Saturday, January 24, 2009

Speakeasy Stage's "The New Century"



The best thing about Speakeasy's latest Off-Broadway revival of Paul Rudnick's tired and sagging comedy can be summed up in two words: Paula Plum. Paula Plum is to the Boston theatre scene what Paul Revere is to the Freedom Trail. Unlike the over-glorified Revere, Plum lives up to her legend in this recent production as the only actress who can make Rudnick's sophomoric, Saturday-Night-Live skit turned ninety-minute play work. And she does so with aplomb.

What Ms. Plum understands - that the rest of the cast and direction lack - is the ability to laugh at one's self, to not take Rudnick's one-liners and punny humour too seriously. In traditional, well-written comedies, the actor must play the comedy seriously in order for it to work. But in Rudnick's case, his sitcom-brand of laugh-track humor requires an actor who can laugh at themselves being laughed at and even laugh when the audience doesn't. Ms. Plum's introductory monologue as the quintessential New York, Jewish (or, nyewish, as I recently coined the term) mother is the only enjoyable ten minutes of an otherwise tired and tepid ninety minutes. The reason it works is because she knows it's a bad play, but has fun playing.

The play has an interesting structure consisting of three lengthy monologues by seemingly disparate characters who all converge in the final scene. It's not original, but at least it's interesting. We start with the high point: Ms. Plum's aforementioned role, Helene, who is competing for the title of best nyewish mother proven by the fact that she is open and accepting of her daughter's lesbianism, her son-turned-daughter's transgender identification, and her bubbala's identity as BDSM scatologist. If you're not sure what any of these words mean, Mr. Rudnick's overly expository writing, like Mother Ignatius, will explain it all for you.

The next monologue is titled "Mr. Charles, Currently of Palm Beach" and introduces a flaming stereotype of a queen who was 2 Gay for New York. A program note explains that Rudnick wrote this monologue as a reaction to a movement from "ten years ago" that sought to encourage LGBTQ persons that they were just like everyone else. Indeed, this monologue might have felt new and engaging ten years ago, but in this "new century" and in the hands of the robotic and unengaging Robert Saoud, it merely runs long and flat. There are witty jokes scattered throughout the monologue; the differentiation between straight men and gay men at the theatre being one of my favorites. However, Mr. Saoud tends to depend too heavily upon the material to carry him through, which is theatre built on sandy ground. Rudnick must have understood the deficiencies in this portion of the script and, therefore, added a hunky sidekick who appears in virtually every masquerade of gay fantasy (superhero, butler, military, jock, stripper, twink) including full-frontal nudity. The nubile Bud Weber as Shane, Mr. Charles' sidekick, is serviceable as scenery, if only he didn't need to act.

The final monologue introduces us to Barbara Ellen Diggs, a Midwestern arts and crafts aficionado who has devoted her life to all things brick-a-bracked, decoupaged, crocheted, scrapbooked, or appliqued. The concept is cute for five minutes, but a fifteen minute monologue ensues incorporating everything from AIDS, 9/11, Cristo's "The Gates", to designing couture for cats. Ironically, the theme of this monologue is to spoof lower culture in American society, yet Rudnick's writing is as cheap as a Hallmark card. In this monologue, he attempts to pull the sympathy vote with Barbara Ellen Diggs' description of her son dying from AIDS. Kerry Dowling definitely pulls at your heartstrings with her sincerity during the sentimental moments, but with such a shabby concept upon which to lay great emotion, it merely feels as cheap as the mocking reference to Hummel figurines. Rudnick doesn't quite grasp his device of mocking lower culture while writing for that very culture, a theme upon which Moliere based his entire career.

The final scene places all the aforementioned characters in a hospital maternity ward. Helene is there to visit her lesbian daughter's new-born, Mr. Charles is there to convert the newbies into fabulosity, and Barbara Ellen is there because she bruised her hip chasing after her cat who escaped from the fashion show. Shane appears to provide a utopian vision of the future which he sees in Century 21, a bargain-basement designer discount store across the street from Ground Zero. Attempting to force-feed a message about the hope for a new generation, Rudnick only succeeds in delivering a hasty ending to an otherwise feeble plot. Rudnick certainly peaked in the early 90s with his then-brave attempt at humorizing AIDS in Jeffrey. However, this production proves that Rudnick's sense of humor is as tired and as cheap as a whore's used mattress. If one gleans anything from this production, it's that the enjoyment level of gay ghetto theatre is in direct proportion to the amount of alcohol consumed before the performance as the drunk group behind me laughed hysterically throughout the performance. Apparently, Rudnick has outlived his welcome on the stage; however, I'm sure Law and Order would be more than happy to help him pay his rent.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

A.R.T. Contemplates Art in "The Seagull"

Anton Chekhov's 1896 play The Seagull is a fascinating specimen in the unification of form and content examining the nature of art. Writing for the Moscow Art Theatre, Chekhov was attempting to (and, as time has proven, succeeding at) creating a new form of drama to service a new world. "What will be here 200,000 years from now?" Constantine asks us at the beginning of the play. It is an apocalyptic beginning to an anachronistic staging of a self-referential play that brings a contemporary sensibility to the contemplation of the state of art and the purpose of classics within our canon.

One would expect nothing less from the American Repertory Theatre which has earned a reputation for exploring the form of theatre while dedicating itself to the staging of classics, premieres, and cutting-edge work. Director Janos Szasz has eschewed traditional staging in every aspect of his production bringing forth the theatricality of the text and highlighting Konstantin's plight to create art that is new. The set consists of a bare stage - rear walls and fly rail exposed - movable theatre seats on stage, puddles of water, and a giant, cracked medieval painting that serves as firmament to the otherwise bleak environment. This Brechtian atmosphere serves the play well as we are invited suspend our disbelief to a Russian outdoor theatre, a summer home, a retreat to the city. Expository settings are eschewed for psychological embodiments of the essentialization of place. Take for example, the piles of luggage that serve as scenery for the beginning of Act II.

The concept for the show is a look into Constantine's brain in the moments leading up to his suicide. (Oops, I gave away the ending.) Therefore, the entire play becomes an exercise in concept as theatrically staged as Constantine's outdoor pageants. In this contemporary world, however, the outdoor plays are more aligned with Mimi's performance art monologue in Rent than theatrics dreamed up by any 19th century Russian aesthete. The contemporary costumes contribute to this allusion - elegant for the elders and heroine-chic for the younger generation - as does the entre act air guitar performance of "Sweet Child of Mine." This is concept directing at its most daring, most dangerous, and, in my opinion, most effective.
In most "concept shows," the actors are treated as merely puppets - disembodied, soulless automatons through which pretty pictures are created and text, voice, body, and movement can be deconstructed. However, Director Szasz uses acting technique as an integral element to his deconstruction of Chekhov's work. Centering the work in Konstatin's mind means developing each of the characters through this same perspective, which, in Janos Szasz' interpretation means adopting heightened melodrama and affected acting technique in order to dramatize the drama within his life. There was a discernible, but interesting dichotomy among the actors that made this choice work and not. The ART company members (Karen MacDonald, Remo Airaldi, Thomas Derrah, Brian Dykstra), who are superb actors in traditional, highly theatrical work , play their accustomed notes in a work that calls for a whole new tonal scale. Contrarily, the younger actors seemed to embrace the melodramatic style without the internalization and honesty of their veteran cohorts. The only performance which I felt melded the realism with stylization was Molly Ward as Nina, Konstantin's love interest. From her first entrance in a blushingly short skirt as an aspiring actress to her ultimate monologue as the strung-out, "ruined woman" her performance was riveting, daring, and evoked passion through stylization - which is the ultimate goal of theatrical conceptualization.
For me, the ultimate question of any conceptually directed show is: At the end, how do I feel about the story? In Janos Szasz's direction of The Seagull, I felt the story was far more accessible than any time I have seen it before. In a clever device, Konstantin uses a flashlight in the opening scenes to direct our attention to where he wants it. Just like these flashlights, Szasz's staging focuses our attention to the elements of the story that really matter while bringing in a contemporary sensibility. And I can think of no greater gift to leave for 200,000 years from now.

Thursday, January 15, 2009

Boston does Berlin Badly: "Cabaret" at New Rep


The most memorable performances of the New Repertory Company's production of Cabaret are Cheryl McMahon and Paul Farwell, performing Fraulein Schneider and Herr Schultz, respectively. These minor characters normally serve as a subplot to provide a personal account of the horrendous effects of the Nazi rise to power against spectacular choreography of escapist musical numbers. In this misdirected performance at New Repertory Theatre, however, the love affair between Fraulein Schneider and Schultz delivers the only believable and engaging storyline of the evening.

The presumed protagonists of the show, Aimee Doherty as Sally Bowles and David Krinitt as Cliff, have the acumen of talented college performers, but feel dreadfully out of place on a professional stage. Ms. Doherty certainly has vocal talent and beauty to spare, but her Sally Bowles is more akin to an undergraduate sorority girl taking a semester abroad than the worldy-wise chanteuse whose "life is a cabaret." Her rendition of the title song is a perfect example: delivered with vocal reserve and practiced manner as opposed to the emotional intensity and abandon usually attributed to this show-stopper. Instead, the 11:00 number for this show became Fraulein Schneider's (Ms. McMahon's) powerfully delivered and emotionally wrought "What Would You Do?" which expresses every ounce of regret, dread, and reservation that the show portends to represent. Unfortunately, misguided direction, choreography, and casting make every other aspect of this version fall seriously short of the works' potential.

The other oft-cited protagonist of the show is usually the emcee, portrayed to TONY-winning fame by both Joel Grey and Alan Cumming. John Kuntz, a local celebrity in his own right, was selected to portray this iconic figure and one wonders if his reputation preceded his musical theatre ability in this casting choice. Mr. Kuntz's performance displays no musical theatre talent whatsoever, either in voice or movement. Remember that high school or college fraternity variety show where the class clown wore a dress and too much make-up? That is the best description for Mr. Kuntz's abysmal performance. The only glimmer of his talent in the entire evening is at the end of the show when the emcee is facing deportment to a Nazi concentration camp (metaphorically, of course); in this moment he delivered a passing nuance that suggests why he might have been cast in the role. Other than this fleeting second, every other moment of his performance on stage was nothing less than painful to watch.

Director Rick Lombardo apparently got lost in translation lifting artistic inspiration from Sam Mendes' 1990s revival, Fosse's 1970s film adaptation, and the original, 1960s made-for-Broadway musical by Harold Prince. The show becomes a hodgepodge connect-the-artistic-dots rather than a well-staged, original production. The Kit Kat girls, for example, wear the hyper-realistic black negligees of the Mendes production while the male chorus wear tuxedos more in line with the safe, 1960s version. The gay themes reinstated from the original text by Fosse and expounded upon by Mendes are present, but through a very limited lens. The aforementioned productions and revivals provided a post-modern, revisionist perspective thus contemporizing the show while bringing a more diverse and expansive historical truth to the story. Mr. Lombardo's direction lacks this skill and, instead, presents a watered-down version thus undermining the power of performance in times of political repression.

The perfect example of Mr. Lombardo's misunderstanding of the politics of this piece (and of performance) is his use of video projections of Hitler. Cabaret is not a play about Hitler, but about the power of one man's political and genocidal aspirations to brainwash an entire nation into servitude. The image of Hitler is far less powerful than the embodiment of a Nazi soldier or the presence of a swastika armband on stage. The cheap device of using videos of Hitler seems to be an attempt to reflect our current culture's obsession with screens and "reality." It is refreshing to observe, however, that the most powerful moment in the musical is when Ernst removes his jacket to reveal a swastika armband. This was the only moment when the audience audibly gasped as one. It should be a lesson to Mr. Lombardo (and to us all) that the subtlety and cultural unconscious of semiological embodiment is far more powerful than any image projected onto a screen can convey.

Cabaret is Mr. Lombardo's swan song as he leaves Boston to assume artistic leadership of San Jose Rep. If we gain anything from Mr. Lombardo's direction of Cabaret, it should be that embodiment on stage is far more powerful than the cheap tricks of cinematic realism that profligate our society and culture. For the embodiment of historical truth is far more powerful than the presentation of cinematic representations. And that is no small legacy to leave...

The Corn is Green at the Huntington Theatre



It's a family affair at the Huntington Theatre this month with their delightful revival of the 1945 inspirational dramady, The Corn is Green, starring local legend (and Grey's Anatomy matriarch) Kate Burton. Ms. Burton, who has led other inspirational revivals at the Huntington in recent years (The Cherry Orchard, Hedda Gabler), is the god-daughter of the playwright, Emlyn Williams (and daughter to Richard Burton) and stars in the show opposite her son, Morgan Ritchie. Not to mention the play marks the first directorial homecoming of former Huntington Artistic Director, Nicholas Martin. The behind-the-scenes story is as schmaltzy and heart-warming as the on-stage narrative, but with this group of players, it's some damn good schmaltz.


The play is undoubtedly the unacknowledged predecessor to the "Teach for Change" feel-good film that Hollywood loves to crank out every few years, e.g. Dangerous Minds, Stand By Me, Music of the Heart, Mr. Holland's Opus. The plot has become formulaic: an independently minded teacher moves into an economically depressed area and starts her own school. The town is against her, the two-dimensional antagonists are against her, even the students are against her. In the moment when she decides to throw in the towel, she reads an inspiring poem by one of her worst behaved students and finds the strength within herself to persevere. Can't you just hear the Maria Carey song that would be nominated for an Oscar for this in Hollywood? Luckily, this play is set in Whales in the latter part of the 19th century, so the music is far more enjoyable to listen to.


As for the performances, Kate Burton lives up to her legend. She delivers an exceptionally commanding performance as if she had been waiting to play this role for years (which she may have). There was not a moment when she was not captivating either as the suffragist woman hellbent on breaking the bigotry of the town's haves or as the hard-as-nails teacher committed to teaching excellence to the have-nots. What is so remarkable about the performance is that Ms. Burton's embodiment of Miss Moffat raises questions about the role of women in power. Our patriarchal culture reserves the word "bitch" for women who behave like men. Ms. Burton's performance (supported by the prescient writing of her grandfather) reclaims "bitch" providing an interesting commentary on how far our society has yet to go for equal rights.


The character who should be described as bitch, however, is Bessie Watty, a conniving, double-crossing. uneducated hussy who uses her base sex appeal to further her status in life. I mention this paradigmatic character presentation not merely to highlight the difference in gender representation, but to point out the other greatest performance of the show. Mary Faber who plays the despicable character does so with such aplomb that you want her to be on stage so you can hate her even more. Despite the obvious two-dimensionality of the character's evilness, Ms. Faber manages to bring a sheer enjoyment to the performance that you just love to hate. Her fabulous costumes, designed by Robert Morgan, only exacerbate the feeling.


As for the "other leading role," Ms. Burton's son seems to lack a few acting genes from the family tree. His performance is serviceable for regional theatre, but really no more compelling than any of the other young actors who grace the stage. Although, he's not a bad actor, his performance raises no doubts that his family heritage got him the part over his ability.


The rest of the company seems to be comprised of many Boston-area actors, which is commendable for the Huntington to support local artists, but negligent in their own nepotism. One can't help but wonder if they are casting based on resume as opposed to talent. Will LeBow appears in the central role of the Squire, but his honky voice and demeanor are no different from the last three roles he's played in Boston. Bobbie Steinbach, another Boston native, plays a relatively good cameo role as the meddling post matron. The only other honorable mention is deserved to Kristine Nielsen who plays the cockney maid, Mrs. Watty. Although her performance mostly panders to the presentational, she displays her gifts as an actress in many comedic turns.


There is a legacy within American theatre to return to feel-good fancy when the economy turns down. Luckily, the Huntington has accomplished this with master talent that does not compromise artistic integrity. The buzz about the show is whether or not it will go to Broadway which seems a ludicrous proposition given the 27 member cast. However, it's a delightful evening at the theatre which will do the Huntington good in this trying economic climes.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

NYC Trip II - Liza's at the Palace

When it comes to theatre, I am a self-professed, unapologetic snob. But when it comes to entertainment, even I have my guilty pleasures. So, how does a self-proclaimed aesthete reconcile spending $100 on a ticket to see Liza Minnelli?

First, the buzz for the show was delivered in phrases that only publicity agents and nelly hairstylists use: "Fabulous!," "Liza's Back!," "Stunning!" In retrospect, I wonder if they were referring to her plastic surgery rather than her performance. Liza maybe back and she may have a new face, but she needs a new act. There was nothing about Liza's performance at the Palace that convinced me of her talent with the exception of my memory of that talent. Apparently, the critics and homos are too blinded by the Minnelli to see that this performance is not only weak, it's embarassing.

And yet, I understand their enthusiasm. With the first few chords of Kander and Ebbs precious melodies my skin melted into goosebumps that I haven't felt since I first played those songs on my hi-fi in college. Liza's performance at the Palace wasn't about Liza or her talent, but about those that have idolized her for so many years finally being allowed to see her live and in person. It's disgusting to me that the reviews should be so positive about a performace that is clearly resting on its laurels of yesteryear. On the other hand, she is a fine actress who has endured stardom into infamy. But, let's face it, isn't her infamy equal to camp sensibility? She's had more face-lifts than Cher, she can barely hold a note longer than 2 measures, she can't walk across the stage due to a bad hip from all those years of Fosse, she dotes on her obviously gay chorus boys which reminds us of her unrealistic marriage propositions. Let's face it, Liza Minnelli is the daughter of Judy Garland and has no concept of reality. The fact that middle-aged fags and aging botoxed housewives spend hundreds of dollars to see her pathetically flail about onstage is disgusting. I am all for supporting aging actors and the moments when Liza played a role suitable to her age and ability level, I was transfixed. She truly is an amazing actress worthy of all her awards and praise. If she could only drop the act that is "Liza Minnelli" and just be an actress, she would have so much more to offer.

In the 20-some-year hiaitus that she has been away, Liza has apparently been having surgery, marrying gay men, and practicing her bow. She may not be able to hold a note longer than eight counts, but she sure can bow. And the audience eats it up. She could hardly sing three notes without flocks of fags leaping to their loafers; they even gave her a standing ovation for blowing her nose. The majority of the 2-and-a-half-hour performance is consumed with Liza thanking the audience, the audience applauding Liza, and Liza taking a bow. Conjuring Roxy Hart's line, "They love me for loving them," I couldn't help but wonder if the audience was there to see her performance or to see her perform Liza. The cynic in me doubts her sincerity when she states that she does this just because she loves being here. With ticket prices spanning $100-$120, I can't help but wonder if she needs to pay off the plastic surgeon. The mostly middle-aged gay men and rich-looking, tight faced women around me, however, swallowed it hook line and "singer." Could someone pass me the Kool-Aid? I love Liza, but this is RIDICULOUS!







This criticism is not to say that there weren't some truly extraordinary moments in the performance. This is, after all, a woman who was (pro)created for the stage and screen and her unalterable showmanship absolutely shines through in rare moments. Every one of these moments occurs when she stops playing the overly rehearsed persona of "Liza" and performs as an actress. The Liza persona is based on a 20-year-old coke addict who "just happened" to find herself in the spotlight after being raised by two Hollywood legends. What worked in the 70s does not hold sway in an era of celebrity status sans talent (e.g. Paris Hilton, Nicole Richie, George W. Bush). Liza is far more compelling when she displays her talent rather than her personality. This occurs in her performance of songs outside her usual canon, such as "If You Hadn't, But You Didn't" where she plays a wronged middle-aged wife who shoots her husband, "What Makes a Man a Man?" when she depicts a pre-Stonewall gay male, and her impersonation of the famed Elsie from Chelsea in "Cabaret." The other most notable number from her performance is "I Am My Own Best Friend" from Chicago, which she relates with a delightful story about substituting for Gwen Verdon in the original Broadway production. This song, which borders on trite and superfluous in the narrative of the original show, assumes another stratosphere of meaning being sung by a legend who's failed relationships make tabloid headlines and whose every exploit has been reported in the media. Liza's performance of this song evoked an empathy that was lacking in the rest of the evening. When Liza stops playing Liza and commits to her ability as an actress for which she has won many accolades and awards, one realizes why this woman is a legend in her own right.


The second act of Liza's show is devoted to recreating the 1950s nightclub act of her god-mother and Hollywood doyenne, Kay Thompson. While it's certainly an elucidating homage to a woman for whom attention should be paid, the act is tired as is Liza's performance thereof. She barely has the stamina to perform an entire number and her physical limitations prevent her from performing them to completion. Instead of the revival of an under-recognized star of Hollywood yore that was intended, we are given an out-dated, uninteresting, pre-modern nightclub act that even Liza is too tired to perform in its entirety. The idea behind the performance was good, but the execution is lethal. It would have been far more interesting if Liza had stuck with personal stories about Kay Thompson than tried to recreate her nightclub act intended for 1950s-60s audiences paying the price of a two-drink-minimum. For me the price to see this theatre legend was too high, though countless middle-ages gay men would protest.

Friday, January 9, 2009

NYC Trip - Equus, aka Harry Potter Gets Naked


In recent years, Broadway has catered to the star-struck touriste with countless revivals starring Hollywood film actors whose names are usually larger than their talent. With this cynical view, I attended what is most likely the most sensational of all big-name vehicles, Equus starring Harry Potter... er, Daniel Radcliffe. Whereas most of these star turns only prove the fact that Hollywood actors' most useful training occurs in a gym, I must admit that Radcliffe delivers an impressive performance. However, the hype in this show is twofold and the criticism is binary. The true starring role of this play is Dr. Dysart portrayed by TONY-award winner Peter Griffiths. Whereas Radcliffe certainly has the celebrity status to deliver a mediocre performance and still sell tickets, he does not and yet Mr. Griffiths all but phones in his role. Griffiths' bloated hype as an actor's actor is minimized by his bloated physique which provides serious obstacles in his performance. As I age I always hope for moments of inspiration in the theatre where more mature stars outshine younger celebrities. Unfortunately, in the case of Equus, this does not come true.

If you're not familiar with Peter Schaffer's 1973 psychological drama, where have you been? The story basically revolves around child psychologist Dr. Dysart (Peter Griffiths) and his treatment of a disturbed 17-year-old, Alan Strang (Radcliffe). A note from the playwright questions whether or not the play is as timely as it was in 1973, a question to which I must opine. In a post-modern era of school shootings, gang warfare, drugs, et al., it is difficult to take the play as seriously as it was first intended and received. Likewise, it is difficult to implicate Alan's social upbringing as the cause for his sociopathic behavior given contemporary psychology. However, this fact maybe exacerbated by the drastic casting choices in Carolyn McCormick and T. Ryder Smith as Alan's parents. One wonders if these lesser actors were chosen in order to highlight the celebrity talent of Mr. Griffiths and Mr. Radcliffe. Ms. McCormick's affected voice and emotions not only defy believability, but border on boredom. Her monologue in Act I - a typical turn for virtuosic acting - fell flat to the point of watch gazing and seat-shifting. The casting of Ms. McCormick as Strang's mother was most unguided.
Not only is the casting of Mr. and Mrs. Strange strange, but virtually every supporting cast member falls flat of the leading players. Kate Mulgrew - who often serves as a celebrity pull herself due to her recurring role on Star Trek - is quite simply atrocious. When she's not mumbling her lines, she's over-enunciating, all the while striking exaggerated gestures and poses as if she's begging for some of Harry Potter's attention. Perhaps Ms. Mulgrew has been playing Katherine Hepburn so long (in Tea at Five) that she's forgotten the difference between imitating and acting. Anna Camp as the nubile love interest, Jill, is simply too sweet and corn-fed to be believable in the raciness the role requires. The other cast members are sufficient in near cameo-sized roles, of particular note is Lorenzo Pisoni's biceps.
Overall, the production is a fabulous spectacle both serving the story and wowing with sensual acumen. Director Thea Sharrock combines fantastical productions elements simultaneously updating the play while serving its original minimalism. The movement choreography by Fin Walker as embodied by six burly actors is at best a stunning recreation of equine behavior. At times, the choreography over-serves its necessity, but generally it is a beautiful compliment to the haunting story. The lighting and sound design also deserve honorable mention for achieving both subtle and dramatic transformations. I may not have been one of the throngs of teenaged girls (and sissies) screaming for Harry Potter at the curtain call, but I joined the well-deserved standing ovation for an excellent Broadway show.