THEATHER
WOODBURY'S WHAT EVER:
AN AMERICAN ODYSSEY IN 8 ACTS
at 2100 Square Feet
Reviewed by Brad Schreiber
When a friend dared Heather Woodbury to write and perform a new show every week, the chameleon-like Woodbury gestated, in nine months, a 20-hour epic. It's since been edited down to a tidy li'l eight-act cycle of 10 hours and 100 characters; four evenings of two acts are running in rep, and on the evidence of the program reviewed--Acts Five and Six--each works well as a stand-alone play. What Ever is unlike any other one-person show, save for perhaps Jack Aaronson's Moby Dick, for it is not just a numbers game. Woodbury's dialogue has a richness and diversity that sweeps the audience into her world.
And it's a wacky, poetic landscape with fine direction and editing from Dudley Saunders. In Acts Five and Six, young Skeeter is in New York with his Aunt Jean, an ex-hooker who now sells crystal healing seminars. Through the "Rave-Net," the lad stays in touch with his twin paramours: Clove, hitching to the Northwest on a vision quest that involves talking brussel sprouts and the ghost of Kurt Cobain, and Sable, who, in a hilariously uninhibited sequence, uses sex to get Skeeter to renounce his love for Clove.
That's a good indication of the loopy and complex plot, and Woodbury eschews all but microphone and chairs to create this surreal "performance novel." Her penchant for New Age parody is ably offset by youth-speak, as Skeeter and his twin muses fracture the language with entreaties like "Serenify!" Woodbury's lyrical monologues are best exemplified by Southern housewife Polly recalling Easter as a white child in an all-black church. Woodbury breaks our heart with the raw beauty of homeless Bushie, who sleeps on NYC subway tracks, crying with guilt and relief over the drug addict she inadvertently forced into recovery, or aged, feisty Violet, who recounts to her dog with exceptional power a dangerous abortion undertaken years before. Whether it's all eight parts or just two, be part of this astonishing American calvalcade.
"Heather Woodbury's What Ever: An American Odyssey in 8 Acts," presented by Soby-Scott Entertainment at 2100 Square Feet, 5615 San Vicente Blvd., Los Angeles. Mar. 12-Apr. 19. (213) 660-8587.
BRING IN
'DA NOISE, BRING IN
'DA FUNK
at the Ahmanson Theatre
Reviewed by Scott Proudfit
They brought it all right: George C. Wolfe brought it. Derick K. Grant brought it. Thomas Silcott brought it. The whole cast brought it--in stereo. Bring in 'Da Noise, Bring in 'Da Funk has brought to Los Angeles a livewire of exuberant theatricality, dance, and soul.
Wolfe's cast also shows that 'Da Beat is too big to be owned by one man, Savion Glover. Rather than trying to reproduce Glover's magic, Wolfe has retooled the show for West Coast specifications: The cast is younger and wilder, and the L.A. connection to the black struggle in America adds its own resonance to the already powerful story of tap, reverberating till the walls are practically shaken down.
The opening number explodes with an energy rarely scene on the West Coast stage, as Silcott as 'da voice raps mighty words, Debra Byrd (in for Vickilyn Reynolds) as 'da singer wails out her joy, and the cast of incendiary dancers attacks the floor with its tap shoes and sets the house on fire. It's one of those rare theatre moments that knocks you back in your seat with awe.
As the show progresses, retelling the black experience through the medium of tap, it becomes apparent that Grant, who assumes Glover's role, is up to the challenge. An original company member, Grant emerges as the mentor of the group, particularly in the improvised "Hittin'" scene at the end of the play. He's a remarkably mature dancer who fills Glover's shoes admirably, even in the solo mirror sequence "Green, Chaney, Buster, Slyde."
As well as the show begins, it's the second act that really tears up the place. The series of vignettes called "Where's the Beat?" follows the young tap dancer the Kid (B. Jason Young) as he arrives in Hollywood during the early talkies, only to find that he must sell out to succeed. Obviously, this section echoes louder in L.A. than it could anywhere else. The brutal satire of sections like "The Uncle Huck-A-Buck Song," which parodies black tap dancers forced to step in time with pushy white darlings a la Shirley Temple, speaks directly to the industry past and present.
And it's hard not to feel the ghost of the L.A. riots during the historical sections "1977-Blackout" and "1987-Gospel/Hip Hop Rant," even though these pieces shout out East Coast events. Still, the fact of the matter is it's an American story, not a New York or an L.A. story--just as it's not only Glover's story but every tapper's story, as well.
Fifteen-year-old Dominique Kelley was my personal favorite of the energetic bunch; drummers David Peter Chapman and Dennis J. Dove are a close second. All the performers are excellent, though--the others being the sly Christopher A. Scott and lightning-fast Miles Jeffries (in for Jimmy Tate). All production credits are first-rate, particularly Jules Fisher and Peggy Eisenhauer's lights.
Director Wolfe proves himself a visionary yet again with this production, particularly in his use of images at the end of Act One which tie together physical poses similar in ragtime, industrialism, and fascism. In these moments, Bring in 'Da Noise show layers of intellectual analysis behind the flash, and lets theatre do what it does best: show the join between those things that are distinct yet continuous. Take my advice and catch the beat before it's gone.
"Bring in 'Da Noise, Bring in 'Da Funk," presented by the Joseph Papp Public Theater/New York Shakespeare Festival, et. al, at the Ahmanson Theatre, 135 N. Grand Ave., Los Angeles. Mar. 4-Apr. 26. (213) 628-2772.
SHILOH
at the Forum Theatre
Reviewed by Les Spindle
Writer/director John Slade's Shiloh is a stirring and deftly staged dramatization of Shelby Foote's fact-based Civil War novel of the same name. Slade's treatment of the material, which favors an episodic structure over narrative continuity, is stronger in atmospherics than in dramaturgy, but it's bolstered here by poignant performances and eloquent musical interludes. Slade and company ultimately provide a heartrending glimpse at the human issues surrounding an important historical milestone.
The play begins six years after the end of the Civil War, when veterans and their families convene at a church in Tennessee, the original site of the infamously bloody 1862 battle of Shiloh. In a charismatic performance, Andrew Prine plays Reverend Metcalf, the story's narrator, who lends a semi-documentary flavor to the proceedings, while infusing his introductions to the episodes with wit and keen insight. As the story segues into flashbacks, Prine's young alter-ego is appealingly portrayed by Brett Elliott as the idealistic soldier Palmer Metcalf.
Ironically, when the Confederate and Union armies clash in bloody battle, it ultimately matters little for which side one is fighting; the dying and wounded soldiers and grieving families suffer in much the same way. The characters view the tragic folly of war in different ways: The young Metcalf sees it as the byproduct of misguided Romanticism; Soldier Klein (superbly played by Derek Medina) believes both sides want the same thing, but just don't realize it; the young black soldier Clay (skillfully interpreted by Terry Woodberry) exemplifies the pointlessness of the conflict by defecting from the Confederate to the Union side. The overall ensemble is excellent. Standout performances in multiple roles are delivered by Don Swayze, David Himes, and Kelie McIver, who also boasts an enchanting singing voice in a lovely solo.
The sublimely achieved ambience comes courtesy of Jack Allway's moody lighting effects, Mike Roehr's simple but impressive unit set, Bruce Bui's authentic-looking costumes, Dani Brown's stylish choreography, Swayze's credibly staged fight scenes, and a handful of powerful songs Slade has composed to supplement authentic tunes from the period. The haunting finale, "Let Peace Begin With Me," led by Prine, will send chills down your spine.
"Shiloh," presented by the Santa Susana Repertory Company and California Lutheran University at the Forum Theatre, Thousand Oaks Civic Arts Plaza, 2100 E. Thousand Oaks Blvd., Thousand Oaks. Mar. 13-29. (805) 583-8700.
OLD WICKED
SONGS
at the Sobrato Auditorium
Reviewed by Judy Richter
Nominated for the 1996 Pulitzer Prize for drama after a successful Off-Broadway run, Jon Marans' brilliant Old Wicked Songs is receiving its Northern California premiere in a beautifully acted, deftly directed production by San Josƒ Repertory Theatre. Marans weaves his multifaceted story around composer Robert Schumann's 1840 Dichterleibe (A Poet's Love), Op. 48, a cycle of 16 songs, or lieder, set to poems by Heinrich Heine.
It is this song cycle that a young American piano prodigy, Stephen Hoffman (Jay Douglas), is forced to study and sing at the behest of his Viennese teacher, Professor Josef Mashkan (Ray Reinhardt). The mechanics of singing, however, are secondary to the emotions implicit and explicit in the music. In turn, those emotions both reflect and propel the relationship between teacher and student, allowing each to learn more about the other and about himself.
The beauty of the play is in the way both men's stories mesh, and that both come to terms with an important facet of their lives: their Jewishness and the Holocaust. Despite the years that separate them, both have things in common, especially when it comes to denying their Jewish identity. The irony is that young Stephen embraces and proclaims it first, but that he can do so only because the older, wiser professor has taught him so much. Then, because of Stephen's forthrightness, the professor finally has the courage to reveal not only that he's a Jew but that he was in a concentration camp.
Another beautiful aspect of the play is the growing trust and love between the two men--not a sexual love but one borne of caring and sharing. Both Reinhardt and Douglas are marvelous in portraying this developing love and their characters' emotional journeys. Reinhardt has a spellbinding scene in which he describes the beauties of Vienna, while Douglas later enthralls the audience with Stephen's description his visit to Dachau. And just as the professor stresses that some of the most heartfelt emotions are perceived in silence, the scene in which he finally tells Stephen about his Holocaust experiences achieves its power chiefly through a wordless exchange: As Reinhardt mouths the professor's words, Douglas reacts, growing more and more moved until he sobs.
Evan Parker's lighting design, B. Modern's costumes, and Michael Ganio's scenic design complement the drama and character development. Craig Bohmler serves as musical director, as both actors must sing. Orchestrating all of this drama is director John McCluggage, who has a keen sense of its musical pacing. Because this play resonates on so many levels and because this production is so well done, it stays with the viewer long after the final bows.
"Old Wicked Songs," presented by the San Josƒ Repertory Theatre at the Sobrato Auditorium, 101 Paseo de San Antonio, San Josƒ. Mar. 13-Apr. 5. (408) 291-2255.
DAMES AT SEA
at the Fallon House Theatre
Reviewed by Wenzel Jones
Conventional wisdom has it that some things are better in the country: air, produce, illicit affairs Oh, and musicals. The team of Roger Bean, Janet Miller, and Sean Paxton (director, choreographer, and musical director, respectively), having charmed L.A. with last year's production of Olympus on My Mind at the Odyssey, are now combining talents in the provinces in a space that puts its fetid urban cousins to shame. The seamless direction and choreography sparkle with wit both subtle and not-so in this matchless feel-good show.
Paxton sets the tone--that of the tongue fairly boring its way through the cheek--by having the taped orchestra tune up. The Depression-era travails of Ruby (Pam Wilson) ensue in quick order and involve the familiar elements of walking off the bus and into a Broadway show, falling in love with Dick (David Brannen) at first sight, and taking over for the fallen warhorse of a star at the last moment, all in less than one solar circuit.
Wilson's Ruby is sweet without being treacly, while Brannen is simply perfect, countering Ruby's demure nature with a refreshing boldness and possessed of one of those singing voices we croakers dream of. Michelle Holmes is not a woman comprised of hard edges, so her Mona works better in the numbers where the character is parodied (her torch-song buffoonery is a joy) than when she needs to show her "bolts and rivets." (Time well-spent in a drag bar would be my suggestion.) Katherine Best takes up the Nancy Walker mantle with aplomb as the brash little chorine Joan, and is well-matched with the delightful Lance La Shelle in the parallel coupling with Lucky. Mark Clark ably rounds out the cast in the dual Hennesey/Captain role.
The glorious costumes of Mary Saadatmanesh may be thought of as the sumptuous gift wrap on a most enjoyable package. Take my advice: Get out of town.
"Dames at Sea," presented by the Sierra Repertory Theatre at the Fallon House Theatre, Columbia State Historic Park, Columbia. Mar. 13-Apr. 26. (209) 532-3120.
POWER PLAYS
at A Contemporary Theatre
Reviewed by David-Edward Hughes
If laughter-hungry Off-Broadway audiences don't respond to Power Plays, the often achingly funny collaboration of comedy greats Alan Arkin and Elaine May, when it arrives there in April, then I'm sure Seattle audiences would welcome the production back for an open-ended run. May and Arkin are joined onstage by their actor progeny Jeannie Berlin and Anthony Arkin, and these "kids" more than hold their own with their elders.
Act One is comprised of two short one-acts, May's The Way of All Fish, in which an overbearing employer (May) suddenly sees her mousy, nearly invisible secretary in a new, rather threatening light, and Arkin's Virtual Reality, in which two inept criminals (the Arkins) rehearse for a crime. Act Two features all four in May's frenetically farcical In and Out of the Light, or Dr Kessleman's End, set in a dental office, involving the dentist (Alan Arkin), his nurse and would-be sexual plaything (May), a hypochondriac after-hours patient (Berlin), and the dentist's son, a dental school disaster who wants to come out of the closet to Dad (Anthony Arkin). May's two pieces are funny (though the dental play could be trimmed a bit), Arkin's is masterful, original comic writing, and the three fit well together.
Alan Arkin, who also directed all three plays with ease and panache, is a study in subtle comic acting throughout. As the older thug in Virtual Reality, he earns his laughs effortlessly, and as Dr. Kessleman, he anchors the farce by being as real as possible within May's zany scenario. May, who has one of the most unique vocal qualities I've heard since Judy Holliday, is solidly amusing as the lady executive and gut-bustingly hilarious as the blonde bimbo nurse with a checkered past in kinky showbiz. She also remains one great-looking lady. Berlin conveys subtle comic menace as the suddenly empowered secretary, and is a mirthful mess of mania as the hysterical patient. Anthony Arkin neatly pairs with his dad as the confused young thug, and creates an engaging nebbish as the dentist's son. Most importantly, the four play well together in their respective twosomes and in the final quartet.
Michael McGarty has created three distinctive and impressive-looking if slightly cumbersome sets, subtly lit by lighting designer Adam Silverman. The cast looks great in Michael Krass' fitting costumes, and a special nod goes to Andrew Keister for the well-executed sound effects in The Way of All Fish.
"Power Plays," presented by and at A Contemporary Theatre, 700 Union St., Seattle. Mar. 12-29. (206) 292-7676.
IVANOV
at the Pacific Resident Theatre
Reviewed by Paul Birchall.
Gar Campbell's highly internalized production of Chekhov's early country drama is arrestingly acted, with lusciously executed work from virtually all the players. But even the scenes of so-called comedy are no match for the encircling darkness that quickly overpowers and stifles all hope for the play's isolated souls.
Near-destitute landlord Ivanov (Paul Perri) is in despair, trapped in a dull marriage with doting but consumptive wife Anna Petrovna (Marilyn Fox), who seems capable of doing nothing to allay his self-absorbed ennui. The only breath of air in his life comes from his frequent visits to the dacha of his neighbors, the Lebedevs (Lawrence Arancio and Channing Chase), whose attractive young daughter Sasha (Valerie Dillman) is smitten with the nihilistic Ivanov. Meanwhile, Ivanov's equally bored, remarkably cynical uncle, the Count (William Dennis Hunt), commences a flirtatious dalliance with plump but wealthy neighbor, Babakina (Mary Van Arsdel).
Campbell's staging is particularly rich in subtext; virtually every line anyone utters is suffused with layers of meaning. This gives the show's most important scenes a stunning emotional truthfulness--but it also occasionally has the effect of lending a sour heaviness, a ponderousness, to sequences that should be lighter in spirit. The production also has frequent pacing problems and lapses into inappropriate listlessness.
Still, virtually all of the production's characters possess strikingly complex and believable personalities, with the possible exception of Perri's cranky, baleful-looking Ivanov, who, with his clenched jaw and dour expression, hardly seems like someone even a na•ve girl would flip for.
More pleasing are Fox's touchingly tragic Anna Petrovna and Arsdel's child-like Babakina. Hunt's majestic Count, with a cheerful bonhomie that's unable to mask a deep-seated bitterness and self-loathing, is also a wry and adroitly subtle performance. Audrey Eisner's beautifully elaborate costumes and Victoria Profitt's minimalist set create an intimate mood that feels as much influenced by Ibsen and Ingmar Bergman as Chekhov.
"Ivanov," presented by and at the Pacific Resident Theatre, 703 Venice Blvd., Venice. Mar. 14-May 2. (213) 660-8587.
THE BIBLE:
THE COMPLETE WORD OF GOD (ABRIDGED)
at the Marin Theatre Company
Reviewed by Kerry Reid
You've got to hand it to the guys in the Reduced Shakespeare Company for taking on what they call "the greatest story ever accepted as fact." After all, in the wake of Monty Python's masterpiece The Life of Brian, it would seem that any further satirical deconstruction of the Good Book is redundant.
Indeed, the three comic actors comprising the Reduced Shakespeare Company here (in a show that runs in repertory with The Complete History of America (Abridged) at Marin Theatre Company) don't hit the heights of heretical delight contained in the Python film. Still, Matthew Croke, Reed Martin, and Austin Tichenor provide plenty of laughs in this breakneck trip through the Old Testament (Act One) and the New (Act Two.)
Apart from a few jabs at the Christian Right, the Reduced lads rely chiefly on physical humor, sight gags, and bad puns more than gloves-off assaults on the Holy Book. The three play a variety of characters but manage to establish their own comic personae early on: Croke, who plays all the women's roles, is the young, na•ve, and none-too-bright one in the troupe, the bald Martin is the curmudgeon, and Tichenor is the brains of the outfit.
Overall, the first act is the tighter of the two, but that may be mainly because the stories in that section of the Bible are so over-the-top anyway. A comic highlight occurs when God explains to Abraham (Martin) why he needs males to be circumcised: "I'm making a wallet," Tichenor's God intones from a backstage microphone. A very funny multilingual rendering of the Tower of Babel vis-a-vis the old vaudeville sketch about a man coming home and discovering his neighbor with his wife also works well.
The second act seems a trifle flat by comparison (again, that could simply be because inevitable comparisons to the Pythons kept playing over in my head--the same reason it was at first hard to watch The Last Temptation of Christ). The audience participation segment of the show, involving a singalong to "Old McDonald," ends up here as the Noah's Ark story, bumped from the first act by Croke and Tichenor against the strenuous objections of Martin, whose obsession with the story is manifested in a small wooden ark he keeps trying to insert into the proceedings.
The Reduced Shakespeare Company shows off some New Vaudeville tumbling and juggling, with musical numbers which, though a little hard to follow over Tichenor's electric piano, are goofy and jazzy. Phil Englehardt's set relies upon a very Terry Gilliamesque backdrop, and the variety of props and costumes, changed with lightning speed, serve the high-octane proceedings well.
"The Bible: The Complete Word of God (Abridged)," running in repertory with "The Complete History of America (Abridged)," presented by and at Marin Theatre Company. Feb. 26-Mar. 29. (415) 388-5208.
HOME GROWN
at the Ventura Court Theatre
Reviewed by Sally Johnson
It's not a question of right or wrong for the Hockers, a closely knit Ohio farming family who are barely making ends meet on their 180 acres of barren land. Money is scarce. So when second cousin Don (Brian Cousins) shows up fresh from California (where else?) with a big idea, a roll of dough, and a bag of marijuana seeds in his pocket, he sets this low I.Q. family a thinkin': Maybe growing a hefty crop of maryjane wouldn't be such a bad thing. Soon they're growin' it, smokin' it, makin' a profit, and feelin' a whole helluva lot better for it. Mmm mmm, them brownies sho is good!
This is Twin Peaks on dope, but without the advantage of perverse character development or a particularly gripping storyline. The family portrait of this slow-moving, isolated, and mentally dim clan--and that's all before they start smoking--presents a stock list of losers. Roy (Guy Boyd), the pot-bellied family patriarch and a Korean War vet, sits around picking up radio signals from his cranium plate. His wife Shirl (Lois Foraker) is a frowzy, dependable housewife who also drives a school bus. Jenny, their adult daughter (Karen S. Gregan), downs wine coolers and mopes around, and her son, Luke (Jeremy Maxwell), a sensitive lad, is starting to show symptoms of M.S. Then there's a feisty, gun-toting great grandma (Patience Cleveland) and Shirl's brother Dick (Richard Kuhlman), a complete wacko into paramilitary gear and shooting off his mouth about his Apocalypse Now-inspired "Nam experiences."
The very talented ensemble I saw (the play is double-cast) bristles with understated intensity, and Mark Worthington's tactile set design of a kitchen interior and fold-out clapboard barn appeals with its flat collage effect. For all that, Home Grown isn't easy to recommend. Like a little-used rusted combine, Rick Cleveland's script needs some oiling and alignment in the way of dramatic suspense. Under Paul McCrane's direction, short individual scenes lay out some funny moronic interactions between family members trying to communicate in the best way they know how--with monosyllables and serious attitude--but the big picture is lackluster. Familiar hot-button topics like Geraldo, war, drugs, cancer, guns, and so forth pop up like so many mushrooms, but unfortunately, like mushrooms, they don't add much.
The most complex moral issue, and charged moment of the play--namely, what to do about Jenny's ex (Butch Hammett), a sheriff's deputy, who stumbles onto their illegal crop--presents a humorous and dangerous dilemma resolved in a trigger-happy ending that comes in like a lion, full of dramatic potential, but goes out like a lamb, not with a bang but a whimper.
"Home Grown," presented by the Echo Theater Company in association with the Ventura Court Theater Alliance at the Ventura Court Theater, 12417 Ventura Court, Studio City. Mar. 14-Apr. 5. (213) 660-8587.
AVENUE X
at the Lyceum
Reviewed by Jeff Niesel
Somewhere out there is a great story about the way doo-wop developed in the African-American and Italian-American communities in Brooklyn in the late 1950s and early '60s. Avenue X (directed by Sam Woodhouse, book and lyrics by John Jiler and music by Ray Leslee) is not that story. Despite some great singing, the play's disjointed plot never comes together, and its criticisms of the racism of the period are hammered home like a blow to the head.
To its credit, Avenue X has a great look. Robin Roberts' set, a mishmash of chain-link fences and dilapidated trash cans, has an appropriately urban feel. The two-tiered structure also enables the singers to position themselves so their voices can be heard distinctly. But Avenue X is a play without a climax. Ostensibly, the play's dramatic tension should build after Pasquale (Gary Lowery), an Italian-American, decides he wants to collaborate with Milton (Seth Sharp), an African-American singer he met one day while singing in the sewer (which offers natural amplification and reverb). Pasquale's singing partners Ubazz (Duane Daniels) and Chuck (Ramone McLane) have left him on the day of a singing contest and Pasquale thinks Milton can help him win.
Racial tension, however, gets in the way. Chuck denounces Pasquale, while Milton's alcoholic father Roscoe (John-Martin Green), a former singer himself, advises his son against competing. In one well-written scene, Roscoe and Chuck try to outsing each other. It's just too bad that the scene's subtlety is erased by the fist-fight that closes it.
With such a clunky script, the actors struggle to bring the play's drama to life. McLane can't get the despair right as Chuck tries to commit suicide after Pasquale's sister Barbara (Julie Jacobs) turns him down; Jacobs' acerbic Barbara makes a rough transition into a heartfelt singer at a St. Cecilia's Day festival, and Leata Galloway struggles to find the warmth of her character, Milton's mother, as she encourages her son to go to the contest. With so many competing subplots, Avenue X simply takes too many detours to make a point that is obvious anyway.
"Avenue X," presented by the San Diego Repertory Theatre at the Lyceum, Horton Plaza, San Diego. Mar. 13-Apr. 5. (619) 544-1000.
FORSAKING ALL OTHERS
at the Powerhouse Theater
Reviewed by Terri Roberts
Everything about the world premiere of Brian Dykstra's new play, Forsaking All Others, is stark and accusatory: minimalist black and red set, four hanging interrogation room-like lights, basic black costumes with only the occasional accent of muted color, and dialogue that varies more in volume than in range. Forsaking All Others, as you've probably guessed, is about infidelity and its resulting pain and ruin. In a stilted series of vignettes, Dykstra follows the disintegration of the relationships between four friends as their sexual betrayals grow deeper and ever more hurtful.
Married couple Alan (Bill Mondy) and Jennifer (Erin J. O'Brien) are friends with David (Brett Rickaby) and Cloe (Kimber Riddle). Unbeknownst to his wife, Alan has already had numerous flings during their five-year marriage. Now he sets up Jennifer and David to have an affair while he is away on business. At the same time he manipulates Cloe to sleep with him, though he well knows that David and Cloe have long danced on the edge of becoming lovers. All this is done so Alan can reconcile his own infidelities by leading his wife and friends down the same path. What else are friends for?
The biggest problem with this show--apart from the zero chemistry between anyone except Rickaby and O'Brien--is its characters. Alan is such charmless, egotistical sleaze that it's hard to imagine what Jennifer saw in him in the first place, or what's kept her married to this creep. There's nothing to care about in this man--nothing to make us even want to understand why he would treat his friends and family this way. He says he doesn't want to be monogamous, yet he wants to be married to Jennifer. Unfortunately, Dykstra doesn't let us understand why. Rickaby's David is the most fully developed of the four, and O'Brien's Jennifer is the most vulnerable. Scenes with these two, particularly when all hell breaks loose in the second act, are the most affecting of the show.
Forsaking All Others is confessional theatre; everyone gets his moment to sit down and talk to the audience under the glare of the overhead bare-bulb light. The giant gold gilt picture frame surrounding the stage gives the impression we're either looking at a painting (a still life, most likely) or gazing into a mirror. Neither prospect is very appealing.
If Dykstra wants to draw us into the world of infidelity and help us understand it, he needs to crack open these people's hearts, stop all the shouting, and quietly let us glimpse what's inside. Right now, virtually all we see is what's going on in their heads, and it isn't a pretty picture at all.
"Forsaking All Others," presented by Freeplay and the Powerhouse Theatre at the Powerhouse Theatre, 3116 Second St., Santa Monica, Mar. 12-Apr. 10. (818) 789-8499