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."