Great Books, Live Onstage

Northanger Abbey, Theater Ten Ten's clever new play, merges the best of Jane Austen—engaging heroines and romantic plots—with the gothic suspense of Ann Radcliffe, an earlier, 18th-century English novelist. But playwright Lynn Marie Macy can't take all the credit: Austin's Northanger Abbey makes many references to Radcliffe's The Mysteries of Udolpho. This modern production of Austen's book, directed by David Scott, takes those references off the page and plays them as actual scenes that are woven into Austen's story. The result is a vibrant interpretation of a classic. The stage is set for our journey into books, with richly bound, oversized copies of English literary masterpieces forming a backdrop and filling the stage. The gilded spines open and close to reveal the characters' entrances and exits. All of the staged action happens in front of yet another book. This smaller, illustrated volume takes us from the streets and ballrooms of Bath, England, to the eerie mountain castle of Udolpho, in Italy. Characters come by and turn the pages as each scene changes, transporting the audience back and forth between the two worlds.

Director David Scott ties the two books together even more by doubling the roles. The protagonist from one is also the protagonist in the other. The actors portray the same type of character—the love interest, the cad, the deceitful lady—in both stories. We begin to see the parallels between the "real" scenes (the plot of Northanger Abbey) and the "imaginary" ones (the parts of The Mysteries of Udolpho that are enacted onstage).

Our partner on this journey is Catherine Morland (Tatiana Gomberg), the heroine of Austen's novel. She travels from her country home to the wealthy resort town of Bath with family friends in order to experience the world, but she can't seem to keep her nose out of a book (that book is, of course, The Mysteries of Udolpho). In Bath, she tours the social scene, meeting the charming Henry Tilney (Julian Stetkevych), the coquettish Miss Isabella (Summer Hagen), and Isabella's roguish brother, John Thorpe (Timothy McDonough). With all her new acquaintances, Catherine's real-world romantic adventures start to compete with the exciting stories she's been reading. When she visits Northanger Abbey, she finds herself in a situation nearly as fantastic.

As Catherine, Tatiana Gomberg sparkles in every scene and makes for a vivacious heroine. Her Catherine is refreshingly three-dimensional: smart, clever, and capable. Her bold manner when speaking directly to the audience perhaps makes her not what Austen intended, but she's perfectly suited for modern audiences. She's so enthusiastic that we're happy to follow her wherever her fancies take her.

Gomberg is nicely supported by Summer Hagen as Isabella; the young debutante is delectably bratty and pouty. McDonough seemed to enjoy his role as Isabella's arrogant, blowhard brother, while Stetkevych is so delightful as Catherine's love interest Tilney that he left me wishing Austen had made the character more prominent in the novel.

The costumes, designed by Jeanette Aultz, are lovely period pieces; Aultz paid great attention to detail, even down to Miss Morland's undergarments. In many of the crowd and party scenes, the ensemble functioned as colorful, animated set dressings. The ladies and gentlemen of Bath were so well dressed that it was easy to overlook that some of them sped through their lines, making them almost unintelligible.

The second act dragged a little, though that flaw is more in the source material than in Macy's script. A pantomimed scene of Catherine's midnight encounter with the wild, imaginary horrors lurking in Northanger Abbey was so wonderful that the remainder of the play paled in comparison.

As Catherine discovers, reading a book can't beat live experiences. This energetic production is a perfect example. Theater Ten Ten's adaptation of Northanger Abbey brings new life to what is considered one of Austen's lesser-known works while showcasing a lesser-known writer whose work made this 19th-century classic possible.

Stage Blood

Contemporary horror movies often leave little to the imagination. Death, monsters, violence, torture, and, of course, blood are so much in view that they often stop being so scary. To raise the threshold, we add more death, more torture, and more blood. It's what we expect in a good slasher flick. We weren't always this overexposed (or maybe this jaded). Early horror classics like Nosferatu or The Phantom of the Opera seldom resort to showing gore. Yet at the time, those movies were considered sufficiently frightening. Where was the shift to our fascination with blood? These questions are raised by Nosedive Productions's The Blood Brothers Present: An Evening of Grand Guignol Horror.

Grand Guignol was the French theatrical tradition of shock and suspense that flourished in the early part of the 20th century. Its plays were characterized by the violence portrayed onstage: decapitation, eye gouging, and other forms of mutilation. Drug-induced altered states and sex were also common themes. It could easily be considered an early equivalent of the American horror movies that have become popular during the past 30 years.

An Evening of Grand Guignol Horror is structured like a traditional Grand Guignol show. It consists of several short plays: in this case, an introduction and five different scenarios. Two segments, "The Final Kiss" and "The Kiss of Blood," are classic French plays, written in 1912 and 1929, respectively. The remaining segments are modern interpretations of terror, created by members of Nosedive Productions. Blood was prominently featured in all of them.

The two French plays were the highlight of the evening. They required the most from the actors (the other scenes contained little to no dialogue, save for agonized screaming) and involved actual staging. While they might have once been horrifying, the plays now seem overly melodramatic and campy. Acid burns, peeling skin, and mutilated fingers elicited giggles instead of gasps of shock.

But the directors—Pete Boisvert for "The Final Kiss" and Patrick Shearer for "The Kiss of Blood"—had everyone play it straight, which was absolutely the right choice. Instead of trying too hard to make these scripts seem relevant or winking at the silliness of it all, they allowed the audience to find the fun and enjoy the action. The performers in both sketches were also right on target, delivering lines earnestly without hamming it up.

In contrast, the three modern sketches were much more exaggerated; they were exactly what an audience would expect from an evening of horror. Psychological torture and twisted irony dominated these scenes. "Lights Out" and "Blinded," two bookend pieces, were the most violent. "Vagina Dentata" was certainly the most graphic.

Because they were really just skits, they were less engaging than the Grand Guignol plays. They also were played with all seriousness, but when compared to the other pieces, they seemed too self-conscious and even ridiculous. This is in no way a reflection on the company's creative work, but simply a result of two contradictory styles.

An Evening of Grand Guignol Horror, on one level, was a fun evening of entertainment. Stage blood generally makes for a lively experience, especially around Halloween. Upon closer inspection, the show provided a thought-provoking observation—certainly for this reviewer—about our culture's current fascination with pain and gore, and explored the boundaries of what we consider truly shocking.

The Howling

Take Le Misanthrope, one of the most popular plays in the dramatic canon. Turn the protagonist into a werewolf. Write a sequel to that play, wherein this character takes revenge on his enemies by stalking them and slaughtering them like terrified rabbits. Also, make sure to write it in iambic pentameter with rhyming couplets. Good idea or bad idea? While it sounds like potential B-movie schlock, Le Lycanthrope mixes the right amount of satire and class to create an original and—surprisingly literary—interpretation of Moliere's French classic.

Le Lycanthrope is full of cleverness, from its title (lycanthropy is the condition of being, or thinking, that one is a werewolf) to the name of its co-production company: Loup Garou International ("loup garou" is the French term for werewolf). And what better situation to introduce this horror movie element into than one that claims that "men behave like wolves to each other"?

Written by Timothy McCown Reynolds, this story picks up after Moliere's play ends. Alceste, the misanthrope, has left Paris because he can't abide the shallow gossip and incessant flattery so prevalent in wealthy society. His decision to leave costs him his fiancée, but he is uncompromising in his values.

Le Lycanthrope opens on Halloween, with Alceste returning after several years alone in the woods. He is throwing a party and has invited both his friends and his enemies. Returning from the original play are Eliante, Philinte, Arsinoe, Clitandre, and Oronte.

Alceste's former lover, Celimene, is noticeably absent at the gathering, and Oronte has brought a new lady friend, the mysterious Alacoque. Alceste's guests ask him why he has returned, and why he seems so different. He shares his harrowing account of an attack by a strange wolf during a full moon; he survived and defeated the creature but is infected by the werewolf's curse. The partygoers have many reactions to this tale, but none believe it to be true. They soon find out that they should have paid more attention.

At its heart, the play is a well-researched, well-crafted homage to 17th-century comedy, full of bawdy humor and double entendres. The use of iambic pentameter was extremely ambitious on Reynolds's part, and he was able to insert contemporary idioms and comedy into many of the rhyming couplets. Occasionally, the actors seemed to struggle with the rhythmic mouthfuls. This occurred most often with the younger performers, in sections where the poetry got stilted. But the language didn't prove to be a problem for Alceste, as the part was performed by the playwright himself. He was clearly very at home with the character and the dialogue.

The play's biggest drawback is its length, with a running time of close to two and a half hours. Several scenes at the beginning of Act I dealt with lengthy exposition, both of the source material and of this new version. There was little physical activity during these scenes, and even with Reynolds's captivating stage presence, they tended to drag.

However, once clear of the establishing details, director Brendan Turk gave the show a more manageable tempo. He also drew strong performances from his entire cast, especially in the juicier (and bloodier) second act. Alceste's rivals, Clitandre and Oronte, formed a particularly noteworthy team: Bob Laine's Clitandre was giddy and shrill, while Joe Pindelski's Oronte was darker and more severe. Lovely costumes by Karen Flood were made even more sumptuous by Jeff Nash's resourceful lighting design. Nash used color and positioning to effectively add ambience to a simple, flexible set.

The subtitle for Le Lycanthrope is "A Revenge-Farce With a Monster-Movie Groove." It is clearly that. While best suited for an audience familiar with Moliere's comedy and an ear for metered verse, anyone looking for a fun treat to get in the Halloween spirit could check out this show and not feel tricked.

One-Act Trio

None of the three one-act plays in Audax Theater Group's The Beginning of the And are related. The settings and stories are very different, and the themes in each one—the unpredictability of life, the basic human need for companionship—are only loosely connected. Yet the collection feels very cohesive. Director Brian Ziv seems to have a consistent vision for each piece and how they all fit together. "APPS" takes place in the bar of a resort hotel, as Henry (Daniel Talbott) waits for Jody (Alie Carey) before their romantic honeymoon dinner. He's joined by two bar regulars: Meyers (Scott Sortman) and an incognito Ringo Starr, assuming the name of Mr. Burns (Davis Hall). An oddity in Hawaiian shirt and cowboy boots, Meyers believes himself to be a connoisseur of the "app." Appetizers represent freedom, while meals—and commitment—keep you stuck.

Meyers repeatedly suggests that Henry should order an appetizer while he waits. Henry is skeptical, but some cajoling from the men, and an escalating newlywed spat with Jody, make a life filled with shrimp cocktail and guacamole dip seem more appealing. "APPS" is a very funny short piece, with a tiny emotional tug at the end. Hall plays the former Beatle with a convincing mix of flash and nonchalance. As Meyers, Sortman is both loopy and charismatic: the man makes you think seriously about your pre-entrée ordering. Talbott and Carey are wide-eyed and fresh-faced foils to the craggy older men, and it's fun watching their wedded bliss crumple around the edges.

"ORANGE", the second piece, is the surname of John Orange. Actually, he has quite a few names, all representing his family's pedigree. John (Will Brunson) and his equally blue-blooded mother (Arleigh Richards) live together and run an antique shop out of their garage. It is a quiet arrangement for them, and certainly a lonely one for John, who becomes instantly smitten with Julia (Carey), a lost out-of-towner traveling with her fiancé (Kevin Perri).

Julia, however, becomes smitten with the store's showpiece, an original Chippendale chair. John hopes Julia will stay, Mom hopes Julia will go, and Julia hopes the chair might someday be hers. Awkwardly social at best, John decides to give her the chair. It's a lovely gesture, and one Julia can't begin to understand, though she happily takes the chair anyway.

Carey and Perri are sweet and oblivious without being obnoxious. As the couple drives away with "the Chippy," John is the only one who didn't get what he wanted. Will Brunson's portrayal of Orange—as a dapper yet pathetic man—makes him the kind of guy you'd want to root for, even though you know he doesn't have a chance in the world.

In "OST," we meet Mr. Ost (Hall) and his wife, Lida (Richards). The Osts are vacationing at the Angel's Arms Inn, run by Monsieur (John Kaisner) and his extremely twitchy wife Fi (Romany Reagan). Both couples have their own agendas, and the tension between them builds and eventually bursts. This segment had the quirkiest humor and featured terrific performances by all four actors, including another great turn from both Hall and Richards.

However, the piece also seemed to be the odd man out in the trio. Its clever yet occasionally confusing use of "Ost" to stand for "ostentatious" and "Fi" as "fie" was never directly addressed; I wanted to be let in on the joke more. Still, "OST" felt creative and ambitious and reminded me a little of Beckett or some of the shorter works of Tom Stoppard.

Director Ziv made effective use of the space, which was good because there wasn't much space to use (the 78th Street Theater Lab is tiny). The basic set consisted of enough furniture to take us from scene to scene without seeming too generic or getting too fussy. The most important piece of scenery was the large projection screen housed in the center of the rear wall. A short video introduced each sketch by identifying the characters with captions and placing them in telling situations: it was easy to infer that the couple in the first one-act were newlyweds. The videos added a layer of context that would otherwise be missing.

The Beginning of the And was the Audax Theater Group's inaugural production in 2001. Five years later, the group appears to be thriving, as this revival made for a thoughtful, entertaining diversion. The three one-acts were funny with a touch of bittersweet, and full of endearing characters.

John Chatterton and the Midtown International Theater Festival

As summer heats up, so does the summer festival season in New York City. Theater festivals are a wonderful way for artists and audiences to get what they need most: each other. These Off- and Off-Off Broadway festivals offer an abundance of affordable, convenient theater and give writers, directors and performers a chance to practice their craft with low overhead.

The Midtown International Theater Festival (MITF) begins its seventh season on Monday, July 17. It dares to brave the rough, largely undeveloped landscape of the Garment District, a region not generally known for a plethora of cultural offerings. The four theaters hosting MITF shows are located on the same block of West 36th Street. The venues are small, and the scale of MITF is more intimate than the sprawling New York International Fringe Festival held downtown. Forty shows will be presented between July 17 and August 6, with enough variety to satisfy a choosy audience.

The shows at MITF are in various stages of development, from staged readings and studio productions to full-length mainstage presentations. There are dramas, comedies, solo performances, and something listed as a “multimedia/collage” (that show is called The Answer is Horse, if you’re interested). No event runs longer than 90 minutes.

Unlike other festivals, the MITF is less intensely juried in its selection process. John Chatterton, the festival’s Executive Director, works with two artistic directors who are responsible for creating the season’s line-up. The co-artistic directors recruit participants from theater professionals they’ve worked with or whose work they admire, and choose the selections they like best from the applicant pool. MITF also offers several flexible producing plans that are ideal for Off-Off-Broadway productions. These range from full festival support (with the biggest box office split) to “pay up front” plans that allow companies to pay for the space at a discounted rate and receive the largest gross of the ticket sales. “Giving people options makes them happy,” Chatterton notes.

The 2006 Midtown International Theater Festival

John Chatterton is no stranger to the Off-Off Broadway community: thirteen years ago he founded “OOBR: The Off-Off-Broadway Review,” a publication of theater listings and reviews. “Off-Off Broadway has gotten more serious; there are fewer marginal theaters, due to expense, you’ve got to have your act together.” Thus, he maintains, a festival is a great place to get your “sea legs.” An artist can gain exposure with less risk and concentrate on the show itself. “This is why we have more festivals,” he surmises. “For artists, it’s a step on the professional ladder. Your voice can be heard.” Chatterton also finds that festivals are a great way for participants to network with other theater practitioners.

What does it take to run a three-week theater festival? “Logistics,” Chatterton firmly replies. “I’m very fortunate to have Emileena execute the logistics.” He’s referring to Emileena Pedigo, the festival’s full-time managing director. It’s her job to hire the festival staff and ensure that the schedule runs smoothly. Along with Emileena, Chatterton has four full-time reports: Judd Hollander, in charge of publicity; Bob Ost, who oversees festival marketing; and lighting designer Carrie Yacono, who coordinates rep plots for all four theaters. Other staff members operate on a part-time or volunteer basis.

Logistics seem to be paying off. Over the last seven years, MITF has doubled the number of productions and seen a steady improvement on the business side due, in large part, to great organization. They’ve cut the number of shows per production from seven to five, and try to seek out shows that allow for more flexibility with programming. The festival tries to operate as a support system for the participants while encouraging them to market themselves. Not only does this place the business responsibilities with those with the most vested interest (the producers of the individual shows), it also allows MITF to keep its own costs down.

Looking forward, Chatterton hopes to continue to expand cautiously and find new ways to promote the festival. However, he’s not concerned that MITF might be dwarfed by FringeNYC or festivals with larger budgets. “I’m encouraged by the proliferation of festivals.” He cites them as a great way to grow an audience base – especially with ticket prices under $20 – and to filter out less-serious offerings.

“My mission in life is to get the general public comfortable with the idea of going to Off-Off Broadway plays,” Chatterton states. Fortunately, the Midtown International Theater Festival, along with all of the summer theater festivals, offers audiences ample opportunity to do just that.

Kimberly Patterson is a staff writer for offoffonline. Her one-act play, Absence, is appearing in MITF’s Studio Series. Visit the Midtown International Theater's website at www.midtownfestival.org.

Troubled Teens on TV

Sticky Girls, at the 2006 Midtown International Theater Festival, is subtitled "The Anti-Reality Show." I imagine the subtitle refers to a fictional talk show, The Roxy Rose Show, that the characters are appearing on, as well as to the ambiguous line between reality and performance on TV, which seems to be explored throughout the production. It might even refer to the dichotomy between the real world and the fantasy worlds that the two troubled teenaged girls—the sticky girls of the title—sometimes create for themselves. And yet, despite the negation in that subtitle, I had trouble determining what I was supposed to find real and unreal. The play's conceit, that we are watching a taping of a trashy daytime talk show, is introduced immediately. The Stage Manager comes out to "warm up" the crowd, to explain the rules of TV (no one gets to go to the bathroom) and to do the obligatory cellphone reminder. The introduction of the other characters is straightforward, as we now move into a more traditional narrative structure. Backstage before the taping begins, we meet Harley (Robin Long) and Sergeant Manley (David Copeland).

Harley, a young entrepreneur, is a guest on the show, invited to introduce her delicious brand of salsa. Sergeant Manley, we soon learn, is going to be on the show too. He's Roxy's reluctant hired muscle, the man who's going to toughen up some wild girls. Roxy herself (Sharon O'Connell) is a sweet-and-sour mixture of Jenny Jones and Sally Jessy Raphael: a brash, powerful woman with a taste for the sensational. It's her show, and she's going to make sure she delivers a good episode.

Once taping begins, we meet the saucy, outrageous Geo (Jennifer Loryn) and soon realize that maybe Harley's not as sweet as her inspired salsa pitch would have us believe. The two girls are soon in Sergeant Manley's custody. He tries to make headway with them so they can set themselves on a better path, but, as in real life, things are always more complicated than they seem.

Loryn's high energy as Geo and Long's complex yet delicate portrayal of Harley carry the show. Both young women had a strong understanding of their characters and gave spirited performances. It helped that playwright Linda Evans gave Harley such a splendid, quirky way of talking, while Geo had colorful speeches backed up with serious attitude.

Copeland was nicely believable as a good cop just trying to help some struggling kids. He seemed quite comfortable onstage and provided a solid foundation for his co-stars to play against. O'Connell's Roxy was crisp and menacing, but I wondered if she could have been bigger and bolder. Occasionally, she seemed overshadowed by the two girls.

The playwright's idea for a TV show scenario was fun and creative, and she's clearly a masterful writer. Unfortunately, I was often confused by the setting and by the action: I couldn't tell whether I was watching a scene that was "on-air" and directed to the TV audience or a scene taking place off-camera. A lighting cue or a sound effect, or even an illuminated "on-air" sign, would have helped. Also, a better delineation of the physical space—Roxy's stage setup, the holding cell—would have highlighted the talented performances more by giving the actors something to play "into."

The production was obviously limited by the venue—the Jewel Box Theater has a tiny playing area, and the placement of the audience was not ideal. The show might also have benefited from more sophisticated technical capabilities than were permitted in this space. While there were some "sticky" problems with structure and staging, these things could be smoothed out with further development. Overall, Sticky Girls has the potential to be an entertaining, successful show.

Love Made to Order

It's hard, in a relationship, to resist making over another person, to keep from molding him or her into who you want that person to be. When this happens—when one party is so controlling of the other—many relationships fail. Such is the basic premise of Michael Roderick's Props, one of the shows featured in the 2006 Midtown International Theater Festival. It's an interesting idea that's explored literally in this play, and it works well until the end, when it becomes almost too literal to mesh with the rest of the story. The story belongs to Andrew (Ben Sumrall), a man beleaguered by too many beautiful women. His ex-girlfriend Susan (Jennifer Boehm) is a sultry temptress who demands that he return to her. His lost love is the radiant Denise (Leigh Poulos), who realizes that maybe she hasn't gotten over Andrew as easily as she'd thought. Even his cheerful best friend, Melissa (Amy Lerner), is adorable. As if his life isn't complicated enough, Andrew is developing a serious attraction to Kerri (Corey Ann Haydu). She is lovely and adoring and by all means perfect for Andrew, which makes sense because he made her himself. Kerri is a life-sized puppet that Andrew, a prop designer, has meticulously built.

Most of the play is spent deconstructing Andrew's relationships with Susan and Denise, as well as determining whether Kerri is becoming a real girl or if Andrew is just going insane. The plot is simple and not at all sophisticated in terms of its discussions of love and relationships. Still, it's easy to watch: the young actresses are all pretty and vibrant, and Andrew's earnestness is endearing. Even the recycled device of "mannequin comes to life" is pleasant and engaging, as she's often animated in dream sequences scored with emotional, evocative music.

It's not until the final few minutes, when we get the big "reveal," that the storyline ceases to be so appealing. What seemed to be intended as a surprise ending (which I won't reveal) ended up feeling illogical and improbable in its details. I was happily suspending my disbelief for the story of Andrew and his puppet, but the plot twist made claims I could not reconcile with other information I'd been given and took me completely out of the story.

While the ending was disappointing, Props does have a lot of great things in its corner. Director Moira K. Costigan used the awkward space of the tiny Jewel Box Theater quite effectively. She kept props and scenery to a bare minimum and created staging that was straightforward and uncluttered. Also, William Demaniow's original music, mentioned earlier, did a great deal to influence and enhance the piece's mood. Finally, the program credits a makeup designer—Leetal Platt—who I believe had a strong hand in making sure that all of the ladies truly did glow.

The Midtown International Theater Festival is an excellent place for small companies and new works to gain exposure and experience, and the people behind Props are smart for taking full advantage of this opportunity. The show is well staged with a likable cast; the script contained some inspired writing and some strong dialogue. The production showed a lot of hard work by a lot of people, and it deserves to be recognized.

Dangling Conversations

The artwork for the postcard advertising Legitimate Theater Company's evening of one-act plays contains an illustration of an elephant and a sofa. Is it the "elephant in the living room," the problem on everyone's mind that no one talks about? Certainly in both plays, Ian Schoen's Jesus Hector Christ and Caryl Churchill's Heart's Desire, the characters dance around issues and manage to avoid saying anything meaningful about what's causing their problems. The true dialogue exists in their silences and in the words deliberately not chosen. In the first of the two plays, Heart's Desire, Brian (Cash Tilton) and Alice (Mimi Jefferson) wait for Susy, their adult daughter, to return home from a trip abroad. Maisie (Janice Bishop), Susy's aunt, and Lewis (Rich Lovejoy), Susy's brother, join them in waiting. With Maisie's help, Alice prepares a special homecoming lunch while Brian frets and Lewis wanders in and out drunkenly. The entire conversation runs about five minutes. But it takes the family nearly 35 minutes to actually complete the conversation because it is constantly being interrupted.

The action begins with the two women setting the table and Brian appearing in a bright red sweater. Alice takes one look at him and rings a small bell that sits at the table's center. He exits, the scene begins again, and Brian enters in a different outfit. This is also not acceptable: Alice rings the bell and everyone starts over. Finally, after donning a vest that is deemed suitable by his wife, the trio's conversation is allowed to resume. Yet not more than a few moments later, the little bell is rung again; we've advanced the story by only several lines before we return again to the beginning.

The "do over" pattern continues throughout the story, with interruptions varying from a (deliberately) stumbled line to angry spats between family members to the arrival of random, and deadly, intruders. Even after Susy returns home, the play resets itself: sometimes it's Susy at the door, sometimes it's her Australian lover, and sometimes it's a giant chicken.

Churchill's script indicates only that dialogue starts and stops; the ringing appears to be a choice made for this production by director Max Seide. The bell does help to quickly establish the pattern and gives the audience an anchor in an otherwise opaque piece of theater. We quickly determine that someone rings the bell whenever the outcome of the situation is not to his or her liking. But will anything ever be to anyone's liking? Because conversations are constantly being altered and undone, we start to see the futility of the characters' communication. By the end of the play, much of the characters' true personalities have been revealed, but we never definitively know what's going to happen in their lives.

In the second play, Jesus Hector Christ, the opposite is true: we see a situation through to its completion, but we never know what the characters are really feeling. This is mostly because the characters themselves are so conflicted. Best friends Tim (Christopher Norwood) and Clyde (Eric Brown) are young men plugging away in meaningless jobs until Clyde hits a speed bump. His girlfriend Natalie (Brenda Cooney) is pregnant, but the couple is unprepared to have a baby. While Clyde and Natalie argue about whether to have an abortion, Tim does the best he can to support his friend. In the end, the pregnancy is terminated, the relationship between Clyde and Natalie is over, and neither man knows what he's supposed to do with his life.

Written and directed by Ian Schoen, the Legitimate Theater Company's co-artistic director, Jesus Hector Christ is a good example of the naturalistic style often seen in contemporary drama. The play presented a slice of real life, and everything onstage, including props and people, was made to appear as authentic as possible. The characters ran the emotional gamut from sardonic amusement to violent frustration. Schoen's dialogue was especially compelling, capturing quite accurately how awkward, stilted, and occasionally haphazard conversations can be when the subject matter is so difficult.

Both productions had strong casts who made the most of the juicy parts they'd been given, and both shows presented high-quality costumes and scenery. Ultimately, enjoyment of the show comes down to personal preferences. I especially liked the Churchill piece with all its ambiguity, while my companion scratched her head questioningly. She, on the other hand, very much enjoyed the Schoen piece, which I thought was well done but a tad too much like real life for my escapist tendencies. But in coming away from the experience with something to think about, both of us considered the evening a success.

Decisive Dane

Most people go to see Shakespeare because they are enthusiasts familiar with the plays or because they're new to Elizabethan drama and are hoping to learn what it's all about. In general, if you've seen Hamlet before, you're not going for the suspense of the ending. You're going because you love the story. If it's your first time, you'll want to find a good production that's not boring or confusing. Reduxion Theater Company's Hamlet is that production. In about two and a half hours, it brings you the tragedy of the Dane in a way that's simple to follow. Characters are easily distinguishable from one another (even when actors take on multiple roles), and each character's purpose—whether uncle, guard, or gravedigger—is quickly established. Best of all, this Hamlet is refreshingly vital, performed with such energy and flavor that seeing it felt like watching a swashbuckling adventure story.

In his program notes, director Tyler Woods says that his Hamlet "viscerally challenges" the current state of affairs in Denmark and "boldly confronts" his uncle. Neither phrase is traditionally associated with a character best known for speeches on indecision. But Woods makes good on these assertions and delivers a Hamlet who, once he possesses evidence of his father's murder, embarks on a calculated and definitive plan of revenge. This Hamlet isn't weak and doesn't dither.

Credit for the visceral performance must also go to Richard Bolster as Hamlet. His merging of grief and youthful enthusiasm created a vengeful hotheadedness that was tempered only by Hamlet's willingness to bide his time. This was especially apparent with oaths: every "fie!" and " 'sblood!" sounded like an aggravated curse and not a melancholy sigh.

If Hamlet was visceral and bold, then Ophelia (Erin Anderson) was bursting with radiance and vitality. Never meek, never pale, never shy or retiring, Ophelia seemed more country maid than tragic waif. This was a wonderful decision by Woods and Anderson, because finally we see a woman whom Hamlet—especially this one—would want to love. Even when she's in the throes of madness, we recognize a shadow of her former robustness; her decline becomes even sadder because so much has been lost.

Much of the new life infused into this production came from trimming some extraneous, unspoken stage business. For example, during the duel in the last act, Hamlet and Laertes (Sean Logan) started their fight strong and finished quickly, instead of struggling through several rounds of tentative thrusting and dodging of swords. Overall, each scene was paced quickly, and lines were rapidly spoken. There was never time for a point to be belabored or for a scene to become tedious.

The downside to all this energy and action was that the play was no longer an exploration of the text but simply a representation of the story. This is an acceptable and valid interpretation, and one that made for an enjoyable evening. But sometimes I missed hearing Shakespeare's poetry spoken with deliberate grace and relish. The rapid pace also meant that several actors rushed their lines to the point where they were difficult to understand.

The cast contained only seven members, meaning that everyone but Hamlet and Gertrude (Samantha Turvill) took on multiple roles. All did a fine job; Michael Cherry best morphed from one character to another with the subtlest of physical transformations. It also helped that Stephanie Shaw's costumes, all made in beautiful colors and rich fabrics, allowed for quick changes and easy visual differentiation.

While not a flawless production, Reduxion Theater Company's Hamlet was immensely entertaining. A company in its inaugural season, it tackled one of Shakespeare's greatest tragedies in a manner more stimulating than many longer-established companies would have dared.

Save the Ranch!

One hour and 40 minutes. That's how much time had lapsed in the Wings Theater Company's production of Cowboys! before a cast member made a reference to the movie Brokeback Mountain. The joke drew groans from the audience and a disapproving snort from a giant costumed horse. Certainly a musical comedy about a ranch that nurtures young, gay cowboys is bound to inspire some comparisons to the recent hit movie. However, the similarities end with "gay cowboys." This production is lighthearted and jolly, full of talented performers, cheeky songs, and silly jokes.

The plot is simple and classic: Aunt Rosie, owner of the Straight Arrow ranch, might lose her home if Rick the Texas Ranger and her cowboys can't do something to raise some money. Unfortunately, the boys—who are as sweet as can be—are terrible at all of the normal ranch-hand duties. Instead, they decide to put on a Wild West show to make enough money to save the ranch. But the "black hats" arrive to foil their plans. Knowing that the property contains untapped oil resources, Boston Bart Black and Lovely Lily Luscious want Aunt Rosie to turn over the land to them.

Their solution? Have Bart seduce honest Ranger Rick to gain control of the situation. But soon Bart realizes that his flirtatious charade is starting to turn into something more. High jinks ensue, the Wild West show goes on, and in the end everyone lives (and loves) happily ever after.

The comedy is drawn in broad strokes, and every character is a caricature of an Old West archetype. In fact, every stereotype is covered, and the show is nowhere close to being politically correct. Bart and Lily are city slickers from the East (Bart looks like John Travolta as Tony Manero in a shiny suit). Injun' Bob shows up in braided pigtails and a loincloth and speaks in broken English. Even Aunt Rosie's cowboys—known as the Croonin' Caballeros—aren't safe. Their biggest talents are fashion design, interior decorating, and "ropin' and ridin'." Innuendos abound.

Speaking of innuendos, the show is full of saucy jokes and some racy references; the songs have titles like "Everything's Bigger in Texas" and "Make the Switch." But the jokes never get raunchy, and it's all in good fun. Of course, there's a little bit of beefcake on display: all of the men are incredibly good-looking, and no opportunity is wasted to remove shirts or otherwise expose some skin (see: Injun Bob in a loincloth).

Cowboys! opens with Ranger Rick Rowdy (Brian Ogilvie) strumming on his guitar: he's our protagonist. The main plot revolves around his character, and as a Texas Ranger, he's the one everyone turns to for answers. Cute and blond, with an easy smile and a sweet voice, Ogilvie is clearly the glue that holds the production together. But David Tacheny, as Boston Bart Black, quickly becomes the show's star. Maybe this is because his character has the biggest emotional arc. Tacheny is confident and comfortable onstage, whether singing, dancing, or mugging as a cartoon version of a gangster-turned-cowboy trying to seduce a man.

The show's subplot follows Colt, Ranger Rick's sweetheart, as he discovers his attraction to Injun' Bob, the other mysterious stranger in town. Colt is aptly named: he's a young, energetic guy, though none too bright. Jeff Sheets plays him with a sweet, gangly dopiness that's completely endearing. James Bullard, though obscured by a wig and black mask for most of the show, makes the most of his role as Injun' Bob. Bullard gets many of the show's funniest lines by playing the straight man, but he's able to cut loose in a wacky war dance.

The set deserves an enthusiastic mention. Most of the action was set on the ranch, complete with porch and corral. It was deceptively flexible and would have been perfect for any respectable professional production of Oklahoma! Behind it was a simple, hand-painted backdrop of the big blue sky and the open range. It reminded me of the kind of mural that might be found in the bedroom of a little boy, against which he could play "cowboys and Indians" for hours.

The set truly invoked the intentions of this production: Cowboys! is an evening of goofy sincerity where everyone just wants to have a good time. The feelings are contagious: the whole audience seemed to be smiling as it left.

Let's Put on an Operetta

What's the best way to avoid the expense and effort of intricate sets and elaborate costumes when producing theater? Put on a play about people putting on a play! Instantly, your audience recognizes the simple props or costumes as the kind of work your characters might have created. What would have been merely sufficient now becomes endearing. So it is with Theater Ten Ten's revival production of The Singapore Mikado. Its thoroughly enjoyable version of Gilbert and Sullivan's operetta takes place in British-occupied Singapore on Dec. 10, 1941. The time and setting are significant, marking the date of Japan's devastating attack on the British Navy in World War II. As the audience, we are guests at the Christmas party of Sir Evelyn and Lady Judith Estebrooke. For entertainment, the partygoers take roles in The Mikado and perform it for us.

It is clear that you are seeing a "play within a play" from the moment you walk into the theater. Malphal Singh, Sir Estebrooke's servant, welcomes you to the "party" and gives you your second program for the evening—the program that lists the biographical information on the "actors" in The Mikado. For a brief, terrifying moment, I was concerned that the fourth wall would not just be broken but penetrated, allowing for unsuspecting audience members to be sucked into the action. Fortunately, everyone remained safely in his or her seats for the entire evening.

The interesting layer of meta-theatricality—staging, in Singapore, a musical about a small Japanese village—also highlights an under-explored period in World War II history. As The Mikado wraps up, Sir Estebrooke receives the news that the British stronghold is now under the control of the Japanese. The performers, suddenly sobered by the report of extensive casualties in the attack, complete the final musical number wrapped in kimonos but with stony expressions on their faces. The party is no longer jolly.

The Singapore Mikado is, despite the creative nesting of story line, still an operetta, and a demanding one at that. Theater Ten Ten has assembled a wonderfully gifted cast, from the principals to the ensemble members. The company's producing arrangements allowed it to cast both Equity and non-Equity performers, and the show features a well-balanced mix of young, talented singers (the adorable Emily Grundstad and Martin Fox as Yum-Yum and Nanki-Poo) and seasoned veterans (David Arthur Bachrach as a natty, jovial Mikado and Cristiane Young as the formidable Katisha).

As Ko-Ko, the High Executioner doomed to be his own victim, Greg Horton embraced every nuance of his character's narcissism, connivance, and cowardice. The result was a near-constant source of comedy. David Tillistrand provided a solid comic interpretation of the proud, overly employed Pooh-Bah (he's the town's sheriff, magistrate, treasurer, tax collector, coroner, etc.). The vocal performances of both men were, like their acting, outstanding.

The one character unique to this version of The Mikado is the houseboy/stage manager, Malphal Singh (Andrew Clateman). Played with a wide-eyed earnestness, Clateman's Singh performs the multiple tasks of a Shakespearean clown. He distributes props, accompanies pianist Benno Matthay (Joel Gelpe) on the drum and triangle, and moves furniture, even interrupting Yum-Yum and Nanki-Poo's love scene to change the set. However, his greatest feat may have been sitting cross-legged and motionless onstage during the entire 10-minute intermission.

The costumes and props, incidentally, were fine. Not only were there kimono-style robes for the musical portion, but all of the "performers" were outfitted in "street clothes" that included nice reproductions of military uniforms and party clothes appropriate for 1941. The set, designed by Katharine Day, was flexible enough to accommodate the entire cast appearing onstage at once and still provided a simple, classy environment.

In New York, it's easy to discount productions that don't appear in an avant-garde festival or take place in a tiny space in Greenwich Village. Park Avenue along the East 80's is not an area known for its gutsy theater scene. But sometimes the best work can be found in an Upper East Side church basement. Theater Ten Ten has successfully restaged a much-loved classic in this refreshing interpretation.

President and Assassin

M. Stefan Strozier's The Tragedy of Abraham Lincoln, presented by La Muse Venale Acting Troupe in an intimate studio space at Where Eagles Dare Theater, covers the last year in the life of the titular character. It opens with the president giving the celebrated Gettysburg Address, followed immediately by a scene with actor and soon-to-be assassin John Wilkes Booth performing a monologue from Julius Caesar. Once introduced, this juxtaposition of two views of Lincoln—revered leader versus tyrant—occurs throughout the play. Booth clearly believed that Lincoln was an unrelenting, power-hungry dictator; Lincoln honestly believed he was doing what was best for his nation. By the conclusion of the play, I was not sure which side I was supposed to feel sympathetic toward.

As Booth, Josh Stamell brought complexity to an otherwise vilified character. We see Booth with his mother, his family, and his fiancée. He loves them all but is tortured by indecision of Shakespearean proportions. In fact, his performance was so alive that Booth seemed to be the only character in color; everyone else appeared black and white. Whether intended by the script or not, it was easy to focus more on him than on any other character. Yet he doesn't fully get our sympathy; this Booth's obsession with Lincoln's supposed evils consumes him. But because he is the play's most three-dimensional character, we have little choice but to watch the action from his point of view.

Lincoln, by contrast, was taciturn, stiff, almost waxen. While this may reflect some of his actual personality traits (the real Lincoln could appear serious and reserved, despite his well-known sense of humor), it doesn't necessarily make for the most engaging theater. Occasionally he dropped his grave demeanor and, when in friendly conversation with Frederick Douglass or Ulysses S. Grant, told awkward stories about his youth that left him with an oddly manic glow. Was this hysteria showing the audience the stress that Lincoln was under? Or was it, in keeping with Booth's perspective, another indication that the president was not the stable hero we assume he is? Either interpretation would fit the play's initially introduced theme; instead, the ambiguity was unsettling.

Still, as Lincoln, Justin Ellis held his own against Stamell's Booth and gave a solid performance. His recitation of Lincoln's most famous speech was genuinely motivated. The two actors were an inspired casting choice: along with their ability to pull off two difficult characters, their physical resemblance to these historical figures was remarkable. It also helped that the costumes worn by all of the actors successfully conveyed the Civil War era without getting caught up in being precisely authentic.

Perhaps it was because the two lead actors were stronger performers than their cast mates, or because they were the only characters Strozier spent any time exploring, but the relative equality given to Booth and Lincoln made the play's perspective seem vague. I couldn't tell if Strozier has an opinion on these historical events or if he was just hoping to present the facts in a dramatic light. Unfortunately, without a well-formed point of view—whether in support of Lincoln or not—the play was never as interesting as it could have been. If Strozier does hold an opinion, he was less than successful in expressing it.

The production's real flaw was a lack of historical context for the audience. The show's program did not contain a cast list, and many of the characters portrayed (all, I believe, were actual people) were never explicitly introduced. Strozier clearly did a great deal of research for his script, and his attempt to share some of the more unsavory behaviors required of a nation at war—like the surveillance by Lincoln's secret police and ceasing prisoner exchanges—was intriguing but not well communicated. The play assumes a familiarity with Lincoln's presidency and assassination that goes much deeper than what many people were taught in school. This information is valid and welcome, but the audience needs to have an opportunity to learn it.

The show's program does mention, in a brief statement about Lincoln, that La Muse Venale wants to give "an honest performance and play." I must assume that this means The Tragedy of Abraham Lincoln wants to show a balanced view of history, without being overly glorifying or unfairly revisionist about the Civil War. A bit more communication about the playwright's intentions, whether in the script itself or in some takeaway materials for the audience, would clarify the company's purpose greatly and lead to a more consistent production with a more thoughtfully developed script.

Curiouser and Curiouser

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland is a modern retelling of Lewis Carroll's classic story. Part of the Dream Music Puppetry Program at the Here Arts Center, this adaptation by Lake Simons and John Dyer features original music and puppets. If, because this production is based on a children's book, you're picturing a cardboard stage and fuzzy hand puppets, stop right there. These puppets are not just animated dolls; they're also commonly found items (playing cards, banners, regular handheld props) that are infused with life. Even people are manipulated by puppeteers and moved around the stage. Every character was handled differently. Alice was both a human actor and several smaller puppets; much use was made of her growing and shrinking throughout the story. The White Rabbit was a rod puppet; the Cheshire Cat a loose-jointed stuffed animal with an illuminated smile. The "Pig and Pepper" scene was styled after a Punch and Judy puppet show. Alice's recitation of the poem "Father William" featured two psychedelic shadow puppets. Most visually striking was a two-person Caterpillar, composed of satin gloves and a modified baseball cap. Small, posed figurines were used for many of the minor characters.

Much credit goes to the five-piece band, led by Dyer. Dressed in a Mad Hatter-inspired top hat, Dyer sang all of the songs, played both acoustic and electric guitar, and provided musical sound effects. He also performed the voices for many of the characters, including the Caterpillar, the Cheshire Cat, the Queen of Hearts, and the Mock Turtle.

Though Dyer was seated with the band away from the action, he was just as interesting to watch as the performance centered onstage, and his original music was a huge asset. Ranging from 60's bubblegum pop to dreamy acoustic pieces, each song propelled the story forward. Lyrics were taken directly from the Lewis Carroll text, though—like the objects onstage—they were manipulated to best serve the production. In fact, more lines from the original story were sung than spoken. Without the music, there would have been no way to advance the plot.

As the human Alice (and the voice of the Alice puppets), Simons was a perfect choice. Carroll never intended for Alice to be an ideal child, and Simons portrays her with just the right amount of mischief, innocence, and childish ignorance. Her body was used as just another puppet in some scenes: the descent down the rabbit hole was clever, low-tech, and exhilarating to watch. Occasionally, she was difficult to hear over the band, but this seemed to be a minor technical glitch limited to a single occasion.

The other performers were skilled at manipulating the various puppets used throughout the evening. They were at their very best, of course, when the audience forgot they were there. However, several of the puppets were such vibrant "characters" that the puppeteers could add to the effect, enhancing the objects with their own subtle facial expressions and postures.

The performers' wardrobe was practical and functional, allowing everyone the ease of movement needed for such a physical show. All in black (with the exception of Alice's red stockings and the blue piping on her blouse), the puppeteers were unobtrusive when they needed to be. Instead of the traditional black T-shirt/black jeans combo, these outfits were actual costumes. Designed by Carol Binion, the costumes were created to evoke Victorian dress: cravats, vests, and long skirts that suggested petticoats and bustles.

This is not a show for someone expecting a faithful rendition of the classic story. Nor is it the most accessible piece for someone unfamiliar with the text (the Disney cartoon doesn't count). While this adaptation follows Carroll's version closely enough, many of the scenes are done without any additional context. If you don't know the book very well, you might find yourself lost. This can be disorienting, but it also mirrors closely Alice's experiences. It takes a mature mind to assimilate the constant stream of images and sounds and to synthesize them into a recognizable representation of the Alice story. Thus, it might not be the right event for young children.

Still, Simons and John Dyer's Alice is definitely worth seeing, even if puppetry isn't your thing. What is most exciting about this production is watching a unique vision of a classic. This adaptation challenges the specific images of Alice that are ingrained in our popular culture and offers us a new trip to Wonderland.

Bad Behavior

When you think of a storyteller, what kind of person do you imagine? A grandparent in a rocking chair by the fire? The flashy office raconteur who's the life of every corporate party? How about when you imagine a comedian? Is it always a stand-up comic in front of a microphone? Or think of an actor in a play. Does that person always play made-up characters and read from a script? Sara Barron is all of these things, and none of them. In People Are Unappealing, her solo-performance piece playing at the People's Improv Theater, Barron spends an hour making the audience laugh by recounting—with quirky and sardonic wit—five stories that feature her as a character.

The first opens with a young Sara discovering her parents in the middle of an intimate moment. This opener quickly sets the tone for the evening: we're in for brash and bawdy humor, delivered with good-natured self-deprecation. Young Sara becomes teenaged Sara, and her early childhood shock turns into adolescent awkwardness. She gets through it with the help of her best male friend, from whom she's been inseparable for years. Eventually, the two friends grow up and apart; he moves to Los Angeles and falls in with a crowd of déclassé minor celebrities like 'N Sync's Lance Bass and Tara Reid.

Story No. 2 involves an adult Sara sharing an apartment with a friend on the Upper West Side. It's a luxury building, and their upstairs neighbor is a Famous TV Star (she never tells us his name). She and her roommate become friendly with Mr. Famous TV Man, and one night, after the three have a few beers together, her roommate urges her to get out "the porn." Now, the show is bawdy but not terribly explicit: "the porn" refers to an embarrassingly lame erotic story written by a 12-year-old Sara. The two women like to read it now and giggle over how silly and bad it is. However, their fun forever changes their friendly relationship with Mr. Famous TV Man.

In the third story, an adult Sara is randomly offered a job at the downtown bar Coyote Ugly, where she meets a woman who dreams of being famous and on television. The woman decides the surest route to fame and TV exposure is to audition for a Jerry Springer Show episode on amateur strippers. Because she's quite good and quite attractive, the woman wins a callback audition and takes Sara with her. Ultimately, she is awarded only first runner-up, which is not enough to get her on TV. But Sara's open-mouthed, gaping reaction to her friend's performance is deemed to be TV-worthy. Jealous over Sara's resulting appearance on Jerry Springer, the woman refuses to continue their friendship.

Sara's next work-related debacle takes place in a restaurant owned by a Food Network celebrity chef (another name changed to protect the "innocent"). She's offered the opportunity to wait tables at a private dinner for her favorite rock band, coyly referred to as "R.E. Lem." The band's lead singer, "Ichael Ipe," had been a hero to her, until this night.

The final story involves NYC's most overexposed "celebutante": Paris Hilton (I'm not sure why her identity wasn't carefully guarded). After being regaled with tales of Paris's bad behavior by a mutual friend, Sara is able to spend an evening on the town with Hilton. It ends badly.

Obviously, it's no coincidence that all of the encounters Sara has with fame and famous people are disastrous. These unpleasant celebs and desperate hangers-on are the "unappealing people" in the show's title. She ends the evening with a rant against them, in a bid for solidarity with the audience, and states that celebrities are no better than regular people; they just have "better advertising."

In all, People Are Unappealing is an entertaining way to spend an hour. Barron understands what's funny and makes the most of it, getting big laughs in all the right places. Other than a stool holding a few props, there's no set. Well-timed images projected on the theater's rear wall function as props and help to underscore her comic timing.

Barron is a vivacious performer, dancing around the empty stage during the musical interludes between scenes. She's mastered the material: her delivery is confident but not overly rehearsed. Best of all, she's absolutely believable as both a character in the tales and the narrator of them. You can never quite tell if she's working from a script or if her stories are completely true. But they're so engaging that you find yourself hoping that they are, and not minding if they're not.

Shylock Revisited

Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice is a complex play. It's both an emotionally charged social drama and a romance, balancing Shylock's bitter rage against Bassanio's lovesick joy. Add the religious intolerance—Christian versus Jew—that's so troubling to modern audiences, and it's easy to see why the work isn't performed as often as Hamlet or Romeo and Juliet. Indeed, this is the first production of Merchant that the American Globe Theater has mounted, after 17 seasons of presenting Shakespeare and other classics. In the show's program notes, director John Basil takes a decisive stand with his particular interpretation. While racism and anti-Semitism existed in Elizabethan times, this production suggests that Shylock is a negative figure because he's greedy and vengeful, not because Shakespeare wanted to justify a 16th-century stereotype.

Neither Antonio—the merchant of the play's title—nor Shylock is an innocent victim: each freely admits his persecution of the other. Shylock giggles gleefully when he suggests that the price for failing to repay a loan is a pound of Antonio's flesh. Meanwhile, Antonio's kinsmen are downright vicious in their verbal attacks on Shylock.

But when, at the play's end, Shylock does not accept payment in double for his loan and insists on Antonio's death, he becomes a villain, more so than at any other point in the play. The anti-Semitism of the text is still shocking to hear, but this production doesn't turn it into a major "issue." It's simply a plot detail, treated with an appropriate amount of gravity.

What is apparent from the tactful handling of this controversial play is the great affection the company has for Shakespeare. They approach the material with a technique that involves incorporating "the playwright's idiosyncratic use of punctuation, syntax, capitalization, etc." By doing a close reading of the text, the performers attempt to gather information about how Shakespeare may have intended a line to be delivered (the Bard didn't write the kind of detailed stage directions commonly found in modern plays).

The result is a highly physical, strongly emotional, easy-to-grasp performance that remains true to the play's language and setting. It seemed as if every performer understood every line he or she was saying, and exactly why it was being said—a rare occurrence in many contemporary productions of Shakespeare.

The principal actors were very fine: all seemed at ease with their characters both physically and emotionally. The story's key plot lines—Shylock and the merchant, Portia and her caskets—were deftly handled. But the best indication of Basil's respect for Shakespearean drama came during a scene near the play's conclusion. Featuring Lorenzo (Jon Hoche) and Jessica (Sarah Price), the short garden scene does little to advance the plot and involves only supporting characters. A lesser team would have rushed through it (or would have cut it from the show altogether), or would have cast less-experienced actors in these secondary roles. Instead, making full use of the entire stage, the actors and director took the time to joyfully explore the language and express the beauty of this flirtatious love scene.

Still, the success of the play's smaller moments, like this one (or any time the hilarious Mat Sanders was onstage as Launcelot Gobbo), in no way minimized the wonderful work of David Dean Hastings as Bassanio and Richard Fey as Antonio. The two actors brought out the subtleties in their characters by showing their relationship with each other as fraternal and affectionate. Elizabeth Keefe was a dignified and clever Portia who became a believable young male lawyer by not overselling the performance. Rainard Rachele's Shylock was both unlikable and pitiable: he gave the audience insight into a complex, unhappy man.

If this production was able to emphasize only one area of design, a good choice was the focus on costuming. Colorful and well crafted, the costumes lent a richness and depth to the simple, functional set and lighting. Given the modest budgets available to small companies, costume designer Shima Ushiba made the most of simple materials.

Nestled in a third-floor theater on West 46th Street, the American Globe Theater has been quietly producing classic plays for nearly two decades. Its version of The Merchant of Venice is the best production of Shakespeare I've seen Off-Off-Broadway. If all of its shows, whether Shakespeare or not, are of the same quality, this company deserves to keep producing for many decades to come.

Sketching It Out

You don't have to have much to put on a show. All you really need is a script plus people to read it, a director to give it a vision, and an audience to watch it all. It helps, of course, if you have talent. Maybe the most important thing to have is heart: if you love what you're doing, it will smooth out any rough edges. TimeSpace Theater Company's presentation of short plays by Christopher Durang, Dessert With Durang, has all of these things. It's performed on a tiny stage at the Payan Theater in the Times Square Arts Center, and there was little room for fancy scenery, extravagant props, or elaborate lights. The basic set pieces—some chairs, a table, a squashy armchair—were reused in various combinations for each sketch. Costume choices were effective yet basic; for example, silky fabric wrapped with a belt became a toga.

This was clearly not a production with a big budget, but the simple design elements never felt like limitations. It was apparent that the entire cast had worked hard. Also, it didn't hurt that the playwright behind the material was talented satirist Christopher Durang.

TimeSpace chose six of his one-act plays. The opening piece, "Medea," was co-written with the late Wendy Wasserstein and dedicated to her memory. This version of the Medea story is a tongue-in-cheek look at the paucity of dramatic roles for women in theater. Full of wacky anachronisms and witty references to other plays, it was a fun choice to start with because of the high-energy performances by Emily Sandack as Medea and Kim Douthit, Cecelia Martin, and Allison Niedermeier as the all-female Greek chorus.

The highlight of the evening was "For Whom the Southern Belle Tolls." Durang created a clever adaptation of The Glass Menagerie that is both hysterically funny and faithful to the tiniest details of the original. In this version, the collection of glass animals has been replaced by a collection of glass swizzle sticks, and the troubled daughter Laura is now the troubled son, Lawrence. As Lawrence, Justin Lamb was the perfect combination of sweet innocent and slack-jawed moron. His performance was essential to the piece, and he brought to it the right amount of earnestness and comedy.

Equally flawless was Maureen Van Trease as Amanda, the overbearing mother. She was able to embody Tennessee Williams's flawed Southern belle while also layering in the twisted personality Durang adds to the character. And both Lamb and Van Trease had dead-on Southern accents. Paul Casali (Tom) and Cecelia Martin (Ginny, the "feminine caller") solidly supported the other characters without being overshadowed.

Another sketch, "The Hardy Boys and the Mystery of Where Babies Come From," again featured Lamb, this time as Joe Hardy, with Richard Rella Jr. as his brother Frank. The two young men had great chemistry together, and each obviously relished his role as a dimwitted, sweater-loving Hardy Boy.

All of the actors gave strong performances, and there were no "weak links," as can sometimes be found in ensemble casts. Michael Raimondi's direction was consistent across all of the sketches, and his interpretation of Durang's occasionally bombastic satire (gun-toting religious enthusiasts, a teenage anti-abortion zealot) was handled with the appropriate amount of irony. The energy level of many of the sketches dwindled at their conclusions, as if the actors felt the playwright's particular gimmick had gone on too long. But I believe this reflects more on the material than on this production.

The only blemish on the evening was that a program of six short plays was maybe too ambitious to be presented without an intermission. While Raimondi cleverly added stage business to the scene changes, there was never a full blackout onstage, and the audience never had any time to rest. With the show running about 90 minutes, a brief intermission could have ensured that everyone was as enthusiastic about the last three sketches as they were with the first three.

TimeSpace is a small and relatively young organization, founded in 2004. It no doubt faces many of the same hurdles that all fledgling companies come up against. But it's clear that the members care about theater and are willing to work hard to put on a good show. Dessert With Durang is ample proof of that.

Saga of a Stripper Suffragette

Anyone who's seen the movie Showgirls knows it's easy to mock. The film's lame performances, abysmal dialogue, and embarrassing array of naked flesh make it difficult to take seriously. In fact, one could argue that because it's so bad, it would be a hard piece to satirize well: the film itself is almost a parody of ultra-racy movies of the 90's (think Basic Instinct, also written and directed by the Showgirls team). The creators of Showgirls: The Best Movie Ever Made. Ever! bring fresh mockery to the original by introducing screenwriter Joe Eszterhas into their irreverent mix. In their production, Jackie Flynn Clarke, a feminist professor at Queens Community College, interviews Eszterhas. Jackie is a fan of the film—she sees it as a potential vehicle for female empowerment—and with the help of her husband, John Clarke Flynn, and a group of amateur actors (all recruited from craigslist), she re-enacts scenes from the movie while posing questions to its writer.

Jackie clearly believes she has the gravitas of a Barbara Walters or James Lipton and treats Eszterhas with great reverence. "You're a friend to women," she tells him repeatedly. Interspersed with the recreated Showgirls segments are a video montage of the representations of Christianity in the Vegas performance number "Goddess" and the movie's entire "pool scene," shown without dialogue but enhanced by the movie's stage directions, read aloud.

This entire setup is delivered with a delightful vulgarity. The production is certainly not for the easily offended: the film clips include nudity, and the dialogue is raunchy. The actors playing Showgirls characters reproduce their dance numbers and sex scenes with libidinous abandon (in order to produce this play, somebody watched the movie many, many, many times). Everything works because all of the performers are completely un-self-conscious. The result is hysterical.

In the interview—the show's framing device—Jackie (credited as herself) and Eszterhas (John Reynolds) strike the right balance of earnest belief in their work and utter absurdity. Jackie's character is the perfect blend of lounge singer, drag queen, and politically correct academic. As for Eszterhas, Reynolds's foul mouth, exposed flabby belly, and swaggering machismo—plus his pasted-on beard and moustache—make him an uncanny likeness for the actual screenwriter.

The other member of the interview team, John Clarke Flynn (also credited as himself), has the important task of dramatically reading all of the movie's stage directions. He reminds the audience several times that "no stage directions were changed in the course of this production."

But the true star of the show was Lennon Parham as Nomi Malone, the "stripper suffragette." Parham has mastered the glazed, far-off look that, in the movie, Elizabeth Berkley passed off as acting. She even maintained her dignity when performing a lap dance to the theme song from Saved by the Bell. Her clever costume was a tight black top, worn under a pink halter; whenever the stage directions indicated that Nomi was topless (which was often), she pulled down the halter.

Her best moments were at the close of nearly every scene, when her character was supposed to emote heavily. Regardless of whether Nomi was expressing anger, sadness, or fear, Parham ended the scene with a high-pitched shriek and the destruction of a nearby object. This funny gag got funnier every time.

The rest of the cast did a great job in the supporting roles; each actor played multiple characters. Eric Bernat brought a wonderful physical presence to Henrietta and Marty, and was perfect in his black wig as Zach (played in the movie by Kyle MacLachlan). Julie Brister was commanding as Crystal, Nomi's nemesis, and should have had even more opportunities to show off her comic talents.

Jeff Hiller was not only funny but also quite a graceful dancer. Bobby Moynihan's portrayal of Nomi's best friend, Molly, was hilarious. He foreshadowed Molly's unhappy ending with a perfectly deadpan delivery of a line that kept the audience giggling long after he'd finished.

Will people who haven't seen the film get anything out of Showgirls: The Best Movie Ever Made. Ever!? Most likely. The show opens with an extended trailer from the movie, and each re-enacted scene is a reasonable facsimile of the original. Some jokes are reserved for those who've seen the movie more than a few times: the correct pronunciation of "Versace," or the taxicab that appears out of nowhere.

But the live version of Showgirls doesn't satirize just the film. It takes on Hollywood's excesses, the public's fascination with celebrity interviews, and even the academic appropriation of pop culture. There's definitely something for everyone, as long as you like things extremely funny and a little bit dirty.

Funniest Mother Around

I am not Jewish, and I am not a mother. Fortunately, neither condition is a prerequisite for attending—or enjoying—25 Questions for a Jewish Mother, Judy Gold's entertaining one-woman show at Ars Nova. What first drew me to this production was not Gold's reputation, which I recognized, but the reputation of the credited writer, Kate Moira Ryan. I'd never seen one of her plays, but I had seen her name mentioned again and again in relation to downtown theater, and I wanted to become familiar with her work.

After watching this show, I still don't believe I've seen a Kate Moira Ryan play. That is, this production didn't look like a play. Instead, I felt as though I were in a small cabaret, set up with only a chair and a microphone, watching Gold perform her life's story, along with the stories of the Jewish mothers interviewed for this project.

The influence of Ryan, director Karen Kohlhaas, and the show's designers was undetectable throughout the hour-plus production. Gold's performance seemed well practiced, but never scripted or staged. The others clearly supported her, and the result appears effortless and polished.

Part standup routine, part autobiography, and part investigative performance, 25 Questions has Gold introducing us to the larger-than-life character of her mother and wondering why exactly she is the way she is, leading her to ask whether she's likely to turn out the same way. In order to better understand her own mother, Gold and Ryan pose 25 questions to Jewish women—all mothers—from a variety of backgrounds.

For the performance, the stage is divided into thirds. All interview questions are asked and answered stage left. Stage right is reserved for excerpts of standup comedy routines, while the narrative is told from center stage. We hear the question asked, followed by a recorded voice indicating to us the number of children, occupation, and level of religious observance (Orthodox, Reform, etc.) of the mother we are about to meet. Taking a seat, Gold then re-enacts that mother answering her question.

The questions ranged from the expected (what typifies a Jewish mother?) to the universal (what is your biggest regret?) to the very specific (how do you feel about the way women are treated in your religion?). Each question illustrates Gold's story, a tale that begins with childhood and charts her adolescence, her early career, her identity as a gay woman, and, finally, her introduction to motherhood. The questions worked well as transitions and advanced the narrative without losing touch with its premise.

Gold is probably best known to audiences as a comic, and her ease in front of a crowd is instantly apparent. Her deadpan delivery is perfect for the wry tone of the material she performs. She morphs well into each interviewee; she was able to inhabit them physically instead of relying too much on the standard comedy technique of impersonation. There was not a particularly wide range of characterization, since all the interview subjects were female, and I would have preferred knowing the age of each woman Gold portrayed, as these details were only occasionally referenced in their answers. When they were not obvious, I had some trouble differentiating between a 45-year-old and someone older.

I also struggled to differentiate new mothers, mothers of young children, and mothers of grown children. While these details weren't needed to understand the responses, I often got distracted trying to figure out which category each mother belonged in.

Just past the halfway point, the show seemed to lose its quick pace when Gold's story shifted to 9/11 and her run-in with the U.S. Homeland Security Department. However, the connection to her mother remained constant, and when, at the end, Gold herself answers one of the interview questions, we realize that she too is a Jewish mother. This is never a fact that she hides; she makes a point of mentioning it at the beginning of the show. But until the audience sees her sitting in the interview chair—no longer affecting another's posture or voice—she still seems slightly distanced from this world.

Many of the questions in this project could be asked of any woman, because they deal with basic gender-identity issues and the relationship of motherhood to modern society. Gold's goal is to explore these areas in her own life. She poses serious questions and receives serious answers, but balances them beautifully with humor and a winking self-deprecation. One interviewee, when asked for the best advice she had received from her mother, declared it was optimism. Through Gold's energetic performance, this optimistic spirit pervades the show, and I left feeling happy, hopeful, and with an overwhelming urge to call my mother.

Out of Asia

Written and directed by Rubén Polendo, though clearly credited as a Theater Mitu collaboration, The Myth Cycle: Ahraihsak is an escape into a ritualistic performance that explores the perfections and frailties of human nature. Intelligent and visually striking, this capable production exposes its audience to artistic traditions not commonly encountered in Western theater. The titular myth is that of Ihsak (Darren Pettie), the favored heir of a king. Betrayed by his brother, he goes into exile. While wandering, he meets another king who was wrongly dethroned: Naarah (Jason Lew). Naarah travels with his fiercely protective sister Tarwan (Aysan Çelik), who quickly develops both a strong respect for and an attraction to Ihsak.

Summoned back to his kingdom by his treacherous brother, Ihsak returns home, only to lose everything he values. His actions plunge him into violence and despair, until a brave novice priestess (Jenni-Lynn McMillin) helps him to heal.

Ihsak's devolution from noble warrior to haunted tyrant—and his transformation back—seems derived from the myths and traditions of many cultures. No specific culture or country is cited in the program as source material, and several times throughout the evening I wondered if this story was created by Theater Mitu or was an actual myth. While the play clearly displays South Asian influences, the themes of creation, destruction, hope, and love are universal, and as relevant today as they would have been in any past age.

Strong performances by Pettie, Çelik, Lew, and Corey Sullivan (as the comical Mibi) keep the journey of Ihsak and his companions engaging and emotionally charged throughout the two acts. As Act I came to a close, several short, powerful scenes gave the show's first half a bit more energy than its second, which ends with a gentle message of hope and peace.

Theater Mitu's mission includes a concept it calls "Whole Theater," where theater entertains the senses, the mind, and the emotions. This was instantly apparent when walking into Teatro LA TEA at the Clemente Soto Velez Cultural Center: the air was heavy with incense, and the space separating the performing area from the audience was lined with Oriental rugs. It was clear that the world in this play would be very different from noisy, gritty Delancey Street outside.

Powerful visual elements—puppets, masks, handcrafted props—added to the production's luster. The puppets worked well, from the rod puppet of young Naarah to the brilliant construction of Ahsan the horse, silently and deftly executed by Peggy Trecker. Because the actors performed so seamlessly with their props, the show's deceptively simple "special effects" were quite effective.

Scott Spahr's set of platforms and ramps was spare and elegant. Outlining the central performing area were shallow troughs of dirt, tantalizingly lighted before the show began but, sadly, not used during the production. However, an ingenious use of shiny Plexiglas and well-positioned water for Tarwan's bathing scene more than made up for it.

Miranda Hoffman's costumes were simple and represented a strong sampling of East Asian and Southeast Asian traditional dress. The masterful lighting design by Ryan Mueller made everyone and everything look beautiful.

Jef Evans played his original music in full visibility of the audience. He sat at his small version of a gamelan, surrounded by drums, bells, chimes, and rattles. The songs and vocal performances were perhaps the show's weakest aspect, if only because the acting and technical values were so exceptional. I was continually surprised to hear the songs delivered in English because they seemed so steeped in non-Western elements. The characters did seem to come by their songs organically, and the well-composed music flowed in and out of each scene naturally.

Theater Mitu's production succeeds at being "Whole Theater" because it is definitely the sum of its parts. Not just a vehicle for acting, writing, or visual effects, the play turns into true performance in a way that traditional Western theater seldom achieves. While it is an especially enjoyable evening for a theatergoer interested in ritual and performance, less specialized audiences should not feel intimidated by the title or subject matter. The company does a great job of making the show accessible and entertaining for everyone.