Laughter is the only medicine

Watching an evening of theater inspired by Bertolt Brecht could potentially be an exhausting and perplexing experience. Brecht’s concept of epic theater, according to which a play should provoke rational self-analysis and critical perspective, can inspire formal innovation, but also plays that are difficult to watch. Indeed, Brecht wanted the audience to think independently, and to effect social change. The Brooklyn Playwrights’ Collective is at an early stage in its project to write plays influenced by its favorite playwrights in alphabetical order; they are currently considering the work of Brecht. Their production, Beyond Brecht , includes plays that often attempt to mock classical theater (i.e. non-epic) and its reliance upon narrative and emotional stories, but which fail to provide inspiration for critical analysis. The influence of Brecht is most clear in the staging and structure of the plays, which use his devices for disrupting the illusions of storytelling to highlight the deliberate construction of a drama. These innovations include narrators that directly comment upon plot, interaction with the audience, self-conscious songs that break the flow of plot, and explanatory placards.

The first play performed, Fulana , might inspire independent thinking if the message was not so obvious. In Felipe Ossa’s play the title character is the embodiment of a capitalist agenda: an eager immigrant in a whorishly attractive French maid costume. The pitiful abuse of such persons is made clear, but is complicated by the abusive response of the oppressed. In the role of Fulana, Marisel Polanco carries herself with self-awareness and self-possession. Despite her assertiveness, the play’s plot and tone give little reason to doubt the crushing power of the American way of life. The narrative follows a familiar arc and the actors adhere to the stereotypes represented by their characters. The play hardly prods deeper consideration of the themes it introduces.

The second play, The Pithecanthropist (by Ed Malin), is the most energetic and philosophically engaging play of the evening. Using an overly self-conscious play-within-a-play it demonstrates the artifice of drama. In the play the leading character argues against romantic notions in favor of Darwinism. Played with impressive dryness by Chris Arruda, Prosper is a foppish intellectual who renounces the Romantic by donning an ape costume. That witty lines and an exaggerated accent creep through the mouth of an ape mask makes the device hilarious. To prove his theory, the self-proclaimed Pithecanthropist stages a drama that mocks knightly romances. Despite the uncharacteristic confusion of its characters, the story ends happily, undermining the argument of the play’s producer. It is a story with a mind of its own: the love of the characters brings resolution and mutiny against the creator.

The concept is strong, but constant campy jokes detract from the cleverness of the play. In particular, the rap songs are parodies so ridiculously bad that they are nothing more than that. Though the play mocks overwrought romances, it follows a reliable plot. Perhaps it represents a counter-argument to Brecht, making fun of the notion that drama could be used for political purpose. However, if the play did not include flights of illusionist fancy, there would be little left.

Some enjoyable use of Brecht comes in the interpretations of his concept of the “separation of elements.” In some of the plays, particularly The Resistible Rise of Fatlinda Paloka (by Marcy Wallabout), the actors deftly shift roles and registers. Playing an uptight Southern couple, Nick Palladino and Siobhan Doherty alternate between Seuss-like rhyming and carefully accented spite. Their bitterness is directed at the abrasive immigrant Fatlinda Paloka, whose eccentricities are humorously exaggerated by Erin Leigh Schmoyer. The acting is excellent, and the play is funny, but the underlying metaphor is hard to find. In a conclusion which arrives abruptly, Fatlinda’s blindly infatuated husband explicitly states a moral. That the meaning or purpose of this lesson is so unclear detracts from the play's better qualities.

A play with clearer direction, but less interesting style is Lucky in Love , written by Erin Browne. In a gesture to Brecht, placards list the action in each scene, but add little to the play. Several short scenes tell the story of unrequited love between female friends. The placards underscore the play’s dull straightforwardness. The characters and scenes aren’t fleshed out enough for the viewer to care, and the dialogue isn’t sufficiently meaty for contemplation.

The final play, “Sauté Your Face” (by Jerry Polner), consists of a good single punch line joke: a cooking show for ex-dictators in which instruction is command and brutality is art (or fruit salad). Mark Blackman energetically repeats the Generalissimo’s catchphrase, “I am great. You are crap,” but by the fourth time it is clear the joke has run its course. Fortunately, the playwright, unlike a self-loving dictator, knows when to cut things short.

In all of the plays the influence of Brecht’s formal contrivances is clear, but the underlying morality or the push for audience reflection is lacking. The plays don’t stimulate critical consideration of American society; rather, they highlight the difficulties in using this structure to interpret modern social problems. Though there are attempts to give “rational” purpose to these stories by acknowledging the artifice of the presentation, they are basically classical dramas. The commentary is too often an indictment, or the issue at hand too vaguely defined, to spark debate. If attending the show, expect to laugh some, but don’t expect an evening of provocative theater.

Faithfully Faithless

A group fond of exclamation points, the National Theater of the USA (NTUSA) endeavors, at the very least, to give its audience a grand show. In their production of Molière’s Don Juan or the Feast with the Statue , which is perhaps as authentic a revival as Don Juan is honest, they definitely succeed in rousing the audience—to laughter, if nothing else. In previous collaborations, the collective’s fresh and feisty spirit produced highly experimental original works, but here it is used to “reanimate” a “dusty” (or, classical) text. It is a testament to the wide-ranging talents of the group’s members (in particular, their comic sensibilities) that they manage to update Molière’s very funny text in unexpected and innovative ways.

In a playful introduction by Dick Pricey, self-proclaimed “Star of the NTUSA,” James Stanley asks the audience to imagine itself as the royal court of Louis XIV, for whom the play was originally performed in 1665. At that time, Don Juan was not a success. Considered offensive to the church and to France itself, it was pulled after 15 performances, and even after considerable editing, did not receive positive attention. It was only performed in its uncensored form in 1884 (about 200 years after Molière’s death).

Performed today, the play hardly seems the stuff of serious criticism. Indeed, the play’s fantastic conclusion, in which the title character is sucked into hell, abandons the notion of moralistic resolution. Rather, the hypocrite’s comeuppance gives his servant, Sganarelle, the chance to end the play with a ridiculously flippant joke about his lost wages. As with the play’s finale, NTUSA’s adapted version of Don Juan exploits every blasphemous comment and inclination in order to try and shock a modern audience. Since Moliere ruthlessly mocks any aspect of life that one might take seriously (e.g. religion, marriage, gentleman’s honor), the play does not aim to have much of a purpose beyond entertainment. In that sense, it is the perfect show for a group that likes to provide the audience with a “spectacle.”

With great gusto, the group consistently takes Moliere’s comic impulses a step further: Don Juan is a preening diva with a glitter tear frozen on his cheek, trailing ribbons of satin in his wake, and keen on dramatic entrances (complete with sexy Spanish music). In the role, Yehuda Duenyas is arresting, with the audience at his fingertips (sometimes quite literally: an extended rose was tentatively accepted by more than one audience member).

Don Juan’s erotic self-obsession is best displayed in a strip tease, which leaves Duenyas clad in only a tiny pair of purple bikini underwear, shamelessly titillating a gilded mannequin leg. The scene takes place in the private lair of Don Juan, which is bathed in a lurid red glow. It is the sort of place where barely clothed menservants prance about, worshipfully waving palm fronds. The whole scene calls to mind Tim Meadows’ Ladies’ Man character, if that invention had any kind of wit.

The coherence with which this giddy rendition is performed is largely due to the obvious rapport between the actors, as well as to the professionalism and skill each actor brings to the stage. Jesse Hawley steps into the unenviable shoes of Sganarelle, and plays an appropriately foolish foil to Duenyas’s Don Juan. Even though her character exists for the greater glory of his master, Hawley stands out for her ability to pull off Sganarelle’s complicated, nonsensical speeches, and the surprising shock of a man surrounded by the shocking.

In the past, the group has won awards for set design, and there is no shortage of clever effects in this production. The audience is placed at the center of the stage, which forces it to move according to the whims of Don Juan, following his fancies just as the other characters do. The set that surrounds the audience consists of simply painted backdrops. The lack of realistic sets or props contributes to the ridiculous and playful effect of the show. Another humorous device is the use of sound effects. Designed by Jody Elff and Yehuda Duenyas, the sound often reinforces the cartoonish stage play, with arcade game punching sounds and inappropriately timed splashes.

NTUSA has constructed a delightful confection with their “reanimation” of Don Juan , containing the layered sweetness of exaggerated entreaties, frivolous costume, ridiculous sound effects, and delicious bawdy humor. The production never missteps—it is consistently a light and fun entertainment, in which every attempt at moralizing is thoroughly mocked. It’s hard to imagine that anyone would have a bad time at the show; after all, who could resist the charms of Don Juan?