DYBBUK at a Traveling Jewish Theatre
Reviewed by Kerry Reid
S. Ansky, author of The Dybbuk, died before seeing his play performed. But he would undoubtedly be deeply gratified that, since its premiere in 1920, it has become the most frequently performed classic from Yiddish theatre. (A new adaptation by Tony Kushner is currently running at the Public Theater in New York.)
After seeing the luminous, moving, and haunting version by Bruce Myers for two actors now appearing at A Traveling Jewish Theatre, it's not hard to understand why this show has such appeal, even for the goyim among us. In Dybbuk, Myers (a member of Peter Brooks' company) has created a showcase for two actors playing more than a dozen characters without sacrificing any of the deep mystery, sadness, and moral conundrums at the heart of the tale.
Corey Fischer and Lise Bruneau, under the adept direction of Mark Samuels (who helmed ATJT's inaugural production of this show in 1989), conjure a world of hope, loss, doubt, faith, and love that endures beyond the grave with simplicity, humor, grace, and intelligence. The two triumph not merely in their admirable control of their physical instruments; rather, they transcend the physical aspects of the performance, the mechanics of the story, through a passionate and palpable belief in the power of the tale.
That's particularly significant given the story of the play. Chanon (Fischer), a poor Hasidic scholar, is pining with love for Leah (Bruneau), daughter of the wealthy Sender. He begins exploring the power of the mystical words and teachings contained in the Kabbalah in an attempt to win his suit, but dies in the process. On Leah's wedding day to another (wealthier) suitor, she invites Chanon to her wedding-and his spirit melds with hers. Leah's death following the exorcism of this dybbuk (or demon spirit) restores her to Chanon and provides moving emotional texture to the verse that marks the beginning and end of the play: 'Why has the soul fallen from its eternal heights to the abysmal depths? Within the fall lies the power to rise again.'
Myers' version begins at a leisurely pace, since the conceit is that Bruneau's and Fischer's characters are telling the story of Leah and Chanon to each other as part of the Sabbath. Fischer's Man grapples with the loss of faith; he is, he tells his wife, mourning 'the loss of the world that gave rise to these traditions.' Indeed, one of the saddest things about witnessing this splendid production is realizing that the European Hasidic culture was destroyed forever within decades of the play's first performance. The ghosts of ancestors are beautifully suggested by Caroline Stern's Chagall-like wall paintings, which provide shadowy palimpsests of figures observing the action, and by Jim Quinn's gorgeous lighting design, which creates magical pools of light and shadow.
In the end, though, it's the performers who carry the day and leave the most lasting impressions. As I left the theatre, I thought about how fall is the season for holidays that express so many of the themes present in Dybbuk: atonement, honoring of the dead, thanksgiving, celebration of rebirth. We often hear about the spiritual qualities of the theatre, but it's rare to actually find a show that contains them, which makes this Dybbuk a prize beyond pearls.
'Dybbuk,' presented by and at A Traveling Jewish Theatre, 2800 Mariposa St., San Francisco. Nov. 10-30. (415) 399-1809.
ACCIDENTAL DEATH OF AN ANARCHIST
at the Evidence Room
Reviewed by A.R. Clark
Run, do not walk, to see New Crime's production of Nobel Prize-winning playwright Dario Fo's Accidental Death of an Anarchist. Seriously, stop reading this review and buy a ticket now. This is everything small alternative theatre should be. Director Steve Pink and his New Crime gang have put together a visceral, frenetic ride that perfectly complements Fo's skewering of fascism and bureaucracy, and the cast is remarkable.
Any production of this play lives or dies with the part of the Fool, and Gregory Sporleder is a manic marionette that keeps the comedy churning at a furious pace. His intensity and physical daring are perfect for the role. And Lee Arenberg is wonderfully bombastic as the much-maligned Inspector Bertowski. Sarah DeVincentis' Sabrina Feletti is smug and to the point in all the right ways. Bill Cusack (who also designed the set) is hilarious as Chief Klugemar, desperately trying to hold his career together, though at times he plays the role in such a subdued manner that we can't hear him. Also very funny are V.J. Foster as the Officer and Brian Powell as Captain Pisani. Rounding out the cast quite capably are Mary Luby and Doug Dearth.
But the real star of the show is the way the ensemble works together-a testimony not just to the actors but to Pink's direction. The show is remarkably tight for all the wildness onstage. Adding to the cohesiveness is the live offstage music by Carla Azar and Eugine Goreshter, who immediately set the show's pace at the opening and drive it throughout. Haven't you gotten a ticket yet?
'Accidental Death of an Anarchist,' presented by New Crime Productions at the Evidence Room, 3542 Hayden Ave., Culver City. Nov. 14-Dec. 20. (310) 841-2799.
LE CIRQUE INVISIBLE
at the Bagley Wright Theatre
Reviewed by David-Edward Hughes
In my years of reviewing stage performances, I have never seen anything quite as audacious and delightful as Le Cirque Invisible (The Invisible Circus), which Seattle Repertory Theatre has happily booked as part of its season. This enchanting entertainment, conceived and performed by Charlie Chaplin's daughter Victoria and her husband Jean Baptiste Thierr e, is a series of circus, magic, musical, and vaudeville acts performed by the pair with tremendous skill, versatility, and panache.
The lovely Ms. Chaplin is an amazing physical performer who can contort her body into some very tight spots for some of the magic bits. She can also ride a unicycle, walk a highwire, swing fearlessly out above the first few rows of the audience, play a musical saw, and-well, it doesn't seem there is much she cannot do.
She does, however, leave the comedy to her husband, and Thierr e is a French combination of the more endearing traits and physicalities of Red Skelton and Benny Hill. He teases us with the promise of certain feats he cannot possibly accomplish, works wonders with comic masks, and performs positively delightful animal tricks with some rabbits, ducks, and other small animals.
There are dozens upon dozens of large and small props, ranging from chairs to musical glasses to zany bicycles, with which the pair create theatrical wonders. The only intrusion on the magical atmosphere at the performance reviewed was a sputtering and crackling speaker, which distorted the haunting music accompanying most of the action. But this small glitch could not take away from the spell cast by this at once greatest and most minimalist show on earth.
'Le Cirque Invisible,' presented by the Seattle Repertory Theatre at the Bagley Wright Theatre, 155 Mercer St., Seattle. Nov. 6-Dec. 6. (206) 443-2222.
THE HEIRESS
at the Berkeley Repertory Theatre
Reviewed by Kerry Reid
Henry James is currently undergoing the same sort of revival enjoyed by Jane Austen a couple of years ago, yet The Heiress, Ruth and Augustus Goetz's stage version of James' novel Washington Square, turns 50 this year. Berkeley Rep's production (co-produced with the Arizona Theatre Company, under the direction of David Wheeler) avoids most of the pitfalls inherent in staging mid-century costume dramas for a late 1990s audience, and is helped immeasurably by two breathtaking performances: Anne Torsiglieri as the na™ve, plain, awkward, shy, but loving Catherine Sloper, and Ken Ruta as her domineering, cold, but concerned physician father.
From her first entrance, in a much-too-fussy dress (the beautiful, lush period costumes are designed by Laura Crow) which she tugs at constantly, Torsiglieri's Catherine wins our hearts with her palpable desire to please, to fit into a world which has been harsh to her from her first breath.
Brooks Atkinson, in his review of the 1947 production, commented, 'It is difficult to make a stupid woman the heroine of an interesting play.' But Catherine, at least as conceived by Torsiglieri and Wheeler, is far from stupid, particularly with those few with whom she feels safe. Catherine relates a wickedly funny story to her widowed aunt Lavinia (played with cockeyed charm by Katherine Conklin), yet is unable to tell the same story moments later to her forbidding father.
When young Morris Townsend (played in too much of a contemporary, Eddie Haskell-like manner by Robert Parsons) enters Catherine's life, she falls headlong in love, despite the warnings of her father that Townsend is a dandy with eyes for nothing more than Catherine's inheritance-most of which will be denied her if she disobeys her father's iron will. As it turns out, Dear Old Dad is right about Morris: The young gallant runs off when he hears Catherine won't be able to keep him in the style to which he'd like to become accustomed.
But Dr. Sloper's failure to imbue Catherine with a sense of her own worth, and his inability to recognize that failure, forms the real dramatic crux of the play. Catherine reclaims herself by thrusting the facts of her father's de facto abandonment of her into his face with heartbreaking forthrightness-heartbreaking because, like so much in Catherine's life, the encounter is a case of too little, too late, coming after Sloper realizes he is dying. In a handy bit of irony, Sloper diagnoses his own imminent demise with the newly invented stethoscope-'a device for listening to peoples' insides,' he explains to his maid (the winsome Yumi Ann Sumida)-a skill he has never mastered.
The tragic force of this scene unfortunately makes Morris' return seeking Catherine's hand, two years after jilting her, anticlimactic. We already know that, though she may still love him, she has learned too much to trust him again. As Morris pounds on the door, Torsiglieri's Catherine ascends the grand staircase of Kate Edmunds' magnificent set-the same stairs she descended nearly three hours and an entire lifetime earlier- and we know that the cold comfort of spinsterhood is preferable to the company of men who cannot really love her.
'The Heiress,' presented by and at Berkeley Repertory Theatre, 2025 Addison Street, Berkeley. Nov. 12-Jan. 2, 1998. (510) 845-4700.
BURIED CHILD
at Theatre 40
Reviewed by J. Brenna Guthrie
At its best, a production of a Sam Shepard play is a unique experience. His works border the surreal, never completely making sense yet still revealing some basic truths of the human condition. So it is with his 1979 drama, Buried Child. With a seemingly simple story about a family desperate to keep its horrifying secret intact, Shepard explores questions of identity and familial ties in a way that ultimately leaves as many questions as it answers.
In 1996, Shepard revised the text-not exactly business as usual for a Pulitzer Prize-winning text. But in revisiting the work, Shepard found a way to clarify much of the action, cut away some dead wood, and bring much more resonance to each character's emotional situation as well as their collective dysfunction. Chicago's Steppenwolf Theatre Company found much success with this version last year, garnering numerous Tony nominations for its Broadway run, and now Theatre 40 gives Los Angeles audiences a relatively powerful look at Shepard's work.
Above all, director Flora Plumb displays an astute knowledge of what a work like this requires. Her pacing is perfect, allowing the quiet moments of revelation to unfold naturally without the production ever feeling bogged down. Plumb also knows how to handle her actors, never allowing the cast to take the easy way out with these tough characters.
Still, the acting is a mixed bag. William Frankfather gives a tremendously powerful performance as family patriarch Dodge, slowly tearing away the levels of denial to reveal the brutal truth. Rick Lenz brings a touching sincerity to oldest son Tilden, a man whose overwhelming troubles have driven him back into an almost childlike innocence. As the outsider Shelly, Gwendolyn Sanford's ability to switch on a dime from terror to tenderness is extraordinary.
On the debit side, Mary Gregory's performance as the matriarch Halie is surprisingly one-note, and Garrett Mathany is a touch too eager and innocent as grandson Vince. Darin Singleton gives an occasionally chilling first-act performances as younger brother Bradley, but his work after intermission falters.
Evan Bartoletti's slightly dilapidated farmhouse setting is a dreary yet ideal setting for the action, and Debra Garcia Lockwood's grayish lighting sets the perfect mood.
'Buried Child,' presented by and at Theatre 40, 241 Moreno Dr., Beverly Hills. Nov. 8-Dec. 21. (818) 789-8499.
OF MICE AND MEN
at the Egyptian Arena Theatre
Reviewed by Les Spindle
Sixty years after its premiere, Of Mice and Men, John Steinbeck's classic dramatization of his acclaimed novella, remains an indelibly heartrending portrait of loneliness, broken dreams, and platonic male love. In director Jacque Lynn Colton's lyrical interpretation of this challenging play, a handful of sublime performances and a meticulously rendered Depression-era milieu result in a mostly solid rendition.
Set in 1937, Steinbeck's drama focuses on the relationship between two roving farmhands who dream of making enough money to buy some property and etch out a degree of security amid the bleakest of times. Lennie (local theatre critic Travis Michael Holder) is a mentally slow but physically imposing man-child prone to sudden emotional outbursts. His close friend George (Randy Irwin) frequently becomes impatient with Lennie but nonetheless cares for him and tries to keep him out of trouble. When the duo accept work at a ranch in Central California, they encounter both friendliness and hostility from the workers and have a fateful encounter with the seductive wife (Lauren Chieco) of the boss' son Curley (Tyler Morrow).
The performances are unfortunately uneven. Holder expertly conveys both the frightened child and the dangerous brute that lurk in Lennie's troubled psyche. In an exemplary performance that matches his virtuoso work in the Met Theatre's recent The Crackwalker, Irwin skillfully balances George's gruff exterior with his underlying tenderness. As Candy, an elderly swamper desperately clinging to a ray of hope, Bobs Watson is devastatingly heartbreaking. Other fine characterizations are delivered by Sean McFarland, Brant Cotton, and John Freeland Jr. as ranch workers, and Peter Mele as the surly boss.
Less successful are Chieco, who plays the crucial role of Curley's nameless wife more as a demure girl-next-door than the predatory 'tart' described by the laborers; Morrow, who looks too young and lacks the menacing bravado of the trouble-making Curley, and Billy Lockwood, who gives a bland portrayal of Whit, another rancher.
Design credits are excellent, despite some opening-night glitches in Erin Hollenbaugh's sound recording. Scott Russell Cheek's set and costumes are authentic-looking and atmospheric. John Grant's lighting adds ambience, although an early 25-minute scene is so dimly lit that we might as well be attending a radio play.
'Of Mice and Men,' presented by Urban Haze Productions and Scott Russell Cheek, in association with the Grace Players and Natalija Nogulich at the Egyptian Arena Theatre, 1625 N. Las Palmas Ave., Hollywood. Nov 13-Dec 21. (888) 566-8499.
VOX
at the Actors' Gang Theater
Reviewed by Paul Birchall
In this occasionally mystifying and at times disjointed work of performance art, an actress (Rose Portillo) arrives at the theatre for the rehearsal of a play about Joan of Arc, but finds herself receiving weird instructions from legendary surrealist artist Antonin Artaud (Jon David Weigand), who rises from the dead to direct her performance. Meanwhile, a pair of prancing supporting players (Karen James, Daniel T. Parker) promptly start gibbering at her and waving their arms.
Joan's rise and devastating fall are described in a series of imaginative but fragmented conceits which link her life to that of misunderstood artistic genius Artaud, who was forcibly imprisoned in a lunatic asylum and subjected to numerous doses of electroshock therapy.
Director Tracy Young stages a colorful, fast-paced, and ingenious production which, though often baffling, is still full of richly evocative imagery. At one point, Artaud munches a cup of communion wafers like they're Pringles and devilishly spits them out on the floor. Later on, he covers Joan with construction paper and rose petals while she's interrogated by a smug, jargon-spouting, 1990s-style shrink (Parker).
Writers Portillo, Theresa Chavez, and Alan Pulner grapple with a formidable number of concepts but don't adequately develop many of them, with nearly impenetrable results. During scenes in which Artaud speaks to Joan, we're left thinking that the voices she hears aren't from the angels but from a surrealist stage director of the early 20th century. Artaud might have been a brilliant artist, but was he God's anointed?
It's a little hard to comment accurately on the performances, since much of the acting work is on the level of exercises in which people wriggle on the floor, beat each other with ropes, and mutter, 'Joan will put you on the throne' over and over. Still, the way Portillo evolves from callow actress to holy saint is intriguing, and Weigand's tyrannical, deranged Artaud is suitably intense and unnerving.
'Vox,' presented by About Productions at the Actors' Gang Theater, 6209 Santa Monica Blvd., Hollywood. Nov. 7-Dec. 7. (213) 660-8587.
JUNGLE OF CITIES
at City Garage
Reviewed by Rob Kendt
It's disorienting to see what we may think of as a 'Brechtian' style of theatre-that in-your-face, seam-showing, presentational, cynically didactic Verfremdungseffekt about which the German poet/playwright expounded altogether too much-executed as coolly and dispassionately as it is in Frederique Michel's new production of Brecht's Jungle of Cities. Perhaps because similar material is so often given a high-energy, commedia dell'art -inflected treatment, it's strange to see it taken, and played, so seriously.
The effect of Michel's considered staging is that the extraordinary, pungent music of Brecht's poetry, in Anselm Holo's admirably gritty translation, registers with rare and stunning clarity. It also means, however, that it's rough going-two and a half hours of pointed indirection and abstraction in place of a plot, and several redundant if pleasingly witty scene-change interludes with a bevy of game chorines (Ruthie Grossley, Aura Wright, and Victoria Coulson) and a leering, sing-songy emcee in whiteface (Paradorn Thiel).
The text is a prototypical Brecht fable a la Mahagonny, set in an imagined backlot version of pre-WWI Chicago, in which an inscrutable Asian lumber dealer, Shlink (a mesmerizing Richard Grove), challenges a meek young librarian from the sticks, Garga (a slick Justin Davanzo), to an inexplicable and unmotivated battle of wits involving, natch, bald-faced fraud, both literal and metaphorical whoring, and criss-crossing betrayals and counterattacks. Implicated in the proceedings are a glib pimp (a sporty Carlos Alvarado), a boisterous businessman (Joel Drazner, over-doing the Chicahhgoe accent and seeming ill at ease onstage), Garga's miserable parents (a raving Peter Lucas and a stiff Louise Barlow), his innocent sister (Anna Pond, who makes plainness of looks and speech into striking assets), as well as a wizened floozy and a dumb sailor (Kimberly Murphy and Ted Wycech).
The action, such as it is, plays out on Charles A. Duncombe Jr.'s breathtaking bar set and in front of a canvas scrim. But despite its presentational touches, the production's even tone makes it feel more like kitchen-sink than epic theatre. It is perhaps best appreciated as a finely staged evening of poetry-which, more than his convoluted performance theory, remains Brecht's real contribution to theatrical art, after all.
'Jungle of Cities,' presented by and at City Garage, 1340 1/2 4th St. (alley), Santa Monica. Oct. 31-Dec. 7. (310) 319-9939.
GROUNDLINGS NEXT 5 EXITS
at the Groundling Theatre
Reviewed by Neil Hoffman
Billed as 'not just another greasy yuck stop,' Groundlings Next 5 Exits is the latest mainstage show by the famed improvisational comedy troupe. Directed by Deanna Oliver, Next 5 consists of 18 sets, preceded by a band overture. Four are improvs in which the audience is asked to contribute titles or setups. This reviewer provided the inspiration for the first improv, offering 'East of Bostwick' when asked for a title to a hypothetical Shakespeare play. Cast members Mary Jo Smith, Michael Loprete, and Sean Hogan came up with a gender-bent pseudo-Shakespearean skit after another audience member dictated that Smith should portray the king and Hogan the queen of the mythical realm.
The best received of the rehearsed sketches were 'Such a Deal,' with Smith and writer Karen Maruyama, 'Rebound Man' with Loprete (writer), Maruyama, and John Crane, and 'Moods for Moderns,' with Loprete and Roy Jenkins (writers) as house painters/modern dance artists who slip into their leotards to finish a job while the owners (Jennifer Joyce and Brian Palermo) slip off to the ballet.
Performances at the Groundlings include live music led by drummer/musical director Teddy Zambetti, which would be better appreciated if amplification levels were reduced below the levels required for the Hollywood Bowl.
'Groundlings Next 5 Exits,' presented by and at the Groundling Theatre, 7307 Melrose Ave., W. Hollywood. Sept. 26-Feb. 13. (213) 934-9700.
THE FANTASTICKS
at the Whitefire Theater
Reviewed by Terri Roberts
The world's longest-running musical, The Fantasticks, has been playing Off-Broadway for 37 years. Undoubtedly you know the characters-a boy (Matt), a girl (Luisa), their two fathers (Hucklebee and Bellomy), and a wall (the Mute)-and the story: The fathers plot to have their children fall in love by building a wall between them and pretending to feud. When their plan works, they hire the flamboyant El Gallo to abduct Luisa so Matt can save her. He does, and thus the father's 'feud' conveniently comes to an end. So does Act One. But there's more life to be experienced after this happy ending, and in the second act the harder lessons of love are learned.
The Unicorn Theatre Group's production of The Fantasticks has some fun moments and nice performances, but is fatally uneven. With her blonde hair and sweet smile, Alli Mauzey looks the part of lovestruck Luisa, but lacks her willingly wide open vulnerability. And vocally she's the weakest in the group. While she clearly has a lovely, trained voice, she hasn't much sustaining power behind it; at times it barely carries to the second row.
As Matt, Robert Kane appears much more comfortable in Act Two, after life has beaten him up, than as the more na™ve Matt of Act One. Perhaps most disappointingly, there is little true intimacy or chemistry between the two lovers in 'Soon It's Gonna Rain' and 'They Were You.'
As El Gallo, Mark Toomajian displays a nice comic flair in his battle with Matt over Luisa, but perhaps because of his own youth can't sell the show's most heartfelt and memorable song, 'Try to Remember.' Joe Hoffman and Barry Scott Silver have some engaging moments as Hucklebee and Bellomy, but Hoffman is the stronger of the pair. Peter Hill is adequate as Mortimer.
There are a few standouts, though: As the Mute, Kerry Riccio's fabulous facial expressions, her obvious charm, and her willingness to play and have fun are this production's bright spot. Also notable is director Jim Bell as Henry, the aging but enthusiastic Shakespearean actor.
Marlene Gothold provides the spirited piano accompaniment.
'The Fantasticks,' presented by the Unicorn Theatre Group at the Whitefire Theatre, 13500 Ventura Blvd., Sherman Oaks. Nov. 7-30. (888) 566-8499.
REPEAT W/ MADELINE
at FIX Restaurant
Reviewed by Wenzel Jones
The use of terms in the press kit such as 'environmental,' 'eavesdropping,' and 'dining' whetted my appetite for what I imagined would be a swank meal partaken in the midst of scandalous goings-on by characters I would come to know so well I would be adding them to my naughty Christmas card list.
Swank (-ish) though the dining may be, the proceedings come to a halt as Jim McDermott's story bursts through the door in the lissome duo of Irene (Cathy Michon) and Madeline (Marlene Begg), two young ladies who wish to indulge in a bit of Clare Booth Luce writ small: plumbing endlessly subtle ways to control a man. So it's dinner followed by theatre, though to call it 'dinner theatre' would be incorrect, as the food is better and nobody sings.
Irene has received a letter from Repete (J.P. Manoux), a Wally Cox sort who spotted her at the Beverly Center and, upon discovering they had a mutual acquaintance, wangled an introduction. Beneath his nebbish facade beats the heart of the new Rostand, and the letters begin to flow. This is where we come in. Irene shares the letters with Madeline and Madeline, without ever laying eyes on the man€
Bruce Blair does his best to keep the action from being tied to the table top, but never manages to convey that sense of voyeurism by invitation that made, say, Tony and Tina's Wedding so irresistible. For a script like this to stand alone as a theatre piece, it needs to be sturdier. Begg gets to do little more than function as a sounding board, while Michon is just too self-involved to be terribly interesting. Manoux, however, shows a real talent for the loftier reaches of his speeches, while proving to be a skillful comedian as well.
'Repeat w/ Madeline,' presented by Rebus Productions at FIX Restaurant, 6266 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood. Oct. 20-Dec. 3. (213) 464-3610.