This is Our Youth by Kenneth Lonnergan

Theatre historians often define major movements in theatre historiography with the lens of hindsight. However, there seems to be a trend over the last 10 years of plays that are particularly Gen X in content and expression. This is Our Youth, a three-person play by Kenneth Lonnergan being presented by Gamut Productions at the BCA, is one of those plays that helps define this generation. Sure, it may not have the Pulitzer cred of Rent or the critical appeal of Red Light Winter, but This is Our Youth could certainly be credited as the Gen X’s Death of a Salesman.
The plot can roughly be described as three Gen X youth living in New York City in 1982. However, as the patron sitting to my left noticed, “This doesn’t have to be set in the 80’s. This could be anytime after 1969.” The story is of two friends, Warren and Dennis, the former is a drug peddler whose parents pay for his rent and the latter is a boomerang child who decides to retaliate by stealing money from his father. Enter Jessica, the FIT student with whom Dennis is infatuated. However, Dennis’ plans to bed this beauty are interrupted by the woman’s intellect, perspicacity, and willingness to challenge the status quo. All three characters become involved in a drug scheme, sexual rendezvous, and the inability to communicate their true emotions which, essentially, is the tragic flaw of these unheroic heroes.
On the surface, the play is about masculine friendship and identity, the drug culture, Gen X, and love. Digging slightly deeper, you realize this play is actually an analysis of the Gen X mentality. Dennis brings with him a suitcase full of antique toys – a symbol of the legacy the Boomer generation left to their children. The question remains, “How do Gen Xer’s make sense out of the legacy they were given by the turbulent 60s?” When Warren returns from selling the merchandise for a fraction of its “worth,” we see the legacy deteriorate. The play spins economic theory, mass mis-communication, and honest human emotion into a tangled web where communication is incomprehensible.
The play is conflicting because at times, one wonders how these characters so involved in drugs can express themselves so lucidly and yet mis-communicate their feelings and emotions so poorly. However, it is brilliant in that it captures the ethos of the Gen X sentimentality. It is one of those plays where you feel that research must be done in frat houses dormitories and drug cartel’s to truly capture the voice of these characters.
This production, though lacking in special effects and professional suavity, definitely captured the essence of the piece with all its discomfort and awkward miscommunication. Jonathon Popp as Dennis portrays a doped-up, sleazy, manipulator that harkens the very spirit of David Mamet, Sam Shephard, and Sean Penn all at once. He seems not only made for this performance but to be giving the performance of his lifetime. Steven Rossignol as Warren displays moments of brilliance, mostly in the presence of the other actors,but one definitely gets the sense that he has real acting chops behind the moribund demeanor. Chelsea Cipolla as the lone female definitely portrays a character whose well-grounded and back-boned – a difficult achievement given the patriarchal tone of the piece.
Although the play is well acted and well directed, one can’t help but notice the white, straight, heterosexist hegemony reified by the play’s themes and content. It’s almost as if the author wants the audience to empathize with the white, straight, middle-class whiney bastards who soak up their trust funds while piddling away their lives as some sort of Greek tragedy. As entertaining and enlightening as this show is into the Gen X aesthetic, it should most be analyzed in terms of its reification of the capitalist system and the way Gen X considers the economy as part of our identification and expression of a contemporary Lost Generation.

Third by Wendy Wasserstein

It is a tradition in regional theatre that when an artistic director is going to resign or retire, s/he will opt to produce King Lear. Therefore, it is most befitting that in Wendy Wasserstein’s final play Third, this grand dame of the regional theatre should choose this work as her inspiration. Perhaps it is serendipity or perhaps Wasserstein, who died from cancer last year, saw this as her swan song. Whatever the reason, it provides an interesting bookend to an impressive career, though a play not without its faults and limitations.

In the way that her popular hit Sisters Rosenzweig updated Chekhov’s Three Sisters to 1980s Manhattan, this play modernizes Lear into a New England university where a liberal product-of-the-sixties English instructor is challenged by a Midwestern white, middle-class male – the seeming antithesis of the professor’s “liberal” education. At the heart of the story is the instructor’s accusation that the boy plagiarized his essay on King Lear – a rather pertinent topic given the fact that Wasserstein herself is plagiarizing Shakespeare, who some consider the greatest plagiarer of all. The rest of the plot seems quite perfunctory unless one is a university professor, Shakespeare aficionado, or theatre critic who will enjoy comparing the plot and characters of Shakespeare’s tragedy to this one. The professor has two daughters both of whom represent Goneril and Cordelia while the student represents Regan, the good child. The instructor’s father also makes a brief appearance representing the end-of-act-III Lear as an old man afflicted with Alzheimer’s. A scene on a streetcorner in a rainstorm provides a pivotal moment that maybe lost on anyone who is not familiar with the original work.

Devotees of Ms. Wasserstein’s work will find bits of her uncanny dialogue and character creation, not the least of which is the character of Dr. Gordon. This character seems to solely encompass the wit, wisdom, and spunk for which Wasserstein is known. The fact that this character is battling cancer, the ailment that took Wasserstein’s life, makes her that much more powerful and appreciated. Wasserstein seemed to infuse this character alone with her signature wryness and style. You can see the playwright’s personality come through this character as she fights for her own life while pointing out the triviality in the plights of the characters around her. Perhaps Dr. Gordon was conceived as the fool from Lear who, despite his ignorance possesses great knowledge for the king. On the other hand, it is impossible to ignore that this character maybe Wasserstein herself putting into perspective the trivialities that she dramatized so well in other works.

Unfortunately, the play comes off a bit too pedantic and after-school-special to be considered one of Wasserstein’s magnum opuses. Fellow audience members around me couldn’t help but draw parallels to Mamet’s Oleanna and Rebecca Gilman’s acerbic Spinning into Butter, works that have tackled similar themes with far more combustible content. However, I find this work to be a requiem not just for Ms. Wasserstein’s life and ouvre, but for the era of psychologist-couch realism for which she was writing. Wasserstein provided a voice for the Baby Boom generation educated in the sixties and wrestling with the society they helped to create. In this work, Wasserstein seems to be passing the torch to the next generation with a bit of trepidation, but an acknowledgement that it is time to move on.

Company One: After the Quake

Company One, a theatre member of the Boston Center for the Arts, has established themselves as the theatre company that does not shy away from challenging or difficult material. This spring's "The Pain and the Itch" was one of their most gut-wrenching and rewarding plays of the spring season while last summer's "Assassins" proved popularly successful, though reviews were tepid. Therefore, it was with great anticipation that I attended the latest venture from this little theatre than can: Frank Galati's dramatization, "After the Quake." While I am most impressed with the selection of material, this latest offering is mostly an unbalanced exploration of theatre style, storytelling, and uneven acting.

For those of you who don't know, Frank Galati is the modern-day grandfather of the narrative theatre movement, a style popularized and proselytized at Northwestern where Galati and patron-saint Mary Zimmerman both teach. As the name implies, this genre is based in the act of bringing literature to the stage as in Galati's TONY-winning adaptation of "The Grapes of Wrath" and Zimmerman's TONY-winning "Metamorphosis." In both of these examples, traditional theatre techniques and narrative forms are mixed with storytelling, music, and choreography conjuring the origins of Greek Theatre.

For this work, Galati tackles Japanese writer Haruki Murakami's short stories compiled in his collection by the same title. Both of the stories dramatized in "After the Quake" were written in response to the earthquake in Kobe, Japan in 1995 which left thousands dead, tens of thousands injured, and destruction throughout the city and surrounding towns. Although central to the inspiration, the earthquake actually plays a minor role to the stories evoked cleverly and with great empathy. The frame story for the plot is Sayoko's young daughter Sala, has been having nightmares ever since the earthquake and calls on her college friend, Junpei, to tell her daughter stories to assuage her fears. Junpei, a struggling writer, creates fantastical stories about personified animals that distract and entertain young Sala. Taking inspiration from these fables, Junpei begins work on a story about a life-size frog who warns the unassuming businessman Katagiri about an impending earthquake that will destroy the city. This sci-fi exploration is interrupted with a very realistic memory story about how Sayoko, Junpei, and Sala's father Takasuki met in college and the aftermath of a love triangle gone awry. The intermingling of stories and themes is deftly woven by Galati, which portends the aftermath of all the quakes in our lives whether seismic or personal.

Director Shawn LaCount definitely did his research on Asian theatre traditions in order to stage this work. The stage itself is painted to suggest the traditional theatres of Japanese Kabuki and the performance is underscored by live musicians. Stylistically, the scenes culled from "Super-Frog Saves Tokyo" are directed a la Kung Fu cinema while the rest of the narration aspires to more traditional storytelling cadences. The set is masterfully and creatively evoked by designer Sean Cote whose work not only tackles the difficulties of the space, but sets the standard for nonrealism is stage design for the company. Unfortunately, what doesn't deliver is the company of enthusiastic, but mostly amateurish actors. Giselle Ty's Sayoko aspires to the most naturalistic performance and shows honest acting prowess even when directorial interpretation forces her into stylization. Likewise, the debut of child actor Sydney K. Penny as young Sala is quite possibly the most consistent performance. In defense of the actors, it is a challenging piece as it jumps between past and present, fantasy and reality. I applaud Company One for committing to cast the show with an entirely Asian American ensemble; however, I couldn't help but wonder how this effected the choice of talent.

Although the play is clearly set in Japan following the Kobe earthquake, the themes cannot help but invoke a pantheon for 9/11 America. Even Galati himself draws this parallel with the original inspiration for the work. What is most inspiring about the play is its deference to the concept of hope, which is certainly this decade's rallying cry. I've even heard our current epoch referred to as the post-hope generation. Whatever the lingo, "After the Quake" is a meditation on making sense out of catastrophe, finding hope in each other, and a reminder that a little magic, such as a six-foot frog, has the power to bring out the best in all of us.

NYC: Ruined

In 1911, newspaper magnate Joseph Pulitzer died leaving a bequest in his will to establish a prize through the School of Journalism at Columbia University for exemplary publication in American Arts and Letters. The original statement of the award for drama read: "Annually, for the original American play, performed in New York, which shall best represent the educational value and power of the stage in raising the standard of good morals, good taste and good manners..." In 1928, the statute was amended to "For the original American play, performed in New York, which shall best represent the educational value and power of the stage." And in 1934, an amendment was made for the award to go to "preferably one dealing with American life." Obviously, the Pulitzer Prizes have evolved in the near century of existence; however, the mandate of the award remains the same. This year, the Pulitzer Board awarded Lynne Nottage's Ruined "for a searing drama, set in the Congo that compels audiences to face the horror of wartime rape and brutality while still finding affirmation of life and hope amid hopelessness." A colleague of mine recently commented that the Pulitzer Prize has evolved from a play that represents the American experience to that which represents Africa. Although, I understand his nearsighted opinion, I am most impressed that the Pulitzer committee decided to award the prize to playwright Lynne Nottage's Ruined for a number of reasons.

I saw the production of Ruined now playing at Manhattan Theatre Club Stage 1 and I was completely blown away by the simple, yet powerful depiction of a brothel in war-torn Congo. The story revolves around Mama Nadi, the madame, who attempts to provide a refuge of sorts for girls who are displaced from their homes in order to find solace in the steady work and security of living in a house of ill-repute. The actress known as Portia portrays Mama Nadi, a perfect madame conflicted by her need to provide for the girls she has while confronted with two new emigres, one of which is "ruined." "Ruined," in case you haven't deciphered, is the term given to women who have been raped to the point of genital mutilation - a far cry from Thomas Hardy's Ruined Maid, but a similar sentiment. When the trader Christian (commandingly portrayed by Russell G. Jones) arrives with two new girls, he persuades Mama Nadi to accept them with an offering of Belgian chocolates. Her acceptance of two lives in exchange for chocolates reflects a Brechtian Mother Courage that is pervasive throughout the script. The plot thickens when it is revealed that the one girl who is ruined, Sophie, is also Christian's niece. Sophie, however, proves a useful commodity as she has enough education to keep the books and is blessed with a singing voice to stave off the men. Although, this production is not a musical, the original music provided by Dominic Kanza is award-worthy in itself (and far more worthy of accolade than the Disneyfied Broadway hit In the Heights also shamefully nominated for a Pulitzer). Condola Rashad as the ruined Sophie delivers a star-making performance both in acting and singing prowess. Her friend, Salima, is not ruined and, therefore, is immediately exposed to "the life." Quincy Tyler Bernstein portrays the perfectly nubile Salima who gives her body begrudgingly while holding onto her dream of her estranged husband, Fortune.

Throughout the play, Mama Nadi's house serves as a rotating door for soldiers and opportunistic men. Meanwhile, the encroaching war brings Mama Nadi's to the center of the conflict when a begrudged soldier informs the commander that Mama Nadi has hosted the rebel leaders. In one of the most dramatic climaxes of any play I have seen, the girls of Mama Nadi's are thrust to the ground by soldiers and... well, you can only imagine the brutality and drama that ensues.

I often cry at the theatre and Ruined proved to be a tear-fest. However, my tears were shed with shocking revelations about each of the characters as they tell their stories that led them to Mama Nadi's. The dramas of this drama are delivered through gut wrenching sucker punches that fly at you from every unexpected angle. Sophie's determination to sing through her fear as she watches her friend give her body to a man for the first time. Salima's revelation of her pregnancy and the horrifying tale of her first-born child. Indeed, Madame Nadi's own shocking revelation at the end of the play. Each of these moments is delivered with emotional impact and truth that startle, stun, and ultimately force us to question (and bless) our privileged lives and existence in the United States.

Two years ago, the Pulitzer committee gave the award to David Lindsay Abaire's Rabbit Hole, an equally emotional drama, but one set in the comforts of suburban America. After seeing Mr. Abaire's show, I remember crying out of empathy for this family who lost their young child in a hit and run accident. However, afterward, I felt that my emotions had been compromised and derided the Pulitzer committee for selecting a show that completely evades the questions of American privilege during a time when our own country is at war. Although, I do think that Mr. Abaire's piece is a worthy play, I am pleased to see that the Pulitzer committee has opened their eyes and expanded their selection criteria to embrace the injustices in the world that deserve to be explored through the medium of theatre.

NYC: Mary Stuart

Most of the hype surrounding the Broadway revival of Schiller's Mary Stuart has centered on the TONY nominated performances of two actresses. I agree that this production delivers two unforgettable performances, but only one of which was nominated for a TONY: Harriet Walter's Queen Elizabeth, the second being John Benjamin Hickey's Earl of Leicester. The majority of the publicity for this show has centered on Janet McTeer's performance as Mary Stuart, which I found simply too dramatic to be believable. Ms. McTeer's performance gives everything away leaving nothing to the imagination. Her voice is laden with emotion and her speech is calculatedly breathless. Every choice seems like an actor's choice rather than an impulse from the character and the protagonist, therefore, defies empathy from the audience. In this interpretation, Mary Stuart is a free-spirited, ill-suited woman given the title of queen who would rather run free and splash in puddles as opposed to lead a nation. Some of this is implied in the script; however, what lacks is the perception of Mary Stuart as a leader, as a queen, as someone who a nation can entrust with their faith. Ms. McTeer delivers a staggeringly emotional performance; however, I desire a little more calculation and a little less opera in my matriarchal despot.

Thus, Harriet Walter's Queen Elizabeth provides the perfect antagonist to McTeer's Mary Stuart. Whereas McTeer is over-the-top and melodramatic, Ms. Walter's performance is a perfectly calculated presentation of a Queen whose motivations are obfuscated with treachery and conviction. This is not to say that Ms. Walters delivers an emotionally stilted performance; however, she only allows her emotions to escape when the circumstances have stacked against her. And this slip of emotion against her regal facade of comportment delivers a far more empathy-inducing reaction than the give-all tactics of the title character. Ms. Walters perfectly depicts the dichotomous frustration of being a despot: having ultimate power and being forced to live with the consequences which may affect a nation. Ms. Walter does an exceptional job of conveying her inner-conflict without releasing her outer shell. In any other TONY year, I guarantee she would have received her due laurels.

The other actor who most impressed me in this production was John Benjamin Hickey as the Earl of Leicester. While many of the supporting cast delivered fine performances, Mr. Hickey's surpassed all the others. His was the only performance to transcend the debilitating directorial interpretation of costuming the men in contemporary suits. Whereas this device became a hindrance with all the other characters, in Mr. Hickey's command, his costume was superfluous. He deftly portrayed the suitor, cunning traitor, and empathetic citizen fluidly and with abandon. His performance has been sadly underrated under the glare of the star actresses attention.

The show also carries a weighty directorial interpretation that is unique for a Broadway historical drama. Usually, one expects classic plays on Broadway to be presented with stunning costumes, sets, and spectacle. The only scenery for this production was a sparse brick wall painted black and lined with a 1970s-style wooden bench. The costumes for the men were contemporary black suits with more traditional garb for the women characters. My colleague suggested that this choice was to emphasize the difference in gender roles; however, I wonder if this was chosen to contemporize the themes of the play such as religion versus politics, public will versus private gain, and power versus manipulation. The sparse design was punctuated with superb lighting that almost played a supporting role in the cast. Designed by Hugh Vanstone, the use of light and shadow, illumination of isolated objects, and footlights that cast magnanimous shadows on the back wall provided a commentary on the text that could be a full semester's study in the ability of light to interpret a play. As for the rest of the director's choices, I found myself wondering why more often than understanding or being emotionally affected by the aesthetic. I am the biggest fan of American Repertory Theatre who has established itself as the home of crazy directorial interpretation in the U.S. (clearly, Europe has the trademark on the funky mise en scene). However, I felt jipped by this production's concept in that I was not able to focus my full attention on the quality acting or delivery of story in a play that is rife with storytelling. Had this been Romeo and Juliet or Julius Caesar, I would have said, "Interpret away..." But given the historicism of thie piece, I wanted the production to raise questions about the characters' motivations and interactions that influenced history rather than the director and designers' interpretations to influence the audiences' aesthetic experience.

NYC: Norman Conquests I & II

One of the most surprising runaway hits of this Broadway season has been The Norman Conquests playing at Circle in the Square for one more week. Receiving the TONY Award for best revival of a play, this three-part farce has brought new attention to British playwright Alan Ayckbourn, whose work rarely fares as critically or popularly successful in the U.S. It has taken the genius direction of Matthew Warchus (Broadway's new it-boy) coupled with an insanely talented ensemble of actors to make this trilogy not only work, but fly off the stage and into our hearts.

The main device of the plays is that they depict the events of a family retreat over the course of a single weekend. However, each play presents a slice of life from the weekend from a different location. The first play, Table Manners occurs (obviously) in the dining room, Living Together, the second play is set in the living room, and the final play, Round and Round the Garden is self-explanatory. The plot involved three siblings, Reg, Ruth, and Annie, who are married (or betrothed) to Sarah, Norman, and Tom, respectively. As the saying goes, comedy works best in threes and Ayckbourn has mastered the form delivering three couples through three plays in three locations. And comedy doesn't get any better than this.

To summarize, Annie, the spinster sister who stays at home to care for their ailing mother has arranged a weekend away. Sarah and Reg arrive to relieve her of her household duties. However, when Sarah discovers that Annie is not planning a rendezvous with her beau, Tom, but with her brother-in-law Norman, all hell breaks loose. Norman appears in the garden waving his pajamas about by the unsuspecting Tom and Sarah immediately intervenes to keep him from further seducing Annie. After a night of sprawling, Ruth, Norman's wife, is beckoned to the house and all is revealed to all before dinner, which makes for a great kitchen-table farce. The plot may sound involved and confusing, but I guarantee there is not one moment that evades the audience's perception. The story is so masterfully crafted and so brilliantly executed that you feel not as if you are attending a performance, but attending a sordid family affair (pun intended).

The brilliance of this work lies in the author's and actors' abilities to make these characters so well known that the comedy is inherent. Annie's self-deprecative spinsterism is perfectly portrayed by Jessica Hynes which is coupled in the first scene by the busy-body, "keeping up appearances" persona of Ruth, deftly performed by Amanda Root. Annie's bother and Ruth's husband, Reg (Paul Ritter), is a light-hearted, physical jokester that you can only imagine wears lampshades on his head and enters every party with a joke (or a game created by his own device). Annie's stilted love for Tom is understandable through Ben Miles' awkwardly enamoring performance as the vet who fails to coax a cat out of a tree. Likewise, Amelia Bullmore's Ruth displays a self-confident business woman and beauty whose vanity prevents her from wearing glasses, which provides a tragic flaw and endless slapstick humour. In the end, however, it is Norman, the eccentric lover cum spouse/brother-in-law that truly wins our hearts. Stephen Mangan accomplishes the impossible by playing an unkempt mess of a person who is so encased in feelings and emotion that most of the women and at least 10% of the men in the audience cannot help but fall in love. Upon first seeing the actor in his pajamas, sporting a 5-day shadow, one wonders why anyone would be wooed by this bachanalian beast. But, but the end of Play 1 when he appears in an ill-fitting suit, 1970s tuxedo shirt, and maid's apron, you understand that Norman just wants to be loved. And every woman in the show has love to give.

What is so refreshing about this show is that it is like a well-crafted sitcom: you inherently know these characters and identify with both their plight to make a loveless marriage work as well as their desire for spontaneity and excitement. Ayckbourn is known for writing satirical love farces that plunder the emotions of contemporary relationships and marriage (not that the two are mutually exclusive or vice versa). What is fascinating is how this ensemble has been able to create a motley cast of characters without a single ounce of tongue-in-cheekness or self-aware commentary on the humour or tragic missteps of their characters. Any less-than-skilled group of actors couldn't help but pass judgement on these characters. But in the hands of this talented cast, the characters actions, motivations, and repercussions are performed without an ounce of self-doubt or recrimination. The judgment, in the end, is left entirely to the audience and the sentence they pronounce is gut-wrenching laughter from start to finish.

NYC: Our Town

Let me begin by saying that if a David Cromer fan club does not yet exist, I volunteer to be the founding member. Mr. Cromer, a Chicago-based director, has made a name for himself reinvisioning classic works that simultaneously honor the original intention of the work while revitalizing them for contemporary audiences. Take his Glass Menagerie presented last season at Kansas City Rep, which received widely acclaimed (national) reviews. Likewise, his direction of the musical adaptation of Elmer Rice's classic, The Adding Machine was one of the hottest off-Broadway tickets of last season. His current offering, Thorton Wilder's Our Town playing at the Barrow Street Theatre, is not so much a production as it is a contemplation or meditation on this classic work.

Cromer plays double-duty in this productemplation as both the real director and the on-stage persona of the Stage Manager - which, you will remember from your High School English class, is the narrator for the play. As Stage Manager as well as director, Cromer captures the simplicity of the story by embracing stillness and silence that hearkens the simple lives of the inhabitants of Grover's Corners while forcing audience obeisance of said silence. The effect of listening for a train whistle or the voices of school children in studied silence takes on a religious metaphor, one that is reflected in the text and that culls from the Ancient Greek religious heritage of theatre. "Listen," Cromer says as the Stage Manager and director, and the audience sees the silence with both our attention and imagination. Throughout the play, simplicity and stillness are honored - a rare find in our media-saturated, hi-def Broadway world.

Obviously, Cromer has a rich canvas on which to paint his directorial interpretation. Thornton Wilder was an innovator in theatre and his stage directions of the show call for simplicity and minimalism of staging far before it was chic, or even a termed device. Mr. Cromer has transformed the Barrow Street into a 3/4 round theatre with only a handful of rows ensuring that every audience member is as close to the action as the players themselves. Sitting in the center first row, I found myself tucking my feet under my seat numerous times to allow the bypass of actors or witnessing scenes practically in my lap. The set consists of two tables with four chairs each to represent the Gibbs and Webb houses, which dramatically transform into the second-story windows of the two young lovers by placing the chairs on top of the tables. Such simplicity in staging coupled with naturalistic pauses and silences make the work transformative. I knew that if this production were on Broadway, I would be assaulted with sound effects, lighting effects, rushed delivery, et al. But in this off-Broadway house, Cromer is allowed to let this piece breathe as deeply and vitally as the characters it (re)presents.

Most of the critical praise for the work has touted the alarming choice during the third act. It is, apparently, this seasons' theatrical "Crying Game." And, apparently, I am the only theatre connoisseur who escaped knowledge of said interpretation. However, I refuse to reveal it to other theatre snobs who deserved to be impressed as I was. However, as brilliant as I felt the device to be, I did not find it half as risque and impressionable as the play itself, which defies so many standard theatrical devices. The entire play is a contemplation of performance and representation and adulation and devotion. The choice to have the actors wear contemporary costumes brings the show full-circle. Cromer, as I have said, is serving classic American plays with honor and reverence while delivering a contemporary spin that is both intellectual and accessible. He has been slated to revive two of Neil Simon's comedies for the Broadway stage in the up-coming season. And after seeing Our Town, I have faith that Mr. Cromer can revive far more than just discarded classics, but has the potential to refocus our aesthetic to honoring our theatrical heritage while reclaiming some sacred element of our performative anthropology.

NYC: HAIR

Now that the fanfare surrounding this year's TONY Awards has cooled, I finally have time to post my thoughts on the winner for best revival of a musical, Hair. This production has special significance to us Bostonians as it marks the Broadway debut for director Diane Paulus, rising artistic director for the local American Repertory Theater. Having made her name for conceiving and directing The Donkey Show, a 70s-era disco version of Midsummer Night's Dream, Paulus seems the most likely candidate to direct this much-anticipated Broadway revival. Therefore, Publick Theatre artistic director Oscar Eustus certainly deserves some credit for perfectly matching the artist to the art (however, why he was the only one to give an acceptance speech at the TONY's ceremony baffled me). With all of the hullabaloo surrounding Hair's path to Broadway, I guess my expectations were a little too high. The show is interesting and well-done, but lacks the spark of inspiration and innovation that usually marks a major Broadway revival (think Chicago, Cabaret, or Sweeney Todd). Ms. Paulus' revival plays more like a well-preserved museum piece dusted off and displayed for nostalgia and fun.

The first impression of the show was how great the music truly is. Whether this is a result of how bad the book truly is or my own nostalgia of listening to the cast album over and over again during my own angsty college years is anyone's guess. However, as the lights dimmed in the final "Let the Sun Shine In," the audience was standing and swaying and singing along much like over-aged Jonas Brothers fans. I hoped the finale-remix popularized by the Joseph... revival and exploited by Mamma Mia had faded with the mega-musicals of Cameron MacIntosh. Apparently, I hoped too soon as Hair, not only ends with an audience sing-along, but an onstage dance party. Only on Broadway can you pay $160 for a ticket to perform for yourself. I could have paid a $10 cover charge for 80s night at a local club and had the same sense of "Gee, I'm old, but it sure feels great to dance to this music again." But, I'm harping on the last twenty minutes of the show and, to be fair, there was another hour and fifty minutes of entertainment to skewer.

The New York critics were so enamored by the revival mostly due to the young and talented cast. Seeing the show in previews, I found the young cast to be tired - voices were husky and straining, some of the actors seemed to be going through the motions. I guess I'm partly jaded living in a regional city that exports its young talent to the concrete jungle of New York. I'm not impressed by young talent because I'm surrounded by it. I guess New York critics are oppositely jaded with well-honed, seasoned actors. The only exception to this rule for me was Andrew Kober's show-stealing comedy as a one-man ensemble of assorted characters such as the 1960s Dad, Margaret Meade, et al. His comedic turn was the type of Broadway debut that signals the rise of a major star.

Ms. Paulus was a history major at Harvard University, which accounts for her well-documented restaging of the play. Indeed, many of the original reviews that I've read about the show were fulfilled on cue: see the tribe members rush into the audience, see tribe members confetti the audience with flowers, etc. However, Paulus demonstrates her directing prowess in the second act when, historicism aside, she is allowed to play within the dramatic device of an acid trip - think of it as the 1960s response to the dream ballet. During this exciting interlude, the social and cultural upheavals that have become synonymous with "the sixties" are spoofed, minstrelled, and musicalized and Paulus' intellectual direction does not let one social commentary slip. The other aspect of innovation for which Paulus should be applauded is her contemporary scrutiny of sexual relations that is tested in the original, but fully explored in Paulus' daring reconceptualization of the sexual dynamics of characters. The sexual identity and relationship of Berger and Claude is obfuscated to the point of being uncategorizable, a notion that is only possible in the post-sexual politics of queer identity. I have much respect for Ms. Paulus as a theatre artist for I feel she is undaunted to challenge form and content. Likewise, I feel that her conceptualization of this revival is intended as an homage to the original, served with reverence and precision. I only hope that the many accolades lauded on this work will inspire her to break even further from convention and return to her roots of reconfiguring, reconceptualizing, and rechallenging the artistic form so that she may create the next musical that defines a generation.

If the Shorts Fit - Curtain Call Theatre

I first fell in love with theatre through the oft-maligned industry of community theatre. Therefore, when I hear of a community theatre expanding its repertoire outside of the canonized Rogers and Hammerstein and latest Neil Simon comedy, I am intrigued. Thus, my attendance at the Curtain Call Theatre's presentations of original short plays, If the Shorts Fit 2. This evening of eight short plays premiered works that span the gamut from sophomoric playwriting exercises to honestly inspired pieces. But the evening is a conubial joy of local writers and acting community. The talent may be spurious, but the spirit is omnipresent.

On the night I attended, most of the short plays dealt with some aspect of the male/female relationship, which makes one wonder if this is a deliberate choice or happenstance. The first play, "Apple" by Trevor Suthers is a contemporary retelling of the Adam and Eve story. Likewise, "Trouble with Day Care" by Josh McIlvain posits the absurd situation of a father who brings home the wrong baby from daycare. "Jump!" by George J. Bryjak presents a young male on the verge of suicide before he meets the perfect macro-biotic female for his unconsumerist ideals. "Idiots Abroad" broaches the subject of a very American couple maneuvering the autobahn in Germany as well as their personal relationship. "Downhill Ride" by Dave Tucker explores the life of an over-fifty roller-coaster rider through the narration of his best friend.

The high spots of the evening were threefold, each of which presented a view on relationships, form, and expression that were unexpected in this barn cum community theatre. The first surprise of the evening was "Heartbreak Hill" by Lisa Burdick. The protagonist of this play is struggling against the physical tolls of a marathon for cancer as narrated by the many parts of her body. When she finally decides to give up, the multiple aspects of her personality pull together to remind her of the many friends and relations she has lost to the disease. This heartfelt homage to the performances of remembrance that have become so second-nature to our culture (AIDS Walks, Breast Cancer Walks, etc.) is both heartfelt and topical.

"The Dueling Princess" by Lisa Zadok portrays the most eloquent scripting of the shorts presented. This neofeminist/revisionist/fractured Fairy Tale introduces Princess Sophia, a maiden who favors marksmanship over gowns and competition over companionship. Hiding in the local Inn, she observes from privileged anonymity as she is actually the princess of this domain. Enter Lord James, a slovenly prince who attempts to woo Sophia with his charms. However, James learns that he cannot compete with Sophia's marksmanship. Instead, he proffers supplication to her devotion through their mutual childhood experiences. The writing for this play is far more developed than any of its compatriots and I guarantee we'll be hearing from this playwright in generations to come.

The final short presented was "Not Funny," a play written by Christopher Lockheardt, which won the Creaky Award for best short play. Opening on a scene where a husband is stabbed by a knife and a stereotypical wife stands by, the opening line is "I see your point." As delivered by David Edge, the actor posesses all the dead-pan precision of Bob Newhart. The play is primarily conceived around the age-old men are from Mars/women are from Venus conflict, but with the stabbing wit (pun intended) of this playwright, it is an enjoyable and well-written comedic skit.

Although, this was certainly not life-changing theatre, it was inspiring to see so many local professionals and hobbyists working together to deveop and create new work. The Curtain Call Theatre should be acknowledged for their devotion to the work of Boston-area playwrights and the great feeling of community inspired bytheir evening of shorts.

On the Verge of Nora Theatre Company

I applaude the Nora Theatre Company for attempting difficult, literary scripts that many small theatres their size would not touch. Examples include the rarely produced We Won't Pay, We Won't Pay by Nobel Prize winner Dario Fo. Their recent production of Eric Overmeyer's On the Verge falls under the rarely produced category, but fails to deliver a well-produced production. The major problem with the production is Director Wesley Savick's over-conceptualization of a piece that needs less concept and more attention to story-telling.

The three actresses who portray the time-traveling scientists that bridge the time/space continuum range from the mediocre to bad at any given moment in the play. Deanna Dunmyer delivers an over-the-top Lady Macbeth performance in a piece that calls for the subtlety of Chekhov. Alicia Kahn as Fanny delivers a soap operatic performance as the female explorer who sells out to the socially-predicated feminine roles of the 1960s. Only Anna Waldron, as the youngest and most liberated female explorer, displays any concept of attachment with the other actors or connection to the words. I can't help but feel that this director decided upon a concept which included constant pantomime by the performers thus neglecting the opportunity for the performers to connect with the words or character and deliver a performance that is more akinto modern dance than theatre. Likewise, Barlow Adamson's performance as the numerous males encountered by these female explorers was nothing less than uncomfortable. On the Verge as produced by the Nora Theatre Company and directed by Wesley Savick is nothing less than an extraordinary play given a less than stellar production by a company that keeps reproducing lesser-staged productions badly. I can't help but feel that the company is "on the verge" of producing something spectacular. But, as long as they stick to directors who employ bubble machines to highlight the apex of the play, the theatre company has much to learn bout producing quality work for dedicated theatre patrons. For those who are just looking for a good time in Central Square, I suggest you attend the Middle East as it is far more likely to present a well-rehearsed act rather than the shabby presentations of the Nora Theatre Company.

Here's hoping their new space at Central Square Theatre will open up new posibilities for them as seems the case for their up-coming season.

"The Color Purple" on Tour

I saw the original Broadway production of The Color Purple in 2006 and, I must admit, I laughed and cried and thought it was better than Cats. However, upon a second viewing of the national tour in the beautiful and historic Wang Theatre, I was left with a sense of antipathy. Why my ardor should cool so quickly is a mystery to me and I can't help but wonder, "What does a show lose when it transfers from Broadway to the road?"


Certainly none of the performances were compromised as many of the original cast members have joined this first national tour. Seeing the TONY-award winning performance of LaChanze was magical, but Kenita Miller's performance as Celie is just as fitting and worthy of accolade. Felicia Fields as Sofia is just as robust and comical as she was on Broadway. However, Angela Robinson's performance as Shug Avery suggested that she might be fighting a cold or withholding her voice. The signature numbers "What about Love?" and "The Color Purple" definitely suffered either due to the fact that they were way out of vocal range for the performers or because the sound balance was off.


And the sound balance was the biggest problem of the production. Having worked in the touring industry, I understand that sound is one of the most problematic aspects of touring a show. Each house is different although the technical equipment that the tour is given is the same. It really seems to be a no-win situation, especially considering a cavernous space such as the Wang. Although it is a beautiful theatre, after seeing this production I completely understand why Broadway Across America takes their performances to the Opera House or the Colonial Theatre. Many important aspects of the production were lost due to poor sound mixing such as the lyrics of the Church Ladies' Greek Chorus-style commentary and the volume level of Celie's anthemic "I'm Here." However, my surrounding audience members didn't seem disturbed by the lack of amplification and the show was received as warmly in this primarily African-American audience as it was on Broadway.


I wonder, however, how well Jersey Boys will play in the same space. Interestingly, Jersey Boys has sold out from July through October whereas The Color Purple has barely sold enough for a two-week run. I can't help but think that this is due to the racism inherent in theatre audiences. This racism is apparent in the Broadway industry across the board. Jersey Boys won the TONY Award for best musical in 2006 against The Color Purple. Historically, musicals that challenge the status quo don't fare at the TONY awards as well as those that reify white, middle-class priviledge and standards. Examples include: The Will Roger's Follies over Once on this Island in 1991; Nine winning over Dreamgirls in 1982; and The Music Man winning over West Side Story in 1958. The legacy of the TONY award is definitely as much about politics as it is about product.

Take last year's TONY Award-winning musical, In the Heights, a Disney-esque, melodramatic (aka Univision) performance that ghettoizes the Latino culture within the purview of the Great White Way. Meanwhile my self-aggrandizing snobbery must admit that the audience with which I saw In the Heights was the most diverse of any Broadway audience I have ever been a part of, including The Color Purple (the latter was primarily African-American while the former included every color of the spectrum and, presumably, every socio-economic status). Meanwhile, the thought-inducing and racially-charged Passing Strange passed virtually unnoticed by TONY voters while it offered a far more intellectual and interesting comment on the presentation of race on the stage. Luckily, Passing Strange has been slated for a Spike Jones film while In the Heights is scheduling its first national tour, which I'm sure will play to major American cities with high ticket sales and without a thought as to the white privilege reified through this very work. My estimation is that white people feel good when they can see a show that presents "otherness" within a safety net of good storytelling without a challenge to their status quo. The Color Purple presents this challenge as it gears its delivery to the African-American audience. The fact that this musical was overlooked for an essentially jukebox musical of dubious merit shows how far we have to go before achieving any semblance of justice for all. The fact that Jersey Boys is outselling The Color Purple at the Wang Theatre is no more than a reflection of the racism of the theatre-going audience in Boston and the racism that continues to pervade our culture and our arts.

Mamet Double Bill at American Repertory Theatre

The American Repertory Theatre (recently renamed TheatER) concludes their season with a celebration of David Mamet's work called "Sex, Satire, Romance, and Ducks." Kicking off the festival was the much lauded Romance, which I was unfortunately unable to see. The Mamet Double Bill currently playing at Zero Arrow Theatre provides dichotomous productions of two of Mamet's one-acts proving why this playwright has earned his merit as a master of American drama and why young actors can rarely do his work justice.

The first act of the double bill is The Duck Variations - pun, no doubt, intended. The framing device of two men on a park bench pontificating life, death, and ecological disaster is certainly not new (i.e. Albee's Zoo Story and Lee Blessing's A Walk in the Woods). But in the masterful hands of Mamet and the talented company of the A.R.T., the play soars with revelation like post-modern scripture. Like many of Mamet's plays, the dialogue is about everything and nothing. Two aging men sit on a park bench discussing the first signs of spring: ducks, boats, the vernal signifiers of regeneration. Yet as the play progresses, the seemingly absurd dialogue slips into philosophy on life, relationships, and death.

The most rewarding aspect of the production is the simplicity of staging and mastery of presence. Director Marcus Stern serves the script with reverence and simplicity allowing the script to take center stage over concept or spectacle. The only perceived directorial staging is a moment where the two men stand from the park bench while narrating the plight of a duck in flight during hunting season. The fact that the pedestrian act of standing from a park bench should register as a directorial decision confirms the fact that the production of The Duck Variations achieves its intended purpose of presenting a slice of life naturalistically while delivering philosophy that is both topical and universal.

The credit for the production, however, cannot deny the talent of Will Lebow and Thomas Derrah. As company members of the A.R.T., I must admit I have grown tired of seeing their stock performances over time. Will Lebow typically hides behind his voice while Thomas Derrah over-performs his characters. However, as this play is about two men who have known each other for a long time, the familiarity of these two actors not only works, but adds to the production. Will Lebow's simplicity as George is, quite possibly, one of his strongest performances in recent memory. Thomas Derrah's character, though slightly over-dramatized, displays this masterful character actor's command. The Duck Variations is the epitome of what the A.R.T. does well: a company of talented actors bringing to life quality dramatic texts under the auspices of creative direction.

Whereas the first one-act of the evening is a lesson in how to do Mamet right, the second act, Sexual Perversity in Chicago, is how to do Mamet wrong. A production by the students of the MXAT Institute (A.R.T.'s MFA training program), Sexual Perversity in Chicago is more like a series of painful presentations in an Acting 101 class. The direction, design, and performances are so ill-conceived and executed one can only wonder how these students are earning MFA's and why A.R.T. would include this aberration as part of their mainstage season. Directed by Dramaturgy student Paul Stacey, the play takes place all over the Zero Arrow Theatre space making transitions laborious and highlighting the lack of focus that seems to be a central theme to the production. Not one of the actors conveys a sense of purpose, relationship, or identity in a play that is essentially about relationships and identity. Looking into the eyes of these actors is like watching a blank screen with no connection to their characters, words, or action. The diction of the actors is precise to a fault, as if they were reading their lines for a hearing-impaired audience. Likewise, the design of the show is less than A.R.T. standards with costumes that look like they were pulled from a rack at Garment District, unfocused lighting and a minimalist set that impeded rather than improved the production. I am more than willing to concede to the standards of academic theatre; however, this production is worse than most undergraduate productions in Boston. I have high hopes for Diane Paulus' assumption as Artistic Director of the A.R.T. Here's hoping that an overhaul of the MXAT Institute is part of her plan.

Boston's Summer Musicals

As the weather has finally melted into sultry days and snowless nights, theatres around Boston conclude their seasons with lighter fare. What is it about summer that makes people crave musicals? Perhaps warm temperatures goad us into craving mindless frivolity, a cognitive shedding of the heavy winter layers. An analogic test might conclude: February is to Chekhov as June is to Rogers and Hammerstein. Whatever the reason, three theatres around town are producing New England premieres of musicals that range from completely frivolous to moderately moribund with equally diverse success.


Let's start with the bad news first. In the program notes to Speakeasy Stage Company's Jerry Springer: The Opera, director Paul Daigneault pontificates as to why this work has not been produced more widely on American stages. A hit in London and at international Fringe Festivals, Jerry Springer: The Opera has been one of those rare gems that does not translate well into regional or community theatre fare. My personal opinion is that the work is far too satirical of American culture to truly resonate with American audiences, except for the most self-deprecating. Although the show has been selling well - no doubt promulgated by the crazy Catholic's protest of the opening weekend's performance - this production is one of the most amateurish and ill-directed works I have seen on Speakeasy's Stage.


The chorus of Jerry Springer: The Opera is the studio audience, but in this production the chorus mills about on stage dressed as trailer-trashy as the talk show guests. Add into this the (assumedly) Brechtian device of having the actual audience sit on-stage and you have the uncomfortable position of where to focus and what is appropriate audience/actor interaction. The only reason this is mentioned is because there seemed to be only two professional actors in the entire company who could command the stage over the audience presence on-stage or the masturbatory performances of the ensemble. The two shining moments of professionalism were Kerry Dowling and Amelia Broome whose performance salvaged an otherwise chaotic and misdirected evening of theatre. Some of the performers delivered vocally adept performances such as Luke Grooms and Joelle Lurie who obviously have operatic training, but lacked direction and an actor's command of the stage. To answer Mr. Daigneault's query as to why Jerry Spring: The Opera isn't more widely produced, one need not look further than this production. It is simply too large for most theatres to cast and too complex for many directors too handle.

The response to [Boston Globe reviewer] Louise Kennedy's review of the Huntington Theatre's Pirates has been far more controversial than the show itself. The gulf between the ecstatic audience reception and Ms. Kennedy's frigid review (not to mention Managing Director Michael Maso's public response) has been the stuff that backstage musicals are made of. My personal opinion falls somewhere in the middle finding Pirates both a delightful take on Gilbert and Sullivan's classic Pirates of Penzance and a cheap, bawdy vaudeville where anything goes for a laugh. I do, however, countermine the argument that the show is mere frivolity with little to no thought. The idea to combine the narratives of Pirates of the Carribean with Gilbert and Sullivan's classic is nothing short of inspired even though the execution may at times condescend to the lowest common denominator. The fact that G&S's work is outside the domain of copyright laws allows the creative team to contemporize the humor by changing dialogue and lyrics. This is what makes living theatre such a delight and I only wish that contemporary writers understood the necessity to up-date theatrical work in order to prevent it from becoming a museum piece.

I can gladly say that this is one of the few Huntington shows where I don't leave praising the set over the performance. Director Gordon Greenberg has put together a stellar cast using national and local talent and paces the show at 20 knots. All the beloved characters from Gilbert and Sullivan's original are in place with jokes and bits that make them more of-the-moment and more self-aware. Indeed, the self-awareness of the show - actors breaking the fourth wall to milk the audience - is one of the most refreshing aspects of the production and revive this standard to contemporary, professional standards. The show made me giggle with such abandon as Spamalot while allowing me to rediscover the great melodies invented by the genius Arthur S. Sullivan. I felt like I was rediscovering Pirates all over again sans boring recitative and laborious plot.

The performances are, across the board, of Huntington standards - which, I was shocked to learn include many students from area schools. The pirate ensemble of chorus boys falls a little too quickly into mugging, but their athleticism makes up for this fault. Farah Alvin's Mabel is perfectly executed in voice and acting. Her performance is so spot-on that one cannot imagine a more perfectly suitable star. Anderson Davis as Frederic plays a believably dense blond and deservedly brings down the house with his America Idol rendition of "Oh, Is There Not One Maiden?" Yet the true star of any Pirates of Penzance is the Modern Major General and Ed Dixon does not disappoint. His performance has the ability to single-handedly argue for a revival of vaudeville.

The last summer musical - and one to most tug at my heartstrings - is the Lyric Stage's glorious production of Grey Gardens. I saw the original Broadway production of this show and I wondered how the Lyric would pull it off. But, pull it off they did with uniquely original staging by Spiro Veloudos and a star-studded cast of local Boston actors. The music, which is difficult to say the least, was perfectly executed by Musical Director Scott Goldberg and talent. The thrust staging of the production was so well executed by Mr. Veloudos and scenic designer Cristina Todesco that one realizes the show does not need all the bells and whistles (and fly systems and million dollar budgets) employed in the original production. Instead, Lyric Stage committed to the beautiful music and heartfelt story and delivered a great performance.

One criticism is that the direction felt a little too directed toward "a musical" whereas this is a dramatic story told through music. In Act I Leigh Barret, as the matriarch Edith Bouvier Beale was allowed to fall into her barren-eyed auto-actor that so often accompanies her vocally bravura performances. In Act II, however, as the mentally haunted Little Edie, she delivers a performance that is both emotionally charged and completely unbelievably believable. The other true star of the show was Aimee Dougherty as the young Little Edie in Act I. Ms. Dougherty maybe overcast in Boston area theatres, but in this production, she found her niche and shined with all the star quality that she truly possesses. Sarah deLima as the elder Edith Bouvier Beale also shone with a delectable voice and the perfect physical representation of the character. I also must praise Miranda Gelch whose young Jacqueline Bouvier was the splitting image of her namesake.

It has been an exciting season in Boston this year with much more excitement to come as Diane Paulus assumes the ranks of Artistic Director at A.R.T. However, each theatre sent us off to our summers on the Cape (or stuck in the sultry city) with a little musical verite and much enjoyment to ponder as we sip cape cods on the shore.

NYC: 33 Variations by Moises Kaufman

As a huge fan of Moises Kaufman's work, it was with great expectations that I attended his recent, original opus 33 Variations playing the Eugene O'Neill Theatre. The story of a musicologist who specializes in Beethoven as she deals with her impending debilitating disease has been overshadowed by the fact that the work marks the return of Jane Fonda to the Broadway stage after a 46 year hiatus. Although, most people are only concerned with Fonda's performance (or how good she looks), I was actually interested in seeing the play. For the record, Ms. Fonda looks as good on stage as she does off, but the play leaves much to be desired.

The concept is interesting, but not unique. The entire piece feels like an amalgamation of other (and better written) works. The theme of a main character's plight to balance her career with her fatal disease is better realized and more fully explored in Margaret Edson's Wit, which won the Pulitzer for the one-time playwright. The flashback scenes detailing Beethoven's own physical demise can't help but be compared to Amadeus. And the sub-plot love affair between the musicologist's daughter and her nurse hearkens many cheesy, contemporary romances - one scene in a movie theatre is so eye-rolling that it can only be compared to the drive-in scene in Grease. The show is an amalgamation of uneven moments none of which comprise a solid evening of theatre.

Now, for what everyone wants to know: Ms. Fonda does an admirable job. She is especially adept at the physical demise of her character as she succumbs to Lou Gherig's disease (oops, is that a plot spoiler? I hope not). However, Fonda has made her claim as a passionate and fiery actress; a cerebral and methodical musicologist is casting against her well-worn grain. In the second act, when her demeanor is slipping, she is allowed to show the passion and fury that is her signature and in this moment she shines. But for the rest of the play, one cannot help but feel she is playing against type. The second most memorable moment in the play is a non-verbal sequence where her character is undergoing X-rays and the flashes of light reveal her body slowly disintegrating in on itself. This moment was a brilliant use of physical acting and stage technology.

The MOST memorable moment of the play does not come from Ms. Fonda, but from Zach Grenier as Beethoven. He has a monologue - which is really a dialogue with the live pianist who plays Beethoven's works throughout the show to aurally illustrate the subject matter - that is Tony worthy. Mr. Grenier's performance is sublime across the board, but in this one moment he captures the passion of music, the limitations of words, and the inspiration of genius. Mr. Grenier's performance is nothing less than genius and if he is overlooked for the Tony Award, it will be a shame. It is so refreshing to see a quality performance on Broadway by an honest-to-God stage actor as opposed to celebrity pandering of most Broadway shows (including this one). Mr. Grenier's performance may not sell as many tickets as Ms. Fonda's name, but I guarantee that more people will remember his Beethoven over Ms. Fonda's... what was the name of her character again?

The supporting also falls into celebrity pandering with Tom Hanks' son, Colin, playing the nurse and love interest to the daughter played by Samantha Mathis. Both of these actors did a serviceable job in under-written and under-developed characters. The only other actor worthy of mention was Susan Kellerman who made the most out of a least-written character based on the stereotypical German empiricist.

The most stunning aspect of this production was Beethoven's music played live by Diane Walsh. Although the plot was not original, the inclusion of a live musician who interprets and interacts with the plot is fresh and lively. In an era when musicals sequester their orchestras, it was refreshing to have the musician as a tertiary character in the plot. For all its faults, I feel this is the most satisfying aspect of the performance: to connect a human story with historical evidence as performed by a live musician. Kaufman's Tectonic Theatre Project has been devoted to documentary theatre and exploring the fact/presentation dichotomy. I applaud this latest endeavor, but hope that they will return to employing stage actors and investigative documentary work rather than selling-out to Broadway standards.

Picasso at Lapin Agile at New Rep

I'm not sure how I've lasted this long without ever seeing Steve Martin's Picasso at Lapin Agile playing through Sunday at New Rep in Watertown. The theatre goes so far as to call it a "classic comedy." How a show written in 1993 can already be deemed a classic is as confounding as how this production at New Rep can be called a comedy. Certainly, the writing is some of the wittiest and funniest I've heard in recent memory (save for Lyric Stage's delightfully surprising Speech and Debate). But Director Daniel Gidron and cast deliver an unsubtle, unentertaining, and mostly unfunny performance.

In an effort to be positive, I'll start with what worked which can be summed up as the single performance of Dennis Trainor as the self-possessed Charles Dabernow Schendiman. Mr. Trainor's performance alone evokes the comic sensibilities of Martin's writing. His over-the-top delivery, perfectly pompous demeanor, and smoothly choreographed blocking make his few minutes on stage a riotous respite from an otherwise droll evening. How this one performer can so perfectly capture the comedy while the rest of the production fails to evoke an iota of the laughs must be credited to this actor's unique talent for it is a stand-out performance that provides the evening's only icebox laughs (if you haven't seen the show, then you might miss that last reference).

The other "honorable mention" in the cast is the delightfully understated performances by Stacy Fischer who plays three femmes fatale throughout the performance. As the saucy seductress Suzanne, Ms. Fischer evokes a Lindsay Lohan-esque quality that makes her funny precisely because she is not trying to be so. Later, as the star-struck Female Admirer she throws caution to the wind delivering a screaming, swooning teeny-bopper whose physical dexterity is not only funny, but impressive.

What makes the show most disappointing is the casting choices of the two leading roles of Neil Casey as Einstein and Scott Sweatt as Picasso. Mr. Casey's approach to comedy is to shout all of his lines as if he were impersonating Gilbert Gottfried rather than the physicist. His lengthy monologue about the perfect selection of the letter E is funny, but the rest of his performance is migraine-inducing. Scott Sweatt's performance as Picasso is nothing less than amateurish with affected speech patterns more suited to bad Shakespeare and an awkward physical demeanor that defies his character as a suave womanizer. He may be a young actor, but his habit of putting his hands in his pockets when he doesn't know what else to do with them are usually ironed out in one's undergraduate classes. Mr. Sweatt's performance is by far the worst performance I have seen in a professional theatre in Boston this season.

Without such miscasting in the two leading roles, the supporting cast would have been serviceable, but with this misdirection the rest of the ensemble fall along a continuum from fair to mediocre. Paul Farwell as the prostate-challenged Gaston falls to the fairer end of the spectrum with a decent turn especially in his drunkenly slurred speeches. Marianna Bassham also may have given a decent performance if I weren't so distracted by her ill-designed costume and hair. Likewise, Scott Severance has a commanding presence as the art collector Sagot although he tends to ape and chew scenery more than commit to the humor. Owen Doyle's Freddy is serviceable as the unassuming barkeep, but he's mostly unassuming.

As is usual for New Rep, the set - designed by Cristina Todesco - is far more professional than the performance and well executed for the most part. It was confounding why contemporary Stolichnaya bottles were used amid the other period props, but I chalked this up to an homage of Martin's anachronistic writing. Picasso at Lapin Agile is a one of those rare gems of theatre that delivers profound observations on life through the guise of pratfalls and potty humour. Unfortunately, this production at New Rep needs much more polishing to see the gem that it is.

Travesty at Naples

The Miracle at Naples marks rookie Artistic Director, Peter DuBois' directorial debut at his new theatrical home. Riding on his recent laurels with Gina Gionfriddo's Becky Shaw, which garnered rave reviews in New York and a Pulitzer nomination, Huntington audiences (including myself) were eager to see what he would bring to Boston's exciting theatre scene. Unfortunately, what he brought was a sophomoric, Benny Hill skit in the guise of historical commedia del arte. But this commedia had the audiences squirming more than laughing and wondering, where's the arte?

The plot is purposefully formulaic: a motley band of traveling players enters Naples to bring their bawdy humour and lasciviousness to the puritanical town on the high holy day of their saint, San Gennaro. When the saint's coagulated relic refuses to liquify, the town assumes it is because there are heretics in their midst. Naturally, they turn their ire to the acting rogues and, though, love triangles (and quadrangles) ensue, with characters this two-dimensional does anyone really care?

The most heartfelt applause for the entire show is for the set, a stunning work in forced perspective by Alexander Dodge. One wishes the gigantic life-like statue of San Gennaro could take the final bow as opposed to the performers. And the performers really are the biggest disappointment of this production as I believe they are incredibly talented actors. Veteran of Broadway and Huntington shows, Dick Latessa plays Fortunato, the impressario and pantalone of the traveling troupe. Granted, he receives the biggest laugh of the evening with a very un-p.c. bit baffooning French, German, and Dutch dialects. But, I couldn't help feel sorry for this amazingly talented actor trying to make art out of dung. Lucy DeVito as the short, spurned daughter and sole female performer in the troupe delivers a Jeneane Garofalo-like performance that almost tugs at your heartstrings, if only her role wasn't solely created to be the butt of cheap jokes. Christina Pumariega as the lusty innamorata Flaminia and Alma Cuevo as the columbine-stock-character, Francescina also deserve honorable mention for their utmost commitment to attempting to make the jokes fly. But like the slapstick that made commedia famous, most of the humor simply falls on its face.

I understand that the playwright was attempting to recreate the bawdiness and baseness of commedia del arte using contemporary language and revisionist sexual taboos. However, the legacy of this style of theatre is well documented in contemporary sitcoms and film. Any episode of South Park deftly mixes fart jokes and potty humour with critical social commentary in ways this play doesn't even aspire to. There have been many instances in attending theatre when I wanted to leave at intermission, this play holds the distinction of the first play I wanted to leave in the first ten minutes.

As for Peter DuBois, his direction of the show is nothing less than sloppy. The entrance of the players could (and maybe should) have a choreographic wonder, but the players simply run around and jump on any accesible scenery. In the first scene, I was so transfixed by the arbitrary choice to have an ensemble member stuccoing walls that my attention to the action of the play was distracted. Not to mention, the aerobic performances of Pedro Pascal and Gregory Wooddell, which have them constantly running apparently to get away from the flimsy script. Apparently, Mr. DuBois is committed to "developing new work," but his development process always seems to involve him vacationing in some fabulous destination with the playwright on his patrons' dime. For this show, they made a trip to Naples; however, everything they learned about commedia del arte could have been picked up by reading any Intro to Theatre History textbook. Likewise, Mr. DuBois is spending summers on the Cape "developing" new works. Considering that the Huntington is facing a $1.2 million deficit last I heard, perhaps the theatre needs a little more fiscal leadership and a little less "artistic development."

Speech and Debate at Lyric Stage Company

There is no reason the Lyric Stage of Boston's production of Stephen Karam's Speech and Debate should be as good as it is. The script is a send-up of afterschool specials for pomo Gen Xers placing three teen stereotypes in one room with three secrets about one lecherous drama teacher. It doesn't sound interesting or even original when you break it down, but Karam's wit and ultimate surrender to the catharsis of theatre left me ROFL-ing. It's a little John Hughes, a little John Waters, and a whole lotta fun.

What makes the play work are the easily identifiable teen archetypes as portrayed by a stellar young ensemble. First, we meet Howie, a teenage gay emigre to Salem, OR from the far more liberal shores of Portland. He is an outsider both literally and figuratively in this conservative town as he strives to find an adult who will sponsor a Gay/Straight Student Alliance. While chatting on-line, he discovers an adult who is interested in far less philanthropic activities. However, when he realizes that the screen name belongs to the drama teacher from his school, he is armed with blackmail and cursed with being exposed. Entering into this dilemma is the meddlesome Howie, an uptight, over-achieving Log-Cabin-Republican-in-the-making. Howie wants to expose the hypocrisy of Republican politicians who vote against LGBTQ legislation and then send sexually explicit text messages to same-sex pages in Congress, hypothetically speaking. Howie's journalistic ambitions are quashed by the school newspaper's teacher/mentor so he decides to take matters into his own hands. His tip comes through the "mono-blog" of Diwata, a frumpy, dramatic diva who exposes the drama teacher's pension for young boys out of spite for being cast in insignificant roles in school plays. Diwata becomes the doyenne of this trifecta of teenage angst and denial using her knowledge about both Howie and Solomon as blackmail to get them to join the Speech and Debate Club through which her dramatic talents can finally have a platform. The plot then turns to a point and counterpoint of honesty versus denial, truth versus cover-up, an orchestration of ethics against the melange of teenage baggage.

The primary reason that this play works so well is the inspired casting by director Jeremy Johnson. Chris Connor's Howie is the perfect gay outsider in skin-tight goth clothing and ghetto-gay attitude. His signature head pop and turn which communicates exasperation at his plight in life and scenes is worthy of copyright. Likewise, Alex Wyse's uptight Solomon exudes every insecurity ever felt by a teenager in denial about his sexuality. His pristine appearance coupled with physical tension and combustible vocals portray a teen who is on the edge of bursting out of the closet or hiding in it indefinitely. Likewise Rachel Hunt's performance as Diwata is the perfect annoying, self-gratifying, forensic/speech/drama diva who everyone remembers from High School. She is the drama kid archetype and fag hag in training. Luckily, Ms. Hunt's adept performance makes this stereotypical character both guffaw-inspiring and cringe-inducing. The most brilliant aspect of this production is that these cast members are young, non-Equity performers, which make it both age appropriate and give it a certain unpolished vibrancy that an entirely Equity production would lack. The characters can be summed up as Jack from "Will and Grace" meets Cameron from "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" meets America Ferrera.

Jeremy Johnson's direction of the piece is inspired beyond just casting. He does an amazing job at serving all sides of the 3/4 round theatre, which many recent directors have neglected. The set by Skip Curtiss is serviceable. A few of the choices - such as the blue wave across the back wall were distracting - but, it was otherwise sufficient for the play. The use of the classroom white board which doubles as a screen to project each scene's title is clever; if only they could have worked out a smoother tech schedule so that we didn't see the technicians pulling the curtain behind. The costumes by Mallory Frers and lighting by Margo Caddell were also suitable to the low demands of this show.

It's a shame that Speech and Debate closed this evening and that it was probably missed by a significant portion of the Boston audience. This is the type of show that speaks to younger generations and makes older generations laugh at youth's folly, both of which are admirable aims for the theatre. I sincerely believe that this is the type of educational theatre that high school and college audiences shoudl be seeing. Naturally, teachers pack the houses for student matinees of Shakespeare and "literary" performances (such as anything at the Huntington Theatre). However, my experience with contemporary students tells me that they would get more out of this play than any fabulous production of Romeo and Juliet or Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. This play speaks directly to young audiences' experiences while providing a thoroughly entertaining evening of theatre for those of us who have lived through adolescence and understand the simultaneous importance and triviality of "speech and debate."