Lissa Moira & Richard West’s
THE BEST SEX OF THE XX CENTURY SALE
Fridays and Saturdays at 10:30PM
(no performance January 1)
Theater for the New City

A song and dance show about the history of the horizontal bop!

Reviewed by Wendy R. Williams

Lissa Moira & Richard West’s The Best Sex of the XX Century Sale is a collage of musical numbers and sketchs that depict the history of sex in the 20th Century. And it's all there, from the long skirts of the early 1900's all the way to hip hop.

Sex is similar in tone to an old timey vaudeville shows and is cast with a group of fun attractive actors who give their all, moving from skit to skit to skit. Many of the vignettes are a lot of fun, filled with cute songs and funny jokes. Some of them are absolutely hysterical. If there is any criticism, it would be that there is just too much of it. Sex runs approximately two hours (with no intermission), a pretty long time especially considering the show's 10:30PM time slot. Picking the best numbers and culling the running time down to approximately an hour and fiften minute would result in a hotter tighter show that would have the audience leave wanting more. Cuz when it comes to good sex and good shows, there is a certain point when you are just done.

The very talented and attractive cast consists of: Lissa Moira, Miron Lockett, Rick Kunzi, Amy J. Albert, Farah Bengon, Marty Bischoff, Emily Florence Brownell, Melissa Enochs, Chip Landry, Josh McLane, Timothy Ryan Olson, Tammy Smith, Franca Vercelloni, Sarah Weinstein, Chelsey Whitlock and Jason Wynn. All of these performers were filled with energy and gave it their all.

The Best Sex of the XX Century Sale was written by Lissa Moira & Richard West, directed by Lissa Moira with musical direction by Richard West and choreography by Mariana Bekerman. Many props to the artisitic team and keep up the good work.

Tickets $15 - www.theatermania.com. For more information: www.theaterforthenewcity.net.

Theater for the New City | 155 First Avenue

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HERE Arts Center
presents
CULTUREMART 2005
Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
&
A Seemingly Unified Spectacle
January 9, 2005

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Reviewed by Caroline Smith

Much like Alice not anticipating a rabbit hole or wrong turn, I managed to slip through the cracks the other night and land a front row seat at HERE Arts Center for a performance of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, adapted by Lake Simons and John Dyer.

Alice opened the book and furtively read from a seat in the audience, directing the attention away from the sheer white curtain. However this quirky Alice, played by Lake Simons, did not hold our gaze for very long before a tiny sailboat set sail across the horizon with flashes of color and childlike wonder. The whiteness lifted and seven or so puppeteers clad in black told the rest of this story with strings.

As a novice to puppetry, I had the privilege of sitting next to a good friend who has become well acquainted with the delicate world of wooden creatures. I imagine the show I saw was incomparable to one he viewed but nevertheless, I appreciated it as a whole. This adaptation was as timeless as its original, appropriately represented by recognizable symbols to the eye of both child and adult. Wily puppeteers pulled doors out of their sleeves as well as potions for the pig-tailed Alice to eat and drink. The scene in which she cries because she can neither grow tall enough nor shrink to fit through the tiny door was cleverly executed by fabrics of blues and greens (representing her tears), dancing across the stage. Moreover, the sneak peek images that lay inside the closed door were psychedelic and lively in contrast to the darker, edgy feel of the piece.

One possible concern my friend and I had with this show as leaving the theater, was the use of the space. The director may have succeeded in creating a "wonderland" without conscience of perimeter or walls, but the puppets seemed to exist without a designated playing field. Alice walked in mid-air to a concrete stool and turned the knob of a cardboard slat of doors, but at times seemed swallowed in the hands of one too many puppeteers. I had the advantage of sitting in the front row to admire both the craftsmanship and movement of the puppets, but a person sitting in the last row for instance, would need strings to hold his own neck up after craning to see the play's sometimes small action. I realize what I saw was merely a preview, but I think a few clearly marked set pieces would help define structure for this production.

The music informed, narrated, and gave Lewis Carroll's voice a new twist. Furthermore, this musical version gave the puppets and performers a steady rhythm in which to work with. The songs were light and even comic at times, off-setting the play's darker edges. I particularly liked the mouse's ballad, an odd yet memorable character that never makes it to the Disney production.

I recognized Eric Wright, Sarah Lawrence College alum and a puppeteer in this show, who mastered his strings and gave a zany performance as one of the birds in the Caucus Race. The bird took flight, making us all laugh, and so did Eric.

I guess you don't have to pull my strings very hard to know how I felt about the show. It's easy. Simons, Dyer, performers, and puppets all succeeded in giving us a quirky and fresh take on Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Thank you.

A Seemingly Unified Spectacle

Kate Brehm's piece held you briefly. Perhaps I was not clever enough to pick up on nuances or the show's message, but it's because somewhere along the way, I think I got lost in the silver and white masquerade of puppets.

However, I remember reading Brehm's note in the program in which she refers to the piece as both visual and visceral. Perhaps I got lost in my own struggling efforts to understand the topic rather than simply "watched" the piece as was suggested of me.

The dancers moved to the persistent pulse of the booming electronics and at times created images of fantasy and war. The tearing apart of the White Lady was equally arresting.

I'm interested in this piece as it further develops. Thanks.

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Greg Kotis'
EAT THE TASTE
Mondays only @ 7PM & 9PM
Open Run
Barrow Street Theater

Reviewed by Jonathan Greene

What does the future hold for our country and our government? The "liberal media" doesn't have a clue. Not even the "right-wing machine" is in the business of glass ball projections. But one needs to look no further than the Barrow Street Theater to find out. Kick lines! Chorus Girls! Call and response song and dance! You heard it right, folks: our governments going to BROADWAY!!! Or at least that is what "Eat the Taste" - the hilarious new play from writer Greg Kotis and song man Mark Hollman supposes. Yeah, you might remember these two from their last fringe to riches satire named "Urinetown."

According to this teeming satire, it is four years in the future. President Bush is coming to the end of his second term, and we find ourselves in a dingy motel room somewhere outside New York City with bound and gagged playwright Greg Kotis, who is being held against his will by three agents: number 3, 72, and 20 . . . respectively. They are inter-departmental government sneaks. 3 and 72 are from the DOHS (Department of Homeland Security) and 20 from the DOJ (Department of Justice). They have a proposition for the shaking and cuffed playwright: write the book for a new musical for none other than John Ashcroft, the one and only Attorney General, former Attorney General . . . Attorney General. He has never retired, and now he is about to emerge from behind the curtain for a triumphal re-introduction to the American Public, in his one-man-show on Broadway. Of course Mr. Kotis is none-too-at-ease with his surroundings, and everything certainly has an air of secrecy about it: the agents constantly referring to "Cheney's boys" afraid they might break up the meeting, and a giant syringe making its first appearance early on for effect. Soon there is a knock at the door. Enter Mathew, Broadway Producer extraordinaire (his last project Wicked), and later Mr. Hollman himself all with the intentions of turning Mr. Kotis onto this truly exciting and lucrative project. I would tell you how it all goes down . . . but then I'd have to kill you.

From the moment you step into the theater you are in for something out of the ordinary. Director John Clancy sets the stage with the Overture's from such White Way classics as Annie and Hello Dolly. His direction is smooth and clever, bringing the pieces together and really exercising the entire production team's farcical side as well as pushing the actor's slapstick abilities. And everyone is up to the task. Fight director J. David Brimmer stages a grand fisticuff duel for agents 3 and 72 (the resident buffoons of the story) that is performed perfectly: slowed down a bit for comic effect. Paul Urcioli is hilarious as agent 72, his sense of timing in tip-top shape (he reminded me of Christopher Guest, able to make more than the most out of his already meaty role).

But top Kudos goes to Mr. Kotis, for his sharp witty script, and Mr. Hollman for the new song. The play moves with a break-neck speed, and it is Mr. Kotis' script that pushes it forward. Fueled by inside jokes, slapstick, puns, propaganda, hilarious governmental acronyms, and a sense of paranoia - in the writing and acting - so deep it is downright side-splitting. I'd tell you about the new song, but then again, I'd have to kill you.

Even Mr. Ashcroft puts in a great turn on his new recording of "Let the Eagle Soar" that classic tune we have all become so familiar with thanks to a political subservient named Michael Moore. Point being: run, don't walk to the Barrow Street Theater to see this show, before it's too late and you're paying full price for Mr. Ashcroft's new show.

"Eat The Taste" by Greg Kotis (with a new Song by Mark Hollman and Greg Kotis), Presented by Scott Morfee and Planetearth Partners, Inc. Starring Bill Coelius, Paul Urcioli, Eva Von Dok, Greg Kotis, Gibson Frazier, Mark Hollman, and understudy Casey Weaver. Directed by John Clancy, set by Lauren Helpern, Lighting by Tyler Micoleau, Sound by Brian Ronan, Costumes by Kim Gil, Fight Director J. David Brimmer, Stage manager Jeff Meyers, and General Manager Cris Buchner.

Tickets for the open-ended, Mondays-only run are $25/$20 for students, and can be purchased by calling Telecharge at 212-239-2000 or www.telecharge.com or at the Barrow Street Theatre box office, noon--7pm daily (Mondays, noon--9pm).

 

Barrow Street Theatre |27 Barrow Street at 7th Avenue

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Reviewed by Wendy R. Williams

Fefu and Her Friends, written by Marie Irene Fornes and directed by Krissy Smith, is a period piece of theater set in 1930's New England. On the surface the play tells the story of a group of upper-middle-class-housewives who meet one afternoon to plan an educational benefit. But the play is much more than that. The play has two layers - a life of forced and false gaiety and (to paraphrase Fefu) the slime you find when you turn over a stone.

Here is a quote from Timothy Haskell's press release (Publicity Outfitters): "In Marie Irene Fornes' groundbreaking 1977 environmental drama, Fefu and Her Friends, the allegorical fuses with reality. Broken up into three parts, one of which has the audience touring four different rooms in no particular order, the play follows eight complex women through one day at Fefus' New England estate in 1935. Under the aegis of organizing a charity benefit, the day has a transformational quality for these women as they realize the dual reality of their lives - the happy, glossed over one and its dark underbelly. Told with a strong feminist bent of breaking societal restrictions, Fefu ends in tragedy."

The world of Fefu and Her friends is a claustrophobic one - appearing compressed like an oozing underground gas leak that could exploded at any moment. And the women of this world are slowly driving themselves crazy in reaction to being locked in the "harem" that was the life of upper-middle-class-college-educated-women in the period between the two World Wars.

Fefu (played by the very talented Nikki Alikakos) and her friend Julia (the also talented Elizabeth Howard) appear to be the most effected. Fefu seems to be suffering from what used to be diagnosed as female hysteria - seemingly gallantly coping with her life, but then exhibiting utterly bizarre behavior such as firing a gun (loaded with blanks?) at her husband while he hunts in the field. Her friend Julia's behavior is even stranger. Julia has developed a hysterical paralysis after seeing a hunter kill a deer and in one of the more compelling scenes, Julia delivers a long feverish monologue about how she was "shot."

But all the women are effected in varying degrees. Bizarre sad tales keep "gurgling out," only to be quickly covered up by clever repartee about lunch, croquet and repairing the toilet (an allegorical stopped-up toilet?). Even when they are being highly entertained, like they are whenever the free spirited Emma (the charismatic Margarita Martinez) is speaking, there is still an underbelly of melancholia.

I have always been interested in Ms. Fornes' work. Ms. Fornes was born in Cuba and moved to the United States in 1945 when she was fifteen. So, when she wrote about 1930's New England, she wrote from an outsider's prospective, similar to the outsider's perspective exhibited by the Taiwan-born movie director Ang Lee in his depictions of New England life in The Ice Storm and Jane Austen's England in Sense and Sensibility. Sometimes an outsider can "get" a world better than someone from the period being depicted. They can see the lines of a story because they are not bogged down by knowing all the details of the actual world.

Many other reviewers have written that they don't understand Fefu - there is no plot to speak of and the script seems stilted and poetic. And after seeing Fefu, I can certainly agree that the dialogue is highly stylized and difficult to deliver and if the play were not cast with actors who thoroughly understand what each character is trying to convey, the lines can come across as flat and obscure. Ms. Fornes play script certainly demands the same type of highly skilled actors that are required by the plays by Shakespeare and Mamet (I do not mean to imply that the last two mentioned playwrights are equals). As Ms. Fornes has Emma say, "It's not acting, it's being."

I, however, was very glad I saw this play (it was my first time to see Fefu) and many kudos to Ms. Smith for bringing it to the stage. The sets and costumes (unaccredited) were superb. And Ms. Smith also cast a group of talented and attractive women. Of particular note were the before mentioned Nikki Alikakos, Elizabeth Howard and Margarita Martinez. Sasha Cucciniello (Paula) also stood out as a compelling presence on the stage. Bravo to all and keep up the good work!

Fefu stars: Nikki Alikakos (Fefu); Sameerah Luqmaan-Harris (Cindy); Courtney Reynolds (Christina); Elizabeth Howard (Julia); Margarita Martinez (Emma); Sasha Cucciniello (Paula); Nicola Riske (Sue)

Tickets are $15 and can be purchased by calling Theatermania at 212.352.3101 or by going to www.theatermania.com.

The Culture Project| 45 Bleecker

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Tere O'Connor's
FROZEN MOMMY
The Kitchen
(The Run is Over)

Reviewed by Ally Manning

“Frozen Mommy,” Tere O’Connor’s newest dance-play, has a title that produces a confused, amused look on the faces of many. The name reflects O’Connor’s recent development in dance movement, which ironically is the act of not moving-or better, “frozen moments.”

As I settle into my seat the blackness of the stage slowly dissipates as the lights starkly fade in, revealing five dancers against a wall. They look on at the audience, teasingly, as they languidly side step their way toward the middle of the stage, chanting, "Enter. Enter. Enter." Their bodies begin to flail, like they are fighting invisible monsters. Then the movements and the words stop; everything stops. Heather Olsen and Christopher Williams circle each other, playing a silent cat-and-mouse game, as the other dancers stand there in freeze frame, waiting for the moment to pass.

The performance is filled with character shifts and plot changes, each one ending orgasmically in a tableau vivant of frozen statues. Their bodies may be still, but the dancers are electric within their statue-like states, their eyes huge, as if a thousand flies are buzzing about there. One can actually witness the inception of the “moment of creation” as their motionless bodies hang weightless as though propped up against an invisible glass screen, while their minds crisscross furiously, fusing a grenade of new thoughts before the performers prepare and regain composure for the next scene.

This abstract dance was performed on a barren stage at the Kitchen in Chelsea by five dancers in plain, nondescript street clothing: Heather Olson, Hilary Clark, Matthew Rogers, Christopher Williams, and Erin Gerken. The dancers illuminated the bare-bones theater with big personalities, explosive cathartic screams and swinging limbs resembling pendulum-like appendages.

The stark, cavernous theater contains no props. There exists little musical accompaniment. And there is only one lighting cue-at the end. O'Connor intentionally gives us nothing tangible to grasp onto that may break our concentration, as it rests solely upon five dancers playing with cryptic text/narrative and choreography. We must create our own method for deciphering O’Connor’s message.

The dancers are extremely physical with one another (they throw themselves on the floor quite a bit), alienate each other or pair off into boy/girl teams. Thus the versatile, limber performers paint a foggy, surreal depiction of childhood, in a blur of crazy characters and convoluted plots. We are lost in O'Connor's world as he takes us into scenarios where friendships are formed only to splinter outward, leaving everyone alone on the playground in the end.

At one point, silence takes a toll as the boisterous, big-haired Hilary Clark belts out a gargantuan scream that puts the old “fingernails across the chalkboard” cringe to shame. As we follow the cast of five in a hazy mission of exploration and discovery, the dancers scoop up each other, mirroring their counterparts, marching in unison, preparing to step off into new ideas while repeating words like, "Closer. Closer. Closer." This creates a lofty meditative state as they sing in unison, "Step. Step. Step."

The emotions of the audience rest in the prickly hands of Tere O’Connor as he toys with his audience’s senses with his chosen moments of body-jolting choreography. His dancers carry out his vision flawlessly as they lead our eyes around the stage, shout expressive text and mesmerize our senses with bursts of under-the-sink, pipe-banging industrial music or synchronized dance movements sometimes resembling mutating amoebas.

The stage comes alive as the dancers sometimes mimic one body possessing five separate limbs-each body part needing the other symbiotically to live. The parts carry on their individual locomotion then return to the body . . . the mommy. At the end the dancers stand frozen for an eternity, as if internally building great momentum. Matthew Rogers falls heavily to the black floor, crying. As the others stand still, Rogers softly whimpers, “Mommy.” Then blackness.

FROZEN MOMMY is a tough act to analyze. But no matter how muddled or twisted the plot, or frenzied the characters became, my equation for interpreting any art form remains the same: How did it make me feel? The music overwhelmed me (when it was there). I felt uncomfortable, lonely and sad. The sparse, sporadic words excited me. The rhythm of breath and depth of voice, body language, bare feet slapping on hard stage, evoked my primal senses. The overall tone was sad yet quirky, with humorous undertones and melancholy moments.

FROZEN MOMMY is a beautiful juxtaposition of assorted stimuli designed to inspire and appeal to the senses and emotions rather than the intellect. After all, if we think about something too much, we may lose the “moment.”

For more information: 212.255.5793 www.thekitchen.org. The Kitchen is located at 512 W 19th St.

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Eve Ensler's
The Good Body
The Booth Theater

Reviewed By Jessica Cogan

Eve Ensler became a household name for, well, exploring her most private of parts. The Vagina Monologues has now been translated into more than 35 languages and is performed all over the world. In her latest piece, Ensler moves slightly north to explore her most committed and conflicted lifelong relationship her relationship with her stomach.

Ensler begins her performance by baring her belly. The culprit is pretty average - there's no six pack, but it's hardly a beer gut. Still, she explains that she's battled the flabby little spot her entire life. It began early. As a child, she navigated complicated relationships with her unsympathetic mother and her alternately cold and predatory father. Predating the South Beach craze, Ensler learned in her family kitchen to despise bread. According to her father, eating it was evidence of one's shameful hunger. In her adult life, her stomach has wedged itself between her and her partner, preventing her from fully participating in an intimate relationship and shackling her to treadmills all over the world.

But The Good Body is not all about Eve. She moves transparently from confessional moments into other characters from around the world. There's Bernice, a chunky but confident girl she encounters at a spa/fat camp. And the self-assured African woman, confounded by American women's hatred of their bodies. Ensler also adopts some more famous feminist personas - Helen Gurly Brown and Isabella Rosselini. In each case, Ensler sets up a dialogue with the other woman and tries to reason her way through her lifelong obsession with her tummy.

And, frankly, this is a struggle that needs explaining. How could Ensler, a feminist, a creative, intelligent and attractive woman, be so derailed by a little extra around the middle? How could any liberated, intelligent woman in 2004 worry about something so trivial as appearance? I think this is a question a lot of us have. And that's why The Good Body, re-traveling well-trod ground of women and body image, still manages to be fresh and engaging. And while the piece doesn't offer any clear, straightforward answers (I don't think there are any), there's a kind of cathartic, confessional pleasure to hearing other women, successful ones at that, admit to the same obsessions.

Ensler shows great humor, compassion and honesty in The Good Body, and it will no doubt draw audiences who see their own struggle in Ensler's - be it with their bellies, their thighs, their breasts, their noses or whatever. After all, we all have our demons. Ensler's just happens to take the form of a maple walnut scone.

The Good Body stars Eve Ensler and is directed by Peter Askin. It opened November 15 at the Booth Theatre, 222 West 45th St.

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I Love Paris
Tuesdays @ 8PM Sept 7th - 28th
Mondays @ 8PM beginning October 4th.
Blue Heron Arts Center

Reviewed by Armistead Johnson

I Love Paris takes place backstage at the daytime talk show, The View, where Paris is waiting to audition for a slot as one of the show's co-hosts. The play is a stream of consciousness monologue of musings from America's favorite hotel heiress and B porn star, Paris Hilton.

"What's on Paris's mind," you ask? Everything from her hair to terrorism and thankfully, Doug Field's (Down South, An Enola Gay Christmas) script provides no segue from topic to topic, giving I Love Paris an authenticity that fans of Paris's The Simple Life have come to appreciate from Ms. Hilton.

Now, there are critics out there who claim that Paris Hilton is nothing more than a pretty face and hot body with millions of dollars. "How has I Love Paris dealt with such harsh remarks," you ask? By taking her hot body and pretty face out of the equation and having the reality TV star and Guess? model played by someone who no more resembles her than he does her dog Tinkerbell; veteran Broadway actor Kevin Shinick. The bold direction, by Timothy Haskell (one of the most talented directors in New York right now), has Kevin playing Paris as a man, so there is no pretty face or hot body (or horrid drag performance) to get in the way of Paris's intriguingly empty words.

"What should I be doing this weekend," you ask? Well, if you are interested in an intelligent take on one of the most seemingly unintelligent stars of this day and age, going to see I Love Paris would be a great option.

Tickets are $20.00 and can be purchased by calling 212 868-4444
or by going to www.smarttix.com.

Blue Heron Arts Center | 123 E. 24th St. at Park Avenue South

 

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Caraid O’Brien’s
The Sandpiper
Dec. 20. 2004
Symphony Space

Reviewed by Elias Stimac

Presented by the Obie Award-winning theater company Todo con Nada in association with Symphony Space, Caraid O'Brien’s “The Sandpiper” was billed as “a verse response to Chekhov's ‘The Seagull’ about three generations of Irish artists.” An ambitious project playing to a full house for one night only, the dramatic saga featured innovative direction and dramatory by Aaron Beall and imaginative video design by Raphaele Shirley. The result is a stage play with a filmic feel.

The action takes place in the Western Massachusetts home of Dervla Suibhne, a radio personality on NPR, and the time period spans from 1998-2001. Dervla and her dysfunctional clan alternately clash and commiserate with one another through personal and worldwide hardships (the events of 9/11 even touch their lives).

Drawing inspiration from several bird-themed plays – Ibsen’s “The Wild Duck” and Strindberg’s “Pelican,” in addition to Chekhov’s “Seagull” – O’Brien’s script is filled with overlapping subplots, and could use some streamlining to achieve maximum effect. But the angst-filled lives of these family members strike a universal chord. Beall and company make the most of the material, staging it on and around the impressive Leonard Nimoy Thalia venue at the Peter Norton Symphony Space.

Beall’s ensemble features a versatile cast, including Vera Beren as the no-nonsense Dervla, playwright O’Brien as her daughter Angela, Patricia O’Connell as her spry but sickly mother, and Paul Pierog as her cleric brother. Laurie Sheppard and Zero Boy make an impressive couple as Dervla’s younger brother and sister-in-law, as does Mara McEwin as their daughter. Amitai Kedar, Corey Carthew, and director Beall complete the eclectic cast.
“The Sandpiper” definitely needs some pruning and polishing, but as demonstrated in it first production at Symphony Space, it is a promising play that is one step closer to taking flight.

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SCREAMING SHRUBBERY
Or
The Regrettable Naivete of Ms. Elanore Ghastlypants

Reviewed on January 8, 2005 by TROY TOLLEY

Transporting us to the sexually-clamped, yet deviously mischievous Edwardian Society, this “evening-length dance theater piece” is probably one of the most unnoticed and underrated genius masterpieces ever to be created. Using only a 6 member cast and one life-sized dummy, the story unfolds symbolically, psychotically, and dreamily as 99 characters are portrayed in this mystery, mayhem, and madness.

Dancers flash about onstage, tumbling and turning with such grace despite the inherent chaos of the shocking murder and creepy whispers among the characters. Filled with as much humor as heebie-jeebies, the topiary comically come to life, “unmentionables” escape from under the dress of Ms. Ghastlypants, and an animated dummy is puppeteered through one of the most riveting and haunting vignettes I have ever seen. Dancers don symbolic pieces of clothing to help carry the weight of the 99 characters weaving wildly the psychedelic drama and comedy of this original piece.

Narration helps the audience follow the super-fast pace of this artful dance maze, but there is no escaping the feeling that you have probably been doing drugs for the past hour when the cast finally bows. Good drugs.

Easily compared to the genius films of David Lynch, this is storytelling-dance as a genuine ART… at its best.

Presented by THIRD RAIL DANCE, written/choreographed by Jennine Willett, Tom Pearson, and Zach Morris in collaboration with cast: Julia Behringer, Josh Matthews, Marissa Neilson-Pincus, and Mayuna ShimizuMusic direction by Russell M. Kaplan. Lighting Design by Jason Jeunette. Topiary and Head Pieces designed/constructed by Barry Weil.

Screaming Shrubbery has closed, but Tom Pearson, Jennine Willett, and Zach Morris continue to be showcased in various works across the city. Check our listings for updates!

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Suicide, unwed pregnancy, shattered dreams, unrequited love -- pretty funny stuff, eh? Believe it or not, The Roundtable Ensemble and director Michael Barakiva's latest adaptation of Chekhov's grim The Seagull handles those very themes and makes us laugh while doing it.

The Seagull is a tragi-comic tale of dreams, yearning, unrequited love, self-destruction and despair. The story focuses on Konstantin (David Barlow), an impassioned young writer who wants to revolutionize art. But he faces myriad challenges -- obsession with a young actress, disinterest from his mother, jealousy of his mother's lover and limited talent.

Konstantin isn't the only one with problems. His neighbor Medvedenko (Garrett Neergaard) is madly in love with Masha (Kelly Hutchinson), to whom he's little more than an irritant; she's in love with Konstantin. Nina (Maria Thayer) is the young actress adored by Konstantin but in love with Trigorin (Saxon Palmer) who belongs to Konstantin's icily fierce mother, Arkadina (Barbara Garrick). The missed connections generate much of the comedy in the play's first half and much of the tragedy in its second.

Early in the play and for reasons he can't quite explain, Konstantin shoots a seagull. The theme of the innocent destroyed in apathy is oft repeated in the play. In turn, each character is both victim and indifferent destroyer. The fabric of the story is made up of repetitious patterns of desire, rejection and longing. In the end, Konstantin alone extricates himself in a final rejection of these patterns -- and has his revolution after all.

The Roundtable Ensemble's production is strong and does well with the comic aspects of the play -- primarily in the first two acts. In the more tragic final acts, it does even better. Barbara Garrick is exceptional as Arkadina, petite and delicate but with a voice of steel that reveals her strength. Saxon Palmer is a handsome and compelling Trigorin, and Curzon Dobell as the steady doctor Dorn is the play's voice of reason. David Barlow as Konstantin and Maria Thayer as Nina give solid, fresh-faced performances, if pitched a bit too high, and Kelly Hutchinson's maudlin, moody Masha is a comic success.

The Seagull is in a short run at the Blue Heron Arts Center (January 12 - 29). This production is a lovely adaptation of a challenging work. Catch it while you can.

Tickets are $15.00 and can be purchased by calling (212) 818-9431

Blue Heron Arts Center | 123 E. 24th St. at Park Avenue South

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Stephen Temperley's
Souvenir
December 13th - January 16th
Mon - Fri @ 8PM
Sunday @ 7:30PM No Sat evenings
Wednesday matinees @ 2:30PM.
Sunday Matinees @ 3PM.
York Theatre Company

"People may say I can't sing, but no one can ever say I didn't sing." Florence Foster Jenkins

Reviewed by Wendy R. Williams

Souvenir is a subtly hilarious play about a wealthy aristocrat named Florence Foster Jenkins and her improbable singing career. Ms. Jenkins was an eccentric widow who could not hit a note or carry a tune, but who truly believed that she was blessed with great musical gifts that she desperately needed to share with the world.

Here is a quote from the press release (Cohn Davis): "Florence Foster Jenkins, a wealthy society eccentric, suffered under the delusion that she was a great soprano--when in fact the exact opposite was true. Nevertheless, her charity recitals in the ballroom of the Ritz Carlton Hotel and other New York venues brought her extraordinary fame. As news of her unfortunate singing spread, so did her celebrity. Audiences fought to get into her recitals; Mrs. Jenkins blissfully mistook their muffled laughter for cheers. One concert at Carnegie Hall in the mid ‘40s sold out in two hours and 2000 disappointed people were turned away.

Souvenir, by turn hilarious and poignant, tells her story through the eyes of Cosmé McMoon. As her accompanist, he begins by treating her with derision which grows into friendship as he comes to see that this musical eccentric merits more than mere mockery."

Judy Kaye plays Ms. Jenkins flawlessly, with wonderful comic timing and a true gift for singing very badly. She is hysterical in the way only true comediennes can be - delivering all her lines from a place of inner truth. She sings all of her songs (actually shrieks) as if she were bestowing gifts from the musical gods. And at the end, as a example of what Ms. Jenkins must have thought she was doing, Ms. Kaye sang a flawless Ave Maria.

Ms. Jenkins accompanist, Cosme McMoon (what amazing name that was) is played by the very talented Jack Lee. Mr. McMoon (Mr. Lee’s character) is the narrator of the play and we follow Ms. Jenkins' career through his eyes, from the time he first reluctantly accompanied her (he needed the money) until the end when he had became her dear friend and confidante. Cosme McMoon was a failed songwriter and even though he certainly must have possessed a lot more musical talent than Ms. Jenkins, he too had a life’s ambition that had been stifled. Mr. Lee is especially poignant in the scene where Ms. Jenkins tells Cosme that that she wants to sing one of his songs at Carnegie Hall.

Many people have asked how Ms. Jenkins could have been so deluded? How could she have not known that she could not sing? Psychology and I guess common sense have always told us that there are at least two layers to every human endeavor - what we think we are sending out into the world and what the world perceives.

But consider this: Ms. Jenkins, for all her musical faults, gave many concerts and her music was heard by many. My goodness, the lady sold out Carnegie Hall! And she recorded a record (in the 1940’s) and what's more, the other night when I was attending the play (in 2004), James Morgan, the artistic director of the York Theater, encouraged the audience to purchase the CD of that record. And the York Theater is putting up a wonderful musical about the life of Ms. Jenkins with talented Broadway actors like Judy Kaye and Jack Lee in the cast. And the night I was there, Joan Rivers (another lady who totally believes in herself) was in the audience. Now there must have been a lot of talented singers who were giving wonderful concerts during the same time period as Ms. Jenkins, and I bet almost none of them have lived on like Florence Foster Jenkins has.

So, you can say she couldn't sing, but sing she did and by doing so her singing has reached an enormous amount of people, including me. So bravo to Florence and bravo to the York Theater for telling her story.

Souvenir was written by the very talented Stephen Temperley and directed by Tony Award-winner, Vivian Matalon. Mr. Matalon won't be up for a Tony for this production (the York Theater is off- Broadway) but his Tony Award level of talent certainly shows.

Tickets are $55. Student tickets are available on the day of the performance for $20, subject to availability. Tickets are available at Smarttix.com, (212) 868-4444, or in person at the box office on the lower level at Saint Peter’s, 619 Lexington Avenue (at 54th). More information: www.yorktheater.org.

York Theater at Saint Peter's |619 Lexington
(at 54th)

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The Neo-Futurists'
TOO MUCH LIGHT
MAKES THE BABY GO BLIND
(30 plays in 60 minutes)
Friday and Saturday nights at 11:30pm
Open Run Starts October 8th

 

Reviewed by Tara Koppel

It's the holiday season; stores are crowded, shoppers are temperamental, and once again, you'll be returning gifts the day after Christmas (i.e. - last year's Monica Lewinsky toilet plunger; all that gift did was "suck"...)

Take a break from the chaotic mall/outlet/dumpster, or wherever you may shop, and slip into something more comfortable at the Belt Theatre. Whether you've been naughty or nice, Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind offers the perfect gift for everyone on your list. Let me take you through the experience. Giddy- up.

Stepping into the theatre I was handed a piece of paper with a numbered list of thirty plays. The actors set a timer for 60 minutes and explained they were going to attempt to perform all of these plays within that time frame, each play being approximately two minutes. I felt at home because I am accustomed to two minute performances, but of another kind, in which I have no say in the matter. Um…yeah.

So why is Too Much Light the perfect holiday gift, you ask? Well, for one, if you have a friend who needs to get in shape, instead of buying them Twinkies, buy them a few tickets for this show. You will get plenty of exercise (your mouth that is) from screaming at the actors. YES, THAT'S RIGHT I SAID "SCREAMING!" When they finish with each skit, they yell "Curtain!" That's the audience's cue to scream out a number from the list. Whichever audience member is the loudest gets that play performed. (Needless to say, I had much influence in the sequence of the performances.)

Too Much Light is completely random, replete with energy, and chaotic but organized at the same time. It requires lots of teamwork as the cast quickly scrambles together, shouting back to one another like in a game of volleyball, in a collaborative effort to get the stage and props set for each skit. Remember, they're in competition with the clock, trying to fit everything into an hour. So, hurry-up and go. (And if you still really need that Twinkie at the show, gents, I'm sure you can sneak one down your pants, and gals, smuggle one in your shirt. Actually, make that two, we don't want to be lopsided now, ladies.)

LAUGHS and TEARS and WEIRDNESS, OH MY! The seven actors of the night, or "Neo-futurists," as they call themselves, bring a menu of variety to the stage. Each play is different than the next. Reggie Cabico, Sarah Levy, Rob Neill, Chris Dippel, Bill Coelius, John Pierson, Justin Tolley, and a mysterious cat will satisfy your theater appetite, but still leave you craving for more. (Especially you, fat friend, the Twinkie eater.)

As to whether all the plays were completed on time that night, I'm not going to tell you. Everyone's experience will be different, so you'll just have to see what ensues when you attend. However, I will fill you in on this: the performance is eclectic, different, and extremely original. Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind is the only race you'll take part in, where you're not looking forward to reaching the finish line.

The Belt Theatre |336 W. 37th Street |Manhattan