So Many Wives, So Little Time

Most people have trouble keeping up with one significant other. King Solomon had 700 wives, so imagine the straits he must have found himself in. Add to that the fact that several of his wives wouldn't convert to Judaism, ultimately corrupting him and leading to God's wrath on the people of Israel. Ginger Reiter's new musical 700 Wives is a dazzling and bright depiction of King Solomon, his romance with the Queen of Sheba, and his ultimate downfall. However, while the story is engaging, the production often fails to live up to the greatness of its subject. Students of the Old Testament may not appreciate 700 Wives style. It is a campy romp, chockablock with anachronisms (Jessica Simpson and Sarah Jessica Parker as potential wives of Solomon) and one liners. Bathsheba, Solomon's mother, who so bewitched King David with her rooftop bathing, is played as a stereotypical, overbearing Jewish mother by Andriana Pachella. After Solomon marries his 700 wives and things are not going so well, King Hiram of Tyre (a strong Ed Deacy), who originally told Solomon to marry his enemies' daughters and thus put off war, exclaims “did I tell him to eat every cookie in every box?”

Laughs abound, but some things just don't make sense. The characters occasionally use archaisms of English such as “thine” and “increaseth” which, while they imitate older translations of the Bible, don't fit in with the rest of the dialogue and language of the script. Solomon and Sheba's son Menelik is given a head of dreads and a Jamaican accent, even though he is the Ethiopian prince and predates Rastafarianism by several thousand years.

The song and dance numbers are not particularly remarkable. The prerecorded music sounds as if it were a demo tape. Worse still, it occasionally drowns out the vocals of the actors, despite the fact that there are several microphones. The chorus' voices do not blend well; it is possible to hear who is flat and who is straining for the high notes. There is one standout tune, however. The jazzy “Dust to Dust” features a live saxophone (played by Blanche Farrell Smith, who also does standout performance as one of the wives), and is a finger-poppingly catchy song.

Despite its campy nature and feel-good vibe, it is possible to walk away from the show with a relevant contemporary political message. As the story goes, God did not punish Solomon directly for straying, but instead held off punishment until his successor should reign. Echoes of the current situation in Iraq can be seen. The current king has made a mess, and it is left for the next in line to clean up the mess or suffer the consequences of someone else's actions.

700 Wives is ultimately a pretty run-of-the-mill musical dealing with what could be a pretty fascinating myth. Not much is known about the relationship between Solomon and Sheba; there are only thirteen verses in the Old Testament that describe her travels to Jerusalem. 700 Wives does a decent job of expanding the story and, intentionally or not, of connecting it to modern times. Fans of camp and corn will enjoy 700 Wives ; those with a more serious mind towards myth and legend had better stay away.

Laughter, Meter, and War

A prince swaps places with his manservant in order to avoid marriage to a queen and go in search of his love. Only his love is a stable boy. And the queen is a real ball breaker. And back at home, his older brother, King Tater, has started war with everyone despite the alliances his father made. In Duncan Pflaster's Prince Trevor Amongst the Elephants Shakespeare meets Charles Ludlam and the Theater of the Ridiculous meets contemporary politics. The result is a hilarious hour and a half of iambic pentameter, missing manhoods, lost hearts, and political scheming. Like his predecessor Ludlam, Pflaster's work is a pastiche of styles. The rhyme and meter imitates Shakespeare, the epic structure is a nod to Brecht, the utter silliness apes Ludlam and the Theater of the Ridiculous, and the heroic quest structure is similar to that found in all myths. King Kartoffelpuffen has given his kingdom to his oldest son Tater and married his other children off to neighboring kingdoms for peace and political gain. This causes Trevor and Grumbelino, his servant, to switch places, the princess Lana to be separated from her love Geoffrey and blinded in order to marry King Soignee of the Blind Sybarites, and the stable boy, Toby, to kill all the horses and run off. And then there is the pesky Morty, who continually floats across stage to gently remind Trevor that he is going to die. Someday. A lot is going on in the play, but it never feels overwhelmed or crowded, due to its episodic structure. The audience clapped at the end of each episode, making it feel more as if we were watching a series of sketches rather than one unified play.

The verse flows off the actor's tongues as if they were made to speak using rhyming couplets and pentameter. The meter never distracts or obscures what the characters are saying. The ensemble, twelve actors playing 27 roles, is tightly knit. Several had participated in an earlier reading of the show, and there is a real sense of unity and connectedness among them.

Pflaster, as director as well as playwright, makes full use of the bare stage. Entrances and exits come from all sides. It is never unclear where the scene is taking place, despite the lack of scenery.The cast, the director/playwright, and the sound, light, and costume designers come together to paint a descriptive picture at all times.

Its ridiculousness aside, Prince Trevor comes with a message. Pflaster wrote the play because the “re-election of George W. Bush [had angered him].” Echoes of the current president are visible in King Tater, who acts like an insolent little boy in his attempt to grab land and power. The play also makes a case for love of all stripes. Trevor's love for Toby is frowned upon at first, but certain characters warm to it as the play goes on, leading to new acceptances and understandings.

Prince Trevor Amongst the Elephants is a fantastic evening of theater. The play wears its influences well and provides laugh after laugh while jabbing at contemporary politics. Prince Trevor is a good show for anyone who, angered or saddened by the events around them, needs a good laugh.

Please Don't Kill Birds

After killing a raven in the forest, a king is cursed by the bird's owner. The only way to break the curse is to find a woman with “skin white as marble, lips red as scarlet, and hair black like the raven's wing.” Such is the story behind 18th century dramatist Carlo Gozzi's play The Raven . Gozzi wrote fairy tales for a Commedia Dell'Arte troupe in Venice. The story has been adapted by Ellen Stewart at La MaMa ETC, and transformed in a musical set in China and utilizing traditional theatrical elements from that country. The dazzling adaptation proves that some stories are universal, able to cross cultural, geographical, and time boundaries. Hoping to help his brother, King Millo, escape from the curse, Jennaro goes off in search a woman possessing the qualities needed to break the curse. He finds Armilla, the daughter of King Norando, a powerful magician. Jennaro soon finds out that should he give Armilla to King Millo, the king will be killed. And if he does not give Armilla to the king, Jennaro himself will turn into a statue. Caught in a rough spot, Jennaro does his best to save his brother, coming up against almost insurmountable obstacles.

Stewart's production of the fairy tale is mesmerizing. Three projection screens line the back wall, first showing ocean waves and a boat advancing towards the audience. When the boat nearly reaches the edge of the screen, a real boat emerges from behind and is assembled before the audience's eyes. The space of the entire theater is subsequently utilized, with scenes occurring in the walkway above and to the side of the audience, in the aisles, and on the large stage. It is a big idea and it is quite right that it should completely overtake a large space.

Musicians line the stage right side of the space. The music, composed by Stewart with Michael Sirotta, is a mix of both live and recorded music, often playing simultaneously and occasionally making it difficult to hear and comprehend the words sung by the performers. The difficultly in comprehending some of the words could also stem from the fact that they occasionally were in Mandarin, with an English translation (I assume) following.

The conventions of Commedia have been mostly replaced by conventions from the Beijing Opera. There are several dances throughout which feature twirling and flowing fabric and ribbons. Everything on stage is highly stylized, from the entrances and exits to the way in which the words are sung. Pantalone and Tartaglia, two ministers to the brothers, each have specific movements they perform before speaking. Additionally, the characters each have intricately painted faces and gaudily embroidered costumes. The change in theatrical style shows the way in which stories are able to float across the collective world and speak to different people at different times while retaining relevance.

The Raven is a spectacular production, from its story to to its music to its movement. Although one could guess that the ending will be happy, the final result of the tale is surprising, keeping the story above the level of predictability that commonly haunts fairy tales. The engaging tale and sparkling production values are sure to be enjoyed by anyone who should happen to venture into The Annex at La MaMa.

I'll Trade You an Apple For A. . .

Who'd have thought that a golden apple could cause so much trouble? In the time before the Trojan War, Paris, Prince of Troy, is given an apple which he is to bestow onto the most beautiful goddess. Does he choose Hera, who promises him power; Athena, who promises him fame; or Aphrodite, who promises him the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen? He chooses Aphrodite, and so Company XIV's The Judgment of Paris begins, tracing the course of the Trojan War from its very beginning. A piece of dance theater, baroque stylings and the can-can are featured as prominently as the story of Paris and Helen is.

The set is visible to the audience from the moment they enter Company XIV's space in Brooklyn. Scaffolds line both sides of the stage, under which are dressing and prop areas. The space in between is bare. Performers mill about, pulling on costumes, adjusting their hair, and casually greeting friends who enter. The lights dim, and a rousing can-can dance begins.

The dance is energetic, as is all of the dance in the show. When the war begins, four dancers move across the fog covered stage, two of the dancers lie on the ground and clasp the ankles of the other two, who drag the prostrate bodies over the floor. The strength of the dance makes the weakness of the acting and the much abbreviated story all that much more noticeable. Instead of allowing events to unfold on their own on stage, narration constantly interrupts the story, as if the audience needed to be reminded that it was watching a performance. The same actor portrays the narrator, Paris, and Menelaus, using the same well enunciated but flat tone for each character. It is unclear why Aphrodite, goddess of passion and love, should be the one to help ready the soldiers for war. At the end of the war, with Paris dead and Troy in ruins, Menelaus tells his (former?) wife Helen that she is a whore and a murder. His accusations seem odd and out of place, given that he considered her worth gathering an army and sailing off to war for.

The piece's treatment of Helen is interesting. Is she, as Menelaus says, a whore? Or a victim? Did she want to go off with Paris or was she just a pawn in an elaborate game set up by the gods before time began? The woman portraying her never speaks, yet we hear “Helen” speak, always through the voice of someone else. Her disembodied voice is evidence of the object that she has been made into, simply because she is beautiful. In the traditional Trojan War myth, Helen ultimately ends up returning home with Menelaus. The Judgment of Paris assigns a new, unfortunate fate to Helen. Suddenly, the erotic, alluring dances performed by Aphrodite's collection of cupids no longer seem so erotic or alluring when the completely victimized Helen is forced to perform them, a look of utter distress upon her face.

The Judgment of Paris is largely uneven. The show tackles too much at once in combining dance, theater, and a very large story into a scant 90 minutes. The result is a watered-downed attempt at greatness, evidence of a group of talented performers and a show that needs focus.

The Value of a Letter

In an age where tabloids exploit the privacies of celebrities to an alarming degree, the question of whether a famous person has the right to have a private life or not is worth considering. What about after he is dead, can his private past become public knowledge? First published 120 years ago, Henry James' novella, The Aspern Papers explored such questions while exploring the lengths people will go to in order to get what they want. Turtle Shell Productions presents an able adaptation (by Martin Zuckerman) of the story, one that fully brings the characters and setting to life. As the play opens, a man, Walter, appears at the secluded Venetian estate of Juliana Bordereau. He is enamored with the garden and begs Juliana's niece, Tita, to convince her aunt to allow him to lease a few rooms in the house and also tend to the garden. Juliana lets him the rooms, but for a dear price. Walter's intentions are not at first made known, but as time goes on (and flowers continue to bloom in the stage garden, as if by magic), he makes his intentions clear, at least to Tita.

Walter is an academic, and is after letters written from the late poet James Aspern to Juliana, in order to complete his biography. Tita, played in a chaste but beguiling manner by Elisabeth Grace Rothan, who has fallen for Walter, allows him to think that she will aid him in his quest. The play is suspenseful; never at any time is one able to predict the outcome. Will Tita win Walter? Will Walter get the papers? And, do we even want him to get them? The entire time, it is uncertain whether we can trust Walter, or whether we can trust any of the characters, as each is so bent on obtaining their desires that it seems they may put aside all reason and invoke any rationale in order to do so.

The intriguing story is aided by the elements of the stage. The lighting, designed by Shaun Suchan, features deep blues and purples, which enhance the blue color of much of the set and furniture. Throughout the play, the originally dead garden is transformed into a living oasis of color. The costumes, by A. Christina Giannini, are exquisite and capture the style of the time. The actors each do a fine job. Carol Lambert, as Juliana, a 150-year-old woman, conveys strength while simultaneously seeming as if she may give out at any moment. Kelly King, as Walter, is charming, while Rothan is convincing as an isolated, slightly desperate spinster.

In the end, who do we side with, the scholar who wants personal information for the sake of academia or the woman who clings to her privacy? As each character has good and bad sides, it is hard to choose, although James makes his point clear enough in the end. The Aspern Papers is an engaging show, proof that literary adaptations are able to lift themselves from the page and become fully alive.

Great Leaps

The word gymnastics tends to bring to mind images of terrycloth headbands, Reagan-era leotards, and Olympic medals. While it is a sport that requires a great amount of athleticism, there is also a performance aspect of gymnastics that is often overlooked in the pining for Olympic glory. Conceived in 1997 as a novel performance event, Aeros combines the athletic ability of gymnastics with the aesthetics of dance. The Aeros company is made up of members of the Romanian Gymnastics Federation. The pieces are choreographed and directed by Daniel Ezralow, David Parsons, and Moses Pendleton, each a well known name in the dance world. The resulting mixture is a highly enthralling and entertaining show that is designed for families and actually is appropriate for all ages. The opening dance, “Iconography,” has sixteen bodies lying on the stage in rows and columns of four. One body stands, walking up and down, back and forth through the aisles created by the prostrate bodies. The figures on the floor sit up, lie down, and turn to the side, all in perfect unison. They are accompanied by a color changing scrim and trance music. The first standing body joins the others in formation while another stands up and begins to walk. The piece explores the body as a form and a shape, rather than as part of a human being.

A few other pieces, “Dresses” and “Handstands” also depict the body as a form divorced from the person inside it. In “Dresses” two performers balance upside down, their white-tights-clad legs high in the air. They move their legs, but the legs no longer seem to be a part of a human. The illusion is busted when the two dancers flip over, revealing their heads and the rest of themselves. The reappearance of the human is a reminder of the ability and strength of the performers.

The movements are at times dizzying. “Handstands” features blacklit bodies wearing white unitards walking across stage on their hands or bent over backwards. They are sometimes alone, sometimes in groups. In either case, the repetitive motion of glowing white heads and footless bodies moving across space is hypnotizing. “Stretch” is similar: pairs of gymnasts perform cartwheels across stage in unison, over and over. The effect was such that at one point I was convinced there was a mirror stretched across the stage, and had to blink my eyes to get rid of the illusion.

As Aeros is a family-oriented show, there were several pieces which appealed more to children than to adults. “Table” and “Mushrooms,” while still demonstrating athletic prowess, were comedic and very silly and elicited a lot of giggles from the younger audience members. The two works featured four men arguing, one at a table and the other over who would get a seat on two giant stools. The fights quickly turned into movements, with two men circling on the stools and two others chasing their legs. In “Table,” the four men leapt from the ground onto the tabletop as though it were no big deal. The spins and jumps dazzled the audience. Another piece, “Rope” featured the patterns made by the twirling glow of dark jump ropes. It was an interesting and unique-looking performance, but the rope twirling did not contain enough novelty for an entire piece.

Child-friendly entertainment is often mind-numbingly dumbed down or simplistic and, more often than not, material that adults would never see on their own. Aeros, like most family shows, is bright and colorful. However, Aeros offers enough intellectual and artistic stimulation for an adult to be entertained while at the same time not boring the kids.

Dirty Roses

Most people like roses. Why, then, do so many get annoyed when someone tries to sell them one on the subway? Or on the street corner? Are these items any less genuine than those we might buy in a shop? Doesn’t the subway rose peddler deserve to attempt to earn his living? Perhaps it is the fact that many of these sellers are immigrants, people with no “right” to be here, that makes us avoid and scorn them. Robert Schneider’s one man show Dirt delves deep into the issues of immigration and racism, particularly how such things affect and penetrate those who are its victims. Sad, played earnestly by Christopher John Domig, is an Arab, not Kurd, as he stresses often, immigrant who was smitten with English from the moment he heard the word “Kodak” (as in the film). However, now in America, selling roses on the subway, Sad is disgusted with himself. He believes he has no right to live here, no right to sit on the park benches, and no right to dirty America’s public toilets. What holds Sad back, who is it that makes him believe he has no rights? It is society in general, but it is also he himself. He has absorbed the hatred he feels around and against him, making this hatred his own. It is made most clear in the way he refuses to give his family name and when he screams racial slurs and curses at his unseen roommate.

Sad does not embody the American ideal of the man who pulls himself up from his bootstraps, the man who ultimately triumphs out of great adversity. He’s been fully beaten down by the rules and attitudes of his new country. Despite how much his audience may want him to triumph, despite the hope he may still have, it is clear that the odds of him making it are slim, as he has become his own enemy.

Thematically and structurally, Dirt is a rough play to sit through. The play makes use of a lot of repetition. Sad tells the audience his name and that he is thirty several times, perhaps as a way of remembering who he is, perhaps as a way of fooling us. He shows a picture of his mother multiple times. Each time he shows the picture, more details emerge from the past, details he perhaps does not want us to know. Almost everything out of Sad’s mouth, even the repeated things, is contradicted at some later point. He also ends the play several times, each time saying he must go, blowing out the candle he has lit and moving toward the stage exit. Yet, several times, he returns to begin a new variation on the same theme. The fake endings are clever at first but become tiring after awhile, particularly when it becomes clear that Sad has nothing new or different to say.

Domig is an able, engaging performer. He sits in a chair center stage for much of the play but is able to maintain a high level of energy. It is when he is up and moving, however, that his earnestness and even a shred of hope become evident in his demeanor.

Ultimately, Dirt is an upsetting play. It is an hour and a half of filth and hatred, of watching a man overcome by the scorn and abuse of the world around him. An initial reaction to watching Sad may be “but I’m not like that. . .” until the realization comes that we are all implicit in the hatred, fear, and rejection of those who are not like us, particularly in a post 9/11 society, one currently at war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Written over fifteen years ago, Dirt speaks more to our society today than ever before.

Show for Sale

People often wonder where artists get their material and ideas from, what makes them write a specific line instead of another. With Annie Dorsen's Democracy In America , such mystery is gone. The entire show was available for purchase. In the months preceding its opening, anyone could go online and buy something—text, music, movement—that would ultimately end up in Democracy in America . The result is a collage of ideas and thoughts from individuals across the country. The purchases were varied. David N. bought a “Starring You” credit in the program. Harriette D. bought Rhett Butler's famous line: “Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.” A student at St. Ann's Academy bought the zombie dance from “Thriller” in slow motion. The variety and seeming disconnectedness of each element of the piece was used to illustrate Alexis de Tocqueville's (author of the great book Democracy in America ) question regarding how a nation could be assembled from a large group of individuals.

Initially, connection seemed unlikely. The show started with a word, spoken by the performer Anthony Torn, followed by a movement executed by another performer, Philippa Kaye. A sinking feeling that this show may simply be a parade of words and images from across America appeared. However, that feeling was put to rest as the performers began to gel the purchased fragments together. Kaye and Okwui Okpokwasili do the Thriller dance while singing “Soldier boy, oh my little soldier boy.” A striptease is followed by an ad for the contemporary dance venue Joyce Soho. A little girl recites a rather grown up poem on video while Kaye dances with fans to Ride of the Valkyries .

There is no grand overarching theme that appears among the fragments—the fragments themselves are the theme. Dorsen did not intend for the piece to be a statement on America's culture or politics. However, statements are inevitably made throughout the piece. Two poster sized images of Abu Ghraib hang from the sides of the cube shaped set. One is labeled “theater” and the other “not theater.” The images, while an embarrassing reminder of America's recent missteps, raise the question of just what is theater these days? It could be anything from two people discussing politics loudly in public to a traditional Broadway show. It could also be, for the guards at Abu Ghraib, the act of torturing and photographing prisoners. Yet, by labeling one image theater and the other not, the definition is further blurred.

The visual and performance aspects of the show are effective. The set is simple: a raised square platform with poles on all four corners and a video screen stretched between the rear poles. The three performers each have their strengths: Okpokwasili in singing, Kaye in movement, and Torn in his delivery of the lines. Together, the three meld into a cohesive ensemble when called for, in a way similar to America itself. Individuality remains yet the performers are working as a unit.

Democracy in America offers an accurate portrait of America—comprised of the good, the bad, and the plain embarrassing. As an experiment in form and construction, it works. The decision to let the collected purchases speak for themselves, instead of attempting to manipulate a meaning from them, is an admirable one, as it creates an authentic image of what de Tocqueville described.

Let There Be Peace

No sex until the war is over. Such is the premise of Aristophanes' comedy Lysistrata , translated by Drue Robinson Hagan and produced by the Gallery Players. Lysistrata gathers all the women of Greece together and convinces them to swear an oath that they will not sleep with their husbands until a truce is called to the Peloponnsian War, which had been going on for some twenty years at the time the comedy was written. A common issue with Aristophanes' plays is that his work is very specific to its own time; a lot of references and allusions in his text are lost on a modern audience. Ms. Hagan's translation does a fine job of contemporizing the script, adding a fun flair and rhyming couplets. Yet, one wonders if the ideas of Lysistrata work in our society. Lysistrata is boisterous and spirited. The play opens with all the women, led by Lysistrata (played by an energetic Meagan Prahl) singing a song in which they wish they were born in a more revolutionary and relevant time, in which they wish they were “punk rockers.” While the song does not relate to the plot of the play per se, it sets the stage for what turns out to be a very rambunctious evening. Sound effects are exaggerated: the chorus of older women dump buckets of water on the chorus of old men. The sound is that of a wave crashing against the shoreline; the water that actually emerges from the buckets is a sprinkling of paper confetti. The many fight scenes (choreographed by Maggie MacDonald) are accompanied by “bonks” and “boings” for punches and groin grabs. The women's oath to not have sex is an old school hip hop style call and response chant.

The set design consists of graffiti covered walls featuring lots of peace signs. The male chorus' costumes are grubby old man pajamas and thermals, the female chorus' costumes are brightly colored house dresses and bathrobes. The women's costumes are slinky, sexually suggestive dresses. Myrrhine, whose husband attempts to seduce her (with hilarious results), wears a blue dress so short that it could just be a shirt. Is this really a play that gives power to women or a play that simply gives men something to look at?

Furthermore, does Lysistrata speak to our time? In her director's note, Alexa Polmer states that the play is “one woman's quest to propel the powerless to end a twenty year old war. . .over two millenia later. . . we as a society are faced with a similar question regarding the current war.” While similarities exist - we are currently engaged a war that, at the moment, seems endless - it is unclear whether the translation's addition of contemporary references to the play works. The old men are called the “axis of evil” and references are made to a “homeland security.” Are such references too flip? Hagan has done a great job of making the play clear, and as Aristophanes himself made culture specific jokes, it should be all right for his translator to adapt the jokes to her own time.

Lysistrata is very entertaining, and as comedy should, educates while it entertains. The idea of women denying their husbands sex seems almost quaint in our society, yet the product is still funny. It also does raise the question, how does a country end a seemingly endless war? The play was read worldwide in 2003 as a protest to the impending Iraq war and is still relevant five years later, as that war plods on. With its radical suggestion for a way to end war, the play is important viewing for anyone wondering how we will get out of the war we're currently in.

Laughter from the Third Floor

There is an inherent challenge in adapting novels to the stage. The novel, particularly when it is published serially or in volumes, is constructed in such a way as to be enjoyed over an extended period of time. An evening at the theater is just that—an evening. N.G. McClernan had a difficult task before her in turning Jane Eyre from a 400 page Victorian novel into a two hour play. Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre tells the story of an orphan girl who is sent by her nasty aunt to a horrid school in order to train to be a governess. Jane survives and thrives, eventually taking a position at Thornfield Hall, home of Edward Rochester, his ward Adele, and the mysterious woman locked away on the third floor, who Jane hears laughing from the moment she arrives at the Hall. Ignoring the fact that they are from separate classes, Jane and Edward soon fall in love and decide to marry. On the day of their wedding, important, yet unfortunate information is revealed to Jane that causes her to run away from Edward.

There is a lot that occurs in the story of Jane Eyre and the play struggles to convey the novel's depth and breadth. Watching the play jump from place to place and from past to present makes one wonder if the neoclassicists were somehow right to enforce the unities of time and place so strictly. Several scenes are flashbacks, which are initially confusing, due to actor doubling and the fact that not much is done to suggest that we are leaving the present world of the play and traveling back to Jane's past. Something seems to be missing as the play progresses; there are gaps in the story that are meagerly filled in by exposition, often a monologue that begins with Jane writing in her diary.

The performances of the actors are occasionally stellar. Alice Connorton brings the necessary sternness of demeanor to her role as Alice Fairfax and is downright scary in her role as Aunt Reed. Mary Murphy purses her lips and holds tension in her arms and shoulders, suggesting that her Jane Eyre is both plain and proper. Her enunciation is good, and is believably what a Regency-era governess should sound like. Greg Oliver Bodine falters a bit initially by seeming to inject a bit of postmodern insincerity and sarcasm into his early flirtations with Jane. Bodine strengthens in the end, when his character has lost everything and is in the depths of despair.

Jane Eyre questions the role of women in society. Jane refuses to be a kept woman, and does not return to Rochester until she has secured financial independence. The woman in the attic, named Antoinette in the stage version, represents the domination of men in the nineteenth century. Is she really insane or is her insanity a result of being used as a pawn and her resulting loveless marriage? The production does not portray Antoinette sympathetically. She draws blood after biting her brother's neck, sets fire to Rochester's bed curtains, and tears Jane's wedding veil. The portrayal of Antoinette, a character who should be pitied, seems at odds with the portrayal of Jane, another strong woman, who has been allowed her independence, and therefore will avoid the fate of Antoinette.

It is best for fans of Bronte's novel to stick to the book, as even the best of actors cannot replace the beauty that is to be found in there. McClernan makes a valiant effort in transplanting the sprawling work to the confines of the stage, but in the end, as our high school teachers always said, it's best just to read the book.

Anyone Can Play Accurately, But I Play With Expression

Everyone knows The Importance of Being Earnest . In Oscar Wilde's comedy of manners, confusion and insults fly when two men pretend to be named Ernest and propose to two women. The play has become such a staple on the syllabi of literature and theater courses that it does not seem to be a play to actually go out and see performed. The Importance of Being Earnest is a relic, suitable for study but not enjoyment. Or is it? From the reaction of the audience at Theater Ten Ten's production of the play, it appears it is still possible to sit and laugh uproariously at Wilde's script. Wilde's witticisms leap off the stage, still fresh and slightly odd after over one hundred years. It is the jokes that carry the play and the production, under the direction of Judith Jarosz, realizes this fact.

In a theatrical culture that has come to expect some form of psychological realism, some form of the Method from its characters and productions, it can be startling to see realism missing from a production. So many modern productions of Wilde's plays, including the film versions, insert realism into the text, giving the characters a breadth that is actually not truly present. The actors portraying John Worthing, Gwendolyn, Cecily, and Algernon in Theater Ten Ten's production at times seem as though they are automatons, in possession of the ability to project but not the ability to emotionally connect with their characters. As one listens to what they are saying to each other, the way in which each sentence or speech is punctuated by a trifling turn of wit, it becomes clear that it is difficult if not impossible to make such fluffy characters into actual people.

Many of their lines are delivered as the characters face the audience. It is not a form of direct address, per se, as they seem unaware of the audience's presence. The presentational style appears to be used more because the characters are performing for each other. They realize what they are saying is ridiculous and witty, intended to make one laugh. Occasionally, the laughter was so loud that the next lines were drowned out. As it turns out, the play is possibly the Victorian era's version of stand-up.

Unfortunately, not all scenes hold up in Theater Ten Ten's production. The tea scene, in which Gwendolyn and Cecily discover that they are both engaged to someone named Ernest, lacks the bite it should carry. It was as if on this particular evening, the actors' timing was off, creating an odd pace for what should be a fast paced, catty scene. Further, it was hard to notice the fact that vindictive Cecily gave Gwendolyn tea cake when she asked for bread and butter, because the cake and other food props were so small as to be nearly invisible to the audience.

Otherwise, the play holds up nicely. It is possible to still see reflections of contemporary society (one thinks of celebrity culture) in Wilde's flippant, fluffy characters. The costumes, by Kristin Yungkurth Raphael and Lydia Gladstone, are beautiful and truthfully recreate the styles of the Victorian era. In a culture that likes to adapt and meld classic works to fit its own current needs and attitudes, it is nice to see a play left untouched, performed as it was written. The Importance of Being Earnest is a simple show, and is worth seeing for anyone with an appreciation for the styles and mores of the Victorians.

Go On, Try and Offend Me

The lights stay up. A black curtain is drawn aside, revealing a row of twenty-one actors, known as the Bats, the Flea Theater's resident company, sitting on a bench. Aside from the actors, the stage is bare. The play, or rather, performance, or perhaps even better, lecture, is the Peter Handke's Offending the Audience. The premise is simple: tonight there will be no play, in the sense that there will be no representation or imitation attempted by the actors. Offending the Audience turns the tables on its audience, attempting to bring attention to them instead of its performers. Written in 1966, Offending the Audience is an avant-garde piece. However, over forty-two years later, it has lost some of its bite. While different from most plays in its structure (and the fact that it is NOT a play), the premise is no longer challenging or exciting for theater-goers. The main draw of the evening is revealed in the synopsis of the play. Expectations are shifted for this play, as the audience is alerted in advance to the difference between this play and others. Instead of being shocking and new, Offending the Audience is a relic, a historical document depicting the attempts made to revitalize or shock theater in the past.

“You represent something. You are someone. You are something. You are not someone here but something.” The group of actors repeat this sentiment to the audience, making eye contact with some members. They want us to know that this evening, the spectators have become the representation, not they the actors. They are actors who refuse to act, yet at the same time of their refusal, remain actors acting.

Offending the Audience is a scripted work, so matter how many times the performers insist that “no action that has occurred elsewhere is re-enacted here,” they are in fact re-enacting the text. Their words are not original to themselves, they have been given the sentences and phrases to speak, their movements have been directed and rehearsed. Jim Simpson, the director, has done a fine job of orchestrating the cast's movements. Clad all in black, they pop up and down from the long black bench, swarming the audience at times. The black suggests that the audience is to see the actors as they are, and to see the stage as merely a stage. Yet, as long as a text remains on the stage, as long as simple costuming and even the most simple set design remain, representation remains.

No longer shocking, Offending the Audience could be considered a classic. Audiences are no longer surprised by Waiting for Godot or A Doll's House ; why should we expect to be surprised by Handke's piece? If the piece remains standing, able to attract, educate, and entertain an audience after a period of time, then it has done its job as a work of theater. Offending the Audience provides an hour-long crash course in theater theory, from Aristotle to Artaud, that questions the why of theater. It seems appropriate that the piece is performed by the Bats. While it may not be the best piece to showcase one's acting skills, it provides an opportunity to play with what once was the avant-garde. The piece cannot be looked at as “offensive” any longer, but rather as what it is—a piece that once shocked and awed but now instructs. In an age where theater is considered dead or dying by many, it is nice to remember a time when artists wanted to challenge their audiences.

Can You Go Home Again?

Going home (or to what used to be home) for the holidays is a painful experience for many. As we grow up, what used to be family traditions fall away, as the responsibilities and burdens of adulthood weigh down. Such is the case in Chad Beckim's new play, The Main(e) Play . Shane, an actor who is beginning to make it in New York, returns to his childhood home in Maine, where his brother Roy still lives with his seven year old son, Jay, and their Ma. The two brothers stand in direct contrast to each other. While Shane earns his living filming cheesy commercials, the most famous of which is one for the Gap, Roy works pouring construction, what he considers to be actual, honest work. It is the collision of the two brothers that causes both to come to a realization about the way they are. The stage is set up to resemble a small-town, decorated-with-love living room that is littered with toys. All signs seem to point to a basic, American family drama. But, what sets The Main(e) Play apart from other domestic dramas is that its action mainly occurs somewhere else, offstage. Jay and Ma are never seen, only mentioned, even though their characters shape a lot of the play. Thanksgiving dinner, the reason why Shane has returned home, is only mentioned after the fact. A large portion of stage time is dedicated to the brothers sitting on the couch, smoking, watching TV, and rehashing what just happened. A shroud of mystery surrounds the play. Shane's cell phone and wallet go missing; who besides Jay could possibly have taken them? What is the problem with the boys' Ma? Why did were the locks changed on the family house?

The play doesn't attempt to explain everything or even anything. It stresses the results of the brothers', particularly Shane's, actions, rather than the actions themselves. Each character in the play is flawed, but in the end it seems that Shane is the most flawed of all. Where Roy has accepted the responsibilities of fatherhood, Shane has rejected it in a devastating way. Shane finds things to blame for the difference in his childhood home, never accepting it is his own actions that could be the reason for the change.

Language in the play is of utmost importance, due to the fact that the audience hears about things rather than sees them. Beckim's dialog is sharp-tongued and a bit offensive. Roy, his friend Rooster, and Jess, Shane's ex-girlfriend, speak in a way that is, at times, delightfully crass. The actor's use of accents subtly distorts what they are saying, particularly when their characters leave messages on Roy's ancient answering machine. The distortion can cause some frustration for the viewer, since the messages come at a pivotal point in the play. The only character who is accent-less is Shane, who has practiced and trained long to lose all vestiges of his hometown voice. It is interesting that Shane, the one character who is the most opaque, should be the one to speak the most clearly.

Anyone who has ever returned home and hated it should perhaps look into themselves to see why. The Main(e) Play will appeal to those who appreciate not knowing everything up front, and to those who like to hear the language of the stage rather than just see the action. The play manages to set itself apart from other plays that would be considered “domestic dramas” by not showing the audience all the dirty details of home life, just the one that ultimately matters.

'Scapades

Commedia dell'Arte troupes began in Italy in 1540. By the 1570's, troupes were all over Europe, including France, where they were able to influence the great playwright Molière. The basic scenario featured old, grumpy fathers preventing their sons and daughters from pursuing their romantic interests. Often, the sons and daughters would seek the help of their servants. In the world of Commedia dell'Arte, Scapin is the rascally servant character. The title character of Molière's comedy, Scapin, is just that. He plots against his masters and envisions himself to be better than he truly is. A new translation of the play by Scott McCrea seeks to remain close to Molière's intent by focusing on the comedy of the play and depicting Scapin as a social climber. Turtle Shell's production creates a bright, animated atmosphere. The play is set in “Itty Bitty Italy,” the smallest city in Italy, sometime in the 1970's. The sets, by Keven Lock, create a truly carnivalesque backdrop to the action of the play. Paper lanterns hang along the wall; neon pinks and purples abound. The costumes, by A. Christina Gianini, complement the set: Scapin is dressed in double knit lime green pants, a nod to the traditional scapin costume but with a 70's flair.

A musician (Jay Painter) is present from the minute the house doors open to take the audience into the world of the play. His performance of interacting with the audience and welcoming them to the theater initially felt forced, as though he were still warming up to the role. However, by intermission, he had the audience rolling in laughter as he sang songs to certain audience members and made balloon animals.

The physicality of the actors was remarkable. The two porters (Emile Nebbia and Jay Painter) were constantly at war with each other, battling with a set of suitcases at one point and stripping down to have a wrestling match at another. The famous scene, in which Scapin tricks his master Geronte into a sack and then pretends to be evil swordsmen who beat and stab him, is sublime. How long will the beating last until Geronte pops out of the sack and discovers Scapin's connivery? Moliere cuts the beating off at the third one, perhaps as a relief to the audience, perhaps not, as opinion of Geronte may be considerably low at this point. He has lied about Scapin to his son, and is so miserly he had difficulty parting with 500 crowns to supposedly free his son from pirates.

The performances of the cast are for the most part strong. Spencer Aste is great as Scapin, introducing himself with a flourish of the arms every time his name is said. He elevates himself to such a degree that it is easy to forget that he is, ultimately, the servant of Leandre and Geronte. Catherine Wronowski pulls of a great performance as Zerbinette, the gypsy girl whom those 500 crowns are really saving. In the second act she tells Geronte, not recognizing him as the father of her love, Leandre, of Scapin's plot to get the 500 crowns. Her animated monologue is accompanied by the heavy guitar strumming of the musician, who despite seeming to know that she is telling all to a man she should not, eggs her on.

Scapin accomplishes its goal of focusing on the comedy: it is hilarious. The brightly colored set, costumes, excellent and subtle lighting by Eric Larson, and physical portrayal of the characters by the actors ensure a funny and fun evening of theater for anyone looking for a classic laugh.

Beavers Take Manhattan

Legend has it that Peter Minuit purchased the island of Manhattan (or Manhatta) from the Lenape for the impressively trivial sum of $24 in 1626. The legend fails to mention the existence of Kitchi Amik, a six foot beaver with somewhat magical powers, the guardian of the other beavers and to some extent, of humans. The number of industrious and independent women populating the colony of New Amsterdam in the 1600's is also largely unmentioned. New Amsterdames , a new play by Ellen K. Anderson receiving its world premiere by Flying Fig Theater, seeks to correct these omissions of history by depicting several lesser known historical figures and, of course, the giant beaver. The play provides an alternate, slightly comedic view of history, seen through the eyes of those whose stories commonly do not get heard. In 1659, the deed to Manhattan, if it ever existed, is missing. Shipping entrepreneur Margriet wants the deed so that she can rule the island, making every business hers. The beavers Een and Twee want the deed so that the island can be restored to them. Everyone else wants the deed to keep it away from Margriet. Thus begins a wild hunt: where is the deed? Does it even exist? Who will get it in the end?

While the women are hunting for the deed, trouble is brewing in modern day Manhattan. The city is facing dramatic changes in the weather and an onslaught of beavers. Lightning flashes underneath a wooden platform, ominous thunder peals, and heavy rain pounds. All this is reported by newscaster Sweetie Chin, who has some connection to Kitchi Amik and the laws of nature herself.

The play provides a full immersion into all things Dutch: wooden clogs are worn by Sweetie Chin and adorn two pillars, suggesting a trail of shoes. The cast sings and dances traditional Dutch folksongs and Anna Joralemon, creator of the donut, distributes some of her olykoeken to the audience as a way of introduction.

Certain parts of the show drew laughs, for example, a little dog dressed as a baby beaver caused some audience members to shriek in excitement. However, at times the jokes in the play felt forced. In the midst of the search for the deed, Sukalan, the Lenape woman (played by Andrea Caban), runs on stage looking for her friends. Not seeing them, she exclaims: "Where'd she go? I've never lost anything in the woods. Except the time I mislaid a trap and found it by stepping into it myself.” The wooden jokes suggested a larger issue: is New Amsterdames trying to say something that has not already been said before? Women's role in history and society, the question of who the land belongs to, and the issue of race and nationality have been explored by many other stories and plays before.

And yet, one gets drawn into the plight of the women and the beavers, as modern day Manhattan is also at stake. How do the actions of people almost 350 years ago impact the world today? And by extension, how will our world's actions impact the world 350 years from now? New Amsterdames subtly raises this issue while taking its audience on a journey down a uncommonly explored path of history.

Shock and Words

What else can be done with sex on the stage? Over the years, former “codes” about and attitudes towards sex have slowly fallen away or changed, leaving the modern stage an open playground for whatever sort of coupling a theater company or director can imagine. It seems nothing can generate a reaction of interest or wonder concerning sex anymore. Werner Schwab's The Round of Pleasure , based on Arthur Schnitzler's scandalous, banned (in 1920) play La Ronde , takes sex to a new place, a place where sex becomes almost irrelevant. La Ronde was composed of ten scenes, in which five men and five women swapped sexual partners, passing syphilis to each other. The structure of The Round of Pleasure mimics that of its precursor, although syphilis is gone, replaced by a chunky language and a sense of divorce, both among the ten characters and ultimately in the audience. The characters in Schwab's play wear either screw off or otherwise detachable sex organs. Occasionally, two characters will have sex while standing on opposite ends of the stage, each quaking and shaking in such a way that, divorced from the act associated with it, their actions become unnerving. The disembodied, dislocated couplings provide a backdrop for a play that shakes the conventions of its society, without rising to the point of critiquing it.

Schwab's characters speak a language which is at once familiar and unfamiliar. Michael Mitchell's translation takes into account the numerous grammatical mistakes, made up words (German being a language in which one can take several nouns, attach them to each other, thus and create a new compound), and archaisms found in Schwab's German. On stage, it is unclear whether the characters know what they are saying or not, and this is intentional. It is also occasionally difficult to make out what the characters are saying. Yet, while the words may sometimes float by unparsed, the incomprehensibility adds to the play instead of detracting from it. What the characters say is not as important as how they say it or what they are doing while they say it.

As the words pour almost controllably out of the characters' mouths, it is clear what it is each wishes to achieve in their encounters with one another. Power lies at the base of each coupling. A prostitute convinces an executive that her services are on the house and then, after the deed is done, expects payment. A landlord shoves his tenant's head under water, sticks his penis in her underwear, and afterwards her only response is “Ok, but no water at the next performance.” Do these people enjoy their sexual liaisons? The answer seems irrelevant.

Ildiko Nemeth's direction and Julie Atlas Muz's choreography ensure that meaning is conveyed at all times. Movement based interludes show the characters preparing and unpreparing for their scenes. The opening features the entire cast donning their genitalia and various costumes, over top of a basic white uniform, covered in white ribbons, which suggests at once an image of both straitjackets and zombies.

Despite its rather crass theme and crude language, a sense of beauty emanates from the production. The set, designed by Ms. Nemeth, Jessica Sofia Mitrani, and Joel Grossman, literally sparkles. Luxurious fabrics are draped across a bed stage right, and dragged across stage, draped over various characters as the scenes change. Over top of their white unitards, the women wear gold accented dresses or silky black lace.

The various visual and aural elements of The Round of Pleasure assure an enjoyable show for anyone seeking an evening of sensory stimulation. In the end, the show is not so much about sex as about the ways in which people manipulate and are manipulated, whether by other people or by the words they are forced to use.