Little Shop of Horrors, Still Off-Broadway

Roger Corman is a legend, but there were times when he was penny-wise and pound-foolish. For instance, he never went to the expense of copyrighting his 1960 cult favorite, Little Shop of Horrors, which went on to inspire a hit Off-Broadway musical, Frank Oz’s 1986 film adaptation, a short-lived cartoon series, and a 2003 proper Broadway production. Currently, the Westside Theatre has a new Off-Broadway revival running (resumed from its Covid hiatus), which is suitably rambunctious for fans of the iconic story, in all its incarnations.

It is a tale Shakespeare could have told. Boy meets girl. Boy meets plant. Plant eats everyone. Seymour Krelborn carries a torch for Audrey Fulquard, his co-worker at Gravis Mushnick’s Skid Row florist shop. Unfortunately, she is trapped in an abusive relationship with the sadistic biker dentist, Dr. Orin Scrivello DDS. Mushnick’s is on the brink of closure, but the exotic cutting Krelborn nurtured into a mutant-Venus flytrap-like botanical wonder creates a sudden media sensation, reversing Mushnick’s fortunes. The problem is the unruly plant Krelborn named Audrey II has an unquenchable thirst for blood. No longer satisfied with the drippings from his pricked fingers, Audrey II demands a full victim—and she is not shy about suggesting candidates.

This is a familiar story for fans of B-movies and 1980s musicals, but the ensemble throws themselves into it with admirable energy. Director Michael Mayer makes the Westside stage feel as big as any Broadway theater. He slyly leans into the horrifying aspects of Dr. Scrivello’s office, without actually getting explicit. The production also has a clever retro way of acknowledging the conductor-keyboardist, who also creates a surprisingly big sound.

This is a Little Shop that celebrates the eccentricities of the show’s original Corman source material, but Matt Doyle and Lena Hall are both sweet and endearing as Seymour Audrey I. Andrew Call gets a lot of laughs as Dr. Scrivello and in several other colorful smaller roles. Fans of the 1960 riginal might miss Dick Miller’s Burson Fouch, the flower-eating customer and the masochistic dental patient played by Jack Nicholson (and Bill Murray in the 1986 film), but Call’s crazy “cameos” help compensate.

3 Kinds of Exile: John Guare’s Separation Anxiety

It is an insidious tool used to control dissent, yet sometimes it comes as a relief.  Whether voluntary or forced, separation from one’s homeland is a difficult proposition to face.  Playwright John Guare explores the phenomenon in his new theatrical hybrid triptych, 3 Kinds of Exile, which officially opened last night at the Atlantic Theater Company’s Linda Gross Theater.

Exile’s first segment, Karel, quickly establishes the minimalist tone through a brief but captivating monologue.  An unnamed actor relates the experiences of his friend, a former kindertransport refugee. Despite the success he found as an adult, the first exile’s guilt eventually manifests itself in a rather macabre fashion.  While the Kafka influence is inescapable, it is still an intriguing tale.  Martin Moran (who has appeared in several of his own one-man shows) tells it with confidence, nicely conveying the drama and angst of his friend’s situation as a second-hand reporter.

The middle piece of Exile will likely generate the most attention in the theater world, because it represents the first time the playwright has performed in his own play.  In fact, Elzbieta Erased is all about stage and screen history, telling the mostly sad history of Elzbieta Czyzewska.  Once one of Poland’s most acclaimed thespians, Czyzewska marriage to American journalist David Halberstam directly led to her exile and a sometimes brilliant but decidedly erratic career Off-Broadway, well before Off-Broadway was cool.

Essentially, Erased is a dramatic A-V presentation adapted from a previous Guare one-act, featuring the writer and Polish actor Omar Sangare detailing the trials and tribulations of Czyzewska’s life.  However, it takes on unexpectedly heavy significance when both men start to reveal their connections to Czyzewska.  In fact, it is hard to imagine a production of Exile without them.  Sangare is an electric stage presence and Guare is the veritable personification of erudite sophistication.  Hearing their tribute to Czyzewska is completely absorbing and genuinely moving, even with the pseudo-lecture hall staging.

Exile ends with a spot of musical theater, albeit of a somewhat absurdist variety.  Inspired by his work, Funiage turns the spotlight on the Polish novelist Witold Gombrowicz.  Not particularly well regarded at home, Gombrowicz accepts an offer to lecture Argentina’s Polish expatriate community on the greatness of proper Polish literature, on the eve of World War II.  The expats did not think much of him either, but at least there were women to carouse with on the ship.

Ironically, Funiage is the most upbeat segment of Exile, even though it deliberately echoes Weil & Brecht’s productions.  Indeed, Gombrowicz is an attractive figure, who was evidently largely satisfied working as a Buenos Aires bank clerk by day and writing in relative obscurity at night.  David Pittu (who played Brecht in the Broadway musical LoveMusic) is wildly charismatic as Gombrowicz, while also expressing a sad, world weary earnestness.

Of course, Guare is best known as the writer of Six Degrees of Separation, which factors prominently in Elzbieta Erased.  3 Kinds of Exile is more avant-garde in form than his signature work, but the stories are still easily accessible and immediately engaging.  There are some deep truths in each piece, as well as several dynamic performances.  Recommended for slightly adventurous patrons, it runs through June 23rd at the Linda Gross Theater.

(Photo: Kevin Thomas Garcia)

Chad Deity Takes On New York

A somewhat edited version of the review below will appear in the upcoming issue of Moulinet: An Action Quarterly, the Chicago-based publication devoted to the art of stage combat, which initiated this piece:

There is a reason they are called elaborate. THE Wrestling Federation (as in the one and only) knows how to choreograph the arrivals—the elaborate entrances—of their biggest stars for each showcase bout. Macedonio “The Mace” Guerra is not one of them. His job is to be our narrator and to get body slammed by THE’s reigning champion in Kristoffer Diaz’s The Elaborate Entrance of Chad Deity, which opened Off-Broadway at the 2nd Stage Theatre on May 20th.

A mere stone’s throw from Times Square, the 2ST is the perfect location for the flamboyant title character of Elaborate, recently transferred from the Windy City. When Deity enters the ring, it is not simply a matter of a few high fives and a bit of preening. It is a full multimedia production. Guerra does not get that. His job is to lose, unceremoniously. Yes, it is shocking, but true: THE Wrestling is fixed, but Guerra has no problem with that. After all, he has a deep appreciation for the sport’s traditions.

Guerra is also okay toiling to make Deity and his potential contenders look like credible wrestlers, while racking up a dismal record and a host of aches and pains for his troubles. He is just happy to have attained a small stake in the American dream. However, THE boss Everett K. Olson’s horrendous racial insensitivity occasionally gets to him. While he usually lets it roll off his back, issues of ethnic identity and pride come to the fore when Guerra recruits Vigneshwar Paduar into the league. While Guerra envisions Paduar as a trash-talking Hindi urban warrior, Olson transforms him into The Fundamentalist, recasting Guerra as his Latin American Marxist sidekick.

Adopting to their roles only too well, Guerra and Paduar deliberately try to subvert Olson’s program while staying resolutely in character, thereby establishing the play’s dramatic conflict. Of course, wrestling is certainly involved, courtesy of fight director David Woolley. However, the Fundamentalist’s matches do not last very long, thanks to his signature take-out move, the newly rechristened “sleeper cell” kick. Indeed, his scenes in the ring are quite cleverly conceived, avoiding most of the predictable sports clichés. There is certainly not a big climatic championship bout—remember, it is all still fixed.

There is an impressive degree of physicality displayed by the mostly cut cast. As Deity, Terence Archie certainly looks the part, entering the ring with flying slides and pile-driving poor, hard-working Guerra into the mat. Though lacking the rippling physique, Desmin Borges is a truly charismatic narrator, bringing to mind Lin-Manuel Miranda in the vastly different In the Heights.

The irony is that audiences who would be most inclined to enjoy a pitch-perfect play about wrestling are also likely to be put off by its ideologically-charged content. While Diaz constantly decries ethnic typecasting, Elaborate engages in wholesale stereotyping of wrestling audiences, clearly implying that they are unsophisticated, borderline-intolerant rubes from flyover country and using the terms "patriotism" and "jingoism" interchangeably.

Such distractions are a shame, because Elaborate looks great. The entrances are a sight to behold, incorporating video footage shot on the city streets outside the Second Stage, played on the giant jumbo-tron screens above the onstage ring. Director Edward Torres keeps the energy level amped up, so that the play never feels talky or self-consciously stagy, despite the constant narration. Unfortunately, the fight for our sympathies in Elaborate is so obviously fixed even THE Wrestling would find it problematic. Still, it is a real feat of stage craft, worth checking out during its engagement at Second Stage Theatre, ending June 20th.

(Photo: Joan Marcus)

The Best of 2009 On-Stage

You either saw them or you didn’t. Tremendous passion and effort went into scores of independent theater productions that had limited runs and now live on only as memories with those fortunate enough to see them. Such is the nature of theater. The following is this year’s list of the top ten straight plays, musicals, and one-person shows that scratched their way onto the New York boards outside of the proper Broadway theaters and big, just barely off-Broadway venues (while reluctantly excluding some very entertaining dance reviews that did not really have a dramatic component per se).

The Godlight Theatre Company’s thoroughly impressive production of George Orwell’s 1984 was completely engrossing for someone quite familiar with the prophetic novel, yet should have been accessible for audiences walking in cold. Inventively staged with the Orwell estate’s blessing in the 59E59’s intimate Theater C, it was a riveting show, particularly timely in these Orwellian times.

Often, the absence of a dramatic foil gives solo theater a distinctly stagey vibe. Not so in the case of Haerry Kim’s Face, mounted during the terraNOVA Collective’s soloNOVA festival. Based on first-person accounts of Korean so-called comfort women brutalized by the Japanese military during WWII, Kim gave an absolutely riveting performance. It was a viscerally intense theater that still managed to find a small measure of inspiration in her character’s resilience.

Can a Fringe show actually crack the top ten? If it cleverly integrates Edgar Allan Poe’s final poem “Annabel Lee” with his classic short story “The Fall of the House of Usher” in an original book musical, then the answer is sure, why not? Indeed, Fall of the House of Usher was a smartly conceived mélange of the Poe canon, featuring some surprisingly memorable songs.

In a fresh twist on the Great American Songbook, jazz vocalist Stevie Holland performed Cole Porter’s timeless standards in persona of his wife Linda, in Love, Linda, an elegant hybrid of solo theater, cabaret, and jazz. Dramatically, she gave Mrs. Porter her due and vocally she demonstrated a real affinity for Mr. Porter’s sophisticated lyrics and catchy melodies.

Though Mrs. Warren’s Profession has been one of George Bernard Shaw’s most revived plays, as it turned out, we did indeed need another production. That is because leads Joy Franz and Carolyn Kozlowski dug into Shaw’s cutting dialogue with absolute conviction. The result was a night of theater that felt surprisingly modern, bringing to mind the work of Neil LaBute.

Kung Fu Blaxplloitation on-stage? Bring it on. Qui Nguyen’s Soul Samurai had attitude to burn and a killer charismatic lead performance from Maureen Sebastian that delivered a tasty blend of humor and violence.

Transparently based on the life of Dr. Haing S. Ngor, the Oscar winning actor and survivor of the Marxist Khmer Rouge’s Killing Fields, Henry Ong’s Sweet Karma was a fascinating meditation on the emotional and Karmic costs involved in surviving such horrifying madness. Tight and compelling despite its fracturing narrative, Karma offered a few big picture surprises and a moving lead performance from JoJo Gonzalez.

Not produced in New York since its 1922 Broadway premiere, The Tidings Brought to Mary was the first of three planned revivals of French Catholic playwright Paul Claudel’s work from the Blackfriars Repertory. Dealing with themes of forgiveness and sacrifice in the starkest of terms, it was an unusually meaty and demanding production.

Brilliantly re-imagining Karel Čapek’s R.U.R, Mac Rogers’s Universal Robots also packed a devastating emotional punch thanks to a talented cast. A cautionary tale of both technology and ideology running amok, Universal was a heady brew of science fiction and philosophical-ethical questions.

One of the best staged genre productions of the year, Eric Sanders’s adaption of Algernon Blackwood’s The Wendigo was a cool little production for those who enjoy a good supernatural yarn, but prefer the suggestive to the graphic.

It is amazing how many theaters there are in the City. Sure, there is a lot of dubious work being produced, but there are real gems constantly running somewhere in town. It is definitely worth taking a few chances to see something truly rewarding.

On-Stage: Balaton

Daniel’s Family has issues it might never work out. Some are the usually family resentments, but they have at least one buried secret that is a unique product of where they came from: Communist-Era Hungary. Unfortunately, it seems to be too late for his family to fix their mistakes. Instead, they simply keep reliving them over and over in Ashlin Halfnight’s Balaton, which officially opened last night at The Theatre at 30th Street.

Known as the “Hungarian Sea,” Lake Balaton has long been the landlocked country’s resort area. Under Communism, trips to Balaton, were some of the perks doled out to Olympic athletes, like Daniel’s late father. They are some of the few happy memories his mother Margit still cherishes, and she has a long, if selective memory.

Margit still treats Daniel like a child and nurses several lingering grudges against her daughter-in-law, Vivian, most notably for using a weak excuse as pretext to miss the old woman’s funeral. Indeed, Margit would seem to be dead, as would most of her family, which the audience can deduce pretty quickly from the eulogy excerpts that start the play.

Daniel, Vivian, and Margit try to go about their business as they once did, as video projections of yet another eulogy play behind on screens them. For Daniel, this involves incessant tinkering on the VW bug he inherited from his father. However, Vivian frequently interrupts their dreamlike routine, because she hears a young girl she believes to be her granddaughter, Sabrina.

With its abstract set and multimedia elements, Balaton is something of a surreal work that immediately calls to mind Sartre. Yet, surely this is not Hell, because these characters are not bad people—though Margit is certainly problematic. Indeed, Halfnight’s text is not a hollow exercise in absurdism. Rather it is actually working towards something that definitely serves as an emotional climax.

Daniel O’Brien and Jessica Cummings are quite well matched as Daniel and Vivian, nicely expressing the weight of their shared lifetime frustrations. They could emigrate from an oppressive country, but evidently were never free of the overbearing influence of the manipulative matriarch. Yet they bring a sense of decency to the cold, stark environment of Balaton. Also quite impressive was the poise displayed by young actress playing Sabrina Saturday night (the part rotates between Sadie Scott and Charlotte Williams). Unfortunately, as written, Margit’s character is very harsh, making it quite difficult for Kathryn Kates to humanize the prototypical evil mother-in-law.

The Electric Pear’s production, is quite striking, incorporating dramatic lighting, austere sets, and an effective ambient soundtrack. Yet, Kristjan Thor’s firm direction prevents the proceedings from feeling over-intellectual or abstruse. Obviously, Halfnight has the Hungarian details right as well, considering the production is supported by the Hungarian Cultural Center in conjunction with their Extremely Hungary Festival.

Many might find Balaton a challenging play, but it is very smartly written, and it is definitely set in Hungary for a specific reason. It is a well mounted production recommended for somewhat adventurous patrons. Now open, it runs through November 7th at the Theatre at 30th Street.

(Photo credit: Biz Urban)

On-Stage: All Through the Night

Nobody exists in a moral vacuum, especially not the German citizens living under the Third Reich. Though not technically on the frontlines, several German Gentile women confront very difficult moral choices that may well take them into harm’s way in the Red Fern Theatre Company’s production of Shirley Lauro’s All Through the Night, which opened last night at the Marjorie S. Deane Little Theater.

Following the National Socialist rise to power, the Germany educational system has become a willing instrument of Nazi indoctrination. Two girls were skeptical of the force-fed propaganda, while a third embraced it wholeheartedly. With the help of Ludmilla, the matronly neighborhood baker, the three women, now grown adults, relive their experiences coming of age while the atrocities of the Holocaust unfolded around them.

As a young woman, Angelika is not overtly political, but when her baby son is vaguely diagnosed as either physically or mentally handicapped, she receives harsh lesson in the nature of the regime. Friederike harbors few illusions about National Socialism, having married a Roma man. Now she must bribe the camp guards to allow her furtive visits. By contrast, Gretchen is a blind follower, enthusiastically working on behalf of Fuhrer and Fatherland in the Nazi Women’s Auxiliary. As for our narrator, though Ludmilla does small acts of mercy for the emaciated prisoners she sees marching through the streets, she pines for victory so her husband can finally return to her.

Lauro’s fundamental point comes through loud and clear. While all four protagonists are unexceptional middle or working class women, they still know more than enough to fully comprehend what was happening. They are not allowed the excuse of ignorance. ATTN is also notable for addressing some lesser known horrors of the National Socialist era, including their ideological contempt for disability and aggressive “euthanasia” policies. Unfortunately, Lauro’s text can be a bit awkward at times, requiring actors to speak a fair amount of set description, literally telling the audience: “I see . . .” Still, there are some passages of sharp insight, as when observing how quiet the American soldiers are compared to the boot-clicking Germans.

Ultimately, ATTN’s strong (all women) cast overcomes the play’s occasional wordiness. Andrea Sooch strikingly projects the smugness of evil in the play’s collected authority figures, including Gretchen’s commanding officer (and sexual harasser) in the Nazi Women’s Corp. Michelle Lookadoo brings a fair amount of nuance to the resistance-minded Friederike, while also courageously playing a truly disturbing scene of abusive humiliation at the hands of the Nazis. Yet it is Hana Kalinski who really delivers the dramatic goods as Angelika, the heartbroken mother.

Combining elements of the memory play with the multi-character drama, ATTN is a thoughtful examination of the moral dilemmas and very real consequences faced by averages women during a period of national insanity. Effectively directed by Melanie Moyer Williams, it features some very fine stage performances by its small ensemble cast. Now officially open, ATTN is a worthy night of theater that runs through October 25th at the Marjorie Deane in the Westside Y.

(Photo credit: Nathan Johnson)

Tin Pan Alley Rag: When Mr. Joplin Met Mr. Berlin

It could safely be called ahead of its time. Scott Joplin’s opera Treemonisha was hailed as a masterpiece when it was finally performed in its entirety. Unfortunately, that was in 1972, well after the death of the composer in 1917. However, a young music publisher named Irving Berlin is astute enough to recognize its greatness, despite the commercial limitations that are all too obvious to the Tin Pan Alley song-plugger. Such contrasting musical sensibilities mark the fictional meeting of the two giants of American song in Mark Saltzman’s Tin Pan Alley Rag, now running at the Laura Pels Theatre.

Whether Joplin ever met Berlin seems to be a matter of speculation, but the composer searched high and low for a publisher willing to handle Treemonisha, so Tin’s premise is certainly plausible enough. (Ironically, a ragtime scholar named Edward Berlin would eventually write Joplin’s biography.) As Saltzman’s play opens, the ailing Joplin’s hopes for his masterwork have been dealt yet another setback following a disastrous run-through staged for a prospective investor. Conversely, though Berlin is already at the top Tin Pan Alley publishing, his best years were well ahead of him.

Still, Saltzman finds common experiences that allow the composer-songwriters to convincingly bond during their brief encounter. Both rose from mean circumstances, attaining significant acclaim with their music. More significantly, both still mourn wives who died shortly after their respective marriages. At this point in his life, Berlin still bitterly grieves for his first wife Dorothy Goetz, who contracted typhoid fever on their honeymoon (though he would eventually marry Ellin Mackay, his second wife of sixty-three years). For Joplin it is Freddie Alexander, wife number two out of three (who died while he was on tour), whom he remembers with deep regret.

Saltzman integrates the two composers’ stories quite well and makes excellent use of their songbooks. Musically, Joplin is clearly better represented in Tin, which includes selections from Treemonisha, as well as his best known rags, like “The Entertainer” and “The Maple Leaf Rag.” By contrast, most of the Berlin songs selected are appropriately the corny Tin Pan Alley novelty tunes he was cutting his teeth on at the time.

Cleverly staged, the formative events of the songwriters’ lives unfold out of Berlin’s publishing office thanks to Beowulf Boritt’s inventive set design. Most of the actual singing is left to the fine supporting cast, which notably includes James Judy, (who also appeared in the Off-Broadway musical adaptation of Frank Gilroy’s The Gig, another book musical with jazz-crossover appeal) whose multiples roles include that of the progressive John Stark, Joplin’s first music publisher.

Though his numbers are often comedic and decidedly dated “ethnic” tuners, Michael Therriault has some nice vocal moments as well. More importantly, he has excellent stage chemistry with Michael Boatman as Joplin. As a result, the respect and friendship that develops between them feels natural and convincing.

While Tin might overstate the ragtime component of Treemonisha, in most respects, it captures the milieu of early Twentieth Century song-plugging quite well. Repeatedly, Saltzman makes the point that it was the work of Joplin and Berlin, the sons of a slave and a Jewish immigrant, who would finally declare America’s musical independence from Europe. Yet Tin never descends into didacticism. Both well conceived and well intentioned, it is a very entertaining tribute to the men who helped influence the distinctive sounds of American music in the Twentieth Century. Tin’s limited run ends September 6th.

On-Stage: Vieux Carre

It is probably the first play a Tennessee Williams biographer should read as part of their research, but it has not been produced on the New York stage in twenty-five years. Although Williams’s 1977 Vieux Carré might be infrequently revived, its biographical significance is undeniable, right down to the address of the squalid boarding house in which it is set: 722 Toulouse Street—Williams’s own address in the late 1930’s. Now Vieux Carré has the additional distinction of being the first Tennessee Williams play undertaken by the Pearl Theatre Company, as well as their last production at their current home on St. Mark’s, where it officially opened last night.

The residents of Mrs. Wire’s Toulouse Street boarding house are the dregs of New Orleans. Frankly, most are waiting to die, but one is still trying to find his place in the world. The Writer has recently moved to New Orleans from his native St. Louis, to pursue his literary career and come to terms with his homosexuality. Does that sound like any great American playwright?

There is plenty of raw material to inspire him in 722, including the shrewish landlady, two destitute elderly women, and Nightingale, an old consumptive lecher who seduces the writer during a moment of vulnerability. He finds a friend in the understanding Jane, a young lady from a proper Westchester family, who has been tragically diagnosed with Leukemia. Unfortunately, it is awkward for him to be near her lover Tye, a brutish strip club bouncer, who seems to protest too much when making crude homophobic remarks.

Williams first started Vieux in the late 1930’s, but he did not complete it until the late seventies with its brief 1977 Broadway production. Granted, it might not be Streetcar, but it is certainly a meaty play, prefiguring most of the themes and motifs of his acknowledged major works. It is also a great depiction of the Crescent City’s seedy glory, in which the promise of freedom is fittingly represented by Sky, a jazz musician.

Sensitively directed by Austin Pendleton, himself an actor often seen on the New York stage, the Pearl’s production effectively evokes the atmosphere of death and decay that looms over the doomed residents of 722. The wall-less set design also nicely conveys the claustrophobic environment and the lack of privacy experienced by Mrs. Wire’s boarders.

The cast is quite strong, particularly George Morfogen, who brings out the complex humanity of the problematic Nightingale. Sean McNall is also notably impressive in the role of the Writer, coming across as an intelligent, multifaceted young man, rather than a mere narrator or a stand-in for the famous playwright.

Like most of Williams’s plays, Vieux might sound depressing, but there is something reassuring about the dramatically messy humanity on view. In fact, Williams was a very humane writer, depicting deeply flawed characters, like Nightingale, with great compassion. It is definitely a strong production of a rewarding play, well-worth catching during its surprisingly rare revival (though parents should be cautioned there are distinctly adult situations and brief full frontal nudity). Its limited engagement at the Pearl ends June 14th, and look for the company’s upcoming 2009/2010 season in their new home at New York City Center.

On-Stage: Way to Heaven

In 1944, representatives of the International Red Cross paid a visit to the Theresienstadt concentration camp that will be an everlasting stain on the organization’s honor. Tragically, they were completely fooled by the “beautified” Potemkin village the National Socialists had stage-managed for their benefit. The hoax of Theresienstadt inspired Spanish playwright Juan Mayorga’s Way to Heaven, whose premiere New York production officially opened last night at Teatro Circulo.

As the play opens, an unnamed Red Cross Representative wanders on stage, appearing disturbed and disheveled. A man shattered by guilt and self-doubt, he has returned to the site of his undoing, a concentration camp not unlike Theresienstadt, which he indeed gave a clean bill of health to in his official report. In a monologue, he explains the fateful events from his point-of-view.

The play then steps backward in time, showing the audience vignettes of prisoners rehearsing their parts to emphasize the artificial nature of this “play within a play.” A little girl sings sweetly, two boys have difficulty with a simple toy top, and a young couple quarrels, tripping over their stilted lines. Yet, it was all sufficient to fool the man from the Red Cross, which well pleases the superficially cultured camp Commandant, as he relates the same events in his own monologue.

However, the real crux of the play comes in the central fourth scene, as the Commandant scripts out and directs his charade with the reluctant help of Gershom Gottfried, whom the Germans consider a leader among their Jewish prisoners. Gottfried faces a fundamental Prisoner’s Dilemma: should he cooperate for the sake of short-term survival or sabotage their efforts in hopes of exposing the truth, most likely at the cost of his own life?

In sharply drawn scenes, Gottfried repeatedly asks the seemingly affable Commandant uncomfortable questions, like why do they constantly hear trains arriving, but never encounter any new prisoners. Well written and translated, what is left unspoken in this scene is just as important as what they do say. As a result, the nightmarish reality of the camp remains inescapably present, even though Way never shows any of the atrocities on-stage.

Although Francisco Reyes and Shawn Parr (as the Commandant and Red Cross man respectively) forcefully deliver their monologues, the two early scenes devoted to their point-of-view recollections give the play an unavoidable staginess. However, the dramatic confrontations between the Commandant and Gottfried are absolutely electric. Reyes chillingly portrays the banality and cold-bloodedness of the supposedly humanistic Commandant. While as Gottfried, Mark Farr conveys not only fear and confusion, but also anger. It is an intense, tightly-wound performance, perfectly capturing the anguish of someone in an unimaginable situation.

Way is an important, truly tragic play. Its strong cast overcomes the structural awkwardness, giving it a truly human dimension. Initially somewhat demanding, but ultimately quite haunting, Mayorga’s Way to Heaven runs through May 24th at Teatro Circulo.

On-Stage: Tibet Does Not Exist

Fifty years have passed since the Dalai Lama took refuge in India, forming the Tibetan government in exile. Sadly, there seems little reason to believe China’s cruel occupation will end anytime soon, particularly in light of the recent comments of the new Secretary of State, signaling the removal of Chinese human rights abuses from the administration’s agenda. As a result, it is most welcome to have a play which reminds us of the continuing plight of Tibet return to the New York stage. That play is Don Thompson’s Tibet Does Not Exist, which opened last night at the Spoon Theater.

If you cannot go home again, you might as well hit the lecture circuit. Such is the case for Buton Rinpoche, an exiled Tibetan Lama coming to Yale for a special address. He will be staying with Yale’s leading materialist: one very annoyed Professor Walsh, the superstar of the economics department. Walsh is initially uncomfortable around Rinpoche, having only reluctantly agreed to accommodate him when directly asked to do so by a trouble-making dean. However, the Lama can turn on the charm in private, ultimately making a surprising connection with his host.

Exist is often quite clever satirizing the insular world of the university, dominated by campus politics and academic buzz words. At a dinner party Walsh holds in Rinpoche’s honor his colleagues all look to the Lama to validate their pet theories. However, they are all duly scandalized when the guest of honor has complimentary things to say of Richard Nixon.

Although Rinpoche has come to Yale to promote the Tibetan cause, the audience only hears about the horrors of the Communist occupation—6,000 monasteries destroyed, Buddhist nuns raped and murdered, the orchestrated de-Tibetanization campaign—second hand from Walsh’s psych professor colleague. To paraphrase a Rinpoche koan, Exist is about Tibet, but not about Tibet. It is about freedom—in the metaphysical sense. To be spiritually free, Rinpoche argues he must rise above the geopolitical and reach a point where Tibet does not in fact exist.

Rinpoche has some very interesting things to say, which prove to be generally pro-American and in his unique fashion, quite pro-capitalist. As a character though, Rinpoche is a bit under-written, often functioning as a symbol or comic relief. Yet, he is the catalyst for some sharply written drama, including a particularly effective late scene that vividly exposes the inner core of several characters. On the other hand, the seemingly uptight Walsh is a deeply realized and surprisingly sympathetic character, functioning as the play’s central human core.

Scott David Nogi is pitch-perfect as Walsh, conveying both the economist’s surface arrogance and lingering pain it conceals. To be fair, Peter Quinones has an impressive stage presence as Rinpoche, but the part of the playful Lama is just a bit too cute. Still, it is redeemed by the balance of Thompson’s writing, which in all other respects, remains quite fresh—even bold, at times.

Consisting fascinating, Exist brilliantly portrays the pettiness and political correctness of academia, while leaving audiences with much to ponder on a philosophical level. It is also a timely, but not at all didactic reminder that Tibet does indeed still exist, though many in power would probably prefer we forgot it. A smart play, tightly produced by Nicu’s Spoon, Exist runs through April 26th.

(Photo credit: Stephanie Barton Farcas)

On-Stage: George Orwell’s 1984

Skip the Watchmen and go straight to the source. Every subsequent depiction of future totalitarian dystopias has borrowed heavily from the concepts and vocabulary of George Orwell’s 1984. Though thematically similar to Yevgeny Zamyatin’s We, Orwell’s 1984 coined terms like “Big Brother,” “Thought Crime,” and “Newspeak” that continue to profoundly influence our political discourse. In addition to being a chilling cautionary tale, George Orwell's 1984 also happens to be a compelling story, which transitions surprisingly smoothly to the stage in a production of British theater director Alan Lyddiard’s adaptation mounted by the Godlight Theatre Company, which officially opened at the 59E59 Theaters last night.

Winston Smith is an everyman, a modest cog-in-the-wheel working in Minitrue, Oceania’s Ministry of Truth (meaning censorship and disinformation), where non-persons are deleted from the historical record to serve the interests of the party. Weary of the constant surveillance and incessant propaganda, Smith is already a criminal, consciously guilty of “thought crime” by virtue of his disillusionment.

There is little opportunity for meaningful human interaction in drab, regimented Oceania, where children are encouraged to inform on their parents and two-way telescreens are omnipresent. However, Smith’s mundane existence is jolted by two extraordinary occurrences. O’Brien, a senior party member exchanges a meaningful glance with Smith, stirring memories buried deep within Smith’s unconscious of a dream long forgotten. Soon thereafter, Julia, one of his particularly zealous colleagues, surreptitiously slips him a note, which simply says: “I love you.”

The Godlight production is officially licensed by the Orwell estate, so despite some condensing for dramatic purposes, it is faithful to the spirit and overall storyline of his novel. That means all events inexorably lead to Room 101. Despite knowing what is in store for Smith there (as everyone should), it is still very disturbing to watch, thanks to the creative staging of director Joe Tantalo and production designer Maruti Evans. While 59E59’s Theater C is an intimate space, they convincingly convey the surreally dehumanizing environment of Oceania.

Most impressive is Gregory Konow’s performance as Smith. At first blush, he seems like the wrong physical type, not being the gaunt Englishman, like John Hurt or Peter Cushing, who we have come to expect in the part. However, he really fleshes out the humanity of the character, expressing the loneliness and vulnerability of the lowly Minitruth drone. He is nicely balanced by Dustin Olson as the coldly calculating O’Brien, who makes his final words with Smith far more frightening than his torturous actions. In fact, the entire production is quite well cast (although the attractive vinyl-clad actresses playing the four telescreens barking orders at Oceania’s citizens might not represent such an unpleasant prospect to some in the audience).

George Orwell’s 1984 is a true masterpiece, which everyone should read. The Godlight’s impressive production remains completely engrossing for those familiar with the novel, and ought to be both accessible and absorbing for those walking in cold. Now open, its limited run at the 59E59 ends April 19th.

On-Stage: The Tidings Brought to Mary

Considered one of the great dramatists of the early twentieth century, Paul Claudel’s plays have been rarely produced by American companies in recent years. Clearly, his conservative Catholicism has not endeared him to the contemporary theater world. The younger brother of sculptor Camille Claudel, he served France in a number of diplomatic postings (at one time employing composer Darius Milhaud as a mission secretary), ultimately becoming a vocal opponent of the Vichy puppet regime. Claudel’s The Tidings Brought to Mary finally returns to the New York stage for the first time since its 1922 Broadway premiere, in a Blackfriars Repertory-Storm Theatre co-production currently running at Paradise Factory.

Anne Vercors has amassed considerable land and wealth, but he (yes, he is a he) is alarmed by the chaos and moral decline surrounding him. France has two ineffectual rivals to the throne, while Rome lacks a Pope. In an act of probable sacrifice, Vercors decides to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land to pray for France—a journey with a very low rate of survival in Medieval times. Setting his affairs in order before departing, Vercors arranges the marriage of his eldest daughter, the devout Violaine, to Jacques Hurey, who has been like a son to the older man. Violaine and Hurey happily agree to Vercors’ plan, but their wedding is not to be.

With a little help from her jealous sister Mara, Violaine’s past will irrevocably sabotage her engagement. A woman of boundless love and forgiveness, Violaine met with the guilt-ridden cathedral architect Pierre de Craon to absolve him for a clumsy attempt to rape her. After the attack, de Craon was stricken with leprosy in a cosmic act of retribution for his sins. To sooth his ailing spirit and body, Violaine kisses de Craon on the lips. Tragically, such contact is sufficient for Violaine to contract the dreaded disease herself.

When Violaine reveals her condition to her intended, she is banished to the wilderness, forced to rely on the peasantry’s reluctant charity. With her health declining precipitously, she lives like a Stylite saint, maintaining her Christian love for all, including and especially her scheming sister. Tidings might superficially sound like a tale of sibling strife, but the rivalry only travels in one direction: from Mara, projected unto Violaine.

Claudel’s Catholic theology is a far cry from happy church gospel, dealing with themes of forgiveness and sacrifice in the starkest of terms. Like her father, Violaine is willing to sacrifice herself on behalf of her fellow man. Indeed, she is blessed in her suffering, because it those who are most wretched who shall find salvation.

Tidings is an extraordinarily challenging play, but the Blackfriars’ production never loses sight of the fundamental human drama. Claudel’s translated text is obviously quite demanding, but the entire cast handles the material quite convincingly. In particular, Erin Beirnard brings a humanizing vulnerability to the role of the saintly Violaine. Likewise, Ross DeGraw is a commanding stage presence as Vercors, portraying him not as a religious stereotype, but a man of principle and authority.

Claudel’s play might be demanding, but it well rewards the audience’s close attention. It is a meaty work, smartly produced and acted. Happily, the Blackfriars and the Storm Theatre will follow-up Tidings with two more of the French playwright’s neglected plays as part of their Paul Claudel Project. Now officially open, Tidings runs through April 4th.

On-Stage: The Man in the Newspaper Hat

There can be no more problematic figure in American literature than Ezra Pound. In 1949, he became the inaugural recipient of the Bollingen Prize for poetry, administered by the Library of Congress. This proved understandably controversial at the time, given that Pound had been committed to St. Elizabeth’s mental hospital and still had a charge of treason hanging over his head. Not only was Pound unrepentant for his wartime broadcasts from Mussolini’s Italy, his work cited by the Bollingen judges contained undeniably anti-Semitic passages. Such was the vexing Pound that poet Elizabeth Bishop regularly called on as part of her unofficial duties with the Library of Congress, inspiring her poem “Visits to St. Elizabeth.” That poem in turn would inspire playwright Hayley Heaton’s The Man in the Newspaper Hat, currently running at the 45th Street Theatre.

Mad genius might be a reasonably fitting description of Pound. As the audience enters the theater, he is already on-stage working with a silent fervor that approaches the obsessive. His hospital room is clearly the product of a disordered mind, with papers strewn everywhere and writing cluttering the walls. Into this rat’s nest Bishop periodically ventures, hoping to see the latest output from one of America’s greatest modernist poets. What she usually gets is a barrage of anti-Semitic outbursts, sexually explicit insults, condescension, and paranoia.

In Heaton’s play there is no question Pound remains an unabashed Fascist sympathizer. He frequently uses hateful slurs for Jews, suggesting they are sub-human. However, the final scene paints him as a fundamentally lonely and possibly delusional man, probably humanizing him more than he deserves. He also benefits from Angus Hepburn’s riveting performance. While it is at times a showy role, Hepburn’s quiet moments fully flesh out the troublesome figure. He creates a portrait of a man of obvious intelligence, but whose idiosyncrasies have given way to obsession, perhaps even madness.

As Bishop, Anne Fizzard has a more thankless role, largely requiring her to be appalled and unnerved by Pound’s ugly rants. However, she ties it all together at the end with an effective reading of Bishop’s poem, illustrating how aptly Heaton picked up on the language and images of her verse:

“This is a boy that pats the floor
to see if the world is there, is flat,
for the widowed Jew in the newspaper hat
that dances weeping down the ward
waltzing the length of a weaving board
by the silent sailor
that hears his watch
that ticks the time
of the tedious man
that lies in the house of bedlam . . .”

While Newspaper hints at some remorse on Pound’s part, at least for his caustic treatment of Bishop, it is unlikely to radically alter opinions about the man of bedlam. He was an acknowledged giant of American letters, but that is appropriately difficult to hear in Heaton’s dialogue (of which the highly sensitive theater patrons should be strongly cautioned). Short but intense, Newspaper is a challenging look at a devilishly difficult man to take full stock of. Now open, it runs until April 1st.

On-Stage: Figaro/Figaro

Playwrights Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais and Ödön von Horváth both lived very eventful lives. After the French Revolution, de Beaumarchais would successfully endure a brief incarceration and several years in exile. The Austrian-Hungarian Horváth however, would die in Paris, an exile from his Nazi-dominated homeland. Both men also shared a literary character: Figaro, the Barber of Seville, created by de Beaumarchais. His three Figaro plays would become operas, including Mozart’s ever popular Marriage of Figaro. In the 1930’s, Horváth penned Figaro Gets a Divorce, a sequel which directly reflected the contemporary conditions in Europe. These products of radically different times are juxtaposed to interesting effect in Figaro/Figaro, Eric Overmyer’s adaptation and merger of de Beaumarchais’s Marriage and Horváth’s Divorce, now running on the New York stage in a (Re) Directions Theater Company production.

Opening with the earlier Marriage of Figaro, the former barber is back in the service of Count Almaviva. Figaro eagerly anticipates his marriage to Susanna, the maid-servant to the Countess. Unfortunately, Almaviva has grown bored with his wife and intends to invoke his lordly privileges with Susanna before her wedding night. A gifted schemer, Figaro is determined to foil his plans. As events unfold, there are a number of near misses as people run in and out of rooms, slam doors, and jump out of windows. The comedy is broad and energy is manic, but all’s well that ends well. Or does it?

As Act II opens, per Horváth, revolution has toppled Almaviva and the rest of the aristocracy. Figaro and Susanna lead their master and mistress across the border to relative safety, but it soon becomes clear they view the revolution from radically different perspectives. Figaro is inclined to forgive the excesses of the revolutionaries out of a feeling of class solidarity, whereas Susanna shares Almaviva’s Burkean revulsion at the reign of terror sweeping their country. This seems to be no mere difference of opinion, but a fundamental clash of values, threatening to permanently rupture their relationship.

In F/F, it certainly seems to be more fun to live under a feudal lord than in a modern world filled with isms. Though the more challenging second act offers some satirical laughs, they are nothing like the free-spirited romantic comedy of the first act (play). The difference in tone is also reflected in the incidental music, played on-stage in the style of John Doyle’s Sondheim revivals, by actors also featured in supporting roles. In the first act, they often quote from the Figaro related operas by Mozart, Rossini, and Massenet—sometimes quite humorously. In the second act, their themes are more influenced by jazz, the music of the 1930’s and modernism in general.

While each recurring character changes drastically from one act to the next, Ralph Petrarca’s terrific performance makes Almaviva’s transition from blustering heavy to tragically dispossessed nobleman a smoothly credible character arc. By contrast, the sudden manifestation of Figaro’s class consciousness is a bit jarring.

If the intriguing F/F does not literally have something for everyone, it certainly covers a lot of bases, including boudoir farce, political allegory, and some clever musical interludes courtesy of arranger/composer Tom Berger. Deliberately uneven in terms of style and tone, it is an odd, but fascinating combination, notably featuring a great performance from Petrarca. It plays at the 14th Street Y Theatre through March 22nd.

(Photo: Ryan Baxter)

On-Stage: Universal Robots

One might think of 1920’s Prague as Old Europe, but it produced some remarkably forward thinking science-fiction, which still influences how we think about the future—that brave new world to come. Specifically, the plays and novels of Karel Čapek, sometimes written in collaboration with his brother Josef, would posit the frightening possibility of a post-human future. It was their best-known play R.U.R. (Rossom’s Universal Robots) that first coined the term “robot” (for which brother Josef actually received the credit). Karel Čapek himself now comes face-to-face with Rossom’s Robots in Universal Robots, Mac Rogers re-imagining of R.U.R., now playing at Manhattan Theatre Source.

As Universal opens, we see the Čapeks in their element, holding court at their Friday salon for poets and artists. In this reality, Karel now has a sister Josephine, but he still claims the ear of Tomáš Masaryk, the first president of Czechoslovakia. It is for this influence Helena Rossum seeks Čapek out. Her mad scientist mother (evidently convinced she is her late husband) has invented a series of human-like automatons. To perfect them, she needs the Masaryk government’s financial backing. Čapek and Peroutka, the sole scientific member of the Friday group, convince Masaryk they have seen the future and Czechoslovakia must be involved in shaping it. However, the devout Masaryk appoints the skeptical Jo Čapek to his ethical advisory board for robot development in hopes of counterbalancing their enthusiasm.

Following the general story arc of R.U.R., Universal also becomes a cautionary tale about ideology as well as science. Much of the first act is devoted to Stoppard-like ideological debates between the agnostic anti-Communist Čapek, the socialist ideologue Vaclavek, and the Christian Masaryk, culminating with an unspeakable act of ideologically motivated terrorism. In the second act, the specter of Hitler creates a moral dilemma of truly cosmic proportions. Yet the play is always faithful to spirit of Čapek’s work, particularly R.U.R. and The War with the Newts, where the anti-Communist liberal expressed his profound distrust of attempts to create a New Man. Despite the best of intentions, it always seems to lead to death for the Old Man.

Rogers’ play is a heady brew of ideas and ethical issues, but it also packs an emotional punch, thanks to a great cast. Particularly touching are the scenes between Jennifer Gordon Thomas as Jo Čapek and Jason Howard, first as Radosh, the barkeep she fancies, and then as Radius, his robot doppelganger. David Ian Lee and David Lamberton, as Čapek and Masaryk respectively, also effectively convey the deeper humanity of their famous characters. Their scenes discussing the Christian subtext Masaryk perceives in Čapek’s work are in fact, some of the highpoints of the play.

Though it addresses some pretty advanced concepts, director Rosemary Andress never lets the proceedings get bogged down in dry intellectualism. In fact, Universal seems much shorter than its actual running time. It is a richly satisfying play, highly recommended to those who enjoy the work of Stoppard and Michael Frayn’s recent plays. It runs at Manhattan Theater Source through March 7, with the February 25th performance designated Czech night.

On-Stage: Soul Samurai

If you know your Blaxploitation, you probably know your martial arts movies too. After all, the genres frequently overlapped in films like Black Belt Jones and The Dynamite Brothers. It is those funky, violent, and sexually charged films that inspired Qui Nguyen’s Soul Samurai. Described as a super-hero comic-book-inspired-hip-hop-martial-arts-Blaxploitation-post-apocalyptic play, Soul Samurai opened Off-Broadway last night at the HERE Arts Center, bringing a distinctly Shaft-like sensibility to the New York stage.

Dewdrop is a ronin—a masterless samurai. By definition, she should be out for revenge and she does not disappoint. In addition to her former master and teacher, the Shogun of Queens, she also must avenge the murder of her lover, Sally December. To do that, she ventures into the most dangerous place on Earth: the Badlands, a.k.a. Brooklyn.

Her quarry is Boss 2K, the Kingsborough King and leader of the “Long Tooth” ninja-zombies. Though he chafes at the term, Dewdrop has a b-boy “sidekick” in tow, known as Cert: “As in Death Cert . . . ificate,” which nobody takes seriously for obvious reasons. While on the run from the Long Tooth hordes, Dewdrop narrates flashback sequences to explain her origins and quest for revenge, including a flat-out hilarious send-up of the martial arts training montage.

Truly, Samurai has attitude to burn, dropping colorful dialogue bombs like Samuel L. Jackson in a Tarantino director’s cut. Nguyen clearly loves the genres he cleverly sends up, hitting all the tropes at one time or another. Robert Ross Parker’s brisk direction is actually quite a feat, deftly juggling multiple flashbacks, extended fight sequences, puppetry, and projected video intervals, even including a tripped out animated sequence. Adding to the almost over-the-top vibe, the small cast of five plays all seventeen roles (or nineteen depending on how you count them).

The entire cast handles the physical demands of the play quite well, with several actors taking full advantage of their multiple death scenes. As Dewdrop, the appropriately attractive Maureen Sebastian projects an endearing vulnerability, while simultaneously cutting (literally) through the Long Tooths like the Grim Reaper himself. Jon Hoche seems filled with the spirit of Blaxploitation as Grandmaster Mack, the Shogun of Manhattan, sporting a seriously old school Afro. Paco Tolson shows a real facility for physical comedy, legitimately earning his laughs as the meant-to-be annoying sidekick. Sheldon Best also gives a notably intriguing performance as the title character of the highly stylized so-called “Completely Uninteresting Tale of Marcus Moon” interludes, which nicely capture the flavor of comic book origin myths.

Those who do not know Foxy Brown from Jackie Brown might be a little out of their element here. However, if you see the appeal in watching a beautiful woman kill bad guys with a sword, you will be sound as a pound at Samurai. It is an enormously inventive production that delivers a satisfying blend of humor and violence. Now officially open, it runs at HERE through March 15th.

(Photo: Jim Baldassare)

On-Stage: The Book of Lambert

It opened on St. Valentine’s Day and uses Romeo and Juliet as a recurring motif. However, The Book of Lambert is far from being a theatrical box of chocolates and a dozen roses. Love is definitely a powerful thing in the play, but it may have irreparably damaged the leader of six homeless people living deep in the subterranean tunnels of the New York City subway. Originally written thirty years ago, Tony-Award nominated playwright Leslie Lee’s The Book of Lambert recently premiered on-stage, officially opening at La MaMa e.t.c. on February 14th.

Shakespeare and Romeo and Juliet have tremendous resonance for Lambert, a former college professor living a shadowy underground existence. The tragedy’s famous prologue is our first introduction to Lambert, who returns to Shakespeare’s words throughout the play (mixing in a fair amount of Hamlet as well, for good measure). There would seem to be strong parallels between his life and Shakespeare’s play when the African American Lambert becomes romantically involved with Virginia, a white woman from an affluent family. Yet much to his regret, their relationship fell far short of the romantic ideal in ways that ultimately sent him into an emotional tailspin, ending somewhere deep beneath the A/C/E line.

While haunted by visions of Virginia, Lambert shares his mattress with Priscilla, a former exotic dancer with a voracious sex-drive. Crashing in close proximity are: Bonnie, a pregnant junkie, Clancy, an amnesiac ex-cop, Otto, a blind old man, and his wife, Zinth. All seem to consider Lambert an authority figure, even though the ex-professor keeps aloof, preferring to spend his time writing his book, which in the obsessive tradition of outsider art, sounds like a diverse collection of epigrams, dramatic vignettes, and academic minutiae that conceal an obscure wisdom.

Lee is an undeniably incisive writer, penning some shrewdly observed scenes between Lambert and Virginia in which the racial dynamic is ever-present, but never simplistic or didactic. In one particularly telling argument Lambert relives, he makes a compelling case on behalf of Robinson Crusoe’s literary merits. She prefers the rhythm of Langston Hughes. At first she goads him for not being black enough, disappointed he will not take her to a black church with “singing and clapping,” but when a meeting with her mother who lunches predictably degenerates into disaster, suddenly he is all too black.

Lee’s best scenes though involve Lambert’s rough psychoanalysis with Clancy, pushing him to rip open the psychic scars that derailed his life. These exchanges are brutally honest, visceral drama. Unfortunately, it is often hard to know what to make of the other denizens of the tunnel. While each gets a realistic back-story explained in a sharply written speech, they are left in such circumstances it leaves the audience puzzled about Lee’s intended meanings and questioning the nature of Lambert’s reality rather late in the play.

As Lambert, Clinton Faulkner gives a powerful performance, deftly balancing the extremes of his character. He clearly conveys the charisma of the man, as well as his deeply guarded vulnerabilities. Howard L. Wieder matches his intensity, bringing a sense of humanity to the highly flawed Clancy. However, it is difficult to understand Lambert’s feeling for Virginia, who Heather Massie simply portrays as an ethereal coquette, but maybe that is the point. Emotion always defies logic.

One leaves Lambert with much to digest, but unsure if you are taking away from the play what you are supposed to. Faulkner’s stage presence is undeniable though, as is the distinct sense of place evoked by Andis Gjoni’s set design. The unsettling mood is also heightened by the incidental music composed by Joe Gianono (also an arranger and guitarist in jazz contexts), which sounds like it may have been inspired by Miles Davis’s spacey but lyrical In a Silent Way. Though a bit long, Lambert is a well designed, altogether memorable theatrical experience, featuring a terrific lead performance. It runs at La MaMa through March 1st.

(Photo: Joe Bly)

On-Stage: The Wendigo

In recent years, vampires have been a flop on Broadway. Frankenstein’s Monster fared little better Off-Broadway. Perhaps those creations are simply too stage-worn at this point. That certainly is not the case with the Wendigo, the mythic monster in the woods in Algernon Blackwood’s classic supernatural short story. Adapted for the stage by Eric Sanders, the Vagabond Theatre Company’s production of The Wendigo officially opened Off-Broadway at the Medicine Show Theatre last night.

Nature is dangerous, perhaps even malevolent in Blackwood’s tale of an ill-fated hunting excursion. In the 1890’s, vast stretches of the Canadian woods remain virtually untouched by humankind. It ought to be the perfect environment for moose hunting, but for Simpson, a young divinity student, and his doctor uncle, game has been elusive. Perhaps out of frustration, tensions have been growing between their guides, the brash Hank Davis and his moody French Canadian friend, Joseph Defago. Hoping to improve their chances of bagging moose, Davis recommends they split up and head in different directions. In retrospect, this proves to be a mistake.

It would seem the Wendigo is indeed out there, stalking them, but the precise nature of the beast is wisely kept deliberately mysterious. At times, the Wendigo is described as a giant Sasquatch-like creature of supernatural proportions, whereas at other points it sounds more like a primal force—the very embodiment of nature, in all its wrath. It is a being that inspires not mere garden variety fear, but deep existential dread. Few can resist its siren call of the wild, but Defago’s superstitious and anti-social inclinations make him particularly susceptible.

Wendigo is an old-fashioned story staged in a very contemporary manner. The lighting, rear-projected images, and sparse but evocative set create a legitimately unsettling atmosphere. Against this backdrop, Matthew Hancock’s shrewd direction builds the tension organically through suggestion and the performances.

Nick Merritt is quite convincing as the neophyte outdoorsman, who also assumes the play’s expository duties as narrator. He is well paired with Kurt Uy, who effectively conveys Defago’s inner turmoil. Unfortunately, the second pairing of hunter and guide sometimes comes across a bit stagey. Still, Hancock keeps it all moving at a good pace, eliciting some very tense moments.

At about an hour and fifteen minutes in duration, Wendigo is certainly staged with economy. It brings to mind Edgar Allan Poe’s aesthetics of the short story, in which all elements should work in concert towards a single desired emotional response. Those who enjoy a good supernatural yarn, but prefer the suggestive to the graphic, will find it a cool little production. Now officially open, the entertaining Wendigo runs through February 28th, with a special Friday the 13th program, featuring staged post-performance readings by from Blackwood, Poe, and H.P. Lovecraft, three of the great English language writers of supernatural horror.

The Pearl’s Twelfth Night

It is one of Shakespeare’s most enduring plays, but one of his most frustrating titles. It is generally accepted that the Twelfth Night is an allusion to the Feast of the Epiphany (the Twelfth Day of Christmas). Some suggest it refers directly to the time of year in which the play is set, pointing to a rather drunken rendition of the traditional carol, “The Twelve Days of Christmas.” Others interpret it metaphorically, pointing to an old English tradition of mischievous masquerading on the feast day, including cross-dressing, which definitely plays a role in Twelfth Night. Also featuring mistaken identity, separated twins, true love, and wild revelry, it is clear why Twelfth Night (Or What You Will) remains one of the bard’s most entertaining comedies in the Pearl Theatre Company’s new production, which opened last night.

Precisely where or when the kingdom of Illyria exists is a bit vague, but young shipwrecked Viola washes up on its shore. Assuming her twin brother Sebastian is lost to the sea, she disguises herself as a man and enters the service of the local nobleman, Duke Orsino, intending to live an essentially cloistered life (but in the company of men). Orsino pines for the Lady Olivia, who herself mourns the death of a brother. One of Viola, a.k.a. Cesario’s first assignments for the Duke is to woo Olivia on his behalf. Singing Orsino’s praises comes easy to Viola, since she has fallen in love with the Duke. Unfortunately, instead of winning the Lady’s heart for the Duke, she falls in love with his page, Cesario. Then things get complicated.

Twelfth Night has romance and brisk wordplay, but it also has a dark undercurrent, as when Olivia’s wastrel uncle Sir Toby Belch and his cronies entrap Malvolio, her dour steward, in a surprisingly cruel prank. Naturally, it quickly spirals out of control. Feste, the minstrel fool, has a particularly pronounced mean streak, which Sean McNall’s interpretation oddly seems to minimize.

Regardless, Viola is the make-or-break role in the play. She is essentially Shakespeare’s version of the endearing, plucky tomboy archetype, both sensitive and resilient (sort of like Jo from Little Women). If the audience pulls for her, the entire play pulls together. Fortunately, Ali Ahn perfectly captures Viola’s depth of feeling and innocent likability without coming across as overly cute or saccharine, thereby firmly establishing the play’s rooting interest. (While Joseph Midyett is not exactly a dead-ringer for Viola as Sebastian, he brings enough energy to the part to suspend disbelief.)

Committed to the classic repertoire, the Pearl plays it straight in their staging. However, given the play’s indeterminate time, their costumes seem to mix elements of classical, Elizabethan, and early Twentieth Century dress. With a solid cast anchored by Ahn’s excellent performance, their Twelfth Night is scrupulously respectful of Shakespeare’s text, but thoroughly entertaining.

(Photo credit: Luke Redmond.)

Off-Broadway: Dust

Dust is persistent and eternal. It constantly gathers in even the most carefully controlled environments, and it represents the state to which all living things will eventually return. It also causes an unsettling contest of wills in Billy Goda’s dark new play Dust, which opened Off-Broadway at the Westside Theatre last night.

Despite his doctor’s orders to take off some pounds, businessman Martin Stone still enjoys throwing his weight around. He lives in a midtown hotel to have people constantly at his beck and call. While reluctantly putting in some time on the treadmill, he fixates on fine layer of dust coating the ceiling vents. The closest chops to bust belong to Zeke Catchman, the handyman, picking up some overtime as the gym’s night attendant. An ex-con with anger management issues, Catchman is not inclined to cower under Stone’s abuse. As he pushes back, the seemingly trivial situation nearly escalates into a physical confrontation. Of course, Stone has the handyman fired, but when Catchman warns it is not over, he means it.

In addition to some stalking and property damage, the ex-con also picks up Stone’s vulnerable daughter Jenny to personally deliver message to his target. Even though she is a bit freaked out by their initial encounter, there seems to be a strange connection between the two that is more credible on-stage than it probably sounds. Back on drugs, Catchman’s self-destructive tendencies threaten to destroy him, yet his unlikely relationship Jenny Stone might offer the promise of redemption. He is a man on the brink, whose life could go either way.

The greatest asset of Dust is Hunter Foster’s riveting performance, which nails Catchman’s dual nature. Though he degenerates into a twitchy, hardened junkie, he still convincingly conveys the kernel of decency buried within him. Foster also has nice on-stage chemistry with Laura E. Campbell, who also gives an impressive performance as the daughter of his quarry. Though not as extreme as Catchman, Campbell’s character is also a bit off, but still retains a sweetness that seems quite genuine. Surprisingly, the weak link of the small cast is veteran actor Richard Masur (well-remembered for the disastrous college interview scene in Risky Business) as Martin Stone, who does not project the sense of ruthless menace required in the part.

It might seem incredible that such a minor incident could spiral out of control so quickly, but it is totally believable in Dust, thanks to the brutal logic of Goda’s play and Scott Zigler’s tight direction. It is definitely theater for adults, featuring simulated drug use and brief on-stage nudity. Dust takes the audience to some very dark places, but offer two excellent performances from Foster and Campbell. Perfect holiday fare (I guess), it runs at the Westside through January fourth.

Photo credit: Carol Rosegg