Goodnight Children Everywhere
Reviewed by Elias Stimac
Presented by and at Playwrights Horizons at the Anne G. Wilder Theater, 416 W. 42nd St., NYC, May 26-July 11.
War can wreak havoc on even the most innocent of victims. "Goodnight Children Everywhere" is a gripping drama by Richard Nelson dealing with the psychological effects that being separated during wartime has on a group of teenage British siblings. The period piece is currently being presented in a sensitive, stirring production by Playwrights Horizons.
It is 1945, and three sisters wait in their South London family flat for their brother to arrive. The siblings have not been together since they were evacuated when World War II began. Now they are reunited, but it becomes apparent that they are not unchanged by the displacement. Soon the quartet is caught up in a dysfunctional dance of sexual confusion and emotional turmoil, and they realize home is not as sweet as it used to be. Nelson has masterfully mapped out the intertwining family dynamics, and evokes sympathy and shock from viewers in equal measure. While some of the events of the play bear a rather modern sensibility, for the most part he has recaptured the era superbly. The playwright has directed his own work for Playwrights Horizons, and the result is a graceful, delicate ode to the fractured family members. Every encounter is expertly modulated, and every pause is charged with tension.
The play is cast to perfection by James Calleri. Robin Weigert, Kali Rocha, and Heather Goldenhersh portray the three sisters with exquisite displays of pleasure and pain, while Chris Stafford is appropriately stoic as their young brother. Jon DeVries is formidable as the man of the house, and John Rothman and Amy Whitehouse are intriguing as visitors who stir up emotions even more.
Technical elements are simply stunning, from Thomas Lynch's lived-in setting to Susan Hilferty's character-defining costumes and Raymond D. Schilke's solid soundwork. Especially effective is the evocative lighting design by James F. Ingalls, which indelibly charts the passing of time from the confines of the siblings' living room.
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Thy Kingdom's Coming!
Reviewed by Karl Levett
Presented by The Barrow Group, at the Neighborhood Playhouse, 340 E. 54th St., NYC, May 27-June 20.
Having observed Jeff Daniels' pleasing climb from Off-Broadway actor to international film star (plus his continuing theatrical connection with the founding of a theatre company in his hometown of Chelsea, Mich.), one approaches his newer role of playwright with some interest. The fact that his play is a harpoon aimed at Hollywood excesses also seems smugly right for his theatre-going fans. From the congealed souffl that is "Thy Kingdom's Coming," however, it's clear that Daniels should not give up his movie day job in the near future.
This leaden satire concerns action star Derek Johansen (Patrick F. Kline), complete with Arnold S-type Austrian accent, who is offered a new role: "The story of Jesus? Pitch it to me!" This is done by his self-interested chums, producer Gordon (Larry Clarke) and screenwriter Gerald (Gregory Cook). Also on hand is gay stuntman Crash Baker (Reade Kelly), who becomes Derek's self-appointed butler-cum-goon. "Nobody gets wasted?" is Derek's principal concern for his Jesus epic-this sort of obvious observation of the dumb and dumber is the only comic fuel driving this creaky vehicle
Commercial comedy such as this demands considerable crafting and old-fashioned mechanics to create some credibility (no matter how flimsy) on which the plot is founded. None of that expertise is evident here, with a clich -ridden tale whose fundamental situation never reaches second base. The forced writing is replete with dreary name-dropping for comic effect and the only character of any originality is the strange stuntman.
Director Seth Barrish doesn't seem to be able to get a handle on this mishmash, and the performers struggle unsuccessfully. Building to a laugh line does not come easily to anyone on stage. Kline's assumed accent clouds much of his delivery, with pecs more prominent than vocal precision. The production's most pleasing aspect is Markas Henry's set-a Hollywood mansion more substantial than anything that happens on it.
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Largo Desolato
Reviewed by Karl Levett
Presented by the Rude Mechanicals Theater Company, at the Greenwich Street Theatre, 547 Greenwich St., NYC, May 12-June 13.
The Rude Mechanicals is that Off-Off-Broadway rarity-a repertory company that performs different plays on rotating evenings. For the finale of its first season, the company is presenting "A Midsummer Night's Dream" and Vaclav Havel's "Largo Desolato" in a translation by Tom Stoppard. In that Havel's play might be subtitled "An Oppressed Writer's Nightmare," the pairing seems legitimate enough. In the light of subsequent events, it's truly interesting to be able to re-examine this Havel work and find that it stands artistically free and clear of the circumstances that shaped its creation. Principally, this is because there is no sense of grievance, with events skewed through a comic perspective-an aspect greatly helped by Stoppard's sprightly translation.
Professor Leopold Nettles (Eric Siegel) is a study in fear. He fears the ring of the doorbell, the outside world, his friends and supporters, his lack of principle, his health, and especially "They"-the State Police. The play is the nightmare that Leopold believes might happen at any minute. Havel applies absurdist techniques, particularly that of varied repetition, to take the play from earth-bound realism to dream-like absurdity. And all this is done without lessening the threatening menace that is the core of the play.
It is a sophisticated piece that finds the Rude Mechanicals well up to a demanding task. Under the firm direction of Derek Cecil, and led by Siegel's detailed and restrained Leopold, the consistently high standard of performance of the whole company is gratifying to see. The women on hand, Ellen Archer, Elizabeth Sherman, and Sara Kathryn Bakker, are especially convincing. There is also stylish comic work from Matthew Lawler and the two Sidneys, Shane Barnes, and Adam Gordon. On the evidence exhibited here, this new group is young, professional, attractive, and intelligent. To quote an original rude mechanical: "I will roar, that I will do any man's heart good to hear me." We will be listening.
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The Image Maker
Reviewed by Victor Gluck
Presented by the Brooklyn Academy of Music at BAM Majestic Theater, 651 Fulton St., NYC, June 2-6.
Imagine a meeting between an iconic Nobel Prize-winner and the director of a film version of her favorite novel. Uninvited are the actress-mistress of the director-who lost a part in the film when the director went back to his wife-and the cinematographer, who is hopelessly in love with the actress. The actress is sexy, young, vulgar and arrogant; the woman writer is plain, old, unmarried and arrogant. The actress guesses that the author has lied about her real life. All four have had a secret in their childhoods that has shaped their entire lives.
Here you have the fascinating premise of Per Olov Enquist's "The Image Makers" brought to New York in the Royal Dramatic Theatre of Sweden's production directed by film icon Ingmar Bergman. Furthermore, the director in the play is Viktor Sjostrom, the first great Swedish international filmmaker and the star of Bergman's "Wild Strawberries."
This is a play about the filming of a novel. The resonances about art, life, film, alcoholism, and sex, bounce off each other like atoms in a reactor. The actual film, "The Phantom Carriage," appears in the play. Only what novelist Selma Lagerlöf and Sjostrom said to each other when they met is unknown.
Enquist is most famous for his biographical play about Strindberg ("Night of the Tribades"), and his screenplay about Nobel Prize-winner Kurt Hamsun. Here he assumes a knowledge of Lagerlöf and Sjostrom that Americans do not have. GØran Wassberg's setting is too big for what is essentially a two-character play.
However, as directed by Bergman, veteran film star Anita BjÚrk (star of the 1950 Swedish film version of "Miss Julie"), and newcomer Elin Klinga strike fireworks when the two women meet. Lennart Hjulström as Sjostrom and Carl-Magnus Dellow as the cinematographer, are worthy descendents of the tortured roles that Max Von Sydow played in Bergman's films.
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Tennessee Williams Remembered
Reviewed by Victor Gluck
Presented by Julian Schlossberg, Mark S. Golub, Mary Gilbert, and Meyer Ackerman in association with the Arclight Theatre Company, at the Arclight Theatre, 152 W. 71 St., NYC, May 30-June 27.
Eli Wallach and Anne Jackson met in 1946 while doing a one-act play by Tennessee Williams called "This Property Is Condemned." For the next 10 years their careers were tied up with other Williams plays, such as "Summer and Smoke," "The Rose Tattoo," and "Camino Real." One of today's most famous acting couples, the Wallachs are now presenting a charming, low-key tribute to the playwright, called "Tennessee Williams Remembered."
The 80-minute performance contains scenes, reminiscences, letters, and even a rare video of them in "This Property Is Condemned." No secrets are revealed, but a picture of the different facets of Williams' personality, as well as those of his producer Cheryl Crawford and the Wallachs themselves is built up. Other anecdotes spin tales of Anna Magnani and Maureen Stapleton.
Presented in chronological order are scenes from plays that either one or the other first created, with both of them now taking part: Tom and Willie in "This Property Is Condemned," Alma and John in "Summer and Smoke," Kilroy and the gypsy Esmeralda in "Camino Real," and Serafina and Alvaro in "The Rose Tattoo." Although they appeared on tour in "The Glass Menagerie," no scene is included from that play.
The disadvantage of this sort of evening is that the Wallachs are no longer the ages of the characters that they played almost 50 years ago. As subtle as their acting is, it takes a great deal of suspension of disbelief to turn back the clock that much. Nevertheless, under Gene Saks' understated and unobtrusive direction, the Wallachs spin their web as effortlessly as if we were listening to them tell anecdotes in their own living room. Their enthusiasm for their subject is infectious and sends the audience out with a pleasant, warm feeling. The intimate Arclight Theatre is the perfect setting for this cozy and entertaining performance.
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If Love Were All
Reviewed by Karl Levett
Presented by Julian Schlossberg, Mask Productions, Redbus, Mark S. Golub, and Bill Haber, at the Lucille Lortel Theatre, 121 Christopher St., NYC. Opened June 10 for an open run.
"We enjoyed each other's company in almost every way," says Noel Coward (Harry Groener) pointedly, speaking of his fabled friendship with Gertrude Lawrence (Twiggy). This entertainment, made up entirely of Coward songs and play excerpts, is by Sheridan Morley, theatre critic and author. It is a stylish and happy occasion, a small gem given a handsome and elegant setting by the ever-creative Tony Walton (scenic and costume design). In Britain an earlier version was titled "Noel and Gertie," but here the emphasis is not so much on direct impersonation as on celebrating the spirit of this legendary pair.
Directed with loving care by Twiggy's husband, Leigh Lawson, the material has been reshaped to fit the talents of Groener and Twiggy. Hence, Groener is given a creatively devised tap dance version of "Younger Generation," while Twiggy shines in a patriotically patterned "I Like America." The surprise here is Groener. He is a definite stage presence as he assumes with ease Coward's intonations and consummate confidence. And his strength as a Broadway song-and-dance man allows him to affectionately cradle his more susceptible co-star through their several duets. His presentation of such Coward standards as "Mad Dogs and Englishmen" and "Mrs. Worthington" is impeccable. His audience-most of whom seemed never to have heard these witty words before-were consequently delighted.
But it is the glamorous presence of Twiggy that the audience has come to see. And glamorous indeed it is. The voice, however, is small and eccentric with a Dietrich-type vibrato. Some of the songs (such as "I'll Follow My Secret Heart") are clearly beyond this limited range-but even then Twiggy exhibits an appealing vulnerability. Her genuine strength is as a clown. As Lily Pepper she has two numbers to demonstrate her comic power, and there is sufficient evidence that a production of "Blithe Spirit" could be built around her delicious Elvira.
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Noah's Archives
Reviewed by Jane Hogan
Presented by Ransom Productions, at The Ohio Theatre, 66 Wooster St., NYC, May 27-June 27.
In the overwritten "Noah's Archives," the biblical story of Noah and the flood is retold by playwright Stephen Spoonamore. Here a present-day Canal Street bar turns into the floating ark. On board are Noah (a doddering old drunk who may or may not have heard the voice of God instructing him and his son to build an ark); Shem, the son (it's his turn to lead, sort of-the fumbling fool can't get anything right); and a motley crew of lost souls (not that you sense any of these characters possesses a soul) on board.
The emphasis here is on characters, not real people. With this group of unpleasant, offensive folks repopulating the earth, I don't know what hope there could possibly be for humankind and the whole concept of humanity. They should have made certain that a pair of therapists was on board, what with all the deeply rooted psychological "issues" this gang is suffering from.
The overblown acting may be overcompensation for the long-winded, wearying script, or the actors could just be indulging somewhat in what is, simply put, overacting. Where was the hand of director Darcy Marta, who might have reined in some of the performers?
The play apparently doesn't know what to do with its female characters. Are they bitchy, or strong leaders? Distractions or saviors? It seems to suggest that sheer bitchiness equals strength. The text also needs major pruning in both length and content. The writing overemphasizes the point that cell phones, sports utility vehicles, and Olestra (i.e., modern culture) are bad, and that humankind is not protecting the earth.
It should be noted that the play is being performed to benefit Riverkeeper, an ecological organization aimed at protecting the Hudson River and its tributaries from pollution. Spoonamore and company may have felt they had to work under thematic constraints, but the play's ideas are presented in far too heavy-handed a manner.
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East Is East
Reviewed by David Sheward
Presented by Manhattan Theatre Club in association with The New Group, at City Center Stage I, 131 W. 55th St., NYC, May 25-July 11.
As you enter City Center's Stage I Space for the London import "East Is East," you are assaulted by an unmistakably British smell: fish and chips. Once you get past the curve of the auditorium and catch a first glimpse of Derek McLane's wonderfully lived-in and detailed set, which includes a fish and chips shop, you see that the individual making this traditional English fast food is a young man of Pakistani descent.
The Khans, who own the shop, are a multi-racial clan, torn between their Moslem heritage and the influences of English culture. The first-generation immigrant father (Edward A. Hajj) is a stern and sometimes violent disciplinarian, the mother (Jenny Sterlin) a long-suffering native Anglo-Brit, while their six children include the standard-order sensitive artist, surly rebel, dutiful scion, and quirky misfit.
First-time playwright Ayub Khan-Din, best known as an actor, is unable to balance his faithfully observed conflicts with a penchant for sitcom humor. One minute the kids are rushing around disguising the odors of the forbidden Western food they've been consuming, and the next Dad is slapping Mom around. Yes, there is an overlap of comedy and tragedy in real life, but Khan-Din's lighter scenes are so broad that his dramatic moments can be jarring and, as a result, don't always ring true.
Nevertheless, stager Scott Elliott (artistic director of The New Group) and his cast of English, American, Pakistani, and Indian performers treat the comedy and drama with equal conviction. Thanks to them, you really believe in the troubles of this family, even while you're thinking it's a bit too much like a Pakistani version of "The Jeffersons."
Hajj, in his acting debut, and Sterlin find the love inside the battling parents. Dariush Kashani, Rahul Khanna, Amir Sajadi, Gregory J. Qaiyum, Purva Bedi, and Rishi Mehta, who play the kids, are accomplished young actors. Despite strides made in nontraditional casting, jobs for East Asian performers are few and far between. Hopefully, "East Is East" will not prove a rare chance for these to be seen.
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The Ugly Man
Reviewed by Victor Gluck
Presented by the Mefisto Theatre Company, at the 30th Street Theatre, 259 W. 30th St., NYC, June 9-20.
If the sex and violence in Brad Fraser's "The Ugly Man" are over the top, one explanation is that it is a modern adaptation of Middleton and Rowley's Jacobean revenge tragedy "The Changeling." Fraser is also the author of the notorious "Unidentified Human Remains and the True Nature of Love." As staged arrestingly by Weil Richmond for Mefisto Theatre Company, "The Ugly Man" is a cross between a sexually liberated "Frankenstein" and "Woyzeck," set on a modern ranch far from civilization.
Although this graphic play is not for the squeamish, the electrically charged atmosphere and the stylized production make this a unique theatrical experience. "The Ugly Man" could be called "The Seven Deadly Sins," as it deals with lust, greed, betrayal, anger, and envy. Jerome Martin's two revolving stages make the play's 45 scenes move swiftly, while Will Pitts' original music adds to the spooky atmosphere.
When burn victim and loner Forest (De Flores in the original) comes looking for a job at Miss Sabina's ranch, he stumbles into virgin daughter Veronica's engagement to millionaire rancher Acker. But Acker has brought along his gay brother Leslie and Leslie's sometimes lover, the handsome Cole. When Veronica meets studly Cole, she decides that Forest must rid her of her dull fianc -but the price that he demands triggers the depravity and ultimately the tragedy that follows.
As the Frankenstein-like burn victim, Andrew Robbins with his deep growl and hunched posture captures Forest's menace and evil attraction. Although Kelli K. Barnett seems to be playing Sarah Jessica Parker, her Veronica has a fine arc as she slips from voluptuous desire to depraved corruption. Steve Roman's Cole is Brad Pitt as a bisexual gigolo. Weaker are Elena Vilardi's caricatured boss lady and a miscast Paul Tafoya as Acker. Jaret Christopher postures too much as the swishy Leslie.
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The Windsor Follies
Reviewed by Karl Levett
Presented by AllStages, Inc., at the Laurie Beechman Theatre, West Bank Caf , 407 W. 42nd St., NYC, Tuesdays, May 4-June 29.
Here are 23 songs (yes, 23-count 'em) that attempt to tell, in song alone, the love story of Wallis Simpson and David, the Prince of Wales. The songs (music and lyrics) are by Ralph Martell with a book by Morna Murphy. A hardworking cast of three play all the roles: Keith Benedict is the Prince and the Archbishop of Canterbury, Vicki Shaghoian plays Wallis and Queen Mary, while Bill Quinlan portrays Ernest Simpson and Stanley Baldwin. This latest attempt to retell this oft-told story is straightforward and incredibly earnest, without having any new point of view to enliven the material. A program note tells of this material in an earlier form as "an all male, Monty Python-style comedy"-not a shred of that exists here, with comedy nowhere in sight. The title of the revue would suggest satire, but that too, must have died somewhere along the way.
What we have is a succession of songs that are literal to the nth degree. David bemoans "I'm Home Alone Ev'ry Night," Baldwin sings "Public People Can't Have Private Love Affairs," and Queen Mary advises of "Miss Right and Miss Wrong." Something might have been saved if the songs had more variety and individuality. Martell's lyrics, alas, are dogged by doggerel with a desperate desire to rhyme at any cost. And the plodding lyrics seem to lead the music into formulaic patterns. The Abdication Speech, set to music, is the show's most original touch, and a Gilbert and Sullivan style "A Wedding Today," is rousing.
Murphy and Martell have trouble with an unfocused creation of Wallis, making her singularly unsympathetic until a sentimental ending. All three performers sing well but it is Benedict, looking and sounding like a senior David, who is most convincing throughout. The glittering, gleaming costumes for Wallis and Queen Mary are perhaps the most pleasing aspect of the show-they too, are the creation of the multi-talented Benedict.
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The Gathering
Reviewed by Glenda Frank
Presented by the Jewish Repertory Theatre, at Playhouse 91, 316 E. 91st St. Opened June 10 for an open run.
Theodore Bikel is back on the boards-more charismatic than ever. Perhaps he was waiting for a play as powerful as "The Gathering," by Arje Shaw. The timing is ideal (Father's Day) for this play about fathers and sons-and the burdens of history. The play opens in Gabe's (Bikel's) studio. He is a stone sculptor and Holocaust survivor, whose son, Stuart, has been promoted to White House speechwriter. But the family joy is short lived. President Reagan announces his visit to the cemetery at Bitburg, where contingents of Nazi soldiers are buried. Inclined to fall into step, Stuart (Robert Fass) finds himself pressured to take a stand.
The drama comes alive in Act II. Gabe and his feisty grandson (Jesse Adam Eisenberg), who is studying for his bar mitzvah, have flown to the cemetery to protest. Wrapped in prayer shawls, they become the living presence of the Jewish people-a wonderful, incongruous image. Then it's a family reunion as Stuart, his wife (Susan Warrick Hasho), and a German soldier (Peter Hermann) appear. Nothing in the confrontations is predictable, yet nothing is unfamiliar. It all has the ring of real people talking to real people about guilt, retribution, and the past. Some rage is private: Stuart is angry that Gabe, obsessed by his wartime losses, was not a loving father. Gabe treats Egon, the German soldier, as though time had stopped and he were a storm trooper. Egon maintains his professional dignity even as he describes his family's response to its own legacy of the war. He invites Gabe home to meet his family, but Gabe can't let go. And so each man struggles with his own demons as he reaches out to others, hoping to create a better future. "The Gathering," staged by Rebecca Taylor and an adept acting team, is profoundly affecting.
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The Good Person of Setzuan
Reviewed by Elias Stimac
Presented by and at Wings Theatre Company, 154 Christopher St., NYC, May 14-June 19.
Bertolt Brecht's modest morality tale "The Good Person of Setzuan" is filled with wit and wisdom and sage observations of life. The Wings Theatre Company is currently presenting the world premiere of an adaptation by "Angels in America" author Tony Kushner as part of its New Musicals Series. Kushner's version is inventive and accessible, and the company has crafted an entertaining, enlightening production.
The story tells of Shen Te (Joanna Liao), a world-weary prostitute whose gesture of kindness to a trio of passing gods is rewarded with money and the promise of a new life. Her newfound success, however, puts her generosity to the test-greedy friends show up on her doorstop looking for handouts, the landlady constantly demands payment, and a potential suitor continually takes advantage of her. But despite her mounting misfortune, Shen Te valiantly struggles to keep her hope-and her love-alive.
Director Charles Geyer ingeniously stages the production with imaginative imagery throughout. The play is presented in a minimalistic environment, and this bare-bones approach is mirrored in the sets and costuming. Many of the characters are cleverly enacted with dolls and puppets, to good effect. Geyer has also provided haunting music for the play's songs, with lyrics by Kushner (after Brecht).
Six performers display their versatility and range by portraying multiple roles throughout the story. The talented ensemble includes Jason Quarles, Tal Goretsky, Lena Ajans, Sharon Gardner, and Michael Bell, each of whom uses dialect and humor to distinguish the various characters. Liao delivers a heartfelt, passionate portrayal of the conflicted Shen Te, and she is equally impressive as the girl's imaginary male cousin.
The lighting design by Jim Salemi evokes a magical ambience for the evening. Maureen Marino serves as creative consultant for this most creative endeavor.
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A Creature Craving
Reviewed by Jane Hogan
Presented by Lost Tribe Theatre Company, at the Bank Street Theatre, 155 Bank St., NYC, May 19-June 6.
While writing "A Creature Craving," playwright Stephen F. Kelleher must have thought he was on to something-dare I say it-big. Why not explore the cosmetic surgery human beings elect to undergo, with the slight twist that here the surgery seeker is a man and the topic is penile enlargement? The play's tag line is, "Some guys will go to any lengths for the one they love"-though the play is far more about men's insecurity around, and competition with, other men. Culp, engaged to be married in three months, flies down to paradisiacal Florida to see a Dr. Bender. Wavering as to whether or not he should have the surgery, he is goaded by Bender into going ahead with it-the doctor asks Culp how his penis compares to his fianc e's ex-boyfriend's penis. Thus begins Culp's complete obsession with size and measurement comparison.
Every now and again the play offers an interesting take on the whole look-different-be-a-different-person mentality of cosmetic surgery. Though to paraphrase one of Bender's final observations: Surgery is not creation; rather it's taking fat from one part of the body and moving it to another.
But the underdeveloped (the play certainly makes one aware of the effects of word choice) storyline is too broadly conceived and Culp's all-consuming obsession with his, and other, penises never quite rings true. His character, like the storyline, remains unbelievable and confusing. Actors Russ Anderson (Bender) and Matt Price (Culp) never seem fully a part of their roles, though the performances certainly get stronger as the play progresses. Anderson, in particular, offers a fairly complicated portrayal of a character who turns out to be more complex than we initially think. The play, however, doesn't quite know how to handle the contradictory elements of the doctor (part bastard, part nice guy). As the secretary Martha, Mary Colleen Vreeland seems a bit lost. And director Kelly Morgan never finds a consistent tone for the play, leaving its meanings unexplored and under-investigated.
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Gertrude and Alice: A Likeness to Loving
Reviewed by Karl Levett
Presented by The Foundry Theatre in association with Sang-Froid, Ltd., at the Signature Theatre, 555 W. 42nd St., NYC, June 9-27.
This stylish, stylized production evoking the work and world of two 20th-century icons is written and performed by Lola Pashalinski (Gertrude Stein) and Linda Chapman (Alice B. Toklas). It is a collage of quotations from Stein's writings, letters, and lectures, plus Toklas' memoirs, that construct a picture of the life and relationship shared by Gertrude and Alice up to the mid-1930s. As befits Stein, the script is a veritable cornucopia of words spilling out untidily onstage. In contrast, Ann Bogart's sympathetic production is a model of tidiness, exemplified by Myung Hee Cho's delightful set in white, gray, and blues, and Mimi Jordan Sherin's precise but evocative lighting. Pictorially, the production provides a handsomely neat launching pad for Gertrude's unruly verbal fireworks.
The opening scenes focus almost exclusively on the relationship of Gertrude and Alice, in its many moods and manifestations. For the uninitiated-and for those that feel Stein was not the genius she believed herself to be-these early scenes may seem indulgently heavy going. As Gertrude here says, "My writing is as clear as mud, but mud settles." Perhaps. But then we are fed a few crumbs of narrative and the play begins to take shape (without ever foregoing its stringent quotation-collage technique). Recognizable offstage characters are introduced, Gertrude demonstrates her ego and ambition, Alice is revealed as self-righteously jealous, and the ground-breaking pair returns to America in triumph. (This remarkable homecoming could be another entire entertainment for Pashalinski and Chapman to consider).
Chapman seems a taller, perkier Alice and leaves the definite impression that Toklas actually held the reins in this volatile relationship. Pashalinski truly inhabits Gertrude in all her aspects, adding surprising warmth. Both are consummate performers who handle this demanding material with ease. The interpretations Pashalinski and Chapman have created for themselves are remarkably clear-eyed, warts and all. And, yes, Gertrude explains that famous rose quotation: "I caressed and addressed a noun."
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John Jasperse Company: Madison as I imagine it
Reviewed by Lisa Jo Sagolla
Presented by and at Dance Theater Workshop, 219 W. 19th St., NYC, May 6-9, 11-16.
What is beauty? And to what degree is it defined by physical attractiveness? In his new work "Madison as I imagine it," presented at Dance Theater Workshop, choreographer John Jasperse has set out to unearth moments of beauty and tenderness amidst a confused environment of crooked furniture, askew curtains, inelegant objects, and disconcerting sounds. He peoples his world with slovenly costumed dancers who communicate largely through leg gestures as they entangle themselves in clusters or roll and flop in clumps on the floor.
In order to detect beauty in Jasperse's work, one must look beyond the apparent visual landscape and discover the cerebral underpinnings that give order to and find compassion in his out-of-kilter universe. It's Jasperse's demonstration of how intellectual originality can provide balance and comfort in an imperfect world that is beautiful.
Jasperse's style of beauty doesn't make for an entirely appealing evening of dance. Typically, we see the performers from a crotch-view angle-lying on the floor, heads upstage, feet downstage, faces obscured. Their movements are awkward and repetitious. There are sporadic dazzling moments, however, such as the opening sequence in which Parker Lutz and Juliette Mapp each spin and circle a bucket on a rope in perfect unison; while the clanking noise is unbearable, the movement is perplexingly gorgeous. Lying side by side, Jasperse and Miguel Gutierrez perform an engrossing duet of assembly-line moves whereby coins are artfully transferred from one bucket to another; the men sit up, reach for a coin, pass it, lie down, cross arms, rise, drop the coin, and begin again. The actions prove mesmerizingly beautiful.
Most of the choreography, however (created in collaboration with the dancers), feels like classroom improv exercises-freeform and frequently clever, yet slow in making a point. The work is accompanied by the intermittent music of composer Hahn Rowe, which lends a thrilling intensity but begs to be married to more visually astounding dancing.
Jasperse's piece is slyly crafted, capably performed, and indisputably intelligent, yet one is hard-pressed to recommend this unusual work to any but the most diehard experimental dance enthusiasts.
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Cristina Caprioli & Douglas Dunn
Reviewed by Lisa Jo Sagolla
Presented by Danspace Project, at St. Mark's Church, 131 E. 10th St., NYC, May 13-16.
If her goal was to conjure and justify an atmosphere of inquiry, then Italian choreographer Cristina Caprioli has succeeded admirably. Watching the excerpts from her new work "friday," presented by Danspace Project at St. Mark's Church, we continuously ask "why"-why does a movement happen in that spot, at that time, with that body part? The dancers themselves seem not to know. They go about their business with a cool, contented patience and an air of puzzlement, collapsing, tilting, kicking, flexing their fingers, or executing changements to a sparse score of arbitrarily arranged sounds. There is abundant activity-as answers are sought through action, not static pondering-yet the lack of patterning makes the work, initially, difficult to grasp.
Splendidly performed by Caprioli's all-female Swedish company, the work begins to change at mid-point from casual and reflective to intensely kinesthetic. Loud, pounding music accompanies dancing that made no sense earlier, but now looks surprisingly natural and logical. Caprioli is showing us the rewards of persistent, studious questioning.
Completing the shared program was a revival of choreographer Douglas Dunn's "Lazy Madge," a 1976-77 work composed of many solo and small-group dance studies happening simultaneously within the same performance space. Many viewers in the enthusiastic "insider" audience were either former cast members (Caprioli was in the original production) or students of Dunn, a revered figure in postmodern dance. Would spectators from outside this tiny, tight-knit community have responded likewise, one wonders. Would they appreciate the work's inventiveness, or find the vocabulary too pedestrian, bizarre, or alienating? The dance is unpolished, untechnical, and full of moves that look downright ridiculous.
Dunn's presence in the piece is an entertaining annoyance. He flits about, enjoying brief encounters with individual dancers, mocking or disrupting their movements, and always finding absurdity in their efforts. While such behavior can be valuable in a studio, challenging dancers to discover new ways of moving, onstage Dunn's attitude becomes self-promoting. Within his domineering frame, the others' movements never signify and his work falls victim to an empty cleverness.
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Les Ballets de Monte-Carlo Romeo et Juliette
Reviewed by Phyllis Goldman
Self presented by Les Ballets de Monte-Carlo, at The City Center, 55th Street between Sixth and Seventh avenues, May 12-16.
Jean-Christopher Maillot must be a great fan of Matthew Bourne's "Swan Lake"-so much so that Maillot's version of "Romeo et Juliette" also features an ominous figure of doom. Friar Laurence, dressed in a black leotard and white shirt (with head shaved), seems to be a copy of Bourne's Von Rothbart, with essentially the same job: preordaining the destiny of the story and weaving in and out of scenes while forecasting doom and gloom. Unfortunately, the buck stops there. Maillot's "Romeo et Juliette," starkly mounted on a sleek set of moving panels, is a far cry from Bourne's magnificent "Swan Lake." Maillot has done away with emphasis on the feuding families and focuses on the star-crossed lovers and on Lady Capulet, who can't determine who is a better catch-Tybalt or Paris.
The choreography is challenging, if not slightly offbeat, but the pivotal roles-a lank, lean Juliette (Berenice Coppetiers) and a Romeo (Chris Roelandt) who brought to mind Huck Finn-did not break our hearts. The magnetism between them was reduced to vacant staring and a few stolen kisses.
The real eye-catcher is a magnificent ramp on which Juliette languishes while waiting for Romeo. As the ramp slowly rises to become a balcony, Juliette's legs hang seductively over the edge and Romeo lifts her off to begin the balcony pas de deux. The choreography here is overloaded with strange, slicing arm movements-more like touching a hot iron than the swooping passionate embraces we have come to expect.
Maillot has molded the Nurse into an integral character, and Veronique Dina Jean did her justice. Francesco Nappa's Tybalt was danced with an oily seductiveness that captured his villainy. Still, Maillot's concept, danced with exceptional verve and splendid technique by the corps, did not succeed as well as Bourne's. It takes enormous skill to weave a classic story into a new scenario. Attempts not fully conceived can end up looking contrived.
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Parallel Lives
Reviewed by Lisa Jo Sagolla
Presented by Banko'le Productions, at Henry Street Settlement's Abrons Art Center, 466 Grand St., NYC, May 7-9, 14-16.
Two Romans-the passionate poet-dancer-choreographer Benedetta Capanna and the endearing actor-director Laura Caparrotti-have joined forces with the fiery dancer-choreographer Nancy Turano in an enticing program of dance-drama presented at Henry Street Settlement.
Taking on the formidable task of creating a performance piece that artfully integrates dance and poetry (spoken in two languages, no less), Caparrotti and Capanna have created the ambitious new work "Necklaces." It depicts two women's solitary, parallel existences through expressionistic choreography and sad poems of loneliness and despair delivered in both Italian and English.
From stage left Caparrotti convincingly speaks the poetic verses, as Capanna fills the right half of the stage with provocative, inspired dancing. The performers succeed in conjuring a compelling emotional landscape fed equally by text and movement. Visually, however, it's unbalanced; Capanna's terpsichorean presence overshadows Caparrotti's pedestrian physicality. If Caparrotti were simply a stationary voice, perhaps perched above the stage space, the words and dance could meld within the viewer's imagination without compromising the singular power of each element.
The climax of the piece occurs when the women connect briefly and find joy in togetherness. But their meeting proves to be only a dream. In reality, they discover, they are alone. This revelatory moment is the natural conclusion of the work, and had the piece ended here "Necklaces" could be considered a triumph. The lengthy dance and poem that follow offer nothing significantly new and undermine the work's overall impact.
Turano's contribution to the program is "Carmen," a powerfully danced (by Capanna, Turano, and Lakey Evans) portrayal of the gypsy heroine. Turano's Spanish-flavored, contemporary ballet choreography thrillingly displays both the impressive technical skills of the dancers and their glorious expressive abilities. When they approach the downstage edge of the intimate space and glare at us, kick their legs angrily, or aggressively hurl themselves through the air or along the floor, we shudder in fear and awe.
Such intense emotionality, however, doesn't necessarily sustain interest indefinitely. Turano's work would be buoyed choreographically by a tempered framework that provides more respites from the high-voltage dancing.
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Radical Israel
Reviewed by Phyllis Goldman
Presented by and at the 92nd Street YMHA, 92nd Street & Lexington Avenue, NYC, June 6.
We were told at the onset of the program, "Radical Israel," seen recently at the 92nd Street Y, that the pieces selected were "...strong work that takes up issues." My question is, what issues, and why were they so deftly hidden beneath layers of choreography that ranged from distasteful to repetitious to boring. The last piece, Amos Pinhasi's "Smoke Screen," previously reviewed in this space, was, I am sure, a welcome respite.
"On Antibiotics" opened the afternoon program. Karen Hochma did her best to make her dancers ugly. Garbed in plastic-bag sheaths over leotards, with spiked hair and ghastly, hollow-eyed makeup, the dancers pounded out tough spastic movement with their black Gestapo boots. Is this what happens when you take antibiotics? Then herbal medicine must be the way to go. Towards the end, several dozen oranges were rolled across the floor-I am assuming symbolic of life in Israel. One dancer sat down to eat while the others carried on with the robotic, senseless movement until all but the eater fainted away.
An endurance test like none other, both for viewer and performer, was choreographed by Amel Malale, titled "While I Was Gone." By my count, it was 40 minutes of gobbledy-gook performed by two beautiful dancers, Michele Oppliger and Moran Pecht (whom I hope were paid a lot of money for their efforts). This piece was so meaningless that one could only think about how to make a quick exit from Buttenweiser Hall without being noticed. Work like this only becomes an exercise in self-indulgence. Between the text that was hardly intelligible, and the deliberate and endless repetition of silly movement phrases, validity seemed a lost cause.
Liat Steiner offered music by Alfred Schnittke and, again, very fine dancers, but the press notes were so heady that any connection to Steiner's actual choreography seemed distant. This piece moved gracefully, however, and was an acceptable length.
From the dark essence of the program it would be difficult to realize that the state of Israel represents a land of milk and honey. These choreographers need to frame their ideas with intelligent structure. What we saw was radically wrong-headed!
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Steve Paxton
Reviewed by Lisa Jo Sagolla
Presented by Danspace Project, at St. Mark's Church, 131 E. 10th St., NYC, May 20-23.
He's the heartthrob of the postmodern dance world! And like Redford's and Newman's, Steve Paxton's appeal is impervious to his senescence-as he advances in years his attractiveness is not only undiminished, but amplified.
The 60-year-old minimalist choreographer, best known as the inventor of contact improvisation, recently performed three solos at St. Mark's Church. He began with "Flat," a movement study he created in 1964, which epitomizes the power and meaning of choreographic minimalism. Costumed in a business suit, and performing in silence, Paxton stands still for a very long time before beginning his actions. While he remains stationary, our sensibilities grow increasingly active. We observe his vertical presence in relationship to the lines of the angular wooden chair set near, yet distinctly apart from, his body. Both forms are encased in an oval of light which frames the event. As he seemingly does nothing, Paxton is teaching us to see the artistic properties that exist in our everyday surroundings.
As he proceeds to remove his clothing-one article at a time-he frequently stops, mid-action, allowing time for us to discover the dance qualities and visual design elements that inhabit pedestrian activities. Though audiences today accept these discoveries as commonplace and the work's concept is no longer novel, the honesty of Paxton's initial explorations of what was once a new idea imbues "Flat" with a timeless originality.
Paxton's improvisations to Bach piano music in "Some English Suites" reveal his alluring ability to move in and out of positions with beguiling ease and extraordinary grace. Though his movement vocabulary is peculiar, the viewer is largely unaware of the inelegantly formed postures; when watching Paxton one sees, instead, what appears to be a continuous flow of energy that dances magically around the stage.
Paxton's final offering was "Ash," an autobiographical, text-driven work which painfully tells of his father's illness, death, and cremation, culminating with the humorous tale of the dancer scattering the dead man's ashes from an airplane. The unsentimental reportage of the disturbing events, combined with Paxton's cool, dispassionate dancing, proves nobly moving.