted handyman who claims that the devil pops out of his eyeballs.
Despite the muddled material, director Jorge Cacheiro elicits some amusing performances. Estabrook fares best as the deadpan matriarch who speaks of dismemberment and multiple family tragedies with all of the passion of assembling a grocery list, and resorts to a witch-like spinning around whenever she wants to gain control. Cardellini is delightfully deranged as the sociopathic stalker who believes she is Anna Karenina. Strong excels as the dutiful Oedipus-inspired son, and Crowley elicits chuckles as the bedeviled imbecile. Harper works hard, but his character (as written) stays stuck on the same loony track with no variation, and Bell likewise has little to sink her teeth into.
Sean McMullen's anarchic set, composed of splotches and abstract objects, suggests ink blot test results from Ted Bundy. Heather Stagl's lighting and Courtney Fowles' costumes fit the strange goings-on. The lively background music (uncredited) sounds like Danny Elfman's score for The Nightmare Before Christmas. Come to think of it, Santa Claus hanging from a meat hook would make as much sense as the other mean-spirited elements in this largely inaccessible hodgepodge.
"A Devil Inside," presented by the Echo Theatre Company at the Whitefire Theatre, 13500 Ventura Blvd., Sherman Oaks. June 5-July 4. (310) 450-1878.