See it if You're Lutheran. Or Catholic; it might help sitting through a philosophical discourse disguised as a play about faith vs. religion. Don't see it if You've no interest in discussion plays or religion, expect three-dimensional characters or object to Satan as the most sympathetic character. Certainly there's rich material in the trials & actual trial of Martin Luther for an effective drama, Jean Anouilh's Becket or Robert Bolt's A Man for All Seasons providing fine examples of the genre. This play, however, produced by Fellowship for Performing Arts, whose mission is presenting theatre from a Christian worldview, is more discourse than drama. Less about Luther's inner moral or emotional struggles with his actions than it is about the historical worldwide effects of Lutheranism, it also parallels his split from the Church with Lucifer's split with God and his subsequent fall from grace. Lucifer of course is the prosecutor in this Trial, wonderfully realized by Paul Scoeffler, who fully inhabits and presents the only 3 dimensional character of the evening with wit and intelligence. Kersti Bryan gives depth & empathy to Luther's wife while Fletcher McTaggart's Luther is unfortunately mostly frowned caricature. Costumes are rich if uneven, the set too cute by half, the lighting & effects overdone. Not for the unconverted. See it if You'd like an interesting fresh take on Hamlet, genders switched. Uneven cast and direction, but Griffin is quite compelling. Don't see it it You like your Hamlet straight, not reimagined. There are problems with this A.N.O.N. Production: an uneven cast; unnecessary Brit accents that shouldn’t have been attempted; an amphetamine-pace that often left the actors sounding like hummingbirds. In addition, the political questions raised in the program description of this "gender-bending" take on Hamlet seem beside the point in practice, and almost describe a different, more militant production. Still, what this production does manage to do is give this all-too-familiar script a fresh hearing and reading. Presenting Hamlet as a woman raised as a man, and Ophelia for the most part as a fey, anger-suppressed milquetoast is a surprisingly effective choice that sheds new light & life into this classic work. Ashley Griffin, who also directed, plays Hamlet with verve, conviction & commitment, and is the heart of this show, discovering heretofore unrealized layers and terrific physicality in the text. The “too, too solid flesh” Hamlet considers as she unbinds her breasts in frustration and anger jolts, and “Frailty, thy name is woman!” suddenly makes very real sense for a change. In truth, this Hamlet only comes alive when she’s onstage. The scenes with Ryan Clardy’s Ophelia are the best, the most interesting choices and simultaneous layers of anger, love and frustration wonderfully played with arresting bits of physical business. The Nunnery scene especially, but likewise her playfulness during “Shall I lie in your lap?” and also the Fishmonger scene with James Luse’s terrific Polonius. For his part, Clardy manages to pull off his Ophelia’s listless weakness without falling into caricature. There are rough spots to be sure, Ms. Griffin’s occasional dropped ends of sentences, mumbled or tossed away lines, drops in vocal projection. Her advice to the Players rushed by, as well as “To be or not to be,” and her direction generally seemed intent on brisk action. Additionally, there’s some initial confusion as to the male Ophelia’s love for the publicly male Hamlet; the questions of gender equality/identity issues melding into possible same-sex LGBT issues brought up by Polonius’ advice are never quite resolved, and Ms. Griffin’s easy masculinity contrasting with her very female, driven sexuality in the kissing scenes add to the questions. But this is all to the good. Ms. Griffin’s work here brings to mind a young Lisa Wolpe, whose exhilarating Shakespeare and the Alchemy of Gender appeared for too short a run this last summer. In this case, Griffin’s actual gender preference or orientation is irrelevant and unknown — she does both with such conviction — but that there's such ambiguity is a testament to her talent and potential as an actress. This Hamlet isn’t for everyone but, problems aside, it’s a memorable one with much potential. A truthful requiem See it if You're ready to watch two very fine actors work through pain, loss, and the truthful cathartic avowel of life, grief and change. Don't see it if You want simple entertainment; you've neither the patience nor desire to see a deep meditation on grief & acceptance, or existential dramas. A great intense and very long silence permeates the opening of Lot Vekemans’ Poison, housed, appropriately enough, at the Beckett Theatre. The cold bare set — an offset white tiled marble floor, long white bench, and cold-drink vending machine — is, not unlike the play's characters, an island floating in a sea of black. The audience enters as a man stands waiting and very still onstage. The quiet intensifies with the energy of anticipation, and the stillness and silence soar past the stage and into the auditorium like air in a cathedral. This is only right as Poison is a requiem: for the spirit of the lost child; for the Woman's grief; for the relationship between the Man & the Woman that died with that death. There's a bit of Beckett and of Pinter in Lot Vekemans' fine, deceptively simple script, which is filled with silence, long pauses, depth and the well observed details of everyday life, from the “click of the lock in the door” as He left her, to the pinwheels and chocolates He remembered She loved. At the same time, the slow reveal of exposition and history at times just thud in the air, each bit of information a check off the list of expectations. Erwin Maas’s direction is lean and focused, allowing the wonderful Birgit Huppuch and Michael Laurence the space to so accurately portray the range of pain and anguish; the poison of Her grief, Her arias of grief, through to some version of acceptance of life. The realization that the present moment is all, that it just is, things just are; no better no worse, no right or wrong. And that can be enough, can be ok. It's a delicate line, a risky balancing act both actors pull off touchingly. The literal arias, however, beautifully sung by young Jordan Rutte, Stauss's "Morgen!" ("Tomorrow!") — "And tomorrow the sun will shine again" — are problematic without translation and so seem oddly imposed on the realistic action onstage; it likely made more sense in Dutch. Poison is not for everyone, an intense, slowly paced 90 minutes of totally naturalistic and transcendent acting and performance at times painful to watch, but very worth the experience. See it if you're up for a sharply performed, lively and compelling evening of Shaw that succeeds in going beyond epigram, argument or lecture Don't See it if you can't sit through a 3 hour drama, no matter how fast-paced, or if you don't like Discussion plays, no matter how conversational & funny. Physical production values are pretty thin, understandable being the inaugural show of a new small & independent company, but this production blows right past any such shortcomings. This is Shaw made fresh & relevant by force of a strong, well balanced & capable ensemble that attacks Shaw’s language with verve & commitment. And clarity. What might have been a dry disquisition of opposing arguments sprinkled with epigrams & aphorisms is instead a living thing, empathy making both sides understandable & plausible. Anastassiou as Barbara is self-posessed, with humor & warmth beneath her cool surface & intellect; Emerson’s Adolphus is appropriately bohemian, erudite & irresponsible; & Martello as patriarch Undershaft, whose armaments drive the moral & ethical questions that drive the action, is sympathetic, complicated & commanding. However, though the actors are well directed, they're not well placed, needlessly made to use all of the difficult space at the audience's expense & discomfort. The actors carry on seamlessly, but there’s no reason for them to be pacing extreme left to right and back again, or for the audience to have to span that distance. It’s a not small complaint in an otherwise fine production. See it if you're up for a refreshingly silly fast paced romp by a sharp ensemble in a too-long Commedia update marred by too many cheap election jokes. Don't See it if you've lost all sense of wonder or childhood, hate farce, buffoonery (at least onstage) or earthy humor that's universal and timeless. There's more than a bit of magic in this production — the wonder that comes of simple but well-crafted bits of stagecraft that can transport an audience — light and dark, flickering lights, the rhythms of speech and motion, the easy joy of play. And there is a lot of play here as well: the actors, with each other, with the audience and perhaps a bit, with the content and form of traditional Commedia dell'arte. Not at all an update or modernization, this Servant strives instead to make the form relevant and present by being current; so that while the costumes and screwball form and plot are traditional and 18th Century, ad libs and references are contemporary. All too contemporary, in fact, and therein lies the problem with this otherwise extremely polished and executed show. The references, unexpected and funny at first, become pretty easy and obvious, the post-election one liners increasingly cheap shots we tire of hearing. Epp and company are truly fine, with amazing touch and technique that begin like clockwork with rapid-fire call-and-response timing that show the possibilities of true ensemble work. This unfortunately devolves as the evening and Act II drag on, into a one-man show with ever more unnecessary modern references. One might say that there’s many more than one “gurrrl” too many here. It's a shame, too, that in a season that’s seen fresh air and life breathed into so many classics —Lisa Wolpe’s Macbeth; The Wheelhouse's Romeo & Juliet; The Torn Out Theatre’s al-female, all-nude outdoor Tempest in NY’s parks; May Violets Spring, whose iambics sounded like easy street conversation — this Servant With Two Masters just misses the mark with its overindulgence. Still, it’s worth seeing; too long by half and a bit much at times, it’s very funny and often quite beautiful — and the women’s vocal trio in the second act shouldn’t be missed. Ambitious Relevant Refreshing Authentic Slightly off See it if you're up for a flawed if fresh take on Chekov that harks back to his original, pumping air, contemporaneity & modern relevance into it. Don't See it if you're expecting the usual serious often tragic, dry-witted very Russian Chekov, lacking farce or comedy; don't like fresh takes on classics. This production has been almost universally panned as a stylistic mish-mosh or mess, lacking focus or direction; & while it ultimately falls short, not quite succeeding in creating an emotional catharsis, everything else about it, its humor, farce, interracial casting & atemporal aspect, are true to its spirit & original intent. The weird magic tricks, ventriloquism, slapstick & even circus bits & musicians are there in the original script; slaves too, which makes this rumination on Change & Time all the more relevant with its mixed cast. Its politics, too, speak to our current moment: Change indeed marches on. Lane, Glover & Perrineau are terrific, as are Gevinson, Cooper & Keenan-Bolger; the sets are spare & effective, as is the music; costumes are lush across subtle time periods. While the all-too modern exchanges & Brando-like tramp in Scene II may stretch things a bit far, it's a relief to finally see an Orchard Chekhov would recognize as closer to the farcical comedy he intended. See it if You've an open mind & patience: like an artichoke, this show is a slow reveal leading to surprising rewards & striking visuals and humor. Don't See it if A funny, well acted & well cast rumination on art & existence isn't enough to sit through 3 acts that ripple by as fast as a Zen garden. Clocking in now at a surprisingly quick 3:05, this play certainly isn't for everyone. No fast paced, obvious situational drama here, rather a subtlety scathing, well observed, slowly revealing study of character and culture. There's more than a bit of Beckett here, the absurd bleak existential landscape this time transported to an upscale suburban community, numbing in its sameness. Some of the air and stillness in David Hockney's California paintings come to mind. It could be argued that Rancho Viejo takes a very long route to consider its themes of art, the why's of existence, the ifs of happiness and the meaning, if any, of it all and the wanting of more; but its considered structure and purely theatrical visuals – things unexpected and/or not quite seen before – are worth it, and worth the wait. The cast is pitch perfect – at times annoyingly so, especially Blum; Winningham wears her doleful longing well and Ethan Dubin's silent, enigmatic, funny and menacing Tater stands out. |
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