Those Wacky Ancients

Greek tragedies are a lot like daytime television, only trashier. They spill over with juicy plots and wicked details that read like a tabloid rag at the supermarket checkout. The worlds of Medea, Phaedra, Oedipus, and Electra are populated by infanticide, matricide, incest, madness, and cosmically bad luck, all of which makes them ripe for one thing: parody. The Grift, in association with Bay Bridge and Push Productions, accomplishes just that with Jason Pizzarello's spoof-tacular new play, Saving the Greeks: One Tragedy at a Time, a breezy comedy full of laugh-out-loud merriment that pays homage to the melodramatic absurdity that is Greek tragedy. The plot is pure silliness, which is perhaps why it works so well. Tired of war and death, Dialysis (Brian Reilly) and Peon (Brian Normant) set out to bring some much-needed peace to ancient Greece. Their efforts lead them to create Betterland, a city where formerly doomed tragedians can start their lives over free from the misfortunes of their previous existences. Traveling from tragedy to tragedy, Dialysis and Peon gather inhabitants for their new utopia.

Their first stop is Thebes, where they discover Oedipus (Tom Escovar) on the verge of blinding himself after having realized he has slain his father and bedded his mother. After saving Oedipus with the help of the blind soothsayer Teiresias (Alan Jestice), the tragically hip group makes its way to King Agamemnon's (Eric Forand) castle. There they successfully convince the bipolar Electra (Carrie McCrossen) not to kill the fatalistic Clytemnestra (Eva Patton).

Feminist outcast Lysistrata (Season Ogelsby) joins next, fighting her obvious sexual attraction to Dialysis, while Oedipus finds love (or at least lust) with Agamemnon's mistress, the psychotic seer Cassandra (Carey Evans). No sooner does doomsday housewife Medea (Valerie Clift) join the gang than they find themselves under attack by a neighboring city. When someone (literally) kills the messenger (Matthew DeVriendt), an infuriated Zeus (William Harper Jackson) steps off Mount Olympus to clean up the big mess.

Jason Pizzarello has written a thoroughly enjoyable script filled with droll witticisms, amusing one-liners, and groaning wordplay. He turns the Greek tragedy genre on its ear, gleefully exploiting the farcical possibilities and mining its rich comedic potential. Pizzarello's only misfire is his ill-conceived chorus. Although the chorus is an integral component of Greek tragedy, here it is extraneous and often disruptive, and its one-joke role grows tiresome.

Pizzarello's script is well matched in director Michael Kimmel. He has a firm grasp on his cast, guiding them to truly funny performances. Kimmel never takes the script too seriously, allowing the absurdities to pile up with giddy abandon. The one downside of his direction is his tendency to allow his actors to play to the audience, an off-putting choice that breaks the play's flow.

The actors are excellent. Embracing the ridiculousness of this farcical parody, the cast of 13 plays each line for all its worth. Jestice sets the self-deprecating tone with his opening monologue and keeps the action moving, delivering loads of zany zingers as Teiresias.

Reilly and Normant are sublime as Peon and Dialysis, making for a comedic dream team as they interact with a natural ease. McCrossen and Evans are effortlessly hilarious as the inexplicably British Electra and the crazy-nuts Cassandra. Forand, without ever changing costumes, plays four variations of the same role to dim-witted perfection.

Clift is a comedic gift. She morphs from the slightly off-kilter Jocasta to the oddly crazy Phaedra to the certifiably insane Medea without ever missing a beat. Oglesby, DeVriendt, Escovar, Harper Jackson, Patton, and Pete Mele lend outstanding support within this accomplished cast.

Despite a second act that drags in spots, Saving the Greeks ascends to Olympian heights. Pizzarello's clever script offers madcap adventures for these time-honored characters, and Kimmel and his first-rate cast prove this show is anything but a tragedy.

Political Acts

Theater experiences shifts and trends. During the 1940's and 50's, it seemed every musical had either a cruise ship or a wagon in it. The 1980's brought some brilliant but mostly clich

Past Is Prologue

Oscar Wilde's plays crackle with witty prose, delightful double entendres, and insightful observations about society and its classes. With his trademark pithy abandon, Wilde elevated satire to new levels, proving himself a formidable talent. His plays are an embarrassment of riches full of robust characters and delicious situations. Yet Jambalaya Productions' leaden rendition of An Ideal Husband, despite its sumptuous plot of blackmail, political corruption, and romantic intrigue, never gets off the ground. The play follows the romantic and political entanglements of the esteemed Sir Robert Chiltern (Christian Kohn); his beloved wife, Lady Chiltern (Christina Apathy); their trusted friend, Lord Goring (Trevor St. John); and the woman who stands to bring them all down, the conniving Mrs. Cheveley (Carolyn Demerice).

Mrs. Cheveley, Lady Chiltern's former rival and Lord Goring's ex-lover, arrives intent on blackmailing Sir Chiltern into using his political clout to make her a rich woman. As Mrs. Cheveley threatens to divulge information about Sir Chiltern's unethical past dealings, his secrets come to light, jeopardizing his political aspirations and social standing. Worse still is the threat to his marriage as Lady Chiltern soon realizes her "ideal" husband is flawed. When Lord Goring and Lady Chiltern team up to bring Mrs. Cheveley down, misunderstandings and a classic comedy of manners ensue.

Wilde's biting script is rendered toothless under Robert Francis Perillo's pedestrian direction. Long stretches pass where nothing happens as characters talk while confined to their seats. Wilde's words beg for more, but to no avail, as possibilities for richness and humor are squandered. Perillo flounders, mistaking satire for drama and failing his actors as they struggle to grasp Wilde's sharp repartee.

Demerice gives an energetic but off the mark performance as Mrs. Cheveley, one of the great female antagonists in the theatrical canon. Demerice settles for superficial choices (a seductive glance, a raised eyebrow), making her Mrs. Cheveley nothing more than a one-note villain.

Kohn gives an unsteady performance as Sir Robert Chiltern. His uneven take on the character alternates between bland respectability and hysterical buffoonery. As his wife, the steadfast Lady Chiltern, Apathy never settles into her role, opting for false emotion and dry tears.

There are exceptions. Lian Marie-Holmes is charmingly irreverent as Sir Chiltern's younger sister, Mabel Chiltern. She clearly understands the subtle humor of Wilde's text, scoring many laughs and even creating a believable chemistry with St. John's boorish Lord Goring.

The saving grace of An Ideal Husband is the blithe Lynne McCollough. She is an absolute joy as eccentric society doyenne Lady Markby, breathing desperately needed energy into this lifeless production. The stage comes to life each time McCollough's Lady Markby graces it; she forces the other actors to meet her head-on, raising the bar of accepted mediocrity.

Despite her performance, a great play is lost in Jambalaya Productions' clumsy rendering. With its limp direction and anemic acting, this Ideal Husband deserves a speedy annulment.

Siblings in Rehearsal

The Eisteddfod accomplishes a rare feat: it leaves the audience with something to talk about long after they have left the theater. A tightly directed, two-person character study, the play combines psychological drama with dark humor, and in the process it serves up a fascinating, hourlong head trip where everything is as it seems, yet nothing is as it appears. Set within a suffocating room somewhere in Australia, The Eisteddfod tells the story of two emotionally splintered siblings, Abalone and Gerture, as they prepare to compete in the local eisteddfod (a Welsh word, which somehow found its way into the Australian lexicon, meaning "talent show"). Rehearsing scenes from Macbeth, they create and recreate scenes from their own lives. As the eisteddfod draws nearer, Abalone and Gerture confront their murky past, narrow present, and inescapable future, ever mindful of their absent parents and former lovers.

Playwright Lally Katz has created a hall of mirrors: her characters and their story reflect on themselves, distorting both reality and imagination. She also has devised an intriguing puzzle. Her play juxtaposes scenes of infectious comedy with those of disturbing depravity, then blurs the line between reality and fantasy. She makes Abalone and Gerture's rendering of Macbeth a truly awful spectacle, complete with bad Scottish accents. Yet within these very funny scenes Katz injects moments of dark reality as Gerture's insecurities manifest themselves in a past relationship with a sadistic beau, played by her brother.

Luke Mullins and Jessamy Dyer, who have been with this project since its inception in Australia, create finely detailed portraits as they bring Abalone and Gerture to vivid life. Mullins gives a measured and controlled performance as the manipulative Abalone. The more desperate he becomes for his sister's attentions, the more compelling Mullins becomes in his choices. He inhabits his character with a beguiling charm that is eccentric and, within the confines of the story, disturbing.

Jessamy Dyer gives a raw performance of overwhelming spontaneity as Gerture. She imbues her character with a haunting fragility that evokes empathy but never pity. Desperate for love, Gerture clings to scraps of it like a drowning woman caught in a whirlpool.

Director Chris Kohn confines the action to an 8-by-10-foot platform, forcing both characters to remain trapped physically, much the same way they are emotionally. It's a bold choice, one that keeps the action focused while creating an atmosphere of almost unbearable tension. Richard Varbe's claustrophobic light design produces an unsettling atmosphere of anxiety and dread, helping Kohn and Katz to realize their vision.

The Eisteddfod triumphs in its own ambiguity. As reality and fantasy converge, Abalone and Gerture are left to navigate the inevitable uncertainty of their future, while the audience must piece together the clues they have left behind.

Perverted Pleasure

Offensive. Appalling. Dirty. Vulgar. Inappropriate. Obscene. The Banger's Flopera: A Musical Perversion embodies all those qualities and one more: brilliant. The brainchild of Inverse Theater Artistic Director Kirk Wood Bromley, with exhilarating music by John Gideon, The Banger's Flopera is playing at the Village Theatre as part of the 2005 New York International Fringe Festival. It is not to be missed. Flopera updates John Gay's 18th-century play The Beggar's Opera to perversely dizzying heights. The beggars, hookers, and crooks of the 18th century are replaced with modern-day pimps, gangsters, porn stars, and pop stars. The story revolves around the infamous Mac "Macky" the Knife, here a pornographer and gangster, and his band of degenerate, sexually ambiguous misfits. As Mac cheats, steals, and murders his way to death row, he falls in lust with the pure, pubescent Polly Peacock. Their twisted Romeo and Juliet story mirrors society's obsession with a corrupt culture and government.

Nothing is sacred as playwright and lyricist Kirk Wood Bromley pushes the envelope, lights it on fire, and then throws gasoline on it. Bromley is a master of language, stringing together his words into a poetic menagerie of double entendres, alliteration, and onomatopoeia. His world is so bizarre it defies reason, and it breaks all the rules of conventional musical theater. The story's heroine, Polly, sings a beautiful, yearning ballad while seated on a toilet, and the toilet later serves as a conduit for a love song between Polly and Mac.

The music is transcendent. John Gideon's exceptional, 16-song score includes rap, rock, torch songs, power ballads, and traditional Broadway fare with a demented twist. The obligatory group dance number is a lasciviously naughty anthem about the depraved joys of porn (as performed by a group of adult movie stars), while the finale climaxes (literally) against the backdrop of an execution. The music is brought to vivid life by Nate Brown, Taylor Price, Brad Gunyon, and Gideon himself.

The gifted cast of 17 operates as if they were a single unit. Everyone stands out and works with such conviction and passion, the audience quickly realizes it is witnessing the birth of something special. Joe Pindelski as Mac gives a star-making performance, and the two-hour-plus show lives and breathes off his every move. His voice is part leading man, part monster rock balladeer, and entirely inspiring. April Vidal as Polly transforms herself from precocious pop tart to naughty nymphet in the blink of an eye. Her precise comedic timing is matched only by her gorgeous, "my God can she sing" voice.

Dan Renkin and Anni Bruno tear up the stage as Polly's protective parents, Jonathan and Mimi. On a mission to save their virginal daughter from Macky's defiling deflowering, Renkin and Bruno play their stereotypical "Mom" and "Dad" roles with an over-the-top abandon that's a giddy delight.

Catherine McNelis as porn star Loosy Brown manages to make you laugh and breaks your heart even as she never loses her skanky core. John McConnel, Lydia Burns, and Randall Middleton generate countless laughs as Mac's band of malevolent misfits.

Ben Yalom directs this revelation with fiendish delight. He never loses sight of the story or its dark message, effectively directing the cast of 17 to intelligent, polished performances. The inspired set by Jane Stein captures Bromley's depraved world perfectly, proving itself to be versatile and efficient as each of the three weathered, metallic set pieces creates more than a dozen different settings. Karen Flood's costumes are a spark of creative genius, particularly her anatomically correct porn-star attire.

While the second act is slightly disjointed and perhaps a few minutes too long (particularly the 11th-hour political diatribe), The Banger's Flopera is a celebrated journey of epic proportions. It leaves one feeling exhausted, excited, and wanting even more.

Voting Her Mind

Electra Votes strives to be relevant. But in its attempt to show the way power corrupts, how leaders with power destroy, and how history inevitably repeats itself, the Blunt Theatre Company's production never rises above a narrow platform of preachy banalities. Written by Sheila Morgan, who also stars as the title character, Electra Votes modernizes the classic tale of Electra, her brother Orestes, and their hated mother, Clytemnestra. The play takes place in an unnamed, present-day, oil-rich, quasi-Middle Eastern country besieged by war. (Sound familiar?) Electra broadcasts to her countrymen on World Democracy Radio, rallying against the injustices of "the false king" Aegisthus (George Bush) and his quest for money (oil) and power (world domination).

When the exiled Orestes returns, he and Electra take revenge against their country's oppressors. A newsreel of current events featuring President Bush and images of the Iraq war serve as the narrative for this multimedia event.

Playwright Sheila Morgan, actress Sheila Morgan, and their collaborative creation (Electra) share a very crowded soapbox, blurring the line between reality and fantasy. When the actress, in the character, speaks the words of the playwright, all three fail to provoke thought and just settle for self-righteous condescension. With Electra poised as the voice of the common person, her lengthy, partisan monologues alienate rather than persuade her audience.

For all the script's faults, Morgan is nonetheless an engaging and passionate actress. Her commitment to her role is compelling, as is her belief in the project. But her passion and dedication only make you wish she had better material to play.

Cidele Curo as Clytemnestra makes a small role memorable with her deliberate, menacing deliveries and wild eyes. In her craziness, Curo is the perfect foil to Morgan's volatile Electra.

Rhonda Dodd's pedestrian direction keeps the action moving, although she fails her less-experienced actors in moments of complexity. Costume designer Virginia Tuller's creations evoke a sense of East meets West with a coming together of old and new. She outfits Electra in feminine khaki war fatigues with a Middle Eastern flair. Clytemnestra wears a sexy, blood-red gown that foreshadows her destiny.

Morgan clearly has a strong and valid opinion about the current presidential administration and the Iraq war, but she squanders her opportunity to present it by overplaying her hand. In her attempt to make people think and to effect change, good ideas get lost in anger. It's the equivalent of using an atom bomb to deliver a warning shot.

Strong Man

Hercules in High Suburbia will definitely prove to be one of the high points of this year's New York International Fringe Festival. Produced by Watson Arts Project and playing at the Mazer Theatre, the show incorporates music, Greek drama, and high comedy to dazzling effect. Based on Euripides's Heracles, this tongue-in-cheek send-up of high society and married life transplants the Greek mythological hero and his family to the modern-day gated community of Thebes by the Sea. It opens with Hercules's wife, Megara, awaiting her husband's return after a three-year absence (he was off filming his television show, natch). On the day of Hercules's return, Megara and her family are evicted from their kingdom by the community's president, Lycus. Chaos, comedy, and the real legend of Hercules ensue.

Mary Fulham has provided a delightfully witty framework to highlight Paul Foglino's exceptional music. With a nod to Greek mythology, she perfectly captures the travails of contemporary suburban life, creating a whimsical script with inside jokes and farcical send-ups. Foglino has composed a superb score that has depth, texture, and endless humor. His music artfully spans every genre, from country to soul to Elvis-style rock 'n' roll.

The cast is sublime. Led by the luminescent Ellen Foley as Megara, each member of the six-person ensemble shines. Foley demands attention as her bold, brassy voice soars, and she attacks each number with gritty determination. Hercules in High Suburbia also allows Foley to delve into her theatrical arsenal, proving she is a skilled actress, a deft comedian, and an incomparable singer with a knockout voice.

Dana Vance proves herself a formidable force as she effortlessly takes on multiple roles to hilarious effect, whether dressed as a police officer, in pink fur and horns, or as a mad dominatrix. She even takes a two-minute role with a half-dozen lines and turns it into a comedic tour de force.

Postell Pringle embodies Hercules's strength and bravado to a tee, ably supported by his rich, soulful voice. The very amiable Hal Blankenship provides pitch-perfect support as Hercules's father, Amphitryon. Dan Matisa as Zeus and Neal Young as Lycus inhabit their characters with comedic conviction and delightful abandon.

Hercules in High Suburbia only falters in its staging and transitions. Fulham directs her actors to play everything at the edge of the stage, never allowing them to fully realize their space. And the otherwise excellent musical numbers don't get their full due under Fulham's lukewarm direction.

A hysterical musical comedy that is equal parts social commentary and Greek tragedy, Hercules in High Suburbia attains Olympian heights. In the end, all that's missing is more songs for Ellen Foley to sing.

Noir On-Air

Hard Boiled is playwright Dan Bianchi's latest crack at the world of pulp-fiction noir. Produced by Radio Theatre Presents, it is a send-up of gritty detective novels and the live drama of radio theater. The setting is straight out of a 40's black-and-white mystery, the kind where the rain is always falling amid the perennial darkness in some nameless city. Hard Boiled features the usual suspects: the jaded detective, the Hollywood matinee idol and his brassy agent, the mobster and his actress wife, and the mobster's stripper girlfriend. Thrown in for effective atmosphere are a sultry singer and her pitch-perfect band. The story is interspersed with clever advertisements for other radio programs and commercial products of yesteryear.

The play attempts to recreate radio theater, and to Bianchi's credit, he undertakes this endeavor with a great deal of passion. The problem is that Bianchi the director can't decide if he is presenting a play, a re-creation of a radio broadcast that is being watched as a play, or a radio broadcast that is being heard first and seen second. With elaborate costumes and props, Hard Boiled is very much a spectacle, but some of the actors simply use their voices while others use their entire bodies, giving fully physical performances.

The cast of characters is game if not fully able. Ryan Kelly as the Mae West-inspired agent, Joey Kapps, gives it her all. Unfortunately, her all is too much, and with wild eyes, Kelly ends up overacting to the point of distraction. John Nolan as the Host has the perfect "radio" voice, and he does keep the action moving, yet he often comes across as bored. Elizabeth Bianchi has several nice moments as mob moll Cindy Marsh, but they are quickly undermined by a comes-and-goes accent and a weak character. Adam Murphy, Dan Truman, and Sarah Stephens fare better in their commercial spots than in their poorly defined characters during the show's story.

Charles Wilson saves the day (and the play) as Detective Jack Carter. His character is a cocksure ladies' man and a master of words, full of dry sarcasm, Wilson seems born to play the role, and he brings Hard Boiled alive. Yet ironically the unsung hero of Hard Boiled is singer Rhe De Ville. A sultry and sexy chanteuse, she sets the play alight with her smoky voice. Looking like a million bucks and sporting a priceless set of pipes, De Ville alone is worth seeing the show. She is expertly supported by Brian Cashwell on piano and Jimmy Sullivan on bass.

Bianchi has written a flawed script that tries too hard. With a plot that is incidental

Love Stories

The Blue Heron Theatre closes out its 17th season with the world premiere of John Dufresne's earnest new play, Trailerville. A small story with big ideas, Trailerville aspires to extraordinary heights, with Dufresne presenting an intimate story of life, love, family, obligation, and the ravages of Alzheimer's disease. Set against the backdrop of Labor Day weekend, Trailerville follows the intersecting lives of nine characters in a small-town Louisiana trailer park. At the heart of the play are four very different love stories. Merdelle Harris struggles to hold on to love and the man she loves as she cares for her husband Bobby, who suffers from Alzheimer's. Merdelle and Bobby's neighbor, the oft-married Arlis, grapples with his love for Merdelle, longing to pursue her but not wanting to take advantage of Bobby's condition.

Arlis's daughter, the hard-living Pug, is finding love again with the good but ill-tempered Bromo. Pug's young son, Theron, is experiencing the pains of first love with Kristie, a sweet girl who is about to leave town.

Dufresne is an accomplished novelist. With Trailerville, he proves that he has a gift for narration and storytelling. However Trailerville is a play, not a novel, and therein lies the problem. Dufresne has overwritten the play. It's show and tell

Love and Politics, American Style

Screen Play is a theatrical revelation. Now receiving its world premiere at the Flea Theater, the play is A.R. Gurney's brilliant look at the American political system

On the Job

The Flea Theater is making people laugh. Its latest production, the New York premiere of Charlotte Meehan's Work, is not just funny

Musical Dostoyevsky

La MaMa e.t.c. is presenting the world premiere of Robert Montgomery's A Case of Murder, which is billed as "a singing detective story." A musical murder mystery inspired by Crime and Punishment, the play transplants Dostoyevsky's timeless story to modern-day New York City, to distracting effect. In the process, Montgomery also offers up little more than forgettable music, stock characters, and a story line that is more limp than literary. A Case of Murder follows the plot of the novel, a meaty book ripe for interpretation. After committing a horrific double murder, a young man lurks in limbo, dreading punishment yet yearning for redemption. This "musical" sidesteps any psychological complexities in favor of stereotypical TV-cop-show protocol. Told from the point of view of the distant, hardboiled (and sometimes drunk) Detective Porfiry (Brian McCormick), the show plays like a lost episode of the short-lived TV series Cop Rock.

Truth be told, this show is all over the map. Everything about it is abrupt. It begins abruptly with each of the eight characters taking to the stage and bursting into song with nary an introduction as to who they are. The murders, so integral they reverberate throughout the story, creating the impetus for everything that happens, are never seen by the audience. The victims are mentioned briefly and are nearly incidental. It's all tell and no show. One character abruptly moves to L.A. because that's what she's always wanted. Other characters abruptly fall in love

Disarming the Man

The Milk Can Theatre Company is tackling George Bernard Shaw's multifaceted Arms and the Man, and it's a noble endeavor. Currently being presented in repertory with the world premiere of Anne Phelan's Mushroom in Her Hands, Arms and the Man has the potential to be a sharp, funny satire about love and an important commentary on mankind's obsession with war. However, under ML Kinney's schizophrenic direction, this Arms and the Man sinks under the weight of its underdeveloped concept. Arms and the Man follows the romantic entanglements of Raina Petkoff (Meghan Reilly); her betrothed, Sergius Saranoff (Avery Clark); the heroic soldier Bluntschli (Kirsten Walsh); and Raina's headstrong handmaid, Louka (Sarah Bloom). Misunderstandings and missed connections abound: Raina loves Bluntschli but is engaged to Sergius, who loves Louka. Set against the backdrop of the Bulgarian-Serbian war, Shaw's play has his characters wax philosophical about love, the conventions of war, class struggle, and the responsibilities of man.

It is a difficult play

Go Ask Alice

The Milk Can Theatre Company clearly likes a challenge. It prides itself on producing works that combine language, emotion, story, and audience to create a unique theatrical experience. It embraces the possibilities of heightened language and emotion, and it believes in works that tell a story and engage the audience. So it is odd that the company would choose Anne Phelan's Mushroom in Her Hands, a rehash of Alice in Wonderland written as a series of disjointed vignettes. According to the playwright's muddy program note, Mushroom in Her Hands is Phelan's speculation about what might have happened between Charles Lutwidge Dodgson (better known as Lewis Carroll) and his young muse, Alice Liddell. The play opens promisingly with an intriguingly perverse scene between Dodgson and Alice involving hidden candy and Dodgson's trousers. But the potential of this psychologically fascinating and sordid relationship is quickly squandered in favor of creepy suggestions and awkward flirtation.

There are no transitions in this play. Dodgson quickly disappears and then some lights change and then Alice sniffs something and before you can say "through the looking glass," Alice is in Wonderland. She soon meets up with the Cheshire Cat, the Mad Hatter, the March Hare, etc. With each character she meets, Alice learns new and fun facts about her body, her sexuality, and the dark side of desire. Yet for all its early promise and speculation, Phelan's imagination comes up with little more than an amateurish, pseudo-sexual Freudian acid trip.

The cast of four enthusiastically make the best of what they have been given, collectively taking on 15 roles. Under Julie Fei-Fan Balzer's capable direction, the actors are let loose to play. Jessi Gotta perfectly captures the innocence and impudence of 14-year-old Alice. She takes a flat character and gives it dimension while maintaining Alice's precocious na

East Meets West

The Beauty Inside is an appropriate title for Catherine Filloux's new play, now receiving its New York premiere at the Culture Project (45 Below). On the surface, the production suffers from tepid direction and the miscasting of a pivotal role. But digging deeper inside this moving and important piece reveals an exceptionally well-written script and several beautifully nuanced performances. The Beauty Inside is the story of Yalova (Tatiana Gomberg), a 14-year-old Turkish girl, and her relationships with the family that has turned against her and the stranger who will save her. After surviving a series of brutal rapes at the hands of her married neighbor, Yalova must go into hiding to escape her family as they seek to regain their honor by killing her. Her salvation comes in the form of Devrim (Jennifer Gibbs), a Turkish-American lawyer who takes on Yalova's case and challenges the centuries-old tradition of honor killing.

While Yalova represents the tradition and oppression of her Eastern culture, Devrim is the embodiment of the Western heritage that lives within her Eastern upbringing (she smokes and drinks, and prefers bikinis to head scarves). With Yalova and Devrim, Filloux has created an intriguing dichotomy of East versus West and old versus new. As Devrim helps Yalova to find her Western voice, Yalova teaches Devrim the beauty of her Eastern heritage. Their complex and fascinating (and touchingly humorous) relationship is the backbone of The Beauty Inside.

The heart of the play is Gomberg's Yalova. Gomberg constructs a complex, sensitive, moving portrayal of a young girl caught between circumstance, tradition, and longing. With an easy grace, her Yalova evolves from a sheltered child to a tortured victim to an independent young woman. It is a beautiful performance.

Gibbs, however, is a talented actress unfortunately miscast, with her broad acting style better suited to high melodrama than to the quiet honesty of Filloux's script.

If Gomberg is the play's heart, then its soul belongs to Michelle Rios and her portrayal of Peri, Yalova's mother. In a compelling battle of nature versus nurture, Rios's Peri is at odds with herself