STONEWALL JACKSON'S HOUSE
at the Allen Theatre
Reviewed by David-Edward Hughes
"This play is dangerous!" said a disgruntled audience member as he exited before the first act curtain at the opening night performance of Jonathan Reynolds' in-your-face satirical comedy Stonewall Jackson's House. Though the after-show crowd was abuzz with opinions, there were no other obvious walk-outs. Instead there was a qualified standing ovation for the production, sizzlingly directed by Jeff Steitzer and acted with fierce brilliance by an ideal cast.
Reynolds' own experience with the reaction of such "old lefties" as Norman Mailer and Eric Bentley to an early draft of his play's first act inspired the meat of the play it has become. After we see the play within the play, in which a blue and beaten-down black female tour guide at the historical general's house confesses she thinks slavery might be preferable to her own dead-end life, we see the response of the administrators of a theatre considering the play for production. Reynolds' acid-tipped humor zaps blacks, women, Jews, rednecks, theatre critics, and just about everyone else, pretty much without compromise-unlike the playwright depicted in his play, whose play is revised and politically corrected into nonsense.
The scintillating ensemble has at its center a gleaming diamond of a performance by Tracey A. Leigh as both the tour guide and the theatre company's put-upon dramaturg. Leigh has shone in previous Seattle performances, but here she has a bravura role to illustrate the range and depth of her talent. Hope Alexander is hilarious as a simpering, docile Ohio wife in the play-within-the-play, then wickedly bitchy and frightening as the controlling force behind the theatre company, and finally she appears as, of all things, the tour guide in the bastardized version of the play.
Peter Silbert expertly plays the dual roles of her husbands-both the self-satisfied Ohioan who offers Leigh a contemporary version of slavery, and the outwardly fearless but ultimately cowering theatre administrator. More sketchily written roles are filled with expert performances by David Quicksall as a redneck history expert, the curiously quick-to-cave-in playwright, and ultimately the redneck's wife, and Suzanne Bouchard, who starts out as the redneck's wife, ends up as the husband, but comes across mostly strongly as the British theatre director who has designs on the reins of the theatre company.
Add to this Andrew V. Yelusich's versatile, humorous set and his well observed costumes, and distinctive lighting by Christopher Akerlind, and you have the most satisfying Seattle theatre production of the year to date.
"Stonewall Jackson's House," presented by A Contemporary Theatre at the Allen Theatre, 700 Union St., Seattle. July 15-Aug. 8. (206) 292-7676.
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DIE! MOMMY! DIE!
at the Coast Playhouse
Reviewed by Les Spindle
Such legendary cross-dressing performers as Charles Ludlam and Charles Pierce have regrettably left us, but another Queen Charles continues to reign in the drag diva dynasty. The enormously gifted Charles Busch brings class and legitimacy to a crossover theatrical genre whose popularity has mushroomed far beyond its esoteric origins in smoky gay cabarets. With the world premiere of Die! Mommy! Die!, lucky Angelenos can savor the first opportunity to experience writer/actor Busch's latest pastiche, a stylish spoof of Greek tragedy and pulpy Hollywood potboilers, deftly directed by Kenneth Elliott.
Loosely based on the Electra legend, Busch's fey script, set in 1967 Beverly Hills, is reminiscent of such John Waters film satires as Polyester. It aims its audacious barbs at those over-the-top 1960s film melodramas featuring the likes of Davis and Bankhead, who resorted to slumming after their careers as glamour goddesses headed south.
Busch's broadly etched performance is comic nirvana, as he eloquently inhabits the role of the oversexed coke freak Angela, an over-the-hill singer/actress. The problem faced by our hedonistic heroine is how to escape the marital chains imposed by her anal-retentive husband Sol (superbly played by Greg Mullavey), a washed-up film producer, so that she and her sleazy gigolo Tony (the wryly funny Mark Capri) can fly the coop. Her solution comes in the form of a tainted suppository, which Angela administers to Sol to fatal effect in the most outrageously funny scene since a dildo-clad Raquel Welch went bronco busting in Myra Breckenridge. But mourning scarcely becomes this Electra, who warbles a Burt Bacharach medley at Sol's funeral.
Also part of this fractured Freudian family are virginal daughter Edith (the spirited Dorie Barton), whose heart belongs to Daddy, while her libido belongs to the conniving Tony. Son Lance (the splendid Carl Andress), a hippie airhead, also succumbs to the seductive charms of Mommy Dearest's happy hustler and his infamous 11 inches. Wendy Worthington rounds out the cast, amusingly playing both a cheeky maid and her opportunistic sister. Murders and a multitude of scandalous revelations dovetail before this Oedipal wet dream reaches its hilariously sappy denouement.
From stem to stern, Busch and Elliott banish the word subtle from their theatrical vocabulary. B.T. Whitehill's garish but appealing marble-mansion set, incorporating a hint of classic Greek, is dominated by royal shades of purple and an op-art-styled black-and-white floor. The costumes are no less stunning, with a forest-green color scheme dominating the lush costume parade. Most are designed by Dione H. Lebhar, but Busch's dazzling wardrobe is credited to Michael Boattari and Ronald Case. Vivien Leone's spectacular lighting includes ominous lightning flashes that suggest the wrath of Olympian gods. Jeremy Grody's sound effects and kicky original music are sublime.
Busch's zany opus may not be in the same league as Ludlam's multi-leveled The Mystery of Irma Vep, but it is a chic and exhilarating exercise in state-of-the-art camp.
"Die! Mommy! Die!," presented by and at the Coast Playhouse, 8325 Santa Monica Blvd., W. Hollywood. July 16-Aug. 8. (323) 660-8587.
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ROAD MOVIE
at the Tiffany Theater
Reviewed by Richard Scaffidi
"I'm looking in some very strange places for the love of my life."
So admits Joel, the central character among a handful of vivid roles, all played by Mark Pinkosh in this effective solo show. By play's end, Joel's search will go coast to coast, through landscapes urban and rural, beautiful and squalid, encountering people of ill will and pure heart. Mainly, however, Joel's journey is an inner one, thanks to Godfrey Hamilton's smoothly layered script and Lorenzo Mele's assured direction. It is above all a compelling odyssey of self-discovery.
Across the years, Pinkosh and Hamilton have refined Road Movie into a lean, sharply focused piece. It premiered at the 1995 Edinburgh Festival, earning the Fringe First Award, and has since gained several acting honors for Pinkosh, from London and Dublin to Philadelphia and Honolulu. It's just a wonder that Road Movie took this long to reach West Hollywood, especially considering its uncommon sensitivity and maturity at depicting gay themes-and doing so in an altogether humane, universally accessible way.
The play's heart and intelligence are both embodied in Pinkosh's energetic, graceful, and confident performance. Each character he portrays is invested with a distinct voice and body language. Men, women, older, younger, gay, straight, anguished, benign, whatever-all are detailed and memorable. Mostly, though, we come to know and feel for Joel, an undeniably flawed but essentially good-hearted man yearning for love but scared to death of accepting it in a world dominated by AIDS and by memories of those it has taken.
"Road Movie," presented by Starving Artists Theatre Company at the Tiffany Theater, 8532 Sunset Blvd., W. Hollywood. July 8-Aug. 8. (310) 289-2999.
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BUDDY: THE BUDDY HOLLY STORY
at the Garvin Theatre
Reviewed by D. L. King
He's got a nice little career going on: He landed the lead role of Roger in the first national tour of Rent and went on to star in numerous independent films, and he writes and performs music, as well. And now Sean Keller graces the boards at the Garvin Theatre for the Santa Barbara City College (SBCC) Theatre Group production of Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story. I can say without hesitation that Keller's outstanding recreation of Buddy Holly absolutely rocks.
Supported by a very strong cast, as well as fine stage direction by Rick Mokler and musical direction from David Potter, Keller's Holly leaves his hometown, but never his roots, to become a shooting star in a musical sky full of great talents. Holly had 10 hits on the charts in a span of less than 15 months before his star, along with those of Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper "Chantilly Lace," was extinguished in a plane crash Feb. 3, 1959, "the day the music died."
Other performances that stand out include a very satisfying Ritchie Valens by Anthony L. Ybarra; James Watson and Tiffany Story as Norman and Vi Petty; KTYD's Mike Dawson as Hipockets Duncan, and Kimberley Michelle Edwards as a singer at the Apollo. Mokler took some chances in casting musicians who weren't actors in key roles as Buddy's band the Crickets, and the chances have paid off: Steve Sockmal and Dan Zimmerman more than hold up their ends of the deal.
As a dramatic work, Alan Janes' book for Buddy falls short in more than one aspect (we really don't leave the theatre knowing much more about Holly than when we went in), but Mokler builds tension with recording studio vignettes and a kind of "musicus interruptus" of "Peggy Sue" that yearns for completion near the end of the first act.
Lighting and sound design by Theodore Michael Dolas and Anthony Mangini, respectively, transport the audience into the venues played by the Crickets, while intricate scenic designs by Patricia L. Frank work hand in hand with marvelous stage management by Maggie Mixsell.
There are some productions in which the stage management needs to be singled out for its amazing choreography and carry-through, and this is one such production. The night I attended, Keller's electric guitar slipped out of its strap, and not only did sound operator Thomas Archambault detect that the guitar wasn't working (in the midst of the clamor of the Big Number), but the prop master/crew had a back-up instrument onstage in seconds, just in time for Holly's solo. It's only rock 'n' roll, but I like it.
"Buddy: The Buddy Holly Story," presented by the Santa Barbara City College Theatre Group at the Garvin Theatre, 721 Cliff Dr., Santa Barbara. July 9-25. (805) 965-5935.
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MORNING'S AT SEVEN
at Theatre 40
Reviewed by Polly Warfield
Playwright Paul Osborne took the title of this only slightly sentimental valentine to small-town Americana from poet Robert Browning: "The morning's at seven/The grass is dew-pearled/God's in His heaven/All's right with the world." But all is not right with the world of these four sisters and the three men they married as we encounter them on a late autumn afternoon in 1939. We conclude that the playwright chose the title of his deceptively quiet comedy with tongue in cheek.
At any rate, he gave it enough quirky charm to win a Best Revival Tony Award for its Broadway reprise in 1980, with its 1981 all-star cast staging at the Ahmanson also garnering multiple awards and acclaim. This current offering is the 20th anniversary celebration of Theatre 40's award-winning 1989 production. Perhaps the contrast of the characters' superficially bland and boring lives with the gradual revelation of what's going on with them sub rosa is what gives the play its piquant appeal. Certainly its idiosyncratic characters are intriguing.
What makes these so very ordinary people so very peculiar? It might be the times. They lived through WWI and the Roaring Twenties, big boom and big bust. They have survived Prohibition, the repeal, and the Great Depression. It's been almost too much for them. Perhaps this is why self-effacing Ida Bolton's husband Carl gets mysterious "spells" that send him into the backyard to press his forehead against his special tree in catatonic misery. Complicating matters, Carl and Ida's 40-year-old son Homer seems to have inherited Dad's morose tendencies, and, still worse, he is incapable of action. He's been engaged to Myrtle Brown for 12 years and hasn't yet brought her around to meet the folks, let alone set a date.
The Boltons' backyard adjoins that of Thor and Cora Swenson. Cora's problem is that her unmarried sister Aaronetta shares her home and, to a certain extent, her husband. Sister Essie lives across town with her husband David, who hates Essie's family and has forbidden her to visit them.
When Homer's Myrtle finally comes to meet the folks, secrets are revealed, crises met, and, against all odds, problems solved. Thanks to the power of playwrights, it turns out that God's in His heaven and all's right with the world, after all. For the time being, anyway.
Stephen Tobolowsky directs with proper respect for the play's period; he exhibits keen appreciation of the implicit irony underlying the play's sweetness, and emphasizes it at the finale with "Hearts and Flowers" as musical accompaniment to Aaronetta's dramatic scene of renunciation. The Theatre 40 regulars who make up the cast settle comfortably into their roles as if they were custom-tailored: Dee Croxton is especially good as spunky Aaronetta, and Ann Hearn, trim, gloved and hatted, is touching in her portrayal of sweet-spirited, anxious-to-please Myrtle. Gloria Stroock's Cora and Linde Gibb's Ida are pliant, gentle wives in aprons and house dresses who don't take the trouble to spruce up much any more. Lorraine Michaels is a bit more dapper as sister Essie, who at last discovers the strength to put her tyrannical husband in his place.
The men are the strange ones. David Hunt Stafford's reluctant Homer is "shy," they say; he's also a little dim. One wants to shake him out of his smiling lethargy. Stuart Weiss is the picture of down-drooping misery as poor old Carl, agonizing that he never achieved his lofty ideal: to become a dentist. Joseph Ruskin's Thor is a good sort, really, but torn between the two women in his life. The self-satisfied smugness of Gene Ross, as the self-styled "highly educated" David, is a humorous relief amongst all this self-abnegation.
This production plays in the large Beverly Hills High School auditiorium while the accustomed Theatre 40 space undergoes renovation. The audience is seated on stage around the playing area, which nicely accommodates Victoria Profitt's set, with its two yellow houses bracketing the yard on which the action takes place. Debra Garcia-Lockwood's lighting denotes the season and time of day, and Sherry Linnell's costumes are properly in the period.
Morning's at Seven's still waters run deep, and its deceptively gentle comedy suggests that while it's sometimes difficult for families in close proximity to get along, it's not impossible-if they're willing to make concessions.
"Morning's at Seven", presented by and at Theatre 40, 241 Moreno Dr., Beverly Hills. July 10-Aug 22. (323) 936-5842.
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THUNDER KNOCKING ON THE DOOR
at the Lowell Davies Festival Stage
Reviewed by George Weinberg-Harter
Several supernatural legends attach themselves to early jazz and blues artists. Jelly Roll Morton believed himself under a voodoo curse, and Robert Johnson claimed to have gained his guitar prowess during a midnight meeting with the devil at a country crossroads. (The 1986 film Crossroads touches on this weird tradition.)
Keith Glover's musical play Thunder Knocking on the Door, which he has now directed for the Old Globe, seems carefully to avoid the word "crossroads," preferring the circumlocution "where the two roads meet." Yet Glover's show clearly draws inspiration from such folk tales. And though the play denies any diabolic aspect in the title character-a superhuman bluesman "shape shifter" called Marvell Thunder who engages in late-night musical "cutter contests" at rural intersections (played with devilish command and suavity by Peter Jay Fernandez)-he at least seems to possess the force and aspect of some pagan god. Marvell Thunder, indeed, with his musical and meteorological troublemaking powers, is like a blend of Dionysus, Thor, and the archetypal Trickster figure, in an Alabaman African-American incarnation.
But this free-wheeling fantasy ultimately begs the question of who or what Thunder is, never quite following through to the logical results of its fairy tale premise.
Keb' Mo'-who wrote most of the show's music and lyrics (additional music and lyrics are by Anderson Edwards)-similarly rejects Satanic interpretations of blues virtuosity. In the words of his recent song, "Muddy Waters" (not included in this show), "I been down to the crossroads," he sings, "and there ain't no devil down there." Perhaps the message (if there is one) is of an existential choice to take responsibility for our own powers of good or evil. Or maybe the muddiness of the waters makes them appear deeper than they are.
Its attempted profundity aside, Thunder Knocking on the Door is most entertaining during its lighter moments, which are frequent and predominant. Keb' Mo's easygoing music is generally an amiable pleasure to hear, and Glover's greatest strength as a dramatist comes in the vivid, jocular give-and-take of his lively characters. Besides the daemonic (if not demonic) portrayal by Fernandez (who plays his own mean licks on the harmonica), there is Doug Eskew's larger-than-life antics as a pair of twins, Terry Burrell as an elegant and attitudinal widow, Marva Hicks doing a surprising Cinderella morph from blind waif to red-hot young mama, and Kevyn Morrow as a hyperactive rock-'n'-roller. A generously large and live onstage band plays under the direction of Zane Mark; David Gallo designed the very simple outdoor setting, given some pizazz by the lighting effects of Kevin Adams; Jeff Ladman created the thunderous sound design; Paul Tazewell did the often glitzy and sometimes startling costumes, and Ken Roberson is responsible for what is called the musical staging, which sometimes approaches choreography and at other times resembles random eccentric personal gyrations.
"Thunder Knocking on the Door," presented by the Old Globe Theatre in the Lowell Davies Festival Theatre, Balboa Park, San Diego. July 10-Aug. 14. (619) 239-2255.
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THE MARRIAGE-GO-ROUND
at Long Beach Playhouse
Reviewed by Kristina Mannion
The trials of marriage and the battle between the sexes are a timeless source of humor. Leslie Stevens certainly knew this truth when he penned his 1958 Broadway success The Marriage-Go-Round. In this light-hearted comedy, the marital bliss of the Delvilles, two somewhat stuffy but erudite university professors, is thrown for a loop when the bombshell daughter of a former colleague shows up for a visit-and manages to wreak havoc with her blatant allure, and a rather provocative proposition for the man of the house.
With this simple set-up, Stevens created an entertaining treatise on the perils of temptation and the consequences of infidelity, which no doubt titillated '50s audiences stuck watching TV couples sleep in separate beds. Though not scandalous anymore, Marriage still maintains a fresh and funny charm, especially in this Long Beach Playhouse offering. Featuring all-around deft performances and smart direction by Darlene Hunter-Chaffee, this staging is a comfortably amiable showcase of Stevens' gentle satire of marriage, monogamy-and the eternal question of whether those two terms really go hand in hand.
On the playhouse mainstage-ably set by Robyn Cook to allow action in both the Delvilles' home and a college lecture hall-Hunter-Chaffee and her likable cast represent a fluid team. All demonstrate a keen understanding of Stevens' characters and are successful in delivering the mild yet clever comedy of the script as well as its underlying tender sentiment. And, though a good deal of the affinity we feel for the characters is derived from the play's structure-the main action alternates with the Delvilles' direct address of the audience via a series of professorial yet increasingly heartfelt and confidential lectures-each performer gives a natural and genuine characterization. This only adds to our enjoyment of the calamity that ensues when Mr. Delville falls victim to the charms of his stunning Swedish houseguest, Katrin Sveg.
Proving himself a master of the French accent and the innocently perplexed facial expression, Jack Messenger is wonderful in the role of the erring Paul Delville. Exuding elegance, irresistible charisma, and a penchant for quaint gestures and body language, he quite often steals the show as the doting husband with a roving eye but faithful heart. However far he actually gets with the frank Katrin-we're given to assume it's no more than some stolen kisses-we never lose our fondness for Messenger's eminently engaging portrayal. Likewise winning in her role as the betrayed wife, Content Delville, Christi Sweeney is both vulnerable and aggressive. She provides a clever mix of humor and touching emotion, which are skillfully highlighted through the one-line zingers she levels at her spouse, and in one particularly stirring monologue in which she explores the nature of a woman's love for her husband.
Rounding out the talented cast are Alexondra Lee as the seemingly innocent Katrin and David Lindstedt as Ross Barnett, Content's sympathetic co-worker and not-so-secret admirer. Lee, who at times is a bit sketchy with her Swedish accent, offers a fine performance as the foreign guest with a bold eye for her host. She provides just the right blend of na™vet and brazenness. Lindstedt, though operating in a rather minor role, also turns in an apt portrayal as the nice guy on the outside looking in.
Along with the chemistry that exists between Messenger and Sweeney, these two add their own spice to this quartet of characters tangled up in Stevens' amusing, honest and playful yarn of love and marriage.
"The Marriage-Go-Round," produced by and at the Long Beach Playhouse Mainstage, 5021 East Anaheim Street, Long Beach. July 2-Aug. 7. (562) 494-1616.
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VIETNAM CHRONICLES:
A PIECE OF MY HEART
at the Lex Theatre
Reviewed by Madeleine Shaner
Memories of the Vietnam War years are still painful in the hearts of many, and arguments for and against the divisive war are still urgent and fiery. What is scarcely discussed is the role of women in Vietnam, and Shirley Lauro's A Piece of My Heart tackles that deficiency by featuring six women-five nurses and an entertainer-who were as involved in the fray, at least emotionally, as the men in Tracers (also being presented in the Lex repertory program Vietnam Chronicles).
Two young women, Leeann (Tricia Dong), a pacifist, and Sissy (Nina Petronzio), fleeing from Erie, Penn., both green in judgement and looking for excitement, enroll with the Red Cross service for one year. Martha (Francine Sama), a head nurse in the States and an army brat convinced she's prepared for wartime, feels it her duty to serve. Ex-Vassar girl Whitney (Johanna Parker) is sacrificing her Junior League year to make a statement about her patriotism, and Maryjo (Pamela Clay Magathan) is looking for a good time while she entertains "the boys" with her guitar and a '70s rock 'n' roll repertoire. Irene Wiley (Steele), an older, African-American woman, runs a tight ship wherever she finds herself. Floyd Vanbuskirk and Adrian R'Mante play all the men in the unreal lives of the women.
Faced with the realities of horrendous death and dying, the women's adventure seems not so exhilarating after all. None of the women are prepared for the pain and the carnage of a barbaric jungle war. The intense first act provokes all those old feelings of a sad time in America's history, and plenty of new feelings as well-about women and their place in a mainly male universe. Emotional, visceral, engaging, the ugly fray puts us on edge, brought to easy tears and uneasy laughter by the plight of six women putting aside natural scruples to delve into a real-life horror movie.
Although the action is primarily presentational, the action and interplay in the first act keeps the insanity alive and current. Lily Mercer's direction is vital and courageous, encouraging the inevitable ferocity of the moment but pausing to allow for romance and a few gallows laughs, all the while tugging at the tear ducts.
Act Two, however, is a considerable letdown; it lags behind the action, becoming almost superfluous. The point being made is that once back Stateside, neither their courage in serving nor their personal experiences they shared garnered the women any respect-but the complaints, all purely presentational by this time, begin to sound like one long, oft-heard whine. The second half turns into a slightly tedious prose poem, wreathed in clich and trite, repetitive sentiment. It may be this subject matter is too far out of its time.
"A Piece of My Heart," presented by Blue Sphere Alliance at the Lex Theatre, 6760 Lexington Ave., Hollywood. July 16-Aug. 21. (323) 655-8587.
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AS YOU LIKE IT
at South Coast Botanic Gardens
Reviewed by Wenzel Jones
The opening scene featuring put-upon apple pickers singing "If I Had a Hammer" sets an unusually dour tone for a play so lighthearted. Only a close inspection of the press kit reveals the impetus for directors Ben Donenberg and Lance Davis to replace most of the original music with folk songs by the Weavers and others (a celebration of social harmony through cooperation, I believe it was), but there is always the unsettling sense that this primer on romance is about to become a soapbox for someone's views on migrant labor.
Which, I hasten to add, it doesn't. And otherwise it's a spirited production with smart staging and exuberant performances. And one so rarely sees homage paid to the World Wrestling Foundation in Shakespeare.
Briefly, this is the one in which Rosalind (Jane Longenecker) and Celia (Marika Becz) are banished by Celia's father, the wicked Duke Frederick (Rudolph Willrich). For safety's sake, Rosalind and Celia assume the personae of the young man Ganymede and his sister, Aliena, respectively. Disguised as a man, Rosalind teaches her intended, Orlando (Kent Faulcon), how one properly pitches woo. There are many other couplings and a happy ending.
The set (Douglas Rogers) consists of little more than corrugated fiberglass panels and adjustable blinds; the spareness is appealing. Representing the forest by means of mobiles is especially clever if you still retain the indelible image of Susan Hayward singing "I'll Plant My Own Tree" beneath something similar. David R. Zyla has a freer reign with the costumes, ranging from corporate grey-on-grey to multi-patterned rustic. These are quite clever overall, although the selection of a windbreaker and a back-turned cap for Rosalind's Ganymede drag makes the actress look more like especially tender street trade than a young man.
The performances are remarkably consistent for a cast this size. The coupling of the court fool Touchstone and the goat-keeper Audrey (Lance Davis and Amie Farrell) provides most of the brightly played low comedy, balanced by the performance of Tom Ramirez, who turns in a Jaques to whom "melancholy" applies more as a diagnosis than a character note. Becz and Longenecker, for their parts, carry the show prettily and with grace. Should you choose to join in the hootenanny portions, lyric sheets are included in the back of your program.
"As You Like It," presented by Shakespeare Festival/LA at South Coast Botanic Gardens, 26300 Crenshaw Blvd., Palos Verdes Peninsula. July 22-Aug 1. (310) 377-4316.
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A HISTORY OF THINGS THAT NEVER HAPPENED
at the Magic Theatre
Reviewed by Judy Richter
It's always exciting to see a world premiere, especially when it's by a relatively untested playwright and a new theatre company. That's the case with A History of Things That Never Happened by Sharmon J. Hilfinger, who has had only one play produced previously, and that by a community group.
Since then, she and some colleagues have established the Bootstrap Foundation, a San Francisco Peninsula-based nonprofit group that aims to back new works, provide creative opportunities for youth, and build a liaison between artists and corporations, which abound in the group's Silicon Valley home. Its first production is Hilfinger's play, which features a mostly Equity cast and first-rate production values.
The action begins with a 60ish real estate agent, Chip (W. Francis Walters), who tries to strike up a conversation with a young journalist, Melissa (Amanda Diaz), who would rather be reading Anna Karenina. He talks her into giving him an address so that he can indulge his hobby of exchanging postcards with people he meets. The scene shifts to the Manhattan apartment of Elaine (Nancy Madden), a 50-year-old, never-married teacher whose 25-year-old son, Jason (Alex Moggridge), has just returned to the nest after a tiff with his girlfriend. Elaine receives a post card from a mysterious stranger who refers to her as Anna Karenina, thus sending her back to the novel and into a fantasy world in which she imagines herself as the novel's tragic heroine conversing with her beloved (David Kazanjian).
The postcard exchange continues on a literary bent through Wuthering Heights and The Portrait of a Lady as Elaine enjoys her fantasy beloved. She also begins to see that despite her seeming independence, her life has been partly defined by romantic myths about a woman's subordinate role to men in society. In the meantime, she must cope with Jason as he despairs over his lost girlfriend and tries to assemble a motorcycle in her kitchen by reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.
Back in California, Chip is imagining encounters with Melissa portraying various heroines as he tries to read the novels and watch the film versions. He also has to deal with his continuing grief over his wife's death six years ago and with his daughter (Lisa Steindler). Although she's a successful attorney in San Francisco, he's more interested in her marrying and having children than in her career goals. Eventually the confusion of the postcard exchanges is ironed out as the characters resolve some of their problems.
Although the secondary characters are not as well developed as Elaine, the play works well, especially with Andrea Gordon's taut direction and Madden's centered performance as Elaine. Walters is effective as Chip, even though his character as written lacks depth. Moggridge is somewhat one-dimensional as Jason, making him too whiny rather than exploring his other aspects. The other three actors do well with their more peripheral roles. Production values are high, with a handsome, flexible set by Brenda Ellis, lighting by Kate Boyd, costumes by Cassandra Carpenter, and sound by Derrick Okubo, making for an auspicious beginning by the company.
"A History of Things That Never Happened," presented by the Bootstrap Foundation at the Magic Theatre, Building D, Fort Mason Center, San Francisco. July 14-Aug. 7. (415) 441-8822.
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GREASE
at the Miller Outdoor Theatre
Reviewed by Holly Hildebrand
Grease isn't one of the great musicals. It substitutes mere nostalgia for substance; its characters are more a collection of attitudes than real people, and its plot is so lightweight that it's almost nonexistent. But when it's done right, Grease is sheer entertainment.
That's certainly the case in the current production by Houston's Theatre Under the Stars in Houston. Directed and choreographed by Michael Tapley, this Grease is lively, energetic and, most of all, fun. As TUTS' annual free production in Miller Outdoor Theatre, it's a great way to while away a humid summer evening.
The excellent cast is headed by Sean McDermott, a veteran of such Broadway productions as Miss Saigon, Falsettos, and the recent Grease revival on Broadway. McDermott makes a sexy, appealing Danny Zuko; lithe and graceful, he's a good dancer, and he's especially fine in the big finale. McDermott also knows how to bring out his character's vulnerability, and there is a sweet chemistry between him and Danette Holden, the strong-voiced actress who plays Sandy.
Among Sandy's friends at Rydell High, Angela Pupello stands out with her portrayal of tough-girl Betty Rizzo. In Danny's gang, Mark Arvin pleases with his loose-limbed, energetic dancing as Kenickie; a former principal of the Houston Ballet, he is one of the best dancers onstage. And Ric Ryder as Doody won the audience with his passionate singing of "Those Magic Changes," a number that brought him off the stage and into the aisles.
In another enjoyable scene, the smooth-voiced Steven X. Ward transformed himself into a sort of miniature Little Richard to sing "Beauty School Dropout." Wearing wings and a silvery suit, he was an amusing Teen Angel as he strutted his stuff before aspiring beautician Frenchy (Karen Hinton).
Carolyn Houston Boone obviously relished her role as the schoolmarmish Miss Lynch. She even patrolled the audience at the end of the intermission, admonishing stragglers to sit down and get ready for the second act. She got a lot more laughs than scowls.
The set, supplied by National Artists Management Co., is a bubble-gum affair, all bright oranges and pinks. The costumes-the requisite black leather jackets, pink satin jackets and poodle skirts-were provided by Costume World.
In all, it's a Grease that goes down smoothly.
"Grease," presented by Theatre Under the Stars at Miller Outdoor Theatre in Hermann Park, Houston. July 14-24. (713) 558-2600.
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A HEART OF FLESH
at the Alliance Repertory Company
Reviewed by Terri Roberts
It's a cruel reality that lives that can be saved with organ transplants are often lost because of the scarcity of organ donors. The problem is further complicated when an organ does become available and there are multiple patients of equal need who match the necessary criteria. Selecting the recipient then becomes a life-or-death decision. How do you choose?
The pressures and politics of such decisions are at the heart of A Heart of Flesh, a new drama by Angelo Parra, now in its world premiere at Alliance Rep. A 12-year-old African-American girl named Melanie has been waiting nine months for a heart. The last one she qualified for went instead to the state's governor, who actually required a double transplant (two different organs). Melanie seems the front runner for the next one-until a Latin celebrity lands in the ER. This man is 67, and has a history of smoking, drinking, and wild living, but has also signed a contract agreeing to a nationwide tour to promote organ donor awareness-if he gets the heart.
The play is set primarily in the hospital's conference room (credit production designer Joel Stoffer with its great corporate feel). Director Robert Mandan has heightened the show's intensity with his three-quarter staging, keeping the audience close enough to see the spit fly. And it surely does, as the arrogant Dr. Hunter (Stephen Liska), Chief of Transplant Surgery, lays out the two cases. New committee member Tom Beaumont (Stoffer) stands up for Melanie, as do others, but Hunter soon sways all votes but Tom's. A unanimous vote is needed, so Hunter resorts to snakebelly maneuverings, exploiting the grief of Melanie's mother, Liz (Dawn Greenidge).
Leaving aside the issue of whether or not the staff of hospital ethics committee could or would actually pull such a stunt, the most glaring unaddressed issue is how an aging heart transplant patient would stand up to the rigors of a nationwide tour. Such stretches pull one away from the story. Also missing is a sense of urgency: We're told the heart has four hours of viability, but there seems to be little concern for that time constraint.
Tom is our moral compass here, and Stoffer confidently guides us toward his gut and lets us in. Liska's suave showmanship is strong, but could use a little contrast. A scene illustrating his personal relationship with committee member Linda Katz (a somewhat grating Robin Middleton) is a missed opportunity for a moment of deeper characterization. Also, a comment that he's been offered a job at a more prestigious hospital goes nowhere.
This is a fascinating play dealing with important issues that are painful but illuminating. Some of the surrounding elements still need polishing, but its heart is definitely in the right place.
"A Heart of Flesh," presented by and at the Alliance Repertory Company, 3204 W. Magnolia Blvd., Burbank. July 16-Aug. 21. (323) 655-8587.
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MISS CONCEPTION and FLYING NECTARINES, ZIP CODES PENDING
at Highways Performance Space
Reviewed by Les Spindle
The itinerant, lesbian-oriented Ivy Theatre Company, now its second year, has teamed up with Highways Performance Space to present an evening of new short works. The results are interesting but not electrifying.
Miss Conception is an enjoyable one-act sitcom written and directed by Pamela Forrest, who garnered multiple awards and lavish critical praise for her superb one-act Valsetz, which premiered in 1997 at the Celebration Theatre. The theme is sexual confusion in the topsy-turvy '90s: A homophobic woman, Kathy VanDyck (get it?), turns into a basket case when her boyfriend's lesbian sister Lois comes to visit. Due to an I Love Lucy-type mixup, Kathy believes that Lois has the hots for her, while Lois mistakenly interprets Kathy's hysteria as addiction to drugs.
Is the neurotic Kathy a closet gay or is she simply, to use a currently fashionable term, bi-curious? Forrest resolves this question in an intelligent and amusing fashion. Neilia Brown (who resembles Sally Struthers) achieves an ample share of laughs as the reluctant sexual explorer, although she unwisely plays it too hysterically from the outset-before the lesbian plot device comes up-which undercuts the satirical point that her fears derive from lesbian panic. Elizabeth Cheap is credible as the compassionate Lois. Gonzo Schexnayder and Jeff Rawwin lend able support in small roles. This playlet is fun, albeit a tad less hilarious than one of the Ellen out-of-the-closet episodes.
Flying Nectarines, Zip Code Pending is an autobiographical performance piece by Pam Raines (who appeared in the Ivy's Rape of Djuna Barnes), directed by Marika Becz. This work is less focused on lesbian issues than on Raines' coming to terms with her status as an adopted child and her yearning to connect with her natural mother. Raines gives an earnest and energetic performance, but her piece suffers from its stream-of-consciousness structure. Perhaps the emotional links between her various childhood memories, her attempts to conquer pent-up anger (flinging a nectarine at an uncooperative co-worker), and the gruesome death of her adoptive mother are clear to Raines, but they remain obscure to us. Although the sequence describing the loss of her mother is quite moving, most of Raines' text is neither funny nor poignant enough to have much of an impact.
On the evening reviewed, the featured monologue in an alternating series was a 10-minute piece delivered by Karen Christiansen, in which an insecure daughter wishes she had the confidence displayed by her successful mother. Aside from the entertaining Miss Conception, this anthology likely means more to the performers than it will to audiences.
"Miss Conception" and "Flying Nectarines, Zip Codes Pending," presented by the Ivy Theatre Company and Highways at Highways Performance Space, 1651 18th St., Santa Monica. July 16-25. (323) 876-1938.
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THE MAIDEN'S PRAYER
at Stages Repertory Theatre
Reviewed by Holly Hildebrand
Comedy is hard, the saying goes, yet that's what has been realized most easily in Nicky Silver's The Maiden's Prayer, now at Stages Repertory Theatre in Houston. The show represents a co-production between Stages and Unhinged Productions, a new gay-and-lesbian theatre company, and it marks the second time Chris Jimmerson, a founder of Unhinged, has directed a Silver piece. But it also demonstrates that, while Jimmerson's work has improved, he hasn't yet figured out how to fully develop the tragic side of Silver's comedy. It's a shortcoming that leads to the production's ultimate failure.
There is some excellent work here. Anne Quackenbush steals much of the show with her portrayal of the lovable neurotic Libby, who has the misfortune of being in love with Taylor, the man her sister Cynthia marries. As Cynthia, Deborah Hope gives a wonderfully acerbic edge to her lines. And Paul Nicely delivers a sensitive, well-rounded performance as Paul, who has loved Taylor longer than anyone else.
The other actors' work is more problematical. As Taylor, the handsome Brady Smith definitely looks the part, but his wooden performance betrays his inexperience as an actor, and his big emotional moment is unconvincing. Better is M. Dan Deleon, who plays Andrew, along with two other small roles. He's good at delineating his characters, and he is often quite funny, though there's not a lot of depth in his acting. This is in part the fault of the script, which doesn't give Andrew much chance to be really human until the play's end. Still, one can't help thinking that a more experienced director could have guided Deleon to a more subtle performance.
Set designer Kirk Markley's creation of a black wall resembles a Louise Nevelson sculpture, with the designs made by the dowels and other pieces of ornamental hardware in the wall repeated in the few pieces of simple furniture that complete the set. The effective and often amusing sound design is by Ken Donaldson.
A play about falling in love with all the wrong people, The Maiden's Prayer has many funny moments, and those may be enough for some people. Surely, few playwrights write with such cutting humor as Silver, or place their characters in such odd situations. But Silver's balance of the comic with the tragic takes much skill to realize effectively. This production misses the balance.
"The Maiden's Prayer," presented by Stages Repertory Theatre and Unhinged Productions at Stages Repertory Theatre, 3201 Allen Parkway, Houston. July 14-Aug. 8. (713)-527-8243.
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THE TWO-CHARACTER PLAY
at ArtShare
Reviewed by Hoyt Hilsman
Tennessee Williams' The Two-Character Play, is really only a footnote to the work of the great American dramatist. It tells the disjointed story of a brother and sister, performers stranded on the road, who reenact their reclusive lives after the murder/suicide of their parents. An emotional parable of Williams' life, the play is more of a philosophical riff than a consciously constructed drama.
But while the script is certainly challenging, it does have its own logic and tone-which have unfortunately been jettisoned in this production in favor of director Gleason Bauer's own idiosyncratic vision of the piece. Here the sister Claire, played by Tamar Fortgang, dresses in a funky ballet outfit and toe shoes and prances about the stage reciting her lines like a kind of dissapated Isadora Duncan, while her brother Felice, played by Kevin Delude, has the look of a latter-day Oscar Wilde on absinthe.
The tone of the production is all intense moodiness, with little respite for character development or real emotional expressiveness. The result is heavy, flat, and largely monotone, robbing the piece of some of the more ethereal moments of Williams' writing. Fortgang's performance is actually quite good under the circumstances, with a range of expressiveness and some of the lilting lyricism that makes Williams' heroines so memorable. But the earthbound, sometimes frantic interpretation by Delude, combined with the plodding tempo of Bauer's direction, makes the piece uninspiring.
Most noteworthy in this production, beyond Fortgang's often gifted work, is Barry Wyatt's set design. Zoo District, which is a collective primarily of visual artists, provides magnificent settings for all its plays, creating memorable environments that transcend traditional theatrical space. Hanging mobiles constructed from men's boxer shorts and rusted tin ceiling panels adorn the theatre, and carefully crafted lighting installations are evocative and moody.
In this production, audience members are invited to arrive a half hour early simply to enjoy the visual environment, which is indeed stunning. Unfortunately, the Zoo District-which has ambitiously taken on challenging, little-produced theatre works-has not been able to match in performance what it creates in stage design.
"The Two-Character Play," presented by Zoo District at ArtShare, 801 E. 4th Pl., Downtown Los Angeles. July 16-Aug. 14. (323) 769-5674.
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PRAYER IN A BAR
at the Powerhouse Theatre
Reviewed by Brad Schreiber
Why is Bobby Tate so miserable? He's got his first record deal, a couple of worshipful buddies, two women to sleep with, and he's still self-pitying-writing songs about love, heartbreak, and the misery of human existence. Thomas G. Waites' Prayer in a Bar is rife with random strummings, explosions of unmotivated violence, illogical tonal shifts, and the playwright's doubly lethal decision to sing his own songs and apparently, if the program is any indication, have no one direct his play.
Overlooking the dingy semi-set of a SoHo bar, muddy sound on one overused mike, and a lighting design that is about as complex as an on/off switch, one is forced to confront the never-ending angst of this singer/songwriter from Trenton, NJ, whose self-involvement not only makes us long for his undoing, it makes us resent the phony, upbeat ending Waites has tacked on. Along the way, Tate's stripper girlfriend Diana (Justine Priestley) shows the only real spark of ability onstage, as a bulimic slut who really just wants to be loved; Priestley rises above the abysmal dialogue she's given. Not so her competition, the ultra-sweet, youthful Valerie (Larissa LaRenne), who sugarcoats her character to the point of making her vapid.
Another dramaturgical faux pas is giving bandmember Dick (Phil Parolisi) a repugnant and pointless monologue about slaughtering and mutilating a North Vietnamese soldier, which has no bearing on anything within this play and, worse, is approached by Parolisi as if it is comedic in intention.
Easily the most incongruous element here is the role given Masashi Odate as Mr. Okima, supposedly the producer the record company has assigned to Tate. His pidgin English, martial arts movements, and ersatz Eastern wisdom are not at all ameliorated by the playwright's forcing him to deliver an aside apologizing for any offense taken. It is only slightly less distasteful than Parolisi chuckling about scooping out the NVA soldier's brains.
Only a dyed-in-the-wool New Yorker would think it acceptable to have a barkeep character (Jared Murphy) scarcely reveal a thing about himself for an entire play-until he suddenly blurts out a non sequitur about throwing a boxing match, overdoses on cocaine, and dies on the grungy floor, while Delightful Dick complains about it.
In short, it's not much of a bar, and it's going to need a lot more than a prayer.
"Prayer in a Bar," produced by Capricorn Rising Productions and the Powerhouse Theatre Company at the Powerhouse Theatre, 3116 2nd St., Santa Monica. July 8-Aug. 1. (323) 655-8587.
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FROM SHIRLEY TEMPLE TO AIMEE SEMPLE
at the St. Genesius Theatre
Reviewed by Wenzel Jones
The title and poster may imply an evening of frivolity, but unfortunately David Williams' autobiographical piece is every bit as devoid of humor and irony as anyone else's personal hagiography. The quality of this script-about a boy's coming out to his Pentecostal preacher parents and being sent through "conversion therapy"-is best exemplified by the moment in which the lad's therapist (Jon Sherrin) states, an hour or so into the show, "I know what I'm about to say is an old clich ..." We think to ourselves: Well, yes, along with everything that has preceded it.
Were this show cut in half and staged with a scintilla of wit, it could easily become a camp classic. Our confused lad, Jon Constantino (Kyle Bradford), is the sort who writes poetry to the orange groves his family owns. And recites it. ("I go to the groves, the green and golden groves I've always known...") The number of oranges and amount of orange juice on this set make you wish you had projectile fruit of your own just so you could hurl it and scream, "I get it!" Jon's Italian grandmother, Nana (Helen Siff), wanders in randomly and asks, "Whezza mah vino?" Need I mention she arrived in America traveling steerage and landed at Ellis Island without a cent to her name? His parents (Paula Kay Perry and Harry Johnson) aren't believable either as people or as stereotypes.
Not that any actor could possibly extricate himself from a script so bottomlessly horrible that when the therapist says, "Can I tell you a little about myself?" you can only count the endless minutes until he makes his move. David Goldyn's direction is deplorable, lacking both pace and vision. The closest the show gets to a concept is the Constantino household set (credited to Camille Bratowski), which is choking in right-wing tchotchkes. Lest we miss the point, a character eventually picks up every item on the set to either read it to us or ask, "What is this?" The only response he doesn't get is the correct one: hackneyed.
If there is any wisdom to be gleaned from the show's highly touted, audience-grabbing nude scene, it would concern the inadvisability of remaining in your parent's living room all night after copulating. This show manages to be what neither Shirley Temple nor Aimee Semple ever were-thuddingly dull.
"From Shirley Temple to Aimee Semple," presented by 23 Golden Zephyr Productions at the St. Genesius Theatre, 1047 N. Havenhurst Dr., W. Hollywood. July 8-Aug 29. (323) 769-5419.