Lightning from Heaven: The Love Story Behind Zhivago

Boris Pasternak’s epic novel Doctor Zhivago was banned, denounced, and a major factor leading to the Nobel Prize for Literature he was forced to decline.  It was also a love story.  Unfortunately, the woman who inspired Pasternak faced the full force of the Communist Party’s wrath, to an even greater extent her more famous lover.  Their romance and its legacy also inspired Scott C. Sickles’ play Lightning from Heaven (trailer here), which officially opened this weekend at the Main Stage Theater in New York.

Set in various cells in the Lubyanka, Lightning is told in flashbacks during Olga Ivinskaya’s many KGB interrogation (torture) sessions.  Sadly, she is no stranger to the place.  A literary editor by profession, Ivinskaya had more in common with Pasternak than his wife Zinaida.  However, as the daughter of a moderately high ranking military officer, Madame Pasternak was able to protect her husband when he publicly spoke out against Stalin. 

Of course, the publication of Zhivago was another matter entirely.  Zinaida is quite certain she is not Lara.  After all, the two fictional lovers never married.  Nor is the Party pleased with Pasternak’s portrayal of the Revolution and the subsequent purges, so they target his greatest vulnerability: his mistress-muse Ivinskaya.  In order to discredit the late Pasternak and his masterpiece, Vladilen Alexanochkin, the “good cop” KGB agent, engages in a cat-and-mouse game with the sleep-deprived Ivinskaya.  Either she will renounce Pasternak and Zhivago, or she will proclaim herself the illicit inspiration for Lara.

In a way, Lightning is like the historical forebear of the dystopian television show The Prisoner, with the question “are you Lara” replacing “why did you resign,” except it is very definitely based on fact.  Sickles alters a detail here and there for dramatic purposes, but he is more faithful to history than David Lean’s great film was to Pasternak’s source novel.  It is a smart, deeply literate play, driven by the conflict between individual artistic integrity and the collectivist state.  Perhaps most touching are the scenes deliberately echoing Zhivago in which Pasternak and Ivinskaya find beauty in the increasingly drab, dehumanized Soviet world about them.

Jed Dickson resembles the Robert Frost-ish Pasternak that appeared on Time Magazine enough to look credible in the part.  More importantly, he really expresses Pasternak’s poetic sensibilities.  As a private citizen, Pasternak made some problematic choices, but Dickson makes them understandable, beyond the self-centeredness of the creative class (though there is that as well). 

Likewise, Kari Swenson Riely is more than a mere victim of the Communist thought police, although she certainly convincing enduring the KGB’s physical and emotional torments.  She develops a comfortable romantic chemistry with Dickson’s Pasternak that is quite moving in an almost chaste way.  Yet, when her character stands on principles, she makes it feel genuine and profound, rather than didactic (like say a character from Soviet propaganda).  It is also important to note the work of Mick Bleyer as Alexanochkin, who keeps the audience consistently off-balance in satisfyingly ambiguous ways.

Perhaps the only historical figure getting short-changed in Lightning is Giangiacomo Feltrinelli, who ruptured his relationship with the Italian Communist Party by publishing Zhivago.  He comes across a bit caricatured here, but that is trifling complaint.  Lightning is big idea production, rendered in intimately personal terms.  It also boasts an admirably professional cast that continued on like troopers even when a freak accident in the audience forced an unusually long intermission Friday night.  Highly recommended for fans of historical drama or Zhivago in any of its incarnations, the Workshop Theater Company’s production of Lightning from Heaven runs through March 9^th at the Main Stage Theater on 36^th Street.

On-Stage: I Plead Guilty

Russian journalist Anna Politkovskaya was a paragon of journalistic virtue, who gave the Putin administration fits with her muck-raking reports of Russia’s “Dirty War” in Chechnya. She was assassinated for her efforts, but not before attempting to mediate the infamous 2002 hostage crisis at the Dubrovka Theater. In retrospect, it seems pretty clear the Russians were determined to attack the Chechen hostage-takers, with little regard for the safety of the hostages. Still shrouded in mystery and controversy, Natalia Pelevine examines the incident through the eyes of two very different women in Dare To Speak Productions' I Plead Guilty, which officially opened on-stage last night in New York at the Gene Frankel Theater.

Natasha is not exactly Politkovskaya, but she is a Russian journalist who was once based in Chechnya. However, she was only at the theater to review the show. (Take note, this is dangerous work, not for the faint of heart.) Seda is a Chechen Muslim, who has made her peace with the gender inequities of her faith to wage war on the Russians. In terms of temperament, they could not be more different. Yet, as Natasha tries to engage her captor, they each find areas of common ground. Unfortunately, the atmosphere of impending tragedy is inescapable.

Frankly, the Russian-Chechen conflict is devilishly hard for Westerners to get a handle on. To outsiders, it looks like a pitched battle between an ideology of death and a tradition of corruption and oppression. Still, the work of Politkovskaya (and its consequences) speaks volumes about Putin’s neo-Soviet regime. An active member of the Russian opposition, playwright-director Pelevine captures the nature Russian thug-in-chief through Natasha’s voice: “Remember when the submarine went down and everyone on board died because the government did nothing? He said to Larry King when asked what happened, he said ‘it sank.’ And he smiled.”

In its miniature clash of civilizations, Natasha displays all the neuroses of the Western world, yet Dana Pelevine keeps her grounded and credible. She also deftly handles her big back-story revelations that could easily come across as contrived or convenient. Evgeniya Radilova is also quite convincing conveying the conflict between Seda’s extremism and her humanity, despite the complications of the religiously mandated veil she wears for a good part of the production. (For this reason particularly, Guilty probably benefits from the intimacy of a small theater like the Frankel.)

Wisely, Guilty does not whitewash or absolve the Chechen terrorists, but it clearly accuses Putin of making a bad situation exponentially worse. There are still a lot of questions that ought to be asked about the Dubrovka Theater incident, but everyone who does seems to turn up dead. Yet, though the production of Guilty (including some carefully assembled displays in the Frankel lobby) definitely hopes to raise awareness of current realities in Russia, the drama itself is quite tightly focused on the two women. As a result it is very accessible to general audiences, including those who are not especially well versed in events in the neo-Stalinist state. An intriguing and challenging production willfully oblivious New Yorkers need to see, Guilty runs through May 29th at the Frankel.

(Photo: Raymond Haddad)

On-Stage: Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep

They enthusiastically call themselves “Dick-Heads.” They are fans of the postmodernist science fiction writer Philip K. Dick and they certainly appreciate irony. No doubt, they will also flock to the Untitled Theater Company’s new stage adaptation of Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, now officially open at the 3LD Art and Technology Center in Lower Manhattan.

Director Edward Einhorn’s adaptation is much more faithful than any cut of the movie Blade Runner, also loosely based on Dick’s original source novel. Though undeniably a classic, Ridley Scott’s film seems to have a different ending every few years. Still, Einhorn also takes his own liberties, at times to emphasize gender differences in the brave new world of the future.

The so-called World War Terminus left most of the Earth radioactive. Nearly every species of animal is extinct, but lifelike replicants are available for those who can afford them. Unfortunately, bounty hunter Rick Deckard just killed his electric sheep. That is what he does. He tracks down and terminates renegade humanoid androids as a freelancer for the local police. Deckard has become disturbingly good at it.

There are several methods for determining if a suspect is human or an “andy,” but Deckard prefers the Voight-Kampff test, designed to measure a suspect’s ability to feel empathy. However, Deckard’s ruthlessness towards the synthetics is starting to raise questions about his own capacity for empathy. He also finds himself increasingly attracted to an android, Rachel Rosen, the spokesperson on Earth for the Mars-based Rosen Corporation and the ostensive daughter of the company’s founder. Three of Rosen’s most advanced androids have gone rogue, perhaps including Rosen herself, or an identical model.

Neal Wilkinson’s sets eschew the slick cyberpunk look of Scott’s film, deliberately evoking a 1950’s sense of the future, with grainy monitors and low tech devices that even pre-date the 1968 publication of Dick’s novel. It is effective world-building though, creating the atmosphere of a crummy dystopia, but not one so oppressively regulated by Big Brother that Deckard’s services would not be required.

If anything, Sheep might be too stylized. For those going into the theater with only a long past viewing of Blade Runner under their belts, it takes a few beats to catch up with some of the gizmos and lingo. Yet, the play’s thorough deconstruction of “Mercerism,” a strange ideology of empathy and resurrection that seems to offer a glimmer of optimism, renders the world of Sheep a rather soulless, materialistic place. Indeed, the bizarre visions of Mercer in the “empathy boxes” appear to serve as stand-ins for religion writ large, all of which, we are duly lead to believe, are false.

Sheep’s cast often find themselves in challenging positions, frequently zonked out on mood enhancers, half-fried by radiation, or otherwise existing in some explicitly inhuman state. They largely sell it, even when that requires them to sink into the backdrop rather than rise to the fore. However, Alex Emmanuel is quite compelling as Deckard, progressively agitated as the humanity of everyone around him (and even his own) is called into question.

Sheep is at its best when asking the philosophical questions the Untitled Company specializes in. Specifically, the replicants directly challenge the notion of “empathy” as a higher virtue. If one is just imagining one’s self in another’s position, is it not simply a projection of selfishness? Unfortunately, Sheep does not have a good corresponding answer, leaving audiences only the hope of survival in a nihilistic world. It is a meaty production, but ultimately also a cold one, yet Dick loyalists should definitely appreciate its literate ambition. Now official open, it runs through December 10th at the 3LD Art and Technology Center.

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: Shrunken Heads

Psychiatrist Robert Hyde has a lot of problems and only fifty minutes per hour with which to solve them. His ex-wife and daughter constantly demand more financial assistance than he can afford, and his most difficult patient wants more emotional support than he can comfortably offer. Her jealous husband packing heat only makes matters worse. They all intrude on Dr. Hyde’s peaceful country getaway in M.Z. Ribalow’s Shrunken Heads, now running at the Peter Jay Sharp Theater at Theatre Row.

Hyde would like nothing better than to spend some quiet time with Polly, his noticeably younger second wife, to discuss great literature and speak their nauseatingly affectionate baby talk. Unfortunately, their romantic weekend is crashed one-by-one by his overwrought patient Dorothy Putney, his sarcastic ex-wife Jennifer Todhunter Hyde, his daughter Caroline and her dippy hippy boyfriend Carlyle Hiram Peckinpah III, and finally the resentful, gun-toting Norman Putney. Plenty of bickering and misunderstandings follow, all accompanied by the caustic commentary of Hyde’s tart-tongued ex.

The action is fast and funny, yet is entirely contained within the sitting room of Hyde’s country home, which as designed by Daniel Krause, looks like a very elegant but comfortable living space. While there are not a lot of actual slamming doors in Heads, it definitely has that same spirit of madcap farce. Frankly, it is a very commercial script, similar in appeal to the recent Broadway production of Boeing, Boeing and the acerbic family comedy of films like The Ref. Featuring several distinctive supporting comic roles, it would be a joy to cast on Broadway.

The entire cast of Heads appears to enjoy the sharp dialogue and brisk pacing of Angela Astle’s direction. As Todhunter Hyde, the merry Ab-Fab-ish divorcee, Diana Henry is a particular standout, delivering her acidic lines with delicious relish. Producer Mel House also brings an engaging charm to Polly Hyde, the wiser-than-she-acts trophy wife.

For the most part, Heads maintains a light-hearted atmosphere, enjoying the comedic chaos of its dramatic situations. However, Ribalow seems to offer a politely muted critique of Dr. Hyde’s compulsively non-judgmental approach to psychology and life.

Witty and breezily entertaining, Heads is the sort of comedic play that has recently mounted a welcome resurgence on New York stages. Based on the full house last night, there definitely seems to be an appetite for such sophisticated farces, so be advised: its limited run ends Sunday (8/30) afternoon.

On-Stage: Go-Go Killers

It was a time when women were women and the men were girly. Actually, that time is ten years in the future, as envisioned through the prism of 1960’s exploitation film. Inspired by the work of soft-core auteur Russ Meyer, as well as more PG-rated girl gang fare, Go-Go Killers (trailer here) is an extravaganza of dancing, fighting, and male emasculation, now running at the Sage Theater, appropriately located in Times Square, the historic home of grindhouse cinema.

Of course, Times Square is respectable now, so the halter tops and hot pants stay safely donned. Go-Go is more about dancing and attitude than that other stuff. In 2019, the Tri-State area is largely a wasteland, except for Manhattan, where real estate prices never seem to fall. The rich get richer, but one by one, they are being assassinated by roving girl gangs. (In the exploitation tradition, the politics are kept simplistic to the point of self-parody.) Marietta falls in with one such gang, the Furies, after being violently cast aside by her jealous ex-fiancé Eugene St. Ives, the petulant son of the fourth richest man in the country.

As fortune would have it, Marietta quickly has the opportunity for some payback. The Furies have a mission to take out #4, and kidnap the ineffectual son Eugene as well as Nelson, their creepy family friend, who also happens to have a place on the top 50 list. Let the class warfare man-bashing begin, and dig that crazy beat.

Logically, the biggest attraction of Go-Go is the spirited go-go dancing, choreographed by director Rachel Klein. She stages the dance numbers with a high energy, groovy “boots-were-made-for-walking” retro charm. There are also some great dancers in the surprisingly large troupe, consisting of the Furies, their rival Gorgons, and distinct Gold and Silver Go-Gos. Elizabeth Stewart is a particular standout as Electra, the leader of the Furies, who whips her pony tail menacingly around, like a medieval morning-star.

It is safe to say dramatic realism is not really Go-Go’s goal, but there are definitely some charismatic performers on-stage, particularly Stewart, Jillaine Gill, and Reagan Wilson as Electra, Godiva, and Pandora, the original Furies. Although Go-Go is really about as risqué as Chicago playing right across Times Square, it embraces the subversive spirit of Meyer’s cult classics. More Roger Corman than Russ Meyer, it might sound like a guilty pleasure, but it is really more of a groovy nostalgia trip. Good clean camp, Go-Go runs Fridays and Saturdays through May 30th.

Photo credit: Lisa Soverino

On-Stage: A Streetcar Named Desire

Is there any role that causes more trepidation than Stanley Kowalski? Nobody ever gets compared to Karl Malden in the Elia Kazan film, but every Kowalski is compared to Brando. Though frequently revived, Tennessee Williams’s Pulitzer Prize winning A Streetcar Named Desire remains an intimidating play to tackle, so director Adriana Baer and her cast deserve credit for pulling it off quite well in the their production at Columbia’s Schapiro Theatre.

Fresh off the famous streetcar, aging Southern Belle Blanche DuBois arrives unannounced at the small two room apartment of her sister Stella and brother-in-law, the infamous Stanley Kowalski. Though desperately trying to keep up appearances, something is clearly not right with her. Though the DuBois family plantation has been lost, Blanche maintains her aristocratic airs, which rankles Kowalski. Tensions between the three threaten to boil over as dark family secrets are revealed in that cramped apartment during a hot New Orleans summer.

Kowalski is a devilishly tricky role to step into, but Woertnedyke is certainly game. His Stanley is less menacing and more human, in-touch with the character’s blue collar roots. However, Linnea Wilson is a surprising standout as Stella Kowalski (formerly DuBois). Though Stella is frequently the overlooked member of the dysfunctional triangle, she has the third best line of the play: “there are things that happen, between a man and a woman, in the dark, that sorta make everything else seem unimportant.” Wilson really brings her to the fore, capturing the pain of her divided loyalties and insecurity.

Everyone attending Streetcar is waiting for two famous lines: Kowalski’s anguished cry of “Stella” and Blanche’s celebrated exiting line, which guarantees nobody ever leaves the play early. It really is cool to hear them live on-stage. Though Streetcar is a relatively long play, Baer’s direction keeps it moving at a surprisingly brisk pace. The classic New Orleans jazz piped in between the acts is also a nice touch, effectively evoking the locale. Altogether, it is quite an entertaining production that concludes its weekend run with a matinee performance this afternoon.

Brooklyn Center: To Kill a Mockingbird

He is the greatest movie hero of all-time according to the AFI, but Atticus Finch would never describe himself that way. The protagonist of Harper Lee’s Pulitzer-prize winning novel and Robert Mulligan’s Academy Award winning film is a father, a lawyer, and a Southern gentleman—perhaps the only true one to be found in depression-era Maycomb, Alalbama. On Sunday, Atticus Finch also graced the stage of the Brooklyn Center for the Performing Arts with a performance of the Montana Repertory Theatre’s signature touring production of Christopher Sergel’s theatrical adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Every high school graduate and film lover should know the story of Mockingbird, which Sergel effectively telescopes a two-hour two-act play. As the production opens, young tomboy Scout and her older brother Jem do not know what to make of their father Atticus. Instead of hunting and fishing, he reads. They also do not know what to make of their reclusive neighbor Boo Radley, but their imagination concocts plenty of wild stories. Theirs is a simple, innocent childhood, until Atticus takes on the case of Tom Robinson, an African American falsely accused of raping the white-trash daughter of the abusive town drunk.

Suddenly, the Finch children are the subject of racist taunts at school and see just how ugly adults can act, even witnesses the spectacle of a lynch mob first-hand. They also gain a greater appreciate for their father, and a fuller understanding of things like courage, integrity, and responsibility. That knowledge comes at a high price: the death of their innocence.

Mockingbird is a rich story, steeped in the author’s deep Southern roots. Sergel nicely retains all the character and color of Lee’s language. However, the primary mirrored geometrically shaped set (intended to reflect the audience) is bit of an anachronistic distraction. To further reinforce that feeling of collective responsibility, the audience watches Robinson’s trial from the vantage point of the jury box.

In truth, the young actors sometimes come across precocious and somewhat affected. Fortunately though, once the trial begins, the power of the story kicks in, and the adult actors rise to the occasion. Robert Karma Robinson evokes the understandable fear and confusion of Robinson, heightening the tension of the courtroom scenes. Physically truer to the character than the Oscar-winning Gregory Peck, Mikel MacDonald brings a dignified gravity to the role of Atticus Finch. His bearing and look (complete with white suit) bring to mind Tom Wolfe, but that is not inappropriate for a Southern gentleman of learning.

Nearly forty-nine years after its original publication, Mockingbird remains a powerful story. Like in Mulligan’s film, when Finch leaves the courtroom, you cannot help get a little choked up. It is a rewarding stage experience, which the Montana Rep will bring to cities in Ohio and Wisconsin in coming weeks. It also proved a good fit for stage of the Brooklyn Center, a comfortable, surprisingly spacious venue that will conclude their current season on May 17th with a production of Annie.

(Photo: Laurie Lane)

On-Stage: Mrs. Warren’s Profession

Business is good for Mrs. Warren. No bailout is needed for her, but she certainly has plenty of stimulus money coming in. Her vocation happens to be the world’s oldest, enjoying boom times during the Victorian era. Despite its stormy initial reception, Mrs. Warren’s Profession has become one of George Bernard Shaw’s most popular plays, with a new production by the Boo Arts company currently running at Manhattan Theatre Source.

Mrs. Warren is now part of management, rather than labor, frequently traveling to her establishments in major European cities, like Budapest and Brussels. Through the proceeds of her business, Mrs. Warren supports her daughter, Vivie, whom she rarely sees. Though curious, Vivie remains ignorant of the nature of Mrs. Warren’s work in particular and her life in general. One summer day, Mrs. Warren surprises Vivie at country home she staying at, bringing with her two friends. Vivie genuinely likes Mr. Praed, a gentle middle-aged man with an artistic temperament, but has little use for the arrogant Sir George Crofts.

Together with Vivie’s neighbors, her prospective suitor Frank Gardner and his father, the Reverend Father Samuel Gardner, they make quite the awkward garden party, especially considering how nervous the good Rector is when recognized by Mrs. Warren. At the end of the night, Vivie and her mother have the first of two mother-daughter confrontations in Profession, in which Mrs. Warren finally reveals the truth of her vocation. How Vivie deals with that revelation, as an independent professional woman in late Victorian society, will preoccupy the rest of the play.

In Profession, Shaw skewers perceived societal norms which largely indulge the patronage of Mrs. Warren’s establishments, but rigorously prohibit the actual mention of the word prostitution. Shaw’s dialogue still retains all its bite, particularly in the hands of the impressive cast assembled in this production. Indeed, there is no weak link amongst them.

Joy Franz and Carolyn Kozlowski as Mrs. Warren and Vivie respectively, are perfectly matched as the hedonistic mother and her coolly rational daughter, whose key scenes together crackle with a palpable intensity. Yet, the rest of the ensemble never lets the energy flag. Supporting roles which might ordinarily lend themselves to stock performances have noteworthy substance here. Joseph Franchini is quite touching as Praed, conveying a welcome sense of the character’s humanity and compassion. Likewise, James Dutton brings surprising feeling and nuance to Frank Gardner, a part which could easily be dismissed as a shallow wastrel.

Effectively staged by director Kathleen O’Neil within the Source’s limited space, the Boo Arts production of Profession is completely riveting. The cast is consistently first-rate, digging into Shaw’s coldly cutting words with absolute conviction. Contemporary theater patrons who enjoy Neil LaBute’s work should take advantage of the opportunity to go back to the classics to hear the same sort of brutally frank dialogue, penned by the Victorian master. Now officially open, Profession runs at Manhattan Theatre Source through April 18th.

(Photo credit: Clint Alexander)

On-Stage: Hollow Log

It is strange to look on stage and see a set that resembles my apartment—my college apartment, that is. Unfortunately, Denny the aging slacker has not developed in any sense since his undergraduate years. While perfectly content to sponge off his best friend Annie’s inheritance, Denny finds his unproductive existence threatened in Lawrence Dial’s slacker thriller Hollow Log, which opened at the Times Square Arts Center this weekend.

The rat’s nest created in Peter Kay’s picture-perfect set is actually Denny’s corner of Annie apartment. One can see why she is ready for him to leave. With the encouragement of her fiancé, Annie gave Denny two months notice (61 days to be exact), to find a new living arrangement, during which time, he has done nothing except smoke her secret stash. Exasperated, she offers him an ad-hoc plan. An evidence bag of Ecstasy, disguised to look like Smarties, has come into her possession and she has arranged a buyer. All Denny has to do is close the sale and he will be financially self-sufficient. However, Denny is reluctant to go through with it, suspecting the whole thing is an elaborate practical joke.

Indeed, a devious set-up is underway. In Act II, Denny’s sluggish, drug-clouded brain must figure out who is framing who, as he finds himself on the receiving end of rough interrogations from Ray, the uptight fiancé, and the suspiciously Russian police detective, Boris Chekhov, who so carelessly lost the drugs in the first place.

Log is a perfect little thriller for the post-Rent New York, where being a bohemian squatter just isn’t so cute anymore. Dial’s play perfectly captures the trendy East Village milieu, and maintains some sense of mystery as to where it is all going. His dialogue has a cutting edge and his references to the City pass the New Yorker’s credibility test.

Joachim Boyle certainly has the right presence as Denny, the chronic underachiever. Erin Roberts is particularly noteworthy as the long-suffering best-friend. Never coming across as either helpless victim or heartless evictor, her frustrations and reactions are perfectly human and understandable. In fact, the entire four person ensemble is well cast and quite professional. (On the night I attended Log, they were briefly interrupted by a sick audience member, but once that was attended to, were impressively able to snap back into character in a matter of seconds.)

Cleverly directed by Kel Haney, Log is a very well paced, somewhat comedic thriller. A detail might get glossed here and there (like just what the original criminal plan was before Denny started complicating everything, is never fully explained), but overall, Dial’s writing is sharp as a tack. With simulated drug use (actually a lot of it, Denny is a serious stoner) and some intense on-stage violence, Log is definitely for adults, but it is a smart, engaging play. Playing Thursdays through Sundays, its limited run ends February 8th.

La Guardia in the Eye of the Beholder

How did Mayor Bloomberg celebrate his inevitable victory overturning the term-limit measure New Yorkers twice approved at the ballot box? Instead of going to Disneyland, he went to Tony Lo Bianco’s one-man show La Guardia. The whole three-termer thing must have appealed to him. For the record, LaGuardia demurred on a fourth term, cautioning mayors tend to get “bossy.” One can see what he meant. You can also see Mayor La Guardia, as personified by Lo Bianco, at the Dicapo Opera Theatre, quite Off-Broadway on Manhattan’s fashionable Upper Eastside.

Distilled from Lo Bianco’s previous one-man productions down to a manageable hour and a half, performed without intermission, La Guardia is a respectful treatment of the progressive Republican icon. The year is ostensibly 1945 and La Guardia is packing up his office on his last day as Mayor, a process nicely suited to prompting reminiscences. Essentially, we hear the highlights of La Guardia’s public career, primarily his terms in Congress, service in WWI, and of course his years in Gracie Manor.

Lo Bianco did his research, acknowledging La Guardia’s little known Jewish heritage. As revealed in Hava Volterra’s documentary Tree of Life, he was distantly related to her Jewish Italian Volterra family-line that included Luigi Luzzatti, the first Jewish Prime Minister ever elected in Europe, and the mystical kabbalist Ramhal (none of which is in the play). Explaining the social pecking-order of turn of the century New York, Lo Bianco’s La Guardia tells the audience as both an Italian and a Jew, he started his career as a third-class citizen. Actually, he could have added Republican, making him a fourth-class New Yorker. In truth, La Guardia shows a better than average understanding of New York’s strange political ins-and-outs. Particularly, on-target was a crack about the “Republican deadbeat district leaders and club loafers,” he had to endure during his early campaigns.

To his credit, Lo Bianco unequivocally portrays Tammany Hall as the corrupt Democrat machine it was. However, he chooses to emphasize La Guardia, the provider of social services and supporter of FDR, rather than La Guardia, the pro-war hawk and crusader against Democrat corruption. Yet, when he covered the WWII years, La Guardia’s words had a ringing resonance for today, at one point warning listeners of his radio broadcast, they can indeed criticize their government in a time of war, but should remember that our enemies are listening as well.

Lo Bianco clearly loves the Little Flower like a brother, but that does not always make for the best theater. We never hear La Guardia holding a grudge or speaking a word in anger against anyone, except the Corruptocrats of Tammany. One-person shows are inherently limited, but La Guardia feels particularly stagy at times. However, Lo Bianco is quite effective channeling La Guardia, getting a standing ovation from an audience that included many who probably remember the great Mayor personally. La Guardia is safe theater and a reasonably diverting history lesson. It runs at the Dicapo through Saturday the 22nd.

Eccentricities by Tennessee Williams

(I’m in Prague and points unknown in Hungary the next week and a half. Blogging will be light but a few time sensitive posts will go up during that time.)

Alma Winemiller must be eccentric. She is far too demonstrative in her music. Not that music is an inappropriate pursuit in itself—she just puts too much of herself into it for the tastes of respectable society in early twentieth century Glorious Hill, Mississippi. Her creator, Tennessee Williams, clearly had more affection for her though, rewriting Alma’s first stage life, Summer and Smoke, into a substantially different play, eventually re-titled The Eccentricities of a Nightingale. Although it became Williams’ preferred version, Eccentricities has rarely been revived, but a rare new production opened at the Clurman last night from The Actors Company Theatre.

Life has stacked the deck against Alma Winemiller. Her natural eccentric spirit is all the more suspicious to Glorious Hill in the light of the madness running unbridled through her family. Her mother’s mental instability is a constant source of embarrassment, sabotaging her own social development. However, the dark secret history of her Aunt Albertine (of New Orleans, no less) may cast a greater shadow over Alma. Given her place in the world, Alma’s continuing yearning for her childhood crush, the now dashing Dr. John Buchanan, Jr., appears hopeless.

According to the very helpful program notes, Williams cut several characters from Summer and greatly simplified the plot. The young Dr. Buchanan’s character was made more sympathetic and Alma became more assertive. They were probably wise edits, as the scenes shared by the two characters are sharply written, forming the heart and soul of the play.

In impressive performances, Mary Bacon and Todd Gearhart play Alma and her object of desire with nuance appropriate to the emotional complexity of Williams’ dialogue. Although their characters’ actions might not always be satisfying, they make those decisions completely believable. While most of the parental characters are basically stern and unsympathetic, the disturbed Mrs. Winemiller comes across more as a childlike woman stuck in a state of arrested development than the dread mad woman in the attic. As a result, the horrified reactions she engenders seem somewhat out of place.

Eccentricities is an intimate story, that proves quite compatible with the Clurman’s space. Bill Clarke’s gauzy sets and gothic backdrops effectively evoke the sense of Southern ennui that marked Williams’ work. Given how the playwright ranked Eccentricities within his body of work and his affinity for its lead character, it seems odd that the play has not been revived more frequently. While the Broadway version of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof might be selling a lot of tickets because of celebrity casting, the simple directness of Eccentricities deserves to find an audience as well. TACT’s revival makes a strong case for revisiting the place of Eccentricities in the Tennessee Williams canon. It runs through May 24th.