He Never Arrives, BTW.

Theater Review|'Waiting for Godot'

The revolutionary Beckett play, considered a key piece in dramatic literature, is as interesting as it is evasive. Wrapped in repetition and monotony, the Roundabout Theatre’s new production now playing at Studio 54 makes one leave the theatre with more questions to be answered than might be expected. And isn’t that the point of Theater?

It’s been 50 years since the play was produced on Broadway. For a play of such eminence and popularity, it’s dizzying to believe that alarming fact. However, after seeing it, I have an inkling as to why it’s been ignored by producers and actors alike on the Great White Way: it just doesn’t fit into New York sensibility. Or, for that matter, American sensibility. It was originally written in French by an Irish playwright, after all. That must be responsible for some kind of culture shock, especially to Americans. The play is an existentialist’s dream, a sort of nonexistent, purposeless drama that uncomfortably forces one to consider the meaning of life. It does this in the run-around of the superficially meaningless dialogue ranging from theological debate to suicidal desperation, all done in an attempt to counteract the unbearable and inevitable silence that plagues the characters.

This kind of slow, melodic drama is almost unidentifiable to a modern audience. Nothing is spoon-fed, and it’s quite easy to dismiss the material as, dare I say, Seinfeldian absurdity. Probably an unfortunate side effect of being a member of Generation Y, it’s hard to get into the play if one is not willing to do so. Truthfully, the three people I saw it with were appalled, tired and regretful that they wasted their evening—not to mention money—on such a play. I’ll admit my mind wandered a few times, but nevertheless my head is still reeling from the content. 

Nathan Lane leads the play as Estragon, the culinarily named quasi-protagonist, spending most of the play receding into the background in physical exhaustion and misanthropic ambivalence. For the character, it’s expected; for Mr. Lane, it’s not. “Typecasting” is usually comparable to career-suicide in the acting world, but the action of such is not without sense. We expect Mr. Lane to be brash, energetic and hilarious, and Estragon himself is not. As a result, Mr. Lane understandably struggles a bit, doing his best with the more serious material, but obviously over-performing his trademark sense of humor in the small bits of slapstick and one-liners the text offers. He is only half of the main character, though, as I absorbed it. Together with Bill Irwin’s self-evident and heartbreaking Vladimir, the two create a couple contemplating their actions, as well as their own lives, as they wait for a gentleman by the name of Mr. Godot. He never arrives, by the way.

In a world spearheaded currently by twittering and a general sense of impatience at the prospect of anything taking more than two seconds to arrive on our iPhones, this kind of unresolved conclusion may make one want to throw a tantrum right there on 54^th street. I’m sure many would have wanted to, but their sense of decorum from societal pressure impeded these actions.

When Pozzo (John Goodman) enters the scene, led in the antediluvian manner of his servant Lucky (John Glover) on a rope, we are hoping for Godot. And by Godot, I mean the action of the play. Perhaps this jolly, domineering man will bring about some conflict. He does, in a way, with Mr. Goodman at least contributing some physicality to the play, most definitely a result of his immense size and presence. But it is Lucky’s logorrheic monologue, rife with biblical, societal and even scatological references, which hurls one of the play’s most intriguing moments. When we sit back and try to soak up every bit of cryptic or ludicrous speech, we are left moved.   

It is at times hard to concentrate on the play, though. An ominous, Bergmanesque set, akin to the cinematography of “The Seventh Seal” might have been a little more fitting for the material, as opposed to the steep claustrophobic Disneyesque cove in which they now ponder. At the heart of the play is the cyclical pointlessness of life, but this existentialist theory is quite literally overshadowed by plastic trees, plaster rocks and a “sky” that is so clear it looks like a movie screen. I wonder why. Maybe because it is. There, I saved you any interpretation. Jane Greenwood’s costumes were typical of the production (Beckett envisioned only one thing about his characters: they would be wearing bowlers), although Mr. Goodman’s jodhpurs were most intriguing, perhaps because they are without a doubt the largest pair I have ever seen.

There is no end to this play; only the inevitable timidity and diffidence associated with life and its choices. We are left waiting, but know that nothing will ever arrive; we must set out to find it ourselves.

WAITING FOR GODOT

By Samuel Beckett; directed by Anthony Page; sets by Santo Loquasto; costumes by Jane Greenwood; lighting by Peter Kaczorowski; Presented by the Roundabout Theater Company, Todd Haimes, artistic director. At the Studio 54 Theatre, 254 West 54th Street, Manhattan; (212) 719-1300; Through July 5th. Running time: 2 hours 15 minutes.

WITH: Nathan Lane (Estragon), Bill Irwin (Vladimir), John Goodman (Pozzo), John Glover (Lucky), Cameron Clifford (Boy), Matthew Schechter (Boy).      

The Intelligent Blogger's Guide to Theatre and Criticism with a Key to Kushner.

The Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis, Minnesota is currently having a Tony Kushner celebration. In addition to staging his musical, Caroline, or Change, and a collection of short plays (playfully titled "tiny Kushner"), the theater is premiering his latest play, The Intelligent Homosexual's Guide to Capitalism and  Socialism with a Key to the Scriptures, directed by Michael Greif (of Rent and Grey Gardens fame, who also did a fabulous production of Romeo & Juliet two summers ago in Central Park and is currently working on next to normal.)  

With its title derived from George Bernard Shaw's (slightly pedantic) how-to book on economics for women, the play apparently deals directly with gay issues. And, as of today, that's all we get. An intriguing mouthful of a title and a vague description of the subject matter. 

In any event, the play (not to mention its poster) has caught my interest and, while I cannot afford to go to Minnesota at the moment (and, yes, I'd go to even Minnesota for a Kushner play) I can only hope that the production is good enough to be moved to New York, as I am dying to see it. I also would hope that the original cast stays intact because it features two Kushner veterans, Stephen Spinella and Kathleen Chalfant, who both starred in the Original Broadway production of Angels in America back in 1993.    

Honestly, why Minnesota? Kushner said that he wanted to escape the pressure of opening a play in New York, but he needn't be so neurotic; I'm sure it's a fabulous play and I hope to get an opportunity to see it.

How to Shape the Law

I was thumbing through "Angels in America" for the kazillionith time recently, and began to wax poetically on ethics. “The shaping of the law, not its execution.” Louis ponders the nature of justice in bed beside his lover, Prior. “…it should be the questions and shape of a life…which matters in the end, not some stamp of salvation or damnation which disperses all the complexity in some unsatisfying little decision…”

It’s an interesting supposition to consider.  It paints in my mind the image of the tarot card entitled “Judgment”; an angel, eclipsing the horizon, blowing a horn, resurrecting a legion of corpses before the final judgment of Christian tradition; an image that symbolizes this “stamp of salvation or damnation” in a religious life.  For the large sect of us who do not subscribe to such an image based on religion, does our secular life hold to similar strictures of judgment? Can our peers judge us in that same way? Can we be damned by society if we do not beg forgiveness for an action? For those of a particular faith, it can be simpler; for others, it cannot.

As the aging Rabbi Chemelwitz points out: “Catholics believe in forgiveness, Jews believe in guilt.” In the Catholic faith, one can commit any transgression he likes, so long as he confesses and repents before his life is over. An entire life composed of immoral, disparaging acts can be rectified in one sitting, thus, the components which make up said life mean little if, before the final judgment is enacted, forgiveness is given. For atheists and agnostics, this is not a scenario in which we can easily place ourselves.

            It appears, then, that Louis’s theory is a logical and easily accessible one, especially to people who do not subscribe to a religious faith. Our lives should be judged by the broad spectrum of our actions, by the sum total of what we do and what impression we leave on the world, not one thing we do, whether it be good or bad.

The theory does open up some doors, though, of evasion and disregard towards the transgressions we commit, because to Prior, “…[Louis’s theory] seems to let you off scot-free. …No judgment, no guilt or responsibility.” Does a life of good actions balance out a single misdeed? What if, say, a charity worker commits a murder? If she sacrificed her life helping and aiding hundreds of lives but destroys one, shall she be eternally damned? She can forgive all she wants, but her actions cannot be changed. 

Perhaps an amalgam of sorts is in order; perhaps forgiveness is an integral part of an already broad life. Actions cannot be changed, but attitudes can. Perhaps we need to enact the “neo-Hegelian, positivist” sense of the world Louis holds so dearly, confirming that progress, while suffused with pain and struggle, is always for the better. Perhaps we will not get stamped at the end of our lives, but we shall try our hardest to live good ones, no matter how difficult it may be.     

[pictured: Joe Mantello and Stephen Spinella, Original Broadway Production]

The Riddle of Ritalin

Theater Review|"Distracted"

Never has a play been more aptly named than the new Roundabout Theatre production "Distracted". Because it is. Distracted. From content to production value, this play doesn't know where to start. Amid the dizzying sets, muddled dialogue delivered like bullets to the audience, and the already stale themes of Lisa Loomer's new play about the disorder du jour, this production is nothing but an educational editorial. 

Cynthia Nixon headlines the cast at the Laura Pels Theater and pretty much does all the work on stage, carrying the play on her shoulders and taking the material a little too seriously. Compared to the other actors, at least. The ensemble does a very good job of handling their multiple roles, even if they don't understand the gravity of some of the situations. It is a comedy, after all. But it borders on farce, and seems a little outdated. 

Nothing is worse in this world than being "so five minutes ago", and ADHD is in that time frame. Maybe Autism would have been a more appropriate disease to write about. (Of course, as we learn, ADHD is in the Autism spectrum.) Nevertheless the play reads as something from 2006 that was just found in the unpublished archives and dusted off for the Roundabout. For God's sake, there's a tired Bush joke jammed in there. Still, the play is entertaining when not acting like a de facto PSA. There are some funny moments, and some that make you sit and ponder for a spell. 

However upon seeing the humble ending to this play, you're left a bit unfulfilled on the subject matter. Or, maybe you're not. I wasn't really paying attention. 

DISTRACTED

By Lisa Loomer; directed by Mark Brokaw; sets by Mark Wendland; costumes by Michael Krass; lighting by Jane Cox; original music and sound by David Van Tieghem; projection and video design by Tal Yarden; associate artistic director, Scott Ellis. Presented by the Roundabout Theater Company, Todd Haimes, artistic director. At the Laura Pels Theater, 111 West 46th Street, Manhattan; (212) 719-1300. Through May 10. Running time: 1 hour 45 minutes.

WITH: Peter Benson (Dr. Daniel Broder/Allergist/Dr. Jinks/Dr. Karnes), Shana Dowdeswell (Natalie), Lisa Emery (Vera), Natalie Gold (Dr. Zavala/Waitress/Carolyn/Nurse), Matthew Gumley (Jesse), Mimi Lieber (Sherry), Aleta Mitchell (Dr. Waller/Mrs. Holly/Delivery Person/Nurse), Cynthia Nixon (Mama) and Josh Stamberg (Dad).

Cool Hand Fluke

Theater Review|"The Castle"

 

Sitting upon Riverside Drive at 140^th Street is an arresting sight: a large, gothic, classically designed building, once a Catholic Girls’ School, now owned by the Fortune Society. It is nicknamed “The Castle” and is a refuge for formerly incarcerated people. Of the 700 or so boarders who have drifted in and out of it, four noteworthy ones, in conjunction with director David Rothenberg, have began telling their woeful stories of trauma and crime at the New World Stages. On the face of it, a production with only four chairs as a set, no traditional dramatic structure and a cast of former criminals locked in a basement with an unwitting audience would not seem too successful; shockingly enough, it works.

The quartet—Cassimo Torres, Kenneth Harrigan, Vilma Otriz Donovan, and Angel Ramos—speaks directly to the audience, weaving their personal stories in short, succinct bursts of monologue together to form a larger narrative that addresses not only the successes and failures of the prison system in the United States, but of the conflict that arises from societal pressure on personal choices. It is interesting for us to see how Ms. Ortiz Donovan, a Long Island suburbia native, and Mr. Torres, a homeless junkie, could end up in the same safe haven for ex-convicts. Ms. Ortiz Donovan, a self-conscious girl, was seeking approval from her peers, all of which came to a head when she became a user and dealer of cocaine. Drugs were Mr. Torres’s weakness as well; he graduated from the triad of alcohol, weed and acid to crack-cocaine and heroin in only three years. Coming from a broken home, he was subjected to abuse in the centers he and his brother were shipped to after his mother was admitted to the hospital. In spite of their very different upbringings, the two failed to resist to the temptations around them, and ended up behind bars.

With drug abuse as the common thread of their convictions, it’s fascinating to see how people from different walks of life could assume the unenviable position of inmate in the New York State Prison system. Ms. Ortiz Donovan repeatedly makes the statement that her choices solely contributed to her incarceration, while the men are less eager to blame themselves. Mr. Harrigan, for example, repeatedly paints the grim picture of his life as one of the factors that landed him in the big house. His disturbing image of a woman hanging from a telephone pole just outside of his home is but one example of the terrible environment in which he was reared. So where can one assign responsibility of fault for delinquency? When can we draw the distinction between offenses stemming from personal depravation to those influenced by peer pressure? One crime, one indiscretion by a person is what is seen by a court, by a judge, but said person’s actions are never entirely his own. Wouldn’t Mr. Torres’s absentee father hold some iota of blame in his drug crimes, considering the (Ann Coulteresque) statistic that fatherless children are apparently 10 times more likely to abuse chemical substances? But he is not punished, only Mr. Torres is. These are the questions that the audience is provoked into contemplating during a performance of “The Castle”, moving us all into some sweep of emotional response.

Each member of the ensemble was moved to tears at one point during their personal accounts, legitimate tears of pride, sadness and strength that could outweigh any Oscar winner’s performance, if for no other reason than because they were real. I found it refreshing to see such a genuine display of emotion on stage, certainly not because I wish that all actors would abandon their craft (what would become of the theatre‽), but it is, admittedly, a delight to see such awe-inspiring performances that are unequivocally rooted in the sprawl of real life rather than weeks of rehearsals. Of course, that’s not to say some additional prepping would have been a sensible action in this production; each of the performers committed some impropriety during the play, ranging from late delivery to trying too hard to elicit a laugh from the audience. These missteps are easily overlooked, however, when considering the overall effect the play can have on a person.     

The apparent success of “The Castle” may be rooted in the deeply moving struggles of the quartet, the discouraging realization that prisoners have souls, and that we are all at risk of penalization. Or it may simply be luck. Whatever the explanation may be, this piece of documentary theatre inspires and enlightens, even when it takes itself too seriously, or shows its rough edges.  

Video Killed the Drama Star

Theater Review|"Coming of Age in Korea"

The stage is set at the Castillo Theatre with a haphazard, industrial façade constructed of putty-colored planks of wood and sheet metal nailed against a stark purple wall. Various white Hangul are stenciled across the backdrop with the year, 1954, prominently displayed at the center of the proscenium. Amidst this cold, rustic stage, quite discordantly, is a large movie screen. That’s where the trouble began.   

 

“Coming of Age in Korea” follows the life and times of three outcast soldiers in the Korean war, one Jewish, one Black, and one Hispanic, who are singled out by their colonel not only for their respective races, but because they have not yet contracted Chlamydia or any other venereal disease from a Korean prostitute like the other soldiers have already.

 

The story is told in this production of the 1996 Fred Newman musical through the tense combination of live performers and film sequences; the main plot is expelled in shaky, home-movie quality shots of the character’s experiences in the Korean War, while their internal conflicts are presented live through song and interpretive dance. Testing the limits of how the two media play off of each other, the audience experiences a frustrating disconnectedness from the start as we view a 40^th reunion of the characters on screen, and then on stage given a retro pastiche musical number concerning pop culture in the 50’s, which seems to lead us no where in the story as the singers and dancers trot around in EmilieCharlotte’s costumes, which try hard to suggest historical accuracy and winsome eye candy, but are limited by a small budget and homemade craftsmanship. Suddenly, we’re thrown back into the film, and so the tug-o’-war continues for two hours. No matter how hard we try to concentrate on the story, we are quickly swatted away by crude pageantry, which is a shame, because a story was all the play needed to carry itself.  

 

Upon entrance to the theater, guests are handed an article from the New York Times concerning a dreadful historic episode where during the War, the Korean government coerced their women into prostitution to appease American soldiers. Looking over the article, I worried how the issue would be handled in the play, if it would take sides, and if there would be a conclusion to these events despite the fact that there was none in real life. Apparently, though, that’s not what the play is about. It may just be a simple coming of age story, a theme that hardly holds any weight and has a hard time provoking any emotion from the audience. Only in the supersaturated scenes of exposition concerning the Korean girls, Suzie and Little Kim, do we see the story line pushed further. Finding a through-line from the unrefined lyrics in the early song “The Clap” to the painful “Little Kim’s Song” to the eventual sharp, staccato scenes of action that lead us to a climax, the play had enormous potential to tackle this intriguing issue, but apparently, it doesn’t fail to do so; it refuses.

 

Distracted by the contrasting media presentation, the play insists upon the non-avant-garde styling, which muddles up the story as well as the acting. Whenever a live performer sings, headlined by the decent efforts of Melvin Chambry, Jr. and Aja Nisenson, we are sometimes unclear of who exactly they are supposed to be, in part because of their race (Philip M. O’Mara, a young Asian man, plays the very Jewish Greenberg once or twice) and in part by the hazy, repetitious lyrics which give only vague clues as to which character is pouring his or her heart out.

 

The movie isn’t much clearer in terms of plot or character; Walt Shelton (Chima), one from the trio, occasionally steals the spotlight, from occupying the subject of the Act One finale to the small subplot concerning his penalization for being absent without leave, but immediately the focus shifts to Frankie Greenberg (Evan Shultz) and Little Kim’s demise later in the second act. Shultz displays skill as an actor in this production, albeit comically, through his contorted expressions and his shrill New York accent, however his histrionic approach to the material is perhaps best suited to the stage, not the screen. Although the two scenes he had with his love interest, Little Kim, were genuine and pleasant, they were not enough to convince us that they fall in love in a very short amount of time.

 

Certainly quick romances aren’t unorthodox, especially in theater, as in “West Side Story”, whose action takes place in one day. However, the love between Tony and Maria is believable to us because the entire story hangs off of that fact, so no unrealistic time constraint deters us from the play. In “Coming of Age in Korea”, Greenberg’s “love” for Little Kim comes on too late and ends too early to ever be considered real.

 

The play is riddled with these frequent lapses from reality in which it declares its theatricality, including, for instance, a line where a peripheral character comments that the protagonists won’t be friends in 40 years, despite us knowing that they will. These self-referential hiccups, which some dilettantes might deem “Brechtian”, are realistically just an elbow-in-the-ribs-style joking with the audience; the play is not so much an interpretation of reality but, rather, an interpretation of such a concept. While directors Desmond Richardson and Gabrielle L. Kurlander are not intentionally letting the audience glean a particular message about racism or war or the governmental duress of local women into prostitution, it would appear that the play (or movie) is at the very least trying to do exactly that.

 

Accordingly, we as the audience are left in an abrupt quandary. It is as if we are looking at a stained glass window, a mélange of spectacle, music and film, with the dim light of a thought trying desperately to break through. By the end, though, we find out that isn’t going to happen. As we applaud an awkward curtain call of the filmed performers, our praise wasted on discarnate actors, we are reminded finally that unless properly handled, the stage is best suited to drama or film, not both.    

 

COMING OF AGE IN KOREA

 

Book & lyrics by Fred Newman; music by Annie Roboff; directed by Gabrielle L. Kurlander & Desmond Richardson; sets by Joseph Spirito; costumes by EmilieCharlotte; Presented by the Castillo Theatre . At 543 West 42^nd Street, Manhattan. Through March 1. Running Time: 2 hours.

 

WITH: Chima Chikazunga, Natalie Chung, Emily Gerstell, Andrea Harrison, Amanda Henning-Santiago, Kaitlin Hernandez, Jim Horton, Brittney Jensen, Jaiwen Liang, Christine Komei Luo, Casey Mauro, Leroy Mobley, Brian Mullin, David Nackman, Lynnette Nicholas, Aja Nisenson, Vigdis Olsen, Philip M. O'Mara, Johanny Paulino, Reynaldo Piniella, Esteban Rodriguez-Alverio, Evan Schultz, Melvin Shambry, Jr., Isaac H. Suggs, Jr., Jeff Wertz.

  

New York Collections: Project Runway #1

I'm not even going to bother. This collection was awful. Poorly made, terrible styling, with every piece smacking of H&M by way of an Olivia Newton-John music video. Mystery designer, I'm sure you're better than this! Unless you aren't. Oh, how I hate not knowing these people! 

See the rest here.