I Want to Speak with the Writer

Memory is a dangerous place to live. It is often untrustworthy and filled with the lies we wish were the truth. It is also the place we're most likely to encounter those we wish we could forget. For Bemadette, in Nilo Cruz's brilliant Sotto Voce, memory is both where she most wants to be and the location she would most like to forget. Watching her journey to her past and towards her future makes for a rewarding theatergoing experience — one that is powerful, emotional and worth remembering for many years to come.

Sotto Voce focuses on Bemadette, brilliantly portrayed by Franca Sofia Barchiesi, a reclusive writer whose only contact with the outside world is a young housekeeper, Lucila, played by Arielle Jacobs. Their world is rocked when a young man, Saquiel, brought to life by Andhy Mendez, comes seeking Bemadette’s advice for his fledgling writing career and, more importantly, with his most important story: the facts of what happened with a ship bound for Cuba in 1939. This ship carried hundreds of Jewish passengers attempting to escape Nazi Germany. One of those was Bemadette’s first love, a man who she both continually tries to bury in her memory and seeks to keep alive by never confronting the facts of his actual fate.

As a writer, Bemadette must enter the dangerous space of memory if she wants to finish her most important story: what actually happened to her love when he attempted to flee. Through her interactions with Saquiel, she is forced to retell moments of her past, but also to face her almost insurmountable agoraphobia. As someone who has not gone out in years, she will only rendezvous with the young Cuban student via the written and spoken word. He delights in these virtual visits, taking her both to sites in their adopted New York City and spots in her own mind.  Simultaneously, Saquiel befriends and then seduces Lucila, who fears that having escaped her homeland of Colombia will turn out similarly to Bemadette’s abandonment of her hometown of Berlin. What if she forgets where she is from and can never go back?

All of the performances are effective and affecting. The conceit — which displays the writer and her student interacting physically to mirror their vocal and written meetings — works perfectly to develop the necessary emotions. There is a particular mood to this production, one brilliantly orchestrated by Cruz, serving double duty as writer and director. The sense of melancholy is consistently tempered by moments of humor and deep humanity. The intimacy, immediacy and honesty of this production are perhaps its greatest elements. No performer deserves more credit for this than Barchiesi. She makes Cruz’s poetry sing while understanding the many variations and complicated levels of this compelling woman.

The topic here is one that is more than deserving of a play. Theater, at its best, asks its audience to confront and discuss content that might otherwise be ignored because it causes discomfort. This play is no wallflower when it comes to making hard observations and important commentaries. And yet, it never seems preachy or didactic. This is due in large part to the play’s style: these individuals seem to have at their disposal the perfect words for all of the things that they need to say. The events are given poetic poignancy by the way in which their speakers choose to elucidate them. I found myself both laughing and crying during the play and, perhaps most importantly, continuing to discuss the issues put forward long after the house lights had come up.

All in all, Sotto Voce is a play not to be missed. It sheds important light on an historical event while bringing to life very realistic and incredibly relatable characters. It is a heartfelt and meaningful piece of theater. It will give its spectators a memory they won’t soon want to forget. In fact, it may even inspire them to write their own histories into the poetry of memory as well.

Sotto Voce runs through March 9 at the Theater for the New City (155 First Ave). Performances are Wednesday through Saturday at 8 p.m. and Sunday at 3 p.m. General admission is $20; $15 for seniors and students. For tickets, call 212-254-1109 or visit www.theaterforthenewcity.net. 

A Journey Home

What is an American? As children of immigrants, who are we really? And where are we from? Some ancestral homeland or from wherever we were raised? Questions such as these are at the heart of East Towards Home, written by Billy Yalowitz and directed by David Schechter, which recently ended its run at the Theater for the New City. At its best, this show is charming and relatable. At its worst, however, this show is nothing more than self-indulgent. This uneven play presents wonderful musical interludes, but the plot leaves much to be desired.

The story centers around a young man, played by David Kremenitzer, ostensibly our narrator/playwright Yalowitz at a younger age, trying to find his place in folk music and socialist revolution. In order to do so, we all travel back in time to meet him as a small boy, learning to play in his multi-racial neighborhood. We journey with him through the trials and tribulations of childhood, such as baseball tryouts, bullying, summer camp and annoying old neighbors. One such neighbor, Sylvie, portrayed by Eleanor Reissa, proves to be an essential cog in the story; she knew the young man's musical hero, Woody Guthrie, and participated directly in early to mid-twentieth century Communism in America.

When the show focuses on these satellite narrative threads, it is at its best. Sylvie’s story sheds light on a moment in our history often overlooked, bringing out the beauty of Yiddish speech and traditional dance. The highlight of the show comes in the fourth performer — Brian Gunter’s performing of folk music as Woody Guthrie. He is an extremely skilled musician, who brings to life both the sounds and meanings of this music style. The play consists of three interlocking narratives; these two and the play's driving narrative arc. Although this is meant to show the links between Guthrie, Sylvie, and our protagonist, it is often disorienting and left me wondering in which story we find ourselves at any given moment.

The tale of the young man, however, often falls flat. Despite wanting to sympathize with him, I found myself wondering why he felt so lost.  He seemed to have a great understanding of the world and to have been given some incredible opportunities. Yes, he was a victim of discrimination, anti-Semitism, and political oppression, which are no small matters, but he seemed to have the wherewithal to overcome it.  By including himself as an older man as a character, it was always clear he had found his way home. It also made it seem like this production was somewhat of a celebration of itself. He had overcome and lived to make a play of it.

All in all, the notion of a lost young person trying to find his place in the world does seem universal. The music is wonderful and the use of projections and direct audience address work nicely to engage the spectators in active thought about the issues presented.  Unfortunately, the takeaway is diminished by the story being too specific. Ultimately, this is not a play about us, the people bearing witness. It is an individual recitation, meant to show us who this particular person is, not what might be possible if we work together.

Theater of the Mind

Theater allows us to see people at their most vulnerable. In a live performance, anything can happen: lines can be forgotten, injuries can occur and things can always go wrong. Yet Ruff, by Peggy Shaw, reminds us how meaningful that vulnerability can be. We attend the theater to connect on a human level. Shaw invites us into her harrowing experience, giving us the chance to mourn, laugh, and love, along with her. In this, it is precisely what theater should — and even must — be to maintain relevance in an increasingly mediatized world.

In this one-person show, Shaw tells stories about her life, particularly her recent experiences surrounding and as consequence of her stroke. Medical dramas have the potential to be maudlin, but this production is transcendent. She finds not only the profundity but also the absurd humor in her, and our, human condition. At every turn, as witness to her trauma and triumph, it is hard to know whether to life or cry. This feeling is situated precisely at the crossroads of the ridiculous and the sublime, like so much of our experience of being alive.

She links her physical condition to deep philosophical ideas, making poetry out of even her darkest tales. Shaw expertly draws connections between what has happened to her and events that may seem far afield from one person’s stroke.  She muses about family, memory, community and technology. This last thematic element is key; the entire aesthetic of the theater links this intimately personal theatrical piece with our technologized world via television and projection screens.

Shaw does not shy away from her potential problems performing; rather, she brilliantly delights in them, drawing attention to them from the show's start. The choice of Shaw and collaborator Lois Weaver to provide the performer with her text via television screens on stage is brilliant. It works both to guide Shaw through the meandering, stream-of-conscious monologue while acting as subtle commentary on the presence of memory in a world in which everything is digitally recorded.

Shaw allows this theme of mind and memory to evoke the spirits of her great downtown forbears and contemporaries in the space of La MaMa's First Floor Theatre. Facing her own mortality makes Shaw face how many have been lost before her and what traces they have left behind. What is left when a live performance ends? Is a recording of that performance the thing itself or is it only in our untrustworthy memories that the plays of old reside?

This play addresses such grand questions without providing clear-cut answers, as theater is the place to ask, not necessarily explain. In its depth, Ruff is a slap-in-the-face reminder about the brevity and ephemerality of life. However, in its jokes, quips and witticisms, it is proof that it is only through humor that we can truly represent what it means to be human. And, in her bravery of being live in the theater with her audiences and her mind's images simultaneously, Shaw has created a piece of theater not to be missed.

Ruff runs from Jan. 9-26 at the La MaMa First Floor Theater on 74A East 4th Street. Performances are Thursdays through Saturdays at 7:30 p.m. and Sundays at 2:30 p.m. Tickets can be purchased at lamama.org. Adult tickets: $20; Students/Seniors: $15.

Intellectual Gymnastics

Gymnos: A Geek's Tragedy blends two of my favorite things: Ancient Greek theater and working out. However, in this work, the mixture is an uneasy one. The world of gym rats seems to have no room for someone of intellectual inclinations and the so-called "geek" — a successful playwright with a chance at Broadway — cannot make himself fit in the world of fitness freaks. The at times funny play written by Nina Mansfield and directed by Adyana de la Torre, currently playing at HERE Arts Center, misses the mark when it comes to the important crossroads between betterment of the mind and improvement of the body.

The plot, at most points during the production, is both difficult to ascertain and seemingly irrelevant. The thin storyline centers around the aforementioned dramatist on a deadline: he owes a script in a week. At the same time, he is being haunted — or more precisely harassed — by a series of muses who, rather than inspiring his imagination, suggest he engage in matters of physical exercise. They justify this by referring to a former love interest of his, Helen, ostensibly based on the historical "face that launched a thousand ships," and with whom he failed romantically both due to a lack of confidence and a lack of well-defined abs. From there, we follow our seemingly self-appointed hero through his series of herculean trials: from one bizarre, oppressive gym to the next.

The performances are uneven at best, and although I understood the abundance of actors on stage to be standing in for a Greek chorus, they often do little more than make the world of the drama seem cluttered. It is hard to root for the hero, as his challenge appears to benefit no one but himself, and even there, he does not seem to care all that much.

The best sequences incorporate dance; I found myself wishing more of the play actually staged the fitness experience as opposed to the time spent in the gymnasium itself. The play does pick up in the second act and the highlight of the production is de la Torre's brief on stage performance as a zealous Zumba instructor. The worst parts are the overwhelmingly vulgar humor, which, though at first laugh-out-loud funny, wears out its welcome from overuse and becomes more awkward than raucous fun.

Both the lighting and set are fine, and the costumes do appropriately fit the world of the play. Unfortunately, no aesthetic element is enough to compensate for this ultimately self-serving production. The protagonist is not likeable enough to propel the story forward, nor is the text, even comedically, rich enough to carry an otherwise undramatic spectacle to any sort of fulfillment. The space between body and mind is explored in this play but, in the end, left as disconnected as it was at the beginning.

Life and Death in South Africa

What can we truly say to own in this life? Our homes, our gods? Our own mortality and deaths? Ndebele Funeral, written by Zoey Martinson, directed by Awoye Timpo, and presented by Smoke and Mirrors Collaborative, brilliantly uses this theme of ownership as an aspect of the human condition to present a multifaceted, complex and utterly transcendent work of theater. 

This is no mere AIDS play nor post-apartheid post-colonial drama, though it engages the real-world stakes of both of those issues. Rather, it is an emotionally-driven exploration of what it means to have faith in something when we have so little control over our own fates. It delves into the question of what it means to be human in a world where the odds always seem stacked against humankind.

We meet Daweti (played by Martinson) awakening in a strange sort of bed, which we later learn is a self-constructed coffin, a personally designed final resting place. The action of the drama centers around her interactions with the day's two visitors: her longtime best friend Thabo (Yusef Miller) and a fieldworker for the government, Jan (Jonathan David Martin), on-site at her shack to take stock of how well she has used some subsidized building materials. Of course, we can surmise that she has put them to good use; the house she has built is not to live in now, but for her imminent future.

The richness of this play is not just in its honest story, which shows us both bits of Daweti's past with Thabo and touches of the difficult present that each of the three characters face. Much of what makes this play so meaningful is the way in which it is told — a fourth-wall breaking style of performance, that incorporates music, rhythm, physicality, and narrative storytelling, interspersed throughout the forward-moving action. Because of this, the world of this play seems blessed with the same magic that each of its characters is trying to capture in his or her own life.

The actors are all exceptionally good in their roles. They bring these characters to life as complicated individuals, not just as mouthpieces for the various philosophical perspectives presented in the text. Miller makes Thabo joyful yet haunted, a perfect counterpart to Martinson's harsh but charming Daweti. Martin creates an utterly sympathetic Jan who, rather than feeling like the oppressor, displays the vulnerability of his social position while still attempting to exert power over his circumstances.

The setting, in its simplicity, brings to life Daweti's messy, unfinished shack, with a sense of reality, even though it merely suggests the completed structure. The only drawback is the lighting, which at times to create moods, becomes a bit too dark to allow the audience to really engage with the facial expressions of the actors on stage.

All in all, Ndebele Funeral is everything great theater should be: it is entertaining with its humor and musical numbers; it is thought-provoking in its philosophizing and use of historical information; and it is heart-wrenching in its representation of the depths that we will go to in the name of love and friendship. If the one thing we can own is our memories, then this is a work to keep with us, long after the house lights have come on. It is a play that reminds us of the impact that the lives of others have on us. And that is a connection not easily severed, even if we do commit to never look back.

The Bard and the Bible

Shakespeare's plays have always been open to myriad interpretations: in what they are meant to say, in how they should rightly be performed, and even as to who their true author might have been. The Dark Lady Players’ new environmental work, entitled Shakespeare’s Gospel Parodies, is one possible take on the meaning of the oeuvre. This production highlights some subtle (and other not-so-obscure) Biblical and Christian references within the works of the Bard. Although the explanations for various elements are at times difficult to follow, the overall piece sheds some new light on the plays. In addition, the "living museum" performance, set as a walkthrough in West Park Church, is a delight to take in. This is a performance worth going on a journey both to and with. The performance is composed of nine scenes from disparate Shakespearean plays. These include both the comic and the tragic, ranging from Bottom's ridiculous performance in the Pyramus and Thisbe play to Shylock's conviction in the Venetian court to Desdemona's murder at the hands of her husband, Othello. In each scene, a specific Biblical allusion or reference is pointed out. Docents lead the patrons to each of the "paintings" and then give lengthy descriptions of what the viewers are about to see and what they should take away from it. The scenes themselves are played out in order to elucidate the theory that has just been expounded. At times, certain episodes are frozen in the middle to continue the explication and then resumed.

Although interesting and clearly extensively researched, the explanations of the Christian references in the plays feel at times too much like an academic lecture and not enough like a night's entertainment. When there is too much information to take in at once, it is easy to lose track of the meaning of the scenes being displayed. Also, some of these scenes, because taken out of context, might be difficult to place in terms of the original dramatic narratives from which they are derived, especially if one is not already familiar with Shakespeare's plays. In addition, some excerpts seem longer than necessary to prove the point that has been set out.

Some of the connections drawn here seem a tad far-fetched. Although an interesting contention to explore, the scene in which a human is eaten in the forest of As You Like It may be a little too ridiculous in this performance to be believed as a legitimate interpretation of the play. Despite this, there are a lot of compelling details that one can learn both about the plays and about the development of Christian myth from this performance. Much of the information is worth investigating further, as it could open up new angles from which to analyze these oft-performed and -studied texts.

The performances of each scene are delightful and the actors come to this material with enthusiasm and understanding. They vary each character that they play well (each performer being part of three scenes from three different plays) and make them all seem to be full-fledged people and not just symbols or metaphors.

The biggest thrill in this production is the clever usage of the fabulous performance location. The convention of making this performance into an art museum tour adds a fun flair to what might otherwise feel too much like an instructional lecture. West Park Church is a gem of New York architecture, worth visiting in its own right. The scenes are well-suited to the rooms in which they are placed. The Woodshed Collective has done a brilliant job of turning this environmental setting into a logical locale for these Shakespearean scenes. Each of these chambers is charming, filled with fascinating odds and ends of objects as well as embracing the overall decor of seemingly intentional decay.

All in all, this is a fun and unique theatre outing. There is something here for the uninitiated Shakespeare audience as well as for the Elizabethan aficionado. Each scene is like discovering a little hidden gem; it may be a tad rough around the edges, but what is discovered within has great beauty and value.

What a Piece of Work is Hamlet

In the Drilling Company’s Hamlet, staged as their Shakespeare in the Park(ing) Lot offering this summer, there is great drama being presented. Not only are there the conflicts between Hamlet and the rest of the Danish court, but there is also the real world drama of the conflict between an actor’s voice and a car rushing by or a helicopter overhead. Watching this play from the comfort of a lawn chair in a municipal parking lot on the Lower East Side is a unique experience, to be sure. For those looking for a definitive production of the Bard’s text, this is probably not the production to see. It is at times difficult to understand (both to hear and to follow) and there are many odd choices made here. If, however, what you are after is an opportunity to experience the play and to enjoy the New York City summer night, then this production is well worth your time. It is very pleasurable to be confronted with Shakespeare as you watch the city move by around you. The classic revenge drama is staged in such a manner as to cleverly incorporate its parking lot surroundings. A street lamp is placed in the center of the action, both to illuminate the stage action once the sun has set and as a platform on which the actors may climb. The brief moment in which an actor takes advantage of this lamppost is one of the highlights of the production. In a piece with such a special setting, it is hard not to wish that director Hamilton Clancy had incorporated the surrounding environment more. What would it mean if Hamlet were taking place in a literal parking lot? What might that setting do to the meaning of the plot(s) unfolding?

Instead of attempting to answer these questions, the company seems to be using their locale as a forum for presenting Shakespeare at no cost to whoever wishes to stop by and hear it, which in and of itself is a very noble cause. Hamlet is one of the greatest plays in the English language and for those who may have no other chance to hear it performed live, this production is entirely worth taking advantage of. There is real heart in what the performers do here; it is clear that much effort has been put into this production and the actors perform the lengthy play with much zeal and zest.

There are many alterations to the text that are hard to justify. For instance, instead of opening the play with guards on watch, the play opens with a famous speech by Hamlet. By having the play start with Hamlet, the director is entirely reframing the context of the action. Although this is an acceptable choice–and similar to what many other contemporary directors have done with the play–these cuts and rearrangements detract from the overall impact of the play’s meaning. Rather than being a larger rumination on certain human issues, this production seemed much more concerned with the unfolding of the basic revenge plot.

In addition, many production choices are distracting. It is hard to place whether this production is meant to be a contemporary rendering of the play or a period piece; some actors wear what appears to be mid-twentieth century apparel while others are more casually attired in modern dress. There are also many unnecessary props on stage. Yet, at moments in which a prop would be useful, an actor would mime an object.

That being said, the stage design is fine overall, and the configuration of benches and sheet that create the grave is ingenious. The actors utilize the space well, making an effort to be seen on all sides of the audience. Unfortunately, I found the performers were often quite difficult to hear over the ambient noise of the city surrounding them. Some actors chose to shout over the sounds; this often took away from the larger impact of their performances. Hamlet, for example, played by Alessandro Colla, often seemed angry, as there was extensive effort put into projecting the voice above the din of city life. That being said, the Hamlet that he created was overall interesting to watch and sympathetic. The supporting cast, too, gave a laudable presentation of these oft-performed lines.

All in all, the joy of watching Shakespeare come to life in the unlikely location of a pay-to-park lot off of Delancey Street outweighs any possible flaws with this production. Witnessing this performance in this unlikely locale is a special occurrence and one worth taking advantage of before the transformative magic of the theater vanishes and the city goes back to its regularly scheduled business.

Set Sail on an Historical Voyage

What might happen when a fledgling nation encounters a great foreign empire for the first time? Will these disparate cultures be able to find common ground despite a severe language barrier? Are there goods and services that each country can trade with the other to initiate continued economic connections? Such are the questions at stake in the Yangtze Repertory Theatre of America’s production of The Empress of China. This play, written and directed by Joanna Chan, tackles an important historical moment, attempting to display what it was like when China and the United States of America first began trading, but peppering the retelling of that event with some intriguing fictionalized fare. This play is well worth watching, both for its entertainment value and the history lesson that it provides. The play centers on the first trade voyage to set sail from the US to China. The piece jumps back and forth in time, taking us from the Americans landing in WhamPao Reach back to their early negotiations with their financial sponsors in the new United States. From the American side, scandal abounds: their first trade idea is to sell northwestern furs at an exorbitant cost and a substantial sum of money is “borrowed” from the coffers by one of the men. Although these conflicts appear to be the source of the dramatic action in this play, the real drama unfolds after the intermission. One of the young American ambassadors to China finds himself attracted to Miss Purple Lotus, daughter of one of the men with whom the Americans wish to do business.

The romance between these two characters is the highlight of the play. As Purple Lotus, Annie Q. plays the innocent young woman with excitement and demureness. She carries herself perfectly in the role and is well-complimented by the performance of Andrei Drooz as her new love interest First Supercargo Samuel Shaw. Watching him struggle over his own sense of honor in the dirty dealings of business is compelling. The lovers' few shared scenes are accentuated with the recitation of Chinese poetry as well as a lesson in traditional American dance of the period. These sweet moments bring out the real magic possible in a first intercultural exchange.

This play contends with the shaky ground on which such global negotiation occurs. Indeed, the distances between cultures are highlighted. The play is performed partially in Mandarin Chinese and partly in English (for the audience, subtitles are projected). The characters are forced to contend with translators and ultimately with some key misunderstandings that threaten to tear their trade enterprises apart. Yet, the play also highlights how much is to be gained by the opening of national shores to new cultures. Purple Lotus seems enchanted by the American ideas that she is learning for the first time; Shaw is also intrigued by the Chinese ways and customs.

These cultural details are enhanced by a gorgeous array of period costumes on stage, created by Xu HaoJian and Edmond Wong. The music, by Yuan Cheuk-Wa, is also a sumptuous feast for the ears, punctuating the acts in a fulfilling way. However, the piece does have moments in which it drags, particularly those which focus solely on business negotiations and politics. There is a bit too much talking on stage, which, at times, slows the piece down. Without a strong background in the histories of both nations during the period, some sections are difficult to follow, making the long discussions seem a bit distancing.

Overall, however, The Empress of China is a real treat for New York audiences. It is a chance to encounter a significant historical event with which one may not have been familiar previously. It is also a chance to delight in eighteenth-century culture and view not only how different a time it was from our own, but also, and more importantly, to realize the ways in which our modern moment is not so different at all. This play is worth watching, no matter from which shore you originally hail.

The Shadow (Puppet) of War

Even in the darkest of times, there is always a place for a man with a little imagination. Mr. M is just such a man in his namesake play, created by The Czechoslovak-American Marionette Theatre. The play tackles painful material, but does so in a unique way, utilizing shadow puppetry, marionettes, dancing, and singing. The play offers delightful entertainment while at the same time packing a powerful emotional punch. Set during the Second World War, at a time when Jews were being sent away on transport trains to the concentration camps, the play contemplates what the individual should do while waiting for his inevitable fate to occur. Unlike Beckett’s tramps, these lost souls know that that for which they wait is certain to come; others have already begun to disappear. The dreaded signal: a white envelope through the mail slot. When we meet Mr. M, such an envelope has just slipped into his door. Luckily for him, it is a false lead; it is only a letter from some old friends asking him to visit. In light of this recent scare, Mr. M decides to prepare himself for the inevitable and “practices” certain tasks that he deems will be necessary when his letter comes.

Mr. M slips between being a realistic play about Mr. M’s encounters with the fellow members of his small Jewish community and an expressionistic tale told from the perspective of Mr. M’s overactive mind. These two threads are balanced ingeniously. Every element of the play works to keep the line between reality and fiction blurred, but only just enough to make clear how the two worlds rely on each other for their existence.

The highlight of the play is the use of performing objects on stage. The use of the puppets is a clever way to allow the audience entry into Mr. M’s mind. The world of the play is evoked with very few props and only a couple of on-stage locations, yet it is easy to feel as though one has traveled throughout the village with Mr. M, meeting all its inhabitants along the way. The costumes work well with the set design to highlight the time period and the social situation of these individuals. Everything is specific enough to ground the work in the realm of reality, but accented with just the right of amount of the abstract to remind the audience that we have never left the skewed vantage point of our protagonist.

As Mr. M, Ronny Wasserstrom is charming and entirely sympathetic. It is easy to laugh along with his hijinks and, at the same time, feel great empathy for his strife. The company of actors around him does a phenomenal job of creating believable entities for all of the personae of his day-to-day life as well as his more fanciful friends. Theresa Linnahan does a superb job of making the character of Mr. M’s pet pigeon Chickie one for whom we feel great love. Her movements on stage create the illusion of an animal body but also suggest the countenance of a loyal companion.

The ambiance is rounded out with the use of Jewish music to accompany the show. Both the singer and the accordion player become like characters within the world of this play. Even though they are both positioned far stage left and perform as separate entities from the rest of the company, they seem to be integral elements within the tale. Even if one does not understand the words of the songs, their tones and tempi suggest specific moods for each of the scenes, helping to move the action forward at a crisp pace.

How do we portray suffering? Mr. M offers us one model. Rather than dwelling on the pain and suffering, find some of the light and use that to illuminate the situation. All in all, this is an incredibly special piece of theater. It takes the subject matter of the Holocaust, a topic that is often still difficult to discuss, and places it in an atmosphere that is at turns both somber and playful. The piece is thereby able to highlight just how much was lost during those terrible years: funny, warm, imaginative people, people with friends and pets and minds and hopes and dreams. This play, with all its use of elements that are often labeled as “alienating,” puts a very human face on the experience of the Holocaust. Mr. M performs for us, begging us to bear witness, and we should.

Staging the Revolution

"Revolution is love." This comment, made by a poet in La Muse Venale's playLa Revolución, written and directed by M. Stefan Strozier, appears to be the work's metaphorical premise. Rather than being an exploration of this theme, however, the play, depicting major events of the 1910 Mexican Revolution, remains deeply embedded in the realm of historical reenactment. The play's creator claims that much of the dialogue is culled from what the real-life figures on stage actually spoke or wrote into the historical record. Beyond being an impressive collection of historical text and songs, the piece delivers little else.

The biggest problem with the play is its lack of focus. There are many figures depicted who seem to be vying for the position of central character, and it is never clear with which character we are meant to sympathize most. Because there is no single story arc to latch on to, it can be difficult to follow the narrative. Scenes appear to jump around significantly in time and place but there are no clear indicators as to where or when any particular sequence occurs. In fact, without the use of blackouts (which are used excessively throughout) the progression of time and the change of location might be virtually indistinguishable.

In addition, it is hard to isolate which character is which, although there is only minor doubling of roles. The characters seem to lack definition. The actors are portraying famous historical figures and it would appear that the playwright is relying on audience members' outside knowledge of these people and their contributions to history in order to flesh out their identities. No character seems fully human on stage; rather, they all operate as stand-ins for some aspect of a revolutionary ideal. This concept is compelling, but it prevents any real identification with the figures presented. There is nothing to draw the audience in on an emotional level. The individuals on stage often declaim to the audience but rarely make significant interpersonal connections with their fellow actors on stage. This creates a disjointed quality to the performance.

The fragmentation is accentuated by having many important events occur offstage as well as by the inclusion of moments in which the performers break the fourth wall purposefully. Towards the play's end, in order to speed through remaining historical narration, there are long, descriptive passages telling what is occurring as opposed to showing it. Some of these speeches are in English and some in Spanish, which, if you are unfamiliar with either language, can be alienating. The text is also spoken over extensive wartime sound effects, making it even more difficult to hear and understand. In general, the mixing of languages seems arbitrary; only the word “revolución” is consistently spoken in Spanish throughout. Most of the actors use accents, but the accents are inconsistent and often make what they are saying hard to understand.

The one element that plays nicely in La Revolución is the use of music and historically accurate songs. The musical numbers are, for the most part, well-performed, and add interest to an at-times dull stage scene. It is hard not to wish that the songs were better integrated into the piece, however. They are often sung by a singer who does not participate in the dramatic action of the scene and can appear to occur randomly as opposed to being logical outgrowths of the scenes in which they are embedded. This creates a kind of alienation effect, but it is hard to know if this was the director's intent or an accidental happenstance.

All in all, this play comes across as an important first step toward creating a theater work based on this material. The piece, at this juncture, is still quite rough, but, with some polishing, it could develop into an important historical piece. Like all revolutions, it seems, it just may take time to derive the desired outcome.

Poetry in Motion

“When did they sow this grass – yesterday? / today? –” So begins Oleh Lysheha’s poem Raven, as well as Yara Arts Group’s play of the same name. The poem rises and falls through the experiences, and indeed the imagination, of its speaker. On stage, this is realized through a protagonist/narrator who guides the audience through his life-changing experience of encountering a dying raven outside his window and the journey it leads him on or of which it is a part. The poem resonates with a dark beauty, using language to evoke vivid images. When these images are realized on the stage, however, something of the power of the text is lost. The tale becomes too literal, losing its metaphorical beauty. The difficulty for this piece is caused by the fact that it is trying to take the poetic and stage it in a literal fashion. Some of the magic of the original poem, included in the program, is diminished in this staging of it. The text still rings through as meaningful and poignant, highlighted by Aurelia Shrenker and Eva Salina Primack’s songs and Alla Zagaykevych's electronic music, but the physical actions on stage often leave much to be desired. These physical actions can seem random or as though they are trying too hard, making their meanings obscure.

Much of the movement-based performance comes across as rough and as though it does not necessarily belong in the piece. In addition, the upstage projections, captured either by a small makeshift screen center stage or a larger white curtain against the back wall of the playing space, seem superfluous and even at times distracting. The narration states where the characters are meant to be; there is no need to depict the settings in so much detail. This seems a direct counterpoint to the minimalist use of props, in which three buckets, a broom, and a desk stand in for myriad items in the world of the play. There is a disconnect between the realistic atmosphere suggested by the projections and the world of the imagination evoked by the text and the props.

The play is not traditional narrative drama, nor is it meant to be, but the work does tell some sort of a story. The piece continually feels as though it is going to reach some sort of a climax, but when it seems to, during an extended sequence in a forest, the moment seems disappointing. The strongest parts of Raven are its simplest; when people on stage just talk to the audience or to one another. Heightening the “action” of the play does nothing to make it more piercing.

Both the music and the use of the Ukrainian voice to highlight important words and phrases are elements which are used well. The latter is included sparingly, but something about the speaker’s tone, particularly when paired with this particular musical soundtrack, acts to enhance the melancholy tone of the overall piece. The performances are all fine, though one wishes that there was more of a sense of exploration with these words. Why is this man narrating this seemingly insignificant moment of his life? What is his feeling toward the painter he sees and with whom he attempts to connect? What is Ivan searching for in the dead of the forest? I believe seeds for answers to these questions are available in the original poem but have yet to be translated fully on to the stage.

Despite these issues, there is great symbolic value to what is seen on stage. It is a compelling experiment as to how theater can attempt to encompass the poetic. Perhaps finding a verse of the body and of the stage setting is not the only solution. When Raven highlights the poetry of words it is at its finest. In these moments, it is touching. When the narrator speaks of the actual raven’s suffering, for example, it can nearly move a spectator to tears. It is for these moments that the piece is worth seeing–or, perhaps more precisely, worth listening to.

Long Live the Queen!

It’s time to celebrate Purim! And should you be in search of an appropriate play to see in honor of the holiday, head down to UNDER St. Marks and check out Jewqueen, Little Lord’s current production. The piece is a raucous, irreverently reverent manifestation of the Biblical story of the Book of Esther. The play is a worthwhile delight at this festive time of the year. Rather than having a traditional presentation of the tale, with one actress to play Esther and others to play Mordecai, the King, etc., Little Lord chooses to have their whole company both narrate the tale and perform multiple roles. Michael Levinton, the show's director, sporting a sassy white party dress, red and black checkerboard robe, and green paper crown, acts as the principle narrator and the ancient King, bringing the company together to perform the story and keeping the action moving along. The remaining six performers all take turns in the other principal roles, as well as in the position of narrator. They both enact and present the story, even at times analyzing some of the more complex elements of the tale.

The entire company is hilarious and charming in their multiple roles, making everyone in the audience want to join in with the fun. And join in they can–there are places for audience participation: reading aloud a short section of text, using noisemakers, and in general cheering, booing, and clapping when appropriate. This relaxed actor-audience divide intensifies the sense that this is a celebration, not just a performance. This production is being put on for the enjoyment of all in the playhouse, not just the performers. The performers all appear to be having a joyous time up on stage and the feeling is infectious in the audience.

This sense of a party in place of a performance is set from the moment the audience is allowed into the theater space. The performers are all singing and dancing along to some classic karaoke hits and wearing crazy party dresses in bright colors with lots of fluff. This tone is maintained throughout, even in the moments where the story becomes heavy. For instance, when narrating the attempted poisoning of the King and the subsequent execution of the would-be assassins, one of the performers narrates the tale while holding up illustrations on poster board. This technique, one of many like it, prevents this evening’s fare from becoming too dark or too didactic.

At times, the humor is a bit much and there are moments where the silliness could perhaps be toned down. Some of the gags are a tad obvious or go on for a bit too long. It seems, however, that the company is aware of these potential pitfalls and hopes to embrace them rather than attempting to gloss over them or sweep them under the rug.

The most impressive thing about the piece is that, within all of its silliness, its use of drag, and endless humor, there is a genuine quality that rings through. It is easy to believe that the performers care about this story and truly wish to share it with their audiences. They approach the material in a loving way, making it seem like a gift that they are sharing with their spectators. The wrapping is all of the kitschy charm; the real present is the story itself.

There is a charming unprofessional professionalism to the way Jewqueen plays on stage. In pretending to be amateurish, this company has created a sophisticatedly campy take on a meaningful, important Old Testament tale. For anyone in need of a little music, a lot of laughs, and an ancient tale that stands the test of time, this is the show to see.

An Epic Battle

Can the Iliad speak in compelling ways to a contemporary American audience? Can it feel relevant in our modern society? Is telling a story still the basis of theatrical presentation? These questions seem to be at the heart of the project of Kings: The Siege of Troy, based on a translation of Homer's Iliad by Christopher Logue. The project here is commendable; this is a story that, when told, can still feel resonant with our own times. This production, however, does not go much beyond just telling the story, diminishing the potential overall impact of the work. Kings: The Siege of Troy presents Books I & II of Homer's Iliad. In order to convey this story, two actors play all of the necessary characters while also providing narration. J. Eric Cook and Dana Watkins jump back and forth between roles, shaping all of the events leading up to and including the Greeks' attack on Troy.

Both performers are more than admirable. They give impressive tour-de-force performances, fluidly gliding from one persona to the next. Every character has a unique personality and even a specific inflection in his or her voice. Despite these strong character choices, it is often quite difficult to recall which characters are meant to be on stage at any given moment. The transitions are so quick that it is easy to lose track of where we are in the narrative, even if the viewer is already familiar with the story. Those unfamiliar with the major plot points of the tale might find themselves mystified by the on stage events.

The strongest moments of the piece are those which are fully staged. The minimal use of physicality is both well-executed and expertly orchestrated by Jim Milton. The lighting, by Heather Sparling, also does wonders to enhance the scene. The specific mood of each situation and locale is indicated by the production choices. The weakest moments are those in which the actors speak their own narration, stating "he said" or "she turned," etc. In these moments, the story feels like it is only being told and not shown, moving a bit too far from the realm of the theatrical into the realm of the descriptive.

Both actors spend the entirety of the play on stage. This feat alone is an action worthy of praise: it is an intense and demanding piece. The stage pictures are well-composed and balanced nicely; the two actors bring great presence to the large stage space that they must fill with just their bodies and voices. The costumes do little to enhance the stage pictures, however. The two men wear black slacks and blue button-down shirts, which give the sense of more of a business setting than either a warzone or the turmoil of the homefront. The attire reads neither as a neutral template on which each character is painted nor as a clear, specific production choice meant to bring out an aspect of the play's meaning.

This translation of the Iliad is worth more attention. It is both poetic and poignant. As a play, however, the piece perhaps needs more visual storytelling techniques and fewer narrative devices. The play's climactic final moments are powerful and build tension masterfully. Unfortunately, there is perhaps too much lead-up to those events to allow these final moments their fullest emotional punch.

Still, Homer is always worth another listen. As the Greeks mobilize to besiege Troy, the contemporary resonances of this story ring out, making the show a worthwhile dramatic experience. Kings provides an intriguing new way to confront this time-honored material. The production takes theater back to its storytelling roots, with mixed, but often compelling, results.

Heaven on My Mind

What do the atomic bomb, a girl in white attending her prom, and infomercials for seeds have in common? On the surface, it seems, nothing. Yet Heaven on Earth , written by Charles L. Mee and created by Witness Relocation and Ildi! Eldi, includes all of these elements in a consistent and a coherent way that is equal parts hilarious, thought-provoking, poignant, and joyful. This true work of art grapples with the complicated questions of what it means to be mortal in a world in which life could end, suddenly, at any moment. To summarize a specific plot in this play would be difficult and perhaps contrary to the play’s intentions. Knowing too much of what will be seen on stage also could spoil one wonderful aspect of this play: its element of surprise. Each scene, each detail included, is an unexpected treat.

This play does not have a traditional structure. Essentially, the it is a collage of scenes that all have something to do with the human condition and the concept of finding a “heaven on earth.” The characters contemplate a genius scientist’s notion of being uploaded into cyberspace as a form of immortality; a film is screened of a man reminiscing about his childhood during the Dust Bowl; a racecar driver discusses his recent experience in a major competition and the thrill of the race; etc. Are any of these aforementioned situations examples of heaven? Can there be joy in the worst possible circumstances? Would living forever be more wonderful than only living a short while but in that time frame having had someone’s love and having reciprocated those feelings?

The direction of this piece is consistent and the collage works beautifully to riff on the themes being addressed without feeling heavy-handed or too straightforward. The piece incorporates poetic text, compelling physical movement and dance, film, technical effects, even showtunes. What could come across as a hodgepodge of elements is, rather, expertly conducted by Dan Safer. Safer, as director and choreographer, is able to cleverly counterpose text on one notion with movement or stage business meant to evoke another. The stage pictures here are sumptuous feasts for the eyes and the text is unconditionally brilliant, whether it is evoking bizarre and charming humor or presenting hard-hitting and emotional realities of what it means to be human.

Mee is a true artist in his playwriting and this work is no exception. The words, full of subtle meanings, can resonate in a viewer’s head long after the play has ended. Each line of text raises important questions without providing direct, succinct answers. The actors all have great skill in how to turn a phrase, pacing their speeches with perfect timing. In addition, the movement work in this production is exquisite. All of the performers are superb in their various roles, showing their range of performance abilities. Also worth singling out is the lighting and set design by Jay Ryan. The lighting is perfectly linked to the tone of the atmosphere in each scene and the set, in its clever simplicity, is utilized ideally for a play of this nature.

Heaven on Earth is a poetic reminder of the transience of human life. Despite numerous possibilities of heavens, there is no way for us to know that our advanced human civilization will even be remembered, much less that our insignificant individual lives will have made any impact. And yet, this play is a celebration of precisely that seemingly insignificant blessing known as life. Do not wait for a heaven; do not even spend your finite days searching for one. Life itself is a heaven and this play is one of life’s pleasures, not to be missed

Seeing the Reality of War

How can you tell that what you see is real? So ponders Frank Hasek, a twenty-first century rendering of the character Woyzeck, created by Georg Buchner. Private Hasek, the protagonist of Reservoir, by Eric Henry Sanders, is a not a relic of a bygone era. Rather, he is a very real and a very realistic product of contemporary combat. The play's greatest strength is its text. Sanders has done a truly commendable job of retelling this tale for a modern-day audience. We meet Frank after he has returned from his tour of duty. He attempts to readjust to his life at home in light of his horrific wartime experiences: his relationship with his girlfriend, his place in the Army, and even his sense of control over himself hang in the balance. As he succumbs to PTSD, his ability to cope with the world around him slowly but surely deteriorates. Due to his loss of mental clarity, he finds it difficult to convince himself of what he should believe and what are merely figments of his addled mind.

The story is told in an episodic manner, as was its source material. The director, Hamilton Clancy, has found subtle but useful ways of keeping this structure from being either overly distancing or too confusing. Through simple devices such as turning on a household light fixture when in a domestic space or displaying cheap flowers when in a doctor's office, it is always clear where the characters are in any given scene.

In addition to telling a meaningful and affecting story about the horrors of war and the effects that participating in combat have on the average soldier, the play also presents powerful and evocative poetic language. Single lines stand out as clear explanations of concepts and emotions that would otherwise need pages of dialogue to convey. The weight of what is being discussed is never lost, not even in the few terse moments of comedic release. It is always clear that what is being discussed is important and worth hearing, no matter how painful it might be to listen to.

The design aesthetic maintains the dark mood of the text while highlighting the plot points in interesting ways. The set is simple, made up of only a few chairs and stools and some chicken wire, and yet it is capable of evoking myriad locations. The chicken wire, in particular, gives the sense of entrapment that the characters are experiencing. Frank may no longer be "in country" but he is never far from being surrounded by its effects. The lighting completes the ambiance, using dim lighting to solidify the tone of the piece and then contrasting it with the unnatural brightness of some interior locales.

The performances are, in general, good. Alessandro Colla gives a compelling and empathetic representation of Frank Hasek. In addition, Karla Hendrick is worth mentioning for her turn as the therapist. She does an impressive job of conveying the internal turmoil of being someone who wants to help and who understands her patients' struggles and someone who is under the thumb of the U.S. Military hierarchy. Her struggle throws into relief the idea that Hasek may only be the product of a system; perhaps he never was in control of his own fate or identity at all.

Overall, Reservoir has the potential to be a really significant work of theater. There are moments of great poignancy in the piece. The play presents a disturbing reality in a way that forces its audiences to pay attention. This is assuredly a play to see and believe.

A Fun Little Dystopia on Utopia Parkway

Looking for an alternative to the same old holiday celebrations? If so, check out Dollface, an off-beat comic musical at Theater for the New City. The show is at times irreverently hilarious despite being a bit uneven overall. Its heart is in the right place, however, and its sentiment triumphs in the long run. The storyline focuses on Dolores Zuckerman, a young woman living in Queens hoping for her big break into television stardom as a comedienne. At the same time, she is also wishing for her fiancé of thirteen years to pop the question. A monkey wrench is thrown into Dolores’s life plans when she finds herself entangled in a local jewelry heist that turns lethal for a neighbor’s wife. From here, the plot races forward as the various residents try to ascertain exactly what happened and who is to blame.

The play is given an ingenious framing device. By opening the show with a staged advert for an imaginary cigarette brand, the audience is immediately given the sense of being in a 1950s television program and not in the realm of reality. However, this context is quickly forgotten as the audience is introduced to a slew of characters and an intricately woven, if at times overly complicated, plot. There are extraneous threads in this musical, such as Dolores’s short-lived occupation as a health aide in an assisted living facility. These subplots appear to be included solely as vehicles for comic elements and are therefore unnecessary to the already dense plot unfolding on stage.

In general, the production’s main flaw is its length. Clocking in at nearly two hours, the plot line feels too weak to warrant such a long theatrical telling. Sequences seem to go on longer than needed, particularly due to musical reprises. In addition, the change over times between scenes often seem unnecessarily long. The pauses between one scene and the next end up acting as a distancing, if inadvertent, break to the dramatic action unfolding on stage. The humor of the piece is frequently diffused because a joke is stretched past the point of being clever or a punch line is too long deferred. Some of the raunchier elements are quite witty, but there are innuendos that perhaps go too far or are too blatant to be as funny as that might be. The show is best when it is suggestive, employing double entendres, rather than when it is just broadcasting the sexual or scatalogical joke.

The main strength of this production is its actors. The performances are all quite good, with Linda Shell giving a particularly notable turn in the title role. All of the actors pull off their characters with a touch of charm and a great deal of humor. It is easy to like Dolores and the band of misfits that she has assembled around her, and this is due in great part to how sympathetically they are portrayed. The piece has the potential to easily become one in which the audience laughs at dated stereotypes. Rather than giving into this somewhat clichéd impulse, these performers bring out their personages’ most likable characteristics. In its absurdity, this play feels like a realistic rendering of an outer borough New York City neighborhood in the mid-twentieth century.

There is great fun to be had at Dollface. The sense of innocence that has become synonymous with 1950s television programming is, oddly enough, ubiquitous in this so-called raunchy musical. Dolores is a protagonist who is easy to root for and this production does a commendable job of spotlighting her. This production serves as a welcome interruption to the conventional warm and fuzzy holiday entertainments. In so doing, it allows its spectators to walk away feeling just as charmed as they would have from a more traditional holiday tale.

A Place for Remembering

There are many ways to tell a story. One can use language to convey meaning, one can provide images to depict what happened, or one can use the body to elucidate what the physical experience was like. In LOCO7’s new puppet piece at LaMaMa, In Retrospect, all of these elements are used. The piece works as a full sensory experience designed to get at the heart of memory and how it makes us human. The piece is often beautiful and poignant, filled with performative images that an audience member will not soon forget. To attempt to tease out a narrative plot from this piece would be a futile effort. Federico Restrepo, the piece’s co-creator, has written in the program that “this piece investigates how we construct our personal memory box: how we keep our memories fresh and preserve the things that made us who we are.” Indeed, there is the sense in this play that the audience is stepping into the personal memories of the people on stage. We are shown various images to which the three performers react, be they glass balls with photos in them that fall from the sky, a fabric wall of fishes, or an oversized and overstuffed touchtone phone. From the moment we move behind the play’s first image, that of three individuals staring out of their respective apartment windows, we have left the realm of distanced, fourth-wall, representational performance and entered something else entirely, something deeply personal.

Each one of the three performers participates in group performance numbers as well as solo pieces. Primarily, these scenes are constructed of dance and movement sequences accompanied by music. They are unique in that, often, their fellow dancers are puppets or other such material constructions. The creative team was very clever in their construction of all of the puppets and life-size puppet-costumes that they created. Each one introduces a sense of whimsy while still being detailed and expressive enough to evoke real emotion. Every object on stage, from the more traditional marionettes to the large music box from which a dancing doll appears, is as mesmerizing to watch as the dancers themselves.

The dancing is, however, the highlight of the evening’s entertainment, particularly Restrepo’s performance. This theme of memory is, at heart, always deeply tied to the human, thus making the human body the most effective tool in grappling with it. These dance sequences are rarely accompanied by any sort of text, yet they tell a powerful story about what happens when long-lost memories are triggered, how dreams weave into our experiences of the world, and how human interaction is what we long for and crave. Restrepo dances with body puppets of what appear to be him, one from his past childhood and one from his future of old age. Yet this scene also evokes the sense of a man dancing with both his father and his son. This image, however one chooses to read it, is powerful and extraordinarily human.

The play is underscored with beautiful live music. These compositions help to create fluid transitions as well as setting distinct moods for each sequence. The piece also includes several filmic interludes. The back wall, made of blinds, can ingeniously twist to become a projection screen. Despite the ingenuity of making this effect work on stage, these filmed scenes are the weakest elements included in the production. The poetic voiceovers are lovely but they are abstractions on the theme, often alienating the viewer from the live body on stage rather than highlighting that live body’s presence.

All in all, this play is nothing short of a work of art. In less than an hour’s time, it is able to trigger many strong emotions – especially those of love and sadness – through the simplest of theatrical tricks. The piece is hard to sum up in words because it is so special. It is worth experiencing for oneself. It will create a new memory worth storing for years to come in one’s own memory box.

A Kitchen Full of Wonders

When is a wisk not a wisk? When it is transformed into a Japanese woman on a journey to learn the secret of how air or fire can be held in paper. When is a pepper shaker not a pepper shaker? When it becomes a young African woman in search of the home of her bridegroom. In Folktalkes of Asia and Africa, Jane Catherine Shaw and her array of kitchen utensils are able to enact such magical thrills. Whole worlds are built on stage through the use of simple household objects. This children’s puppet play at LaMaMa is a delight for audiences of all ages. We meet Ms. Shaw as she is in her kitchen preparing some bread. She decides to tell some stories to pass the time as she waits for her bread to rise. The piece contains three folktales: a story from Burma about a hard-working rice farmer and the goddess of the moon; a Japanese tale about two women who must solve a riddle to please their beloved father-in-law; and an African legend dealing with two sisters who each wish to marry a local chief. All of these narratives are charming in their own rights. They convey simple, endearing and enduring messages through compelling characters in relatable situations. It is refreshing to hear folktales with which many audience members may not already be familiar. The stories are able to be surprising and heartwarming through their unexpected twists and turns.

What makes this play true magic is not the stories themselves, however. What is most remarkable in Shaw’s piece is the way she renders these tales on stage. The play is a puppet play, but there are no classically recognizable marionettes or even sock puppets here. Rather, she creates the entire worlds of all these stories through her interesting narration, marked by unique voices for each character, and her use of various common household objects. With the help of a touch of fabric and a little imagination these kitchen utensils easily and fluidly become whatever character our narrator needs them to be. These basic objects are as believable as any more detailed performative objects might have been in their places.

This play suggests the power of the human imagination. Shaw’s play is a clear reminder to children and adults alike in the audience that our minds can transport us to exciting places if we only imagine them. Folktales of Asia and Africa reminds us that we do not need any sophisticated props of any sort to create whole worlds within our own homes. All we need is a good story to tell, one that we mix with pinch of ingenuity and a dash of imagination. Shaw’s play proves that with these simple ingredients, true performance magic can be created.

A Play of Miracles

Every once in a while, there is a work of theater that is remarkable in some way: thrilling, touching, unforgettable. More infrequently than even that, on the rarest of rare moments, there is a production that is not only somehow remarkable but also pure art, a representation of what theater can (and perhaps should) be. I Fiorretti in Musica – Opera in Danza presented by Pioneers go East Company is one such work. In its sheer simplicity, it is utter genius. The play tells the story of Saint Francis, divided into four chapters: “Assuming a Life of Simplicity,” “Preaching to the Birds,” “Taming the Wolf,” and “Thieves and Beggars.” Yet any attempt at summarizing would not even remotely approximate what this production actually is. The story being told – one of self-sacrifice, forgiveness, and faith – would be compelling in its own right. This play, however, rather than being a traditional theatrical narrative, is an exploration of the various elements that can combine in the theater. The piece incorporates music, dance, painting, poetry, puppetry, and junk sculpture, emphasizing just how integrative of an art form theater can be.

The storytelling elements are isolated from one another; no character who sings also performs in the central action. Rather, the various components seem strategically layered one upon another. This technique adds a unique richness to the piece while also highlighting how limited traditional storytelling may, in fact, be. All of the pieces of the theatrical puzzle compliment each other beautifully, from the way light reflects off of costumes to how the music pairs with the dance movements.

There are truly memorable, striking moments in this play. In the first chapter, the ensemble surrounding Francesco pelt shoes at him, cruelly and maliciously. Yet Francesco engages them in a game, forgiving them instantly and offering to them the chance to follow him. This moment is touching and profoundly human. Each of these episodes is punctuated with paintings projected onto the backdrop and poetic text describing what is happening in the scene. These elements add to the richness of the overall work. Although any individual component would tell a certain aspect of the tale, by bringing them all together, the story is rendered in a multifaceted manner that no single element could present.

Life appears to spring forth in this performance. The random trash and scraps of paper that are assembled to create a slew of birds seem to come alive through the careful choreography of the puppeteers' motions. The set is evocative, showing ways in which mundane detritus can become the most magical of playlands. The use of everyday household objects to create the world of the story goes beyond the merely clever. At times, it is so well-conceived that it borders on the astonishing.

This is a special work of theater. It takes a heartfelt tale and presents it in new and innovative ways. There are moments within this performance that will linger long after the house lights come on. Perhaps, these moments will stick with the viewer for a long time to come. For this reason, I Fioretti in Musica is a production not to be missed.

A Sight for Sore Eyes

“…These art lovers, these poor, unsuspecting–rather, rich, unsuspecting–patrons have bought, sight unseen, a painting you have not yet painted?” This revelation about the nature of the commercial art world occurs at a moment of high tension in Sight Unseen, written by Donald Margulies and directed by Dorothy Lyman. This play confronts this issue of the value of modern art in addition to many other significant topics. The play is a deeply moving and relevant work of theater. The narrative begins with Jonathan arriving at the home of his college lover, Patricia, and her husband, Nick, in England. Jonathan has become a successful American artist while Patricia and her husband are struggling archaeologists. Even before this first encounter in the chilly English countryside, Jonathan has haunted this modest home: a painting that he had painted for Patty back during their college days accents their mantle. Their long-defunct relationship haunts her current marriage.

All of the performances are strong. Jonathan Todd Ross, who plays Jonathan, does a superb job of balancing his character's extreme likeability with a level of smarminess that keeps the character at an uncomfortable arms’ length from fellow characters and audience members alike. The slighted husband, played by Brent Vimtrup, is an interesting figure, a compelling mixture of emotional turmoil and comic relief. Laurie Schaefer plays up Patricia’s wounded soul while Bryn Boice makes Grete a confrontational and worthy foe for Jonathan in his artistic playing field.

The set is realistic, down to the most minute detail. It portrays the English country kitchen in the home where Patricia and Nick live, evoking its spirit while depicting its outward appearance. The same set is also always present in the background, even when scenes do not take place in this home. From one perspective, the play would benefit from being able to change setting. On another, the constant presence of this locale reminds us that no matter how much this play attempts to reconnect with the past and reconstruct the future, these characters will permanently be defined by something that has happened in this site.

The story jumps in and out of time, rather than being told in chronological, linear fashion. The true beauty of this play is in its text. The dialogue is a kind of natural speech while still being deep, powerful poetry. The lines are at turns charming, engaging, provocative, and intellectually stimulating.

The most interesting aspect of the play is the fact that it is driven by such a compelling narrative and yet it is a tale that is already about to reach its logical conclusion in the play’s first scene. Because of this, it seems that the work actually intends to explore something else entirely from the plot points it presents. The theme that recurs time and time again, besides the issue of the value of art, is an attempt to come to terms with what it means to be a Jew in America. Jonathan is torn between his desire to assimilate and involve himself with a non-Jewish woman and his determination to be true to the Jewish identity that his mother wished he would assume. His existence and his art are marked by Jewish symbols, ones with which even Jonathan is not sure he is able to come to terms.

Margulies's play is a meaningful work of drama. It tells a compelling tale of the intricacies of the pleasures and pains created by interpersonal relationships. It is also a stimulating exploration of the place of art in the contemporary American landscape as well as an insightful study of the Jewish experience. This play is worth giving a listen to, even sight unseen.