Prepare to be Seduced by Flux's History

Over the past couple of years, Flux Theatre Ensemble has garnered a reputation for excellence in both its production aspects and its choice of material, and so far they have yet to disappoint. The Lesser Seductions of History, written by August Schulenburg and directed by Heather Cohn, is a masterpiece, a glorious gift that they have offered up to the world, specific to one generation but timeless to all in its celebration of life, death, and the choices we make (or are forced to take) to exist in this harsh world. Flux Theatre Ensemble has bitten off a lot this time: No less than the encapsulation of an entire decade into an evening's entertainment. And what a decade it was! The 1960's, a time of intense social change and societal unrest, and one that many people are drawing frightening parallels to in this decade (the Rabbit-hole of Vietnam/Iraq, anyone?). Has Flux Theatre Ensemble bitten off more than they can chew with this one? How can one small group of players dare, as Shakespeare once asked, on such an unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object? The answer is, of course, that the play works only if the audience lets these players, ciphers to this great accompt, on their imaginary forces work.

Schulenburg and Flux are no stranger to the works of William Shakespeare, having produced A Midsummer Night's Dream in their season of transformation (Christina Shipp's Bottom will forever be a favorite of mine, no pun intended). It is no surprise, then, that the Bard's influence is sometimes heavily felt in this production. From the dramatic and elevated stakes faced by many of the characters, to the minimalist set considerations, to the passage of time and the framing sequences, together with the almost cinematic cutting back and forth from scene to scene which Shakespeare employed long before anyone had dreamed of the cinema, Lesser Seductions follows in the footsteps of the greatest dramatists that has come before. There may not be much new or original here, but the play is staged and performed so exquisitely, the story told with such style, one is reminded that even the old tales are good ones.

Not everyone will immediately take to the character of History (played by Candice Holdorf and referred to in the program as “One”), who has the unenviable task of presenting both prologue and epilogue, as well as moving the story from one decade to the next. Nevertheless, History plays her part and inexorably marches on into the future, while at the same time offering up Her observations on the past. The play may have worked without this character, but then by whom would we have been seduced, even if only to a lesser degree? The character of One does have a lot of challenges placed upon her, not the least of which includes interacting with the audience at several points, as well as, in another wink at Shakespeare, humbly asking for the audience's applause at show's end in true Puckish style. Candice Holdorf tackles the job with gusto as usual, and deftly goes from wielding ultimate power to serving as the meekest of History's subjects.

The entire cast is admirable, and as this is truly an ensemble, I cannot fail to mention each member. Jake Alexander as Isaac Cohen deftly transforms from a jazz-loving hepcat to a flower-loving Aquarian. Tiffany Clementi excels as Marie Cohen, Isaac's much abused wife, and Isaiah Tanenbaum brings an odd charm to his portrayal of Lee Cohen, Isaac's cousin. Matthew Archambault and Jason Paradine, as Barry and Bobby Tanner respectively, offer delightful performances. Michael Davis plays George Ward, a talented but tortured musician, while Raushanah Simmons plays the part of Martha Ward, George's sister and one of the truly devoted, first to her brother and Christ, then to the Party and the Cause. Ingrid Nordstrom as Anisa Hansen, Christina Shipp as Lizzie Ann Hansen, and Kelly O'Donnell as Tegan Tyrone all deliver startling, sublime performances.

All design elements are well represented with this production, from Lauren Parrish's mood-enhancing lighting design, cast in lots of soft white and cool colors, to Will Lowry's simple yet elegant table and chairs set, perfectly suited to the story requirements. Becky Kelly's costume choices, simple and not overstated, clearly represent the characters depicted. Perhaps the most critical element in a show about a period of history so steeped in aural fixations is the sound, and Asa Wember manages to exceed all expectations. In what is clearly a technically difficult show, Asa's design is always supportive, never overbearing, and suits the action perfectly.

Heather Cohn, as director, combines intelligence, imagination, and wisdom, and tempers all with a modicum of heart. Actors can only be as good as they are allowed to be by their director, and Heather has a great handle on her actors, as well as a distinguishing eye for detail. While all the stars in the Flux firmament shine oh so brightly, Heather Cohn seems to be their North star, giving them guidance, whilst August Schulenburg, in this production anyway, serves as both master architect and heart of hearts to what truly may be their greatest show yet.

A Tragedy of Epic Proportions

The Oresteia is a bold task for any theater company to take on in its entirety, and thankfully Classic Stage Company gets that, and gets it (mostly) right. With three plays presented in two parts (Part 1: Agamemnon & Elektra, and Part 2: Orestes), there are some huge flaws in CSC’s production, but there are also some wonderful moments. Most of those moments occur in Part 2: Orestes, so my advice is this: skip the flawed first half entirely and just see Part 2: Orestes, or if you must see the earlier parts, make darn sure you sit in the center section, as the two side sections aren’t worth the price of admission, even if that price is free. The traditional Oresteia, by the ancient Greek playwright Aeschylus, is a trilogy of plays tackling the events surrounding the aftermath of the Trojan War, specifically the curse on the house of Atreus. The first play (Agamemnon) deals with the return of King Agamemnon to his home after ten brutal years of battle, only to be viciously murdered by his vengeful wife Clytemnestra and her scheming lover Aegisthus. In the second play (Electra) Clytemnestra and Aegisthus get what’s coming to them when Orestes, Agamemnon’s son, returns from his self-imposed exile and conspires with his sister Electra and friend Pylades to avenge Agamemnon’s death. The final play (The Euminides) chronicles Orestes\' flight from the justice-seeking Furies and ultimate forgiveness at the hands of Apollo.

Rather than simply remounting another production of the Aeschylus classic, CSC Artistic Director Brian Kulick approached poet & playwright Anne Carson, who had already translated versions of Sophocles’ Electra and Euripides’ Orestes, with the idea of creating a new Oresteia from the work of all three famous Greeks. She would translate Aeschylus’ Agamemnon, the first part of his famous trilogy, and combine it with the afore-mentioned translations of Elektra and Orestes to create an Oresteia that was different and new, yet still clung roughly to the tale originally crafted by Aeschylus. So what we are presented with finally by CSC is An Oresteia translated by Anne Carson, comprised of Part 1: Agamemnon by Aiskhylos & Elektra by Sophokles, directed by Brian Kulick and Gisela Cardenas, and Part 2: Orestes by Euripides, directed by Paul Lazar. Phew!

The absolute shining star of this production is the script by Anne Carson. While maintaining a line-by-line translation from the original texts, including changing the names of the playwrights and characters to reflect a closer translation of the Greek (Clytemnestra becoming Klytaimestra, for example, and Electra becoming Elektra) Ms. Carson manages to inject new life into the words, making them fresh and contemporary. If only Mr. Kulick and his co-director Gisela Cardenas could have done the same with their direction of Part 1: Agamemnon & Elektra. For Part 2: Orestes, Paul Lazar steps in to direct and does a masterful job, struggling against the almost overwhelming obstacle that is the monstrosity of the trilogy\'s set to deliver a bizarre yet intuitively insightful production.

The biggest drawback of the entire production is the scenic design. As the audience members enter the theater, they are greeted by the sight of three men in white overalls and black aprons relentlessly scrubbing the stage (consisting mainly of unpainted plywood and 2x4 lumber, making me wonder if the budget didn’t include money to buy paint), which is coated in layers and layers of caked-on blood. No explanation is given for who these men are or why they seem to be performing a task worthy of Tantalus himself; perhaps the blood represents the many sacrifices Klytaimestra has been offering up to the gods in her husband’s absence. Whatever the case may be, there is certainly an expectation in the air, the promise of bloody deeds past, with more blood to come.

Unfortunately, the set not only looks unfinished but it is grossly unwieldy, to the point that the poor actors ended up struggling with doors that would not open or worse, refused to stay open at the appropriate times. The side-section audiences were forced to watch the action unfold through a narrow window set into a protective wall (ostensibly to keep the audience from getting splattered) or on a small screen that prevented them from viewing any detail. To solve these major design problems, the protective walls need to be removed, and the doors need to have hinged kick-stops attached.

Of course, set changes wouldn’t solve the general unwieldiness of the direction in the first two plays of this saga. Thankfully there are some bright moments if you decide to see the epic in its entirety. In Agamemnon, Steve Mellor has an all too short appearance as the titular ruler. Craig Baldwin makes a superb eleventh-hour entry as Aigisthos, and manages maniacally to save the end of the first play. Stephanie Roth Haberle seems to be well cast as Klytaimestra, bringing an appropriate Lady Mackers quality to the role, but ultimately her interpretation is too whiny and petulant for us to have any empathy for her; she often staggers about stage as if intoxicated, and during the famous beacon scene (which Peter Jackson stole to such good effect in his Return of the King film) I was just embarrassed for her. The only strong feeling I was left with by the first intermission was that of being violated, something which is done to the audience quite a few times throughout the course of the first play, with flung props, pointed guns, and even a hose brought out to douse Kassandra (played with wide-eyed insanity by Doan Ly), which seemed a nod to Ivan Van Hove’s Misanthrope and little more.

The second play, Elektra, is only slightly more bearable, due mainly to the (no pun intended) electrifying performance of Annika Boras as Elektra. The whole conceit of the second play (chorus as sunbathers around a swimming-pool) only served to remind me of last year’s Oedipus Loves You by Irish punk-rock theater company Pan Pan, who set their Greek tragedy in a middle-class backyard complete with barbecue and children’s wading pool. It worked brilliantly for Pan Pan, but for this production it just falls flat. For example, it’s never quite clear why Elektra keeps jars of mud on her swimming-pool patio. Or why one of the sun-bathing chorus members starts prophesying to the sound of a tinkling piano, absent-mindedly tossing Tarot cards into the pool from her perch on a diving board. Luckily it is over quickly enough, and we can get to the truly interesting matter contained in Part 2: Orestes.

A word about this final act before we begin. The post-murder tale of the pursuit of Orestes by the Euminides (or Furies as they are more commonly known here) is bizarre and often problematic to stage. It is concerned with the Big Ideas of Justice and Family, and as such it doesn’t have concrete events like violent deaths to give it a point of entry (although it can only happen because of the violent deaths of the previous tales); as such, I usually find it the most difficult part of the story to “get into”, but also thematically the most interesting. I think it’s a bold choice to bring on another director to deal with such heady themes, and I applaud Brian Kulick and CSC for choosing Paul Lazar to helm this particular piece.

Undoubtedly Part 2: Orestes is influenced by both Mac Wellman and Big Dance Theater, both of whom director Paul Lazar has strong connections to; you can see this influence clearly in the casting of actors like Steve Mellor, David Neumann, Karinne Keithley, and Jess Barbagallo, all of whom have worked with Mac and/or Big Dance, and all of whom bring a delightful energy to the stage.

Steve Mellor is delightful as Menelaus, Agamemnon’s brother and possible savior to his nephew Orestes, played stoically by Mickey Solis. Annika Boras returns as Elektra, playing the beat-poet to the hilt. David Neumann is entrancing to watch, both as he channels Tom Waites and as he dances, alone or with Karinne Keithley. Ms. Keithley dances and lends her ethereal voice in song as Chorus, together with Dan Hurlin. There is a particularly touching scene wherein the Chorus recites a cry to heaven first in Greek, then in translation, together with some magical visual aides. The multi-talented Keithley also plays Hermione, daughter of Menelaus and Helen (yes, that Helen!), and victim of a certain famous pair of siblings’ kidnapping plot.

Jess Barbagallo returns in this segment, once again playing Pylades, Orestes “silent friend” of Elektra, now no longer so silent, delivering an impassioned justification for the murder (“assassination”) of Helen. Eric Dyer (of Radiohole fame) makes an appearance quite literally as the Deux Ex Machina (“God in the Machine”) Apollo, who shows up at the end to set everything aright. I would have liked to have actually seen Eric’s brief moment on stage, but since my view was obstructed, I can only assume from the looks of those audience members lucky enough to see it that it was glorious.

Set in a dream-like reality reminiscent of a beat-poet’s café, the only thing missing was a hookah (actually, there probably was a hookah, I just missed it because of the obstructed view). Combining music, dance, a rhythmic delivery, and earnest performances, this final play of An Oresteia almost made up for the tediousness of the first two plays. Given the choice, I would highly recommend skipping Part 1: Agamemnon & Elektra, as there is always the library or Internet if you want to know the details of the Trojan War or the curse on the House of Atreus, and purchasing tickets to <An Oresteia Part 2: Orestes, a thought provoking examination of human nature that packs a humorous punch.

Forget about Letting the Sun Shine in, the Catchphrase this Year Should Be “Rain On!”

Every once in a while a musical comes along that captures the spirit of its time flawlessly. The New Hopeville Comics, A New Rock Opera from Commander Squish Productions, is one of these shows. Don’t be misled by the four-color poster featuring the heroic Perfect Man and his gal pal Molly. This is not your typical kid-friendly comic adventure. Owing more to the mature themes of shows like Rent and the macabre sensibilities of Little Shop of Horrors than it does to any of the Sunday funnies or the caped crusaders that ostensibly inspired it (and I should know, I have boxes and boxes of Batman and Justice League taking up space in my closets), The New Hopeville Comics begins as a light-hearted, tongue-in-cheek flight through crazy comic land, and ends up landing very much in the world we live in today, with a message so powerful (and delivered so powerfully) it brought tears to this reviewer’s eyes. For a storyline featuring Man of Steel-like Perfect Man and his trio of supervillains with the heavy-handed yet appropriate monikers Sex, Drugs, and Rockenroll, this three-act little super-hero song and dance piece turns out to be thrillingly deep. Featuring bravura acting performances, show-stopping dance numbers (choreographed by Ashley Adamek), and an ensemble that blends so well I think my heart actually skipped a beat several times, New Hopeville Comics is one of those rare pieces that can truly be called a theatrical gem.

Among the many fine performances were Chris Crittelli as the golly-gee-willikers goody-two-shoed Perfect Man, whose song-and-dance delivery of certain lines brought the house to tears of laughter; Aaron Phillips as Felix, the nerdy dare-I-say sidekick who quickly comes into his own after a hilarious sequence of events; and the amazing trio of Terren Wooten Clarke (Sex), Carl Conway Maguire (Drugs), and John Bennett (Rockenroll), who very nearly steal the show with their antics. There were more than a few Forbidden Broadway-like moments, such as Perfect Man trying to convince his gal Molly (played by Sarah Hayes Donnell) to stay with him while performing Chorus Line choreography, or when Felix leads the revolution in the second act marching in step and singing “One Day More”, but the villainous trio of Sex, Drugs, & Rockenroll manage to top everything with a vibrant number ending in a calypso (“a Calypso!?!”). Later, the villains lead the entire town’s populace in a raucous revelry that is so wrong it can only be right. Christine Dwyer as April, Molly’s later love interest, has a beautiful and powerful voice, which she gets to show off towards the end.

The production values were fantastic, with bright, colorful costumes (designed by Denise Schumaker) that stood out against the darker but still colorful set (designed by Steve Royal). The band (under the direction of Tim Matson) was rocking, and delivered Nate Weida’s score with aplomb. In fact, the only major criticism I have with the show is that the leads were not supported with microphones, so they were sometimes lost in the music and vocal power of the ensemble.

Quite possibly the best thing about The New Hopeville Comics is the message. What begins as a sinister refrain delivered by the villains early on in the show, “Rain On!” becomes a powerful message of hope. With a nod to everything from Rent’s “No Day But Today” to Eric Draven’s “It Can’t Rain All The Time” (from the film The Crow), from 110 Degrees in the Shade to Broadway's Hair, “Rain On!” empowers the disenfranchised to realize that times are hard right now for everyone, and that we need to do the best we can with our circumstances right now. For that we don’t need a super-hero, we just need ourselves. And maybe a little help from our friends.

Speaking of help from our friends, all proceeds from this production will be donated to Fountain House and the SJM Pediatric Transplant Foundation.

This Figaro/Figaro Hits a Few Flat Notes

When the name Figaro is invoked, it usually conjures images of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s magnificent opera The Marriage of Figaro, with its plush sets, sumptuous costumes, and powerful voices raised in song. The (re:) Directions Theatre Company’s production of Eric Overmyer’s Figaro/Figaro keeps the costumes, the names, and a dash of Mozart's music, but there is little else to recommend it to the discriminating theater-goer's eye. Billed as “the New York premiere of Eric Overmeyer’s adaptation of Beaumarchais’ The Marriage of Figaro and Odon von Horvath’s Figaro Gets a Divorce,” this more-than-a-mouthful is about as exciting as it sounds. When presenting adaptations of two different but connected plays as a single evening’s entertainment, a word of advice: make the second one shorter than the first. This can make the night more bearable. In the case of this production, there is not much else that could make it so. The actors did the best job they could on their shaky, very unsolid-seeming set, designed by Jack Blacketer. For the most part youthful and full of enthusiasm, they just could not overcome the inadequacies of Overmeyer's clunky, humorless script and Erin Smiley's stolid, unimaginative direction. The blocking was elementary and mechanical, with actors moving through their paces as if they had been told where to go, having no apparent objective other than that they had to keep moving. The set was symmetrically designed, but not in a good way; rather, it smacked of a lack of inspiration on the part of the designer, or a lack of resources on the part of the company. If it was indeed lack of resources, which is certainly believable in today’s economic climate, then the set was simply too ambitious, and could have used more of a minimalist touch. As it was, it featured four flimsy, evenly spaced arches that looked like they would topple over at the slightest touch, and a cut-out of majestic mountains in the background that did little or nothing to add to the ambience of the show, as well as a set of squeaky steps leading from the mainstage to a narrow upper level. There did not appear to be any rhyme or reason for where characters made entrances and exits, and having a split-level set seemed a sad waste when the upper level could not be worked into the show in a meaningful way, with the exception of a somewhat interesting tableau in the second half of the show.

Some of the performances were quite good, given the limitations imposed on the actors. Ralph Petrarca as the Count Almaviva was particularly interesting, having to rise above the shallow, womanizing stereotype of the first half of the play to become somewhat sympathetic in the second. Likewise, Gillian Wiggin as Figaro’s wife Susanna practically carried the first half of the show on her capable shoulders; unfortunately, as the play continued, she too succumbed to the onerousness of the direction (or lack of) and to the troublesome script. The rest of the company, while enthusiastic, for the most part just seemed to be making the best of a poor situation, happy to keep their heads above water when they could.

If there was any redeeming value to this production, it was in the costume design by David Withrow. The costumes were bright and colorful in the first act, giving way to more muted tones in the darker second act. They were well suited to both the actors and the characters, and were a welcome breath of fresh air in an otherwise stale production.

(re:) Directions means well. Unfamiliar with their earlier work, I hope this production is atypical and not an indication of the possibilities they may deliver in future works.

Scary Times Are Here Again...

So much of what defines terror can be summed up in one word: Atmosphere. Vagabond Theatre Ensemble’s production of The Wendigo, based on the story by Algernon Blackwood, has Atmosphere in spades. It is positively dripping in it, starting the moment you walk into the theater; from the dim lighting and snow crunching underfoot, to the air filled with smoke and spooky ambient sound, to the actor rocking back and forth onstage, clutching himself in what could be considered abject terror. The expectation established in those few minutes before the lights dim is that the audience is in for one roller-coaster thrill ride of a journey, and thankfully Vagabond delivers on their promise masterfully. The sound design was the first thing that really stuck out to this viewer. Designed by M.L. Dogg, the audience was subjected to creepy music, eerie ambient sounds, and sudden jolting noises in the best horror-film tradition. Combined with Brian Tovar’s brilliant lighting design, which really strived to do something a bit different from what one might expect, there was more than one moment of nearly jumping out of one’s seat.

The set was gorgeous, designed by Nicholas Vaughan, and evoked beautifully particular passages from the original story. The production was held together by projections created by Gino Barzizza, which not only served to fix the action in a particular time and place, but meshed all the other design elements nearly flawlessly. I say nearly, because the only thing that took me out of the play were the costumes, which were very pretty. Too pretty, in fact. Although costume designer Candice Thompson chose or built spectacular pieces, the pressed seams in the rugged adventurer’s pants kind of broke the illusion of these hardy men living out in the woods for several days, if not weeks. Everything was a little too clean, and could have used a bit of distressing, which can be understandably problematic with borrowed or rented costumes. Because of this, the piece that was the most believable was the ripped shirt belonging to the Native guide, Defago.

The play itself, written by Eric Sanders and directed by Matthew Hancock, was a fitting tribute to one of the masters of modern horror. The language flowed naturally, without having the stilted feel that some period pieces possess, and the actors seemed to relish every word. All of the performances were rock solid, with nary a weak link in the group.

The story is told in flashback, partly through the eyes of Simpson (played by Nick Merritt), a young man going on his first moose-hunting expedition in the wilds of Canada at the turn of the twentieth century. He is accompanied by noted anthropoligist Doc (played by Erik Gratton), and their two trackers and wilderness experts, Hank (played by Graham Outerbridge) and Defago (played by Kurt Uy). Without saying too much, the men get separated in the woods and things go horribly wrong.

Although there were a couple of unintentionally humorous moments (most notably when a particular sound effect and the manner in which a couple of the actors were standing made it seem like they were relieving themselves, which was even funnier later in the play when Hank actually is supposed to be relieving himself), the overall vision and artful staging by director Matthew Hancock was quite stunning. Since this is my first exposure to his work, and it was on the shorter side (coming in at about 45 minutes), I would like to see if he can sustain this sort of intensity over a longer period of time; I have a feeling I would not be disappointed.

There are far too few adaptations of the great writers that actually do them justice out there, so when one comes along it should be greatly lauded. The Wendigo is one of these plays that is truly inspires the viewer either to pick up a book and read a great work, or pick up a pen and create one. At the very least, it should inspire you to double-check your doors and leave a light on.