“Remember that one Thanksgiving when your nearest and dearest sat down for a quiet game of Monopoly, but then your grandma got drunk and revealed a rich tradition of inbreeding? Well, tonight should be something like that…except with a lot more vodka.”
Over the decades, the story of Cinderella has gone through many variant permutations: from the original publication of Charles Perrault's classic story in 1697; to Ever After, the film adaptation which was made some 300 years later and starred Drew Barrymore; Disney's animated version in 1950; and most recently, the studio's live-action remake this past year. Another version has found its way in downtown Manhattan at the Minetta Lane Theatre; it's given a certain burlesque twist as only Austin McCormick and his Bacchanalian band of misfits at Company XIV can provide. Following the success of their now-perennial holiday hit, Nutcracker Rouge (which first played at the Minetta Lane back in 2013 and will return again this November), as well as their seductive romp on unrequited romance, Rococo Rouge (which, in turn, premiered last year at a smaller venue in the East Village), XIV has quickly gained a strong following—and equally formidable presence in the downtown theater scene.
With their growing reputation, along with their flair for the fantastical, one can only wonder what they can do with a story like Cinderella. What they end up doing is what they've always done and done well: serve up that blend of opera, circus, vaudeville, cabaret and dance that has become unique to the XIV style. There are gender-bending performers onstage, dancing along to a hip, genre-bending soundtrack. There are thrilling dances, choreographed by McCormick himself, steeped in their now-signature baroque style. There are titillating costumes, set against equally fetishistic lighting and sets, each designed brilliantly by Zane Pihlstrom and Jeanette Yew, respectively. And while XIV certainly has developed their own stamp, stylistically—they are also not the kind to rest on their heavily-gilded laurels.
Here, they amp up other elements which have entertained audiences in the past—both their own, and the ones in King Louis XIV's own courts: that of comedy and farce. While we've seen shades of comedy in previous XIV productions (most notably in Jeff Takacs' and Shelly Watson's performances in both Nutcracker and Rococo), we've never seen it thrown under the spotlight in quite this way before. This is mainly due to company regular Brett Umlauf (last seen in Rococo) and XIV newcomer Marcy Richardson as the evil stepsisters, who—in lieu of an off-key "Sing, Sweet Nightingale" flute-off—participate in very, very high-pitched operatic duels and hilarious attempts at playing "Fur Elise" with glasses of water in-between acts. Also adding to the comedic mix is the always fabulous Davon Rainey as the Stepmother, whose vacillation between his double-act as the bizarro, 18th-century version of a "mom-ager" to the two sisters (Kris Jenner, eat your heart out), and a Mom-zilla to Cinderella is at once frightening and awe-inspiring—in the best way ever.
Grounding the comedy with XIV's unmistakable brand of seduction are the equally-captivating performances of company regulars Katrina Cunningham, Steven Trumon Gray and Allison Ulrich as The Fairy, The Prince and our heroine Ella, respectively. Eternally ethereal in both presence and voice, Cunningham is perfectly cast as The Fairy, lending an interesting sensuality to the role not often seen in other adaptations of the tale. Her entrance alone is a heart-stopping sight to behold, not unlike the one induced by the flamenco dance sequence in 2013's Nutcracker. Gray's own entrance is one more in keeping with Cinderella's comical tone, providing a great contrast to his masculine aerial performance. However, it is Ulrich as the titular Ella who not only shows emotional depth with a simple gesture, but also incredible physical prowess despite her charmingly diminutive frame (see: above left picture).
Once again, Company XIV proves their staying power, spreading their signature grown-up magic onto a childhood favorite. Their spin on Cinderella is rife with sumptuous desire at every turn: where the Fairy Godmother is no longer a bumbling elderly lady, but a beautiful young woman bedecked in gold; where the mice turn into the hottest footmen around and the courtiers partake in dances that veer more toward frequenters of the S&M underworld than the ballrooms of Versailles. However, in true XIV style, it never crosses the line over into vulgarity—but rather, revels in flirting with that very line. Perrault may have won our hearts over with his tale back in the day, but if this critic had her way, this Cinderella would dominate the fairy-tale canon. After all, what's a happy ending without a little bit of danger along the way?
Cinderella runs until Nov.15 at the Minetta Lane Theatre (18 Minetta Lane between MacDougal and 6th Ave.) in Manhattan. Performances are Tuesdays-Saturdays at 8 p.m. and Sundays at 5 p.m. The shows contain partial nudity: 16 and over are admitted. Tickets for Cinderella range from $40 to $65 with premium and VIP seating from $75 to $105. For more information about this and other Company XIV productions, please visit http://CompanyXIV.com.
Over the years, musical theater has certainly seen its fair share of romantic comedies—from 1970's Company to 2011's First Date—the concept of young people finding love onstage seems almost as ancient and time-honored a ritual as love itself. However, none seem to match the irreverent and brashy style of Level II Theatre's Love is Like Mud. Presented as part of the 2015 New York International Fringe Festival, at intimate downtown venue Drom, Mud sets itself apart as a delightful, fizzy romantic comedy "cocktail"—heavy on the comedy.
At the show's open, we meet lovelorn Jon (Gavin Rohrer), as he, following a recent breakup, laments to his parents about the merits of love. In an attempt to comfort his son, Marshal (Jay Liebowitz) memorably dispenses this piece of wisdom: "It's pliable, dirty. Love isn't like a diamond. It's more like...mud." With this thought in mind, Jon enters once more into the breach, braving the city streets alone in search of that messy thing called love—until, like a clod of dirt in the face, it finds him. In what could only be described as a "Missed Connections" advertisement come to life and set to music, Jon meets Anne (Taylor Kate Manns) after recognizing her from their regular commute home ("Same Spot Again"). He asks her out, and after the success of their first date ("Excellent Choice"), they embark on a relationship together. For a while, all is well and at the height of their time together, even Jon's parents get in on the act, prodding them about taking that "next step" in their relationship ("Grandkids").
Soon afterward, the "honeymoon goggles" come off and their seemingly-blissful phase starts to wane. In a complete turnaround, Anne begins to recount Jon's faults ("The Little Things") and Jon, for his part, soon develops that ever-dreaded roving eye ("Wanderlust"). The two eventually part ways, and at the instruction of their friends, drunken metal-head Angelo and yoga health-nut Maya (also played by Liebowitz and Elise Raynard, respectively), try playing the field ("Revolving Doors"). But as the saying goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder, and after bumping into one another at a farmer's market, Jon and Anna both realize that they're only stronger together ("Other Girls [The Only One Ever]").
As far as romantic comedies go, Mud doesn't stray too far from the pack, plot-wise. However, its clever coupling of onstage antics—particularly those concerning plush genitalia—and campy song lyrics provide a much-needed offbeat kick. Writer-director Benjamin Folstein's band, Level II, lends much of Mud's comedic flair through its catalog of original songs, which references influences from jazz to 90s pop-rock. Both lyrically and structurally, the songs do not follow the traditional musical theater format, presenting a unique take on the genre that is ultimately much fresher than the show's "dirty" name implies.
It is the aforementioned performances of the actors, however, which certainly add the "oomph" to the music's kick. As the two twenty-somethings at the center of the show, Rohrer and Manns demonstrate great chemistry with one another, both vocally and physically. The latter's solo performance in the middle of the show ("There You Are")—reminiscent of Karessa's solo in Jonathan Larson's Tick, Tick... Boom!, another off-Broadway hit— definitely brought the house down. For their part, Liebowitz and Raynard are the perfect foils to the more even-tempered lead duo, providing much of the show's comedic relief.
Love is patient, love is kind; but what they never tell you is that it's also kind of a hot mess. Folstein and Level II Theatre's Love is Like Mud gets down to the nitty-gritty of it all, while also gettin' down to some good, ol' fashioned rock 'n' roll. The music may not always feature pretty little love songs, but they still get to the heart of the matter. That is, after all, what love's about.
Level II Theatre's production of Love is Like Mud ran at the DROM (85 Avenue A between 5th and 6th Street) in Manhattan from August 15-29 at the New York International Fringe Festival. For more information about this production, visit www.loveislikemud.com.
If the walls of your high school bathroom could talk, they could probably tell you all you need to know about high school more than the halls ever could. While shy grazes between classes and aggressive shoves against the lockers can be very revealing about the high school experience, what is said behind closed doors—away from the hallway ruckus—can be just as illuminating. Under the pretty exterior is the ugly truth under the harsh light, and these revelations can differ depending on the person. In those few precious moments before class, in front of the bathroom mirror, every person is faced with the one thing that can be the difference between success and failure: themselves. Such moments provide the backdrop to Renée Roden's SHE, a production under Open Booth Theatre Company which explores the inner worlds of teenage girls, all within the confines of an actual bathroom located at Cristo Rey New York High School.
The third floor women's restroom is one which, despite its tiny space, signifies the oft-claustrophobic mind of a teenage girl. Indeed, from the moment one enters Cristo Rey, one is immediately inundated with images of various ways the media represents women, all plastered along the staircase walls leading up to the third floor landing. The claustrophobia sets in further once we are seated and left not only with a delayed, torturous silence, but also the silencing soundscape of our thoughts. As the title suggests, SHE centers around three female protagonists: the titular, intelligent She; the fun and gregarious Ryan, She's best friend; and Cassie, a talented ballet dancer and She's twin sister. In the privacy of the restroom, they worry about how their hair is behaving and whether they'll actually pass that AP Bio exam—and most importantly: whether any of them are going that party.
By all accounts and appearances, they seem like your average, everyday band of teenage girls. However, under the bright fluorescent light of their seemingly normal exterior world lies the stark harshness of their individual psyches. As each girl is left alone, we discover that while the three are vastly different, they each silently harbor the same problems. And interestingly enough, just as their personalities strike certain contrasts between them, so are each girl's ways of coping. She seeks solace in ritualistic perfection, reciting a mantra throughout the entirety of the play. Yale-hopeful Ryan finds comfort through numbers, made known through her use of a calorie-counting journal. Labyrinth-obsessed Cassie escapes through art—mainly dance, of course. "Everyone has to have somewhere that they go," she says at one point, as she does a private ballet solo to music from La Bayadère. "I think we all have one. A somewhere where we can go be by ourselves."
While the intriguing mention of a toilet-centric play definitely warrants a second glance, it is the powerful acting which completely leaves you in the play's thrall. Much of this is due to the strong performances delivered by the show's three leading ladies. Just as the play's three girls are living testaments of dichotomy, so are the three actresses. As She, Katherine Dudas walks the fine line between strength and vulnerability, a trait which makes itself known by play's end. For her part, Emily Dauer's Ryan balances her character's quippy one-liners with introspective observations about body image. Just like her character Cassie, Meaghan McLeod possesses a body of contradictions—at once both elegant and rough around the edges, in all her Bowie-inspired glory.
The small space also provides an interesting layer to the play's acting, with the actors not only periodically breaking the fourth wall, but also nearly "physically interacting" with the audience themselves. The lighting design utilizes dark, colored tones as the girls shift into their internal worlds, an effect that is powerful to watch. Similarly, the props design does an impressive job in suspending disbelief, by utilizing a few simple props to signify different locales such as the local Panera Bread and the house party. The use of music is equally important; songs such as John Mayer's "Your Body is a Wonderland" contrast with uptempo, Top 40s party anthems like Fifth Harmony's "Worth It," underscoring the play's recurring theme of appearances and society's pressures.
SHE examines the barriers between the private and the public selves—and whether a happy balance can be met. How many times have we tried to emulate that which isn't our actual self? Every day, as we are faced with these pressures, we often look to ourselves to blame. If we can lose that extra pound, make our lips plumper, or our hair silkier, we would stop hating the reflection staring back at us. However, it is only in looking outward and correcting society's standards instead that we can finally break through the barriers.
Open Booth Theatre Company's production of SHE ran at Cristo Rey New York High School (112 East 106th Street between Park and Lexington Aves.) from July 23 to Aug. 8. For more information on this and similar productions, visit http://www.openbooth.bpt.me.
Being a woman in a man's world is tough. Being a woman in Shakespeare's world? It's even tougher, as evidenced by Titan Theatre Company's latest offering, a production of the Bard's Othello featuring an all-female cast. In this new age of strong female characters—from film (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and The Hunger Games) to television (Orphan Black and Girls)—never has it been better to be a woman in the 21st Century. So, to see a stage fully comprised of women, and so many different women of shapes, colors and sizes, take on one of the Bard's most masculine works is indeed empowering. Since these differences add another layer to what is an already interestingly layered play; just as in Orphan Black (which recently began its third season on BBC America), we are privy to the many different ways in which women think—and ultimately act.
The start of the play finds Venice at war with Turkey. The titular Othello, general of the Venetian forces (also herein known as "The Moor"), has just married the beautiful and fair Desdemona, much to the dismay of her mother Brabantio, a well-respected senator. Meanwhile, as Othello sets off for Cyprus, her ensign Iago is incensed at being passed over for the promotion of lieutenant, a position given to Cassio. At this, Iago famously proclaims, "I hate The Moor," and this sudden anger and struggle for power sparks a fire within her, setting into motion a web of deceit—one which spins out of her control and ultimately entangles her by the play's tragic end.
While definitely not the first all-female production this critic has come across, to see this device thrust and juxtaposed into the dark underbelly and strong ensemble that has since become Titan's calling card, is a whole other experience altogether. It goes without saying that the entire plot of and within the play, rests on Iago's cunning, and Titan resident company actor Laura Frye (last seen as Regan in the company's production of King Lear earlier this season) takes this on with much aplomb. As she schemes her way into the others’ minds, Frye is both completely charming and deliciously devious, making her an Iago you love to hate.
As for The Moor herself, Othello—played by Los Angeles-based actress Leah Dutchin, one of several actresses making their Titan debut—starts the play as a voice of reason, demonstrating that rare combination of both strength and vulnerability, particularly in scenes with Desdemona. Of their love, Othello describes the purity with which they fell for one another: "She gave me for my pains a world of kisses.” This innocence about love gradually starts to wither and once Iago plants the idea of Desdemona's supposed infidelity into her ear, Dutchin’s Othello becomes all-at-once a torn lover driven mad by jealousy.
Also driven mad are Cassio and Roderigo, played by Abbey Siegworth and Leah Gabriel, respectively. Siegworth’s Cassio proves to be a formidable counterpart to both Frye’s Iago, as well as Dutchin’s Othello. Meanwhile, Gabriel is at once hilarious and tragic as the bumbling Roderigo, whose love for Desdemona is never reciprocated. For her part, Emily Trask’s Desdemona is a beautiful, perfect portrayal of a character which represents all that is pure and innocent; she is especially heartbreaking in her scenes with Deanna Gibson’s Emilia, wherein she sings. Her soft, angelic voice makes her violent end all the more tragic. The rest of the ensemble are just as strong, and it is clear in their onstage presence—particularly in the moments where they get drunk and sing, as well as the more action-packed sequences.
With all the intrigues Iago must manage between all the characters, one is reminded of the Mean Girls' culture: something which Jasmine Nicole’s minimalist scenic design—as well as director Lenny Banovez’s staging, use to their advantage. Every whisper of Iago's deceptive plan is heard by the other actors sitting among the audience, and it is this clever device which raises all sorts of feminist issues, including the all-too-familiar one of "girl-on-girl crime," as so famously put it in the Tina Fey-penned film. Providing a contrast to the estrogen-level—and interestingly heightening the signature masculinity of the play—are the girls’ costumes. Aside from Desdemona, who is draped in flowy blue fabrics to reflect her calm-as-the-sea vibe, most of the cast are decked out in military gear that would not be amiss in a post-apocalyptic dystopia, a la Hunger Games: Iago’s trenchcoat and Othello’s boots are among the looks most coveted by this critic. While there is no mention of a hair design credit, it must be said that the hairstyles sported by these ladies of the Shakes are certainly worth mentioning. From Iago’s awesomely complicated-looking braided faux-hawk to Desdemona’s cascading red locks, the girls were killin’ it—literally and metaphorically!
Exploring feminism through one of the Bard's most masculine plays is not daring, or perhaps even new: but it is vital. Why do women want to bring one another down? Such a question still lingers, even in the so-called progressive times we live in. In watching Othello, a play written 400 years ago, it is remarkable to see just how much has changed—and how much hasn't. Men have power; so do women. Men can just as easily fail to use that power; so do women. And it's clear that just as so many male Iagos have had their say, so too, do women.
Othello ran from April 17 to May 2nd at the Queens Theatre (14 United Nations Avenue South in Corona). For more information on this production, visit www.titantheatrecompany.com or www.queenstheatre.org.
For many Americans, the height of the Jazz Age undoubtedly reached its apex in the Roaring Twenties; particularly, when the Harlem Renaissance had both black and white night owls of the country flocking to the neighborhood's mysterious speakeasies and smoky basement-level dens for some of the best live music New York City had to offer. However, for playwright John Attanas, the very new, percussive sounds of jazz was only just beginning to find its groove, as the country moved into the early 1950s. Such is the world of Attana's newest work, All Gone West.
Set in post-war New York City, we meet Sam Samos (Joseph Robinson), a young and handsome war vet who learns about the fast-paced rhythms of the city—and of course jazz—from his fellow vet and black saxophone player Sonny Green (Jesse Means). Not long after settling in the city, Sam finds himself falling for Mary (Kristen French), a beautiful secretary at City College, whom he encounters one night when she walks into his bar with an older man, Joe (Glen Williamson), a professor at the college with alcoholic tendencies. They hit it off, and after Sam's persistence, Mary gives in and they begin a courtship, leaving Joe to his own devices.
The two lovebirds eventually marry despite their clear differences: Sam, an idealistic modern, is intent on one day opening his own jazz club, while Mary leans towards the conventional, with no high ambitions and generally happy with the lot she is given. These differences start to strain their marriage as Sam finally makes his dream come true, with the help of his friend Willie (Anthony Bosco), a fellow gambler whose questionable connections provides Sam's dream the financial help it needs. His club—christened The Blind Spot—starts off smoothly enough until Sam has trouble booking jazz acts that would draw crowds. He looks to Sonny, who by now has been approached with a record deal, but also has been nursing a drug addiction. As the bills start piling up, Sam desperately attempts to get by with some further help from Willie, as well as the hire of a prostitute (Kristen Booth). Ultimately, their business folds, and the two decide to follow the national pilgrimage West, where better—if only practical—prospects lay ahead.
Told in a magical realist-style, with the two lovers narrating between scenes, West's mood is evocative of the film noir genre that was popular during that era, and particularly called to mind films like Sweet Smell of Success and The Big Sleep. Just as the genre plays with contrasts, so does the thematic through-line of the play itself: the conventional versus the unconventional, new versus old. This is reflective not only in the fact that jazz inherently defies convention, but also in the differences between the characters—in particular, that of the ambitious Sam, and the content Mary. In their respective leading roles, both Robinson and French seem plucked straight out of the period. From the way Robinson's cool vibe to French's spot-on "New Yawk" accent, they embody stars of a bygone era. Cementing these solid performances were the supporting cast. Means' Sonny is confident and cool, yet belies a vulnerability. Another vulnerable portrayal was that of Williamson, whose alcoholic Joe displayed his weaknesses from the very beginning. Both characters each succumbed to their addictions, but their respective arcs are buoyed by the performances of both actors. Finally, Booth, whom perhaps had the most difficult task of the night, portraying multiple characters, also proved to be another strong presence onstage.
Also vital in setting the overall mood of the play was the presentation itself: the set designed by Andrew Diaz was naturally minimal in the modest performance space. Despite these limitations, the audience was nevertheless transported in time. Furnished by a simple brick wall structure, plastered onto which are various vintage posters, featuring advertisements for department store Gimbels and the Aqueduct racetrack. The use of various props—which include a dining table set and other pieces such as vintage glass soda bottles, newspapers and telephones—also help in differentiating between locales and situations. Nicholas Staigerwald's costumes added another dimension dressing the actors in various sartorial styles that were typically in vogue at the time, and worthy of any Modcloth shopper's envy today—particularly, a monochrome polka-dot one-piece bathing suit Mary dons towards the end. Of course, the element that perhaps had the most impact was the live jazz band, which brought to life the era in which the characters lived, and provided a romping soundtrack to the story.
A play about all kinds of losses—from the old to the new; the death of New York and the rise of the East Coast—All Gone West is certainly anything but your average show.
All Gone West ran from March 28 to April 18 at Teatro Circulo (64 East 4th St. between 2nd Ave. and Bowery). For more information on this production, visit the show's website: http://allgonewest.org/.
Back when I was in high school, my cousin and I made up an impromptu jazz-age musical called Loser: The Musical, wherein a lowly, poor broom boy (based on a broom boy at the local Dunkin' Donuts whom my cousin and her sister insisted I had a crush on — don't ask) falls in love with a rich girl he stumbles upon one day. As one could expect, there were cheesy numbers galore, with inclusion — of course — of the musical's title theme, "Loser," which our hero would sing forlornly as the rich girl drove away with her Also-Rich-But-Also-A-Jerk fiance.
If there's any theater company instantly able to capture a mood and entice the senses all in the course of one evening, it is undeniably Austin McCormick's Company XIV. The company, founded by McCormick in 2006, combines the high elegance of the late-18th century with the smoky jazz cabarets of the early-20th century to make for one divinely decadent romp. I had the pleasure of reviewing their previous outing, Nutcracker Rouge last year and of that show, I wrote the following: "McCormick’s choreography and staging displays a keen understanding of (and obvious passion for) aesthetics and perfectly captures the pulchritude of performance.
What do you get when you put together political scandal cover-ups, a villain who plots through songs, extremely flexible chorus boys, a family secret and a musical within a musical? Propaganda! The Musical. An official selection of the New York Musical Theatre Festival (NYMF), which ended July 27th, Propaganda! is one of 24 original new musicals showcased throughout NYMF's month-long run. The musical itself centers around a young man called Rookie, who takes over his grandfather's super-secret government bureau — with much hesitation — after Grandpa not-so-mysteriously dies from a cup of Starbucks coffee poisoned by his number two at the bureau, Agent X.
Nostalgia is a powerful thing — it connects us all to a collective memory, reminding us constantly of better days when we were, perhaps, our better selves. In the midst of the 2010s, when everything from our fashion to our music to even our social media outlets (hello, instagram) derives inspiration from a previous era in one way or another, it is interesting to note the ways in which we are exploring our past. The Mad Ones — which has made its mission to "investigate cultural memory and nostalgia" — are doing just that in their latest outing, The Essential Straight and Narrow, currently playing at the New Ohio Theatre (154 Christopher Street, Ste. 1E).
The play starts when we meet a woman named Jo (Stephanie Wright Thompson) on the set of what looks like a motel room. It is presumably the 1970s, and the movie script she is privately rehearsing is also presumably a cheesy 1970s cop drama. There is a record player in the corner and a bedspread in off-colors: shades of mustard yellow and burnt sienna, just in case you had any doubt when this play took place. The opening scenes start out with Jo practicing a phone conversation and immediately pull you in with humor as Thompson pulls practically every slapstick move known to man while managing to ground it in reality. A hard thing to pull off, and something Thompson does throughout the play with ease and grace. It is this very skill that endears the audience to her, which is important as we start delving in and out of her character's memory. Moments later, the scene with Jo at the telephone "dissolves" — theatrically, of course — into a memory, in a motel room not unlike the one she is playacting in just moments before.
Here, other characters emerge: there's the charming Miss Debbie (Marc Bovino), a transgender woman Jo befriends; Paul (Michael Dalto), the quiet guitarist to Jo's former music ensemble; and Gram (Joe Curnutte), the gruff and standoffish vocalist. With each recurring flashback, we see snapshots of the group's time together in the motel room: a friendly bout of "The $10,000 Pyramid," a Dia de los Muertos-themed arts and crafts session, a country-folk-rock rehearsal, a crazy Halloween party soundtracked by James Brown and local urban legends are just some of the antics they get up to over the course of the night. With Laura Jellinek's set design, as well as Mike Inwood's lighting, we completely become immersed in these scenes, however brief they may be. (Also noteworthy are Asta Hostetter's costumes, which also delight in the weird and wonderful fashions of the '70s. I mean, flared jeans with cowboy boots, anyone?)
Adding to the immersion are the actors themselves, displaying a natural rapport and believable ease in their exchanges, creating a voyeuristic feel to each scene. In their respective roles as Paul and Gram, both Dalto and Curnette provide more-than-sufficient support to Thompson, complementing her often self-conscious Jo with their characters' quiet self-awareness. As the vivacious Miss Debbie, Bovino steals more than a few scenes, not only leaving the party-goers in his thrall, but the audience, as well. Rounding out the cast is an equally scene-stealing ensemble; in particular, Blake DeLong as Barrett, a headdress-donning party crasher who not only steals scenes, but also booze, and — of course — "the new James Brown!"
Despite its title, the play isn't a "straight-shooter" — when it comes to dispensing information, instead opting to leave it up to the audience to come to their own conclusions. What this critic has come to conclude is that The Essential Straight and Arrow is less an examination and more an ode to our past selves and what we once hoped and dreamt. Just as Jo's past struggle as a musician is reflected in her "current" struggle as an actress, perhaps what we can glean from the play is the idea that we must look back to our past in order to journey on into the future. The road ahead might not be a straight shot into success, but perhaps it's the getting there that's worth looking forward to.
The Essential Straight and Arrow ran at The New Ohio Theatre (154 Christopher Street, Ste. 1E, between Greenwich and Washington Streets) in New York City until June 14. For more information, visit www.NewOhioTheatre.org.
"The younger rises when the old doth fall." So describes one of William Shakespeare's most dramatic plots to ever grace the stage. Based on ancient Celtic legend, the Bard's King Lear is considered one of the most tragic of his plays; its original intended ending had been altered for centuries up until the mid- to late-eighteenth century for this very reason. For many, the story is familiar: an aging king seeks to pass on his estate to the daughter who professes her love the most. However, the king goes mad by the betrayal and greed that quickly engulfs him. Titan Theatre Company's production, now playing at the Queens Theater, keeps this legend of King Lear alive with its signature contemporary take on the classic.
The company's King Lear is turned into an intense, action-packed conspiracy thriller; instead of the overthrow of a kingdom, here corporate greed reigns supreme. At the top of the ladder, undoubtedly, sits King Lear (Terry Layman) himself, with an array of characters on the lower rungs eagerly awaiting his downfall. Among them are his daughters, Regan (Laura Frye) and Goneril (Leah Gabriel), with their respective husbands Cornwall (John Taylor Phillips) and Albany (Greg Oliver Bodine), in tow. Upon Lear's announcement that his estate shall go to whomever amongst his daughters declares her love the most, the two scheming daughters immediately shower him with excessive flattery, eager for a share in the estate. When it comes time for Cordelia (Susan Maris) to speak, she refuses to act as her sisters do, opting a more honest approach in regards to professing her love. This upsets the old king, who decides to disown Cordelia and divide the share between his two other daughters. Meanwhile, Gloucester's (Michael Selkirk) illegitimate son, Edmund (Tristan Colton), resenting his status, seeks vengeance upon Edgar (Brendan Marshall-Rashid). He composes a letter which is sent to their father, leading Gloucester to think Edgar is plotting against the estate. The string of events which follow lead to various acts of betrayal, greed, madness and cold-blooded murder.
Like many of their previous productions (such as their off-Broadway-bound Midsummer Night's Dream, reviewed here), Titan's King Lear is a perfect amalgamation of the classic and modern. Jasmine Nicole Roberts' ethereal and abstract set design contrasts against the blunt lines of Scott Frost's suit-and-tie costumes for many of the principal characters. The black-and-white motif which runs through the two production elements — from the curtains to their costumes — is an interesting way to represent the world of King Lear, which is not so cut-and-dry, and in which there are many gray areas in terms of friend versus foe. There are instances of pops of color, many for symbolic use: both Regan and Goneril can be seen wearing blue blouses, as opposed to Cordelia's plain white; ensemble members of the cast (such as Kent and Edgar) are decked out in more earthy colors. Other design elements such as Weston G. Wetzel's lighting and sound design make already powerful scenes all the more dramatic. In addition, the idea of various company members doubling as stagehands and changing set pieces between scenes is an effective device that should be used more often in the theater. If scenes in real life changed as as dramatically as they did in King Lear, then real life would definitely be more interesting.
It is Titan's ensemble, as evidently demonstrated in A Midsummer Night's Dream earlier this season, that remains a strong presence onstage — as a group and individually. Layman's Lear was anything but one-note; he was humorous, commanding and moving to watch and when he met his tragic end, you felt his sadness, too. As his scheming daughters, Frye and Gabriel were deliciously devious, and played great foils to Maris' forthright but loving Cordelia. As Edmund, Colton gave off a rebellious edge opposite Marshall-Rashid's equally noteable performance as the wronged brother. Other honorable mentions include R. Scott Williams as the wonderfully flamboyant and witty Fool, and Brad Makarowski as the gallant Kent.
If everyone's downfall played out with as much suspense and thrill as it does in Titan Theatre Company's King Lear, then we should all be glad to go — honor still intact, and guns ablazing.
King Lear is playing at The Queens Theatre (14 United Nations Avenue South) in Flushing Meadows Corona Park until May 11. For tickets and more information about this production, visit www.titantheatrecompany.com or www.queenstheatre.org.
Nothing is stronger than a mother's love. This idea is explored and challenged in Charlotte's Song, an abstract performative piece conceived and choreographed by Nancy Ferragallo and co-directed by Andreas Robertz and Mario Golden. The piece tells the story of a mother and daughter's inextricably-linked fate as it is played out in the presence of a doll. Throughout the play, we learn of the mother's descent into psychological turmoil and its effects on her daughter. Over the years, Hannah and her daughter, Charlotte (played by Mario Golden and Yvette Quintero, respectively) keep in touch through letters, all of which are read aloud as a separate, lone figure steps out of the shadows.
Religious themes are nothing new in theater; this is an art form, after all, that has boasted the likes of Jesus Christ Superstar and Godspell as product of such themes. At the Gene Frankel Theatre this past Easter Sunday, religion once again took center stage with a production of August Strindberg's To Damascus, Part I. The first of Strindberg's trilogy, On the Road to Damascus, is under the helm of the August Strindberg Repertory Theatre. The company, which holds a residency at the Frankel, was founded in commitment to keeping Strindberg's work alive through productions, particularly of his lesser-known plays.
Like all biblical fables, Damascus begins and ends at the same place: a lonely corner on the streets of Harlem in the early 1960s. Here, we meet our story's unlikely hero, only known as The Stranger (DeSean Stokes), an Amiri Baraka-like wandering writer figure. On the verge of a spiritual crossroad, he meets The Lady (Kersti Bryan), the wife of a childhood friend known as The Doctor (Victor Arnez), whom The Stranger had wronged in the past. Sent by her husband to lure the wanderer into their home, The Lady soon finds herself spellbound by the tortured writer and his ideals. They arrive at The Doctor's house shortly thereafter, only to have their host slip a rather unhealthy dose of LSD into The Stranger's drink, prompting horrific hallucinations. Subsequently, the young couple seek refuge in a cottage in the woods, where her mother (Victoria Blankenship) and grandfather (Allen Kennedy) reside. Distrustful of The Stranger their progeny has brought into their home, they pronounce a curse upon him. This ultimately drives him into madness, and he wakes up to find himself in what seems like a convent, only to later find out it was an asylum.
Throughout the play, each scene is punctuated with blackouts, perhaps in an effort to signify the different "stations" the youthful hero visits. Modeled after the station dramas of the Medieval era, Strindberg's expressionistic trilogy is rife with religious symbolism, both in its dialogue and characters. However, despite its updated time setting, the production seems to get lost in its own ambitions; it does not find a way to properly reconcile the play's religious themes with the tumult of 1960s America. After all, in the wake of the likes of James Baldwin and Ralph Ellison, it is a time period that seems right for the story of an unnamed pilgrim of sorts in search of redemption and truth. Certain aspects of the production feel right, such as music from the period, which punctuate each scene's start and finish. Donna Miskend's projections of impressionistic images and Angelina Margolis' sets both effectively paint an image of the various stations the nameless Stranger and his mistress visit. All the elements are there, yet they do not coalesce into a singular cohesive vision, and this is the production's flaw.
The show's own redemption lay in its performers; Stokes makes a strong leading man, believable as a young thinker on the verge of madness and plays against leading lady Bryan well. The rest of the ensemble deliver equally memorable performances, particularly Blankenship and Arnez in their respective roles as The Mother and The Doctor. Still, despite the praise-worthy performances, it was not enough to prevent one to seek salvation elsewhere.
To Damascus is running until May 11 at the Gene Frankel Theatre (24 Bond Street between Bowery and Lafayette Street) onThursdays through Saturdays at 8 p.m. and Sundays at 1:30 p.m. Tickets are $18 for general admission and $12 for seniors and students. For tickets, call 212-868-4444 or visit www.smarttix.com.
For some, loneliness is a subject better left to the existentialists. For Concrete Temple Theatre, it is a subject worth exploring. In Alone in Triptych, the company's production for the SubletSeries at HERE Arts Center, we meet three seemingly disparate characters, whose lives are slowly revealed to be more connected than at first glance. The play (which may just as well be called Alone, in Triptych) is very much an examination of loneliness, and its power to connect those yearning to, well, connect. Written by Renee Philippi, Alone in Triptych is an abstractly-rendered and lyrical piece of theater. As the title suggests, Triptych presents a series of snapshots in the lives of three characters — our first glimpse of whom is at the show's opening. The trio stand in an nondescript location, described in the script as "a dense, forest-like place...where confusion and angst live. The air is alive; it is thick, electric, anxious." There is Leann (Vera Beren), a middle-aged musician in Eastern New Jersey; then, at an army base in Bavaria we meet Lori (Catherine Porter), whose sergeant husband routinely abuses and exploits her. Finally, there is Remi (Michael Tomlinson) in the Forest of Bowland in Lancashire, England. They are each separated by distance but connected by fate.
The story, which weaves in and out of each character's scenes seamlessly, takes a literally heart-pounding turn when the police show up in her driveway, on the lookout for Leann's boyfriend, Sean, whom she had brought with her to her home in New Jersey, presumably to meet the parents. As the story unfolds, we begin to see that each person is a prisoner of their own solitude. We revisit Leann, who discovers that Sean is charged with raping a young teenage girl. We then move on from the horror of this revelation to Lori, who meets a stranger. Here, she provides some much-needed comic relief with some witty lines about her sexual past — but the humor dissipates all too soon when her new friend, offended with her candor, reveals that his daughter had been raped in the very park in which they sit. Rounding out the third in the triptych of scenes is Remi, who has kidnapped his childhood friend's 12-year-old daughter and brought her to the forest.
The production design of the play provides just as abstract a landscape as the characters in it. It is a world that is vast and sprawling, spanning continents and cultures; yet is so individual to each of the characters. In helping to bring the play's dark themes to life are scenic designer Carlo Adinolfi and sound designer Vera Beren. In dressing the small black box in which the play was performed, Adinolfi kept the stage sparse, in keeping with the imagery of the wilderness. Beren does a great job of punctuating Philippi's poetic prose and conversely painfully tense silences with booming noises off-stage throughout the show. Stefan Hagen's projections of a bird flapping its wings are reminiscent of watercolor artwork, engulfed in bleak, cloudy colors — perhaps representative of the characters' yearning to escape the murky emotional waters in which they are held captive.
While the play's ending felt unresolved, perhaps this is Philippi's intention — that nothing in our lives is ever truly resolved; that we are all in one way or another held captive in our solitude. And yet, in knowing this, we are never alone.
Alone in Triptych ran from March 13–30 in a limited engagement at HERE Arts Center (145 6th Avenue) in New York City.
What do you get with a play that infuses all the elements of a classic farce with a modern soundtrack and an all-female cast? You get complete and utter hilarity. Much of this hilarity is owed to the wit of English playwright Aphra Behn, known to many as one of the first female dramatists and therefore a key figure of Restoration-era theater. Who better to mount a modern production of one of Behn's most ridiculously raunchy plays, Sir Patient Fancy, than all-female troupe The Queen's Company? Founded in 2000 by director Rebecca Patterson, the company is dedicated to introducing classic works to a contemporary audience through the use of gender-blind casting.
It is the late 1600s in England, a time when fiscal inequity meant marrying for money, and not for love. As a result, in the director's words, "all hell breaks loose and hearts get broken." Sir Patient Fancy, though written in the 17th century, feels a lot like something one would read in today's gossip rags: Lady Fancy is married to the titular Sir Patient Fancy, but really fancies Charles Wittmore, who is friends with Lodwick Knowell, who is in love with Isabella Fancy, who is betrothed to Sir Fainlove who actually is Charles Wittmore. Needless to say: the plot thickens and madness ensues, with a lot of laughs along the way. In a modern-day context, Behn's female characters here are not passive pretty little things, but rather active, doing most of the scheming. This is made even more interesting with an all-female cast, where the men answer to the women.
As for the actors themselves, their onstage antics are well-timed, comedic perfection. The distinct personalities of Behn's characters combined with the irreverent kookiness of each cast member creates a bubbly atmosphere not unlike the fizzy champagne one would have in Sir Patient Fancy's court (if one had time to drink in the midst of all that scheming and meddling). The pacing and delivery of lines is never tired, maintaining a consistent rhythm, much of which is due to the company's evident chemistry with one another. One pairing with such notable chemistry is that of Tiffany Abercrombie and Elisabeth Preston, who play Lady Fancy and Wittmore, respectively. Each complemented the other with quick and natural ease; their expressions and mannerisms only helped to heighten the comedy in which they were immersed. Other standouts include Virginia Baeta as the bumbling but eager Sir Credulous Easy and Natalie Lebert as the clueless Sir Patient Fancy himself. While Matthew J. Fick's set design maintains the play's classic roots, Kristina Makowski's costumes are a fusion of both modern and period elements, providing the perfect visual representation of the company's performative style.
Boasting a chuckle-enducing, genre-bending soundtrack and a plot with more twists than a daytime soap opera, it is clear that The Queen's Company has put their own unique stamp on classic Restoration comedy with Sir Patient Fancy.
Sir Patient Fancy runs from March 15 – April 5 in a limited engagement at the Wild Project (located at 195 East 3rd Street between Avenue A and Avenue B). Performances are Wednesdays-Saturdays at 8 p.m. and Sundays at 3 p.m. Tickets are $18 and can be purchased online at www.queenscompany.org or by calling 1-866-811-4111. Tickets are 2-for-1 on Wednesday nights.
What happens when a god falls down to Earth and a mortal ascends to the heavens? You get one of the most enduring stories of love wrapped in a myth — Cupid and Psyche, a story from Apuleius's Metamorphoses, which was recently presented by Turn to Flesh Productions at TBG Theatre (312 West 36th St.). Under the helm of playwright and artistic director Emily C.A. Snyder, the theater company re-contextualized a classic legend about Cupid's fabled experience of the trials and agony of love.
We first meet the titular God of Passion when his mother Aphrodite (Goddess of Love) notices the hearts of men are turned away from her and towards Psyche, a mortal woman who would not love. The goddess urges her son Cupid (also known as Eros) to put a spell on her so as to win the world back to love. Determined to carry out his mission, Cupid swoops down to Earth with an arrow poised on Psyche. However, the winged archer soon finds himself falling for the mortal being and kisses her. This riles the gods and before Cupid knows it, he has killed Adonis. As punishment, he walks the Earth as The Beast, forced to kill all lovers in his path, forever searching in vain for Pysche's heart.
Playing gods and mortals is itself not an easy task and only one that Turn to Flesh could achieve with an energetic ensemble: charming leading man James Parenti as Cupid; Erin Nelson as the cerebral Pysche; Kelly Laurel Zekas and Laura Iris Hill as scheming sisters Livia and Dareia, respectively; the sensuous Laura Hooper as Aphrodite; Stan Buturla as their regal father Thanos; Patrick Marran as the confused Chrysos; as well as Parker Madison and Gwenevere Sisco as the deliciously devious duo, Adonis and Persephone. This eclectic cast of characters helped flesh out what those unfamiliar with the mythological texts would view as ancient relics, truly carrying them into the 21st century.
Indeed, it was this vision of modernizing an old fairy tale that even carried over into their costumes. Costume coordinator Emily Rose Parman injected some anachronistic flair into the earth-bound Gods' apparel. For the Goddess' self-proclaimed "rags," Parman had Aphrodite donning lots of lingerie-inspired shift dresses, as well as sexy camisole-and-shorts nighties — replete with a matching silk robe, of course. As Goddess of Death, Persephone was in full-on Victorian dress, with a Gothic twist, making her seem like something out of a production of Sweeney Todd. The mortal lovers wore contemporary clothing, as did Gods Adonis and Cupid: the former in a bomber jacket, wallet chain and heavy boots that would make any punk rocker proud; the latter, dressed simply (as any respectable Winged-Archer-God would), in a streamlined, hipster jacket and jeans combo that would not be amiss in ol' Billyburg. As for young Psyche, she sported free-flowing dresses throughout — ensembles that looked modern, and yet also recalled the simplicity and elegance of Ancient Greek dress.
Furthering the play's modern twist was the music, which punctuated each act with a sweeping, guitar-driven indie soundtrack. As for the staging, Michael Hetzer's multi-purpose two-story set-up represented the worlds of the Gods and the Mortals: upstairs, not only provided entrance for various characters — God or Mortal — but also represented Heaven later on. Similarly, downstairs were the grounds that stood in for the gardens where Cupid and Psyche would meet, which also later provided Persephone's domain, Hades' Underworld. Though simple, the set looked as if it did not coalesce with the play's romantic themes. However, this is more than made up for in Zephan Ellenbogen's beautiful light-bulb fixtures and lighting cues, which were moody and stark, especially during the Underworld scenes in the play's latter half.
They say "love is blind," and this much is true in the case of Cupid, a God who fell for a mortal. As Turn to Flesh's production shows, sometimes falling in love is worth all the pain. If there's anything the story Cupid and Psyche has given us, it is the gift of forever reminding us of the perpetuity of love and its ability to make every one of us — even a God — fallible.
Cupid and Psyche opened at the TBG Theatre (312 West 36th Street) ran from February 13-16. For more information, visit TurnToFlesh.com.
If you were born or grew up in the mid- to late-1980s, chances are the names Blanche, Rose, Dorothy and Sophia will strike in you a very nostalgic cord. When the four Miami-based retirees known as The Golden Girls debuted in 1985, they immediately became a hit with their post-menopausal, cheesecake-slicing antics. From the ditzy, air-headed Scandinavian Rose to the wonderfully saucy and sex-driven Blanche, it wasn't hard to laugh along with these Girls. The show ran for only seven seasons (practically a lifetime by today's standards), but it made an indelible mark on American pop culture; Thank You For Being a Friend, which is currently running at the Laurie Beechman Theatre is definitely evident of the sitcom's impact. The musical parody features an all-male cast as the Golden Girls themselves with music and lyrics by director Nick Brennan.
Here, the names are slightly different: Blanche is now Blanchet; Rose is Roz; and Dorothy and Sophia are Dorothea and Sophie. Despite the slight changes, the rest of the show is still in keeping with the original television comedy — from the dialogue to the overall episodic tone. Indeed, at the show's start, we find Blanchette (with binoculars in hand and her booty out to the audience, of course) snooping on the new neighbors next door. The other ladies soon make their entrances into the kitchen, and we learn that their new neighbor is actually none other than Latino pop star Ricky Martin (played by Adrian Rifat).
As dinner theater entertainment goes, Thank You For Being a Friend makes for a super fun night out. Each of the cast members have their share of the stage. Chad Ryan as Blanchet is spot-on, and both Luke Jones and John de los Santos are hilarious as the mother-daughter duo. However, it is Brennan as the naive but sweet Roz and Adrian Rifat as the pop star has-been that completely steal the show. Brennan doing Betty White's "aw shucks" mannerisms and Rifat's entrance with Ricky's signature "prayer hands" were hilarious.
As a group, they complement one another very well and seem to have an intricate knowledge of the others' rhythms, which only further helped the comedy along. Also bringing on the funny were the songs, among which were revampings of old showtunes, as well as originals written by Brennan. Some examples include "All That Jizz," an obviously classy homage sung by Ricky; "Roz's Turn," in which Roz proclaims her right to Shady Oaks fame; "Sex Changing," in which Dorothea goes through some, er...changes; and the oh-so-catchy finale, "Miami."
Of course, one cannot write about a musical set in the '80s without talking about the clothes. The costumes by Jessa-Raye Court are absolutely fab in all their shoulder-padded glory. At one point, the girls do away with the talent show doldrums with some good old-fashioned retail therapy ("Fab Fads") with...what else? A fashion show with cardboard outfits and sequins. As for the set design, much of which revolved — literally — around a couple of multi-purpose panels, behind which was where all the mind-boggling quick changes took place (seriously, the cast of Broadway's Cinderella would even be impressed). The stagehands even donned as golden-aged girls themselves with wigs and tacky pantsuits.
If you're in for some great food, drink and some raucous laughter, then you'll love Thank You For Being a Friend. It will not only make you pine for the good old days of over-sized blazers and the "Latin Invasion" of '99 (a moment of silence please), but it will make you remember that aside from the fashion blunders and questionable musical taste, not all of it was bad. So head down to the Laurie Beechman Theatre and walk down memory lane — it'll make your life less of a, well...drag!
Thank You For Being a Friend is playing at the Laurie Beechman Theatre (which is located inside West Bank Cafe at 407 West 42nd St.). Evening performances are Wednesdays at 7 p.m., and Fridays, Feb. 28, March 14 and 28 at 10 p.m. with added shows Saturday, March 8 at 7 p.m. and Thursday, March 27 at 7 p.m. Tickets are $20 (plus a $15 food/drink minimum) and available at 212-352-3101 or Spincyclenyc.com.
In The Window, Marta Mondelli makes a compelling debut as both playwright and one-third of the piece’s ensemble. It’s a play that while rooted in the writer’s love for classic cinema is much less a locked-room mystery, and instead becomes more of a study of the time and its effects on women. With shows like Mad Men in the mainstream, we have all been inundated by iconic images of the mid- to late-1950s: a picturesque suburb; housewives in homes decked out with all the modern conveniences; and of course, all the advertising that came along with this new modern lifestyle. Basically, the very product of what was then a new industrial boom. However, while baking apple pies and being a homemaker like Donna Reed on acid may seem like a walk in the park compared to today’s modern-working woman, appearances can often be deceiving, as Mondelli further explores.
At the start of the play, we meet Eva (Cristina Lippolis), a young twenty-something who was recently jilted at the altar and has since spent what was to be her honeymoon working as a taste tester of sorts for a soda company. As Tester Number 52, we watch Eva read her manual and look up various possible side effects of the experiment. However, the side effects would ultimately end with not only physical repercussions, but psychological as well. Throughout the duration of the play, Eva starts noticing suspicious activities outside her courtyard-facing window and begins to believe that a neighbor has been murdered. Skeptical of these supposed strange disturbances is Eva’s aunt Nora (playwright Mondelli), twice-married Park Avenue socialite who is staying in the apartment to keep her niece company.
What's intriguing about The Window was not only the feel of 1950s New York as soon as one enters the Cherry Lane Theatre's performance space (scenic designers Nicholas Biagetti and Pedro Marnoto cleverly put up a laundry line by the aisle seats, which hit you overhead just as find your seat), but also the thematic content itself. While there were certainly cinematic elements such as the use of the fourth wall as the titular window in question, the play felt more akin to some of the great literature that came out of that time — particularly, J.D. Salinger's Franny and Zooey, in which a young girl suffers a breakdown. While Eva is certainly down the road to a breakdown herself, she appears to be holding onto a certain idea of womanhood she has been taught to attain for herself in the form of marriage. Nora, on the other hand, clearly despising the small "window" of time a woman is expected to enjoy her life, often proclaims to leave her wealthy husband for a humble and much younger writer, Bill (Scott Freeman). Thematically, this is effortlessly tackled throughout the play, most notably in Mondelli's dialogue. For instance, when referring to the pair of canaries left behind by Eva's ex-husband-to-be Spencer, Nora says to her: "They're birds: they were never meant to be caged." At this point, one can only wonder if it's only the birds she's talking about.
When a time period serves as another character as it does here, one has to expect it reflected in the look and feel of the entire production. As previously mentioned, the set design appeared historically accurate; short of acquiring an actual vintage Frigidaire icebox (which instead was painted onto a sepia-colored backdrop), the bottles of soda and canned goods handled by Eva seemed right out of the period, which added an authenticity to the production. Also adding a '50s touch are exquisite costumes (Nora's shift dresses and stylish trench coat), but also provided some interesting symbolism (Eva's yellow dress mirroring the yellow of the "caged" canaries.)
As for the actors, Lippolis' Eva moves with the grace of a ‘50s-era starlet, She is more than believable for her character's reserved, polite girl-next-door demeanor. In fact, she is perfect: from the way she moves across the room to the way she sips her soda, to even her diction – everything about her seemed like she jumped out of a black-and-white film and into our own Technicolor world. To think for a second that she might be like every tech-savvy twenty-something out there seems just as unlikely as the murder committed out of her window. As her aunt’s young lover Bill, Freeman too seems a man out of time, exuding a presence that recalls that of a young Marlon Brando a la A Streetcar Named Desire. To say that he holds his own against his female counterparts would be an understatement; he gives more to the character than what he has been given, and it is unfortunate indeed that Bill isn't explored more as a character. However, it is Mondelli herself who steals the show with her feisty and fabulous Nora. She has a dazzling presence onstage, as bubbly as the champagne she laps up and at once witty and surprisingly observant.
If you love old movies just as much as Mondelli does, than you'll delight in the subtle references the play makes. However, for fans who not only enjoy period drama, but love to reflect on its history, The Window is definitely a treat.
Entering the Minetta Lane Theatre last Saturday night for Nutcracker Rouge, I was not quite sure what to expect. I first heard of Company XIV just two years ago and soon became familiar with their growing reputation for borrowing from multiple performative traditions and taking them to another level. The company, brainchild of art director/choreographer/founder Austin McCormick, is an acclaimed multidisciplinary troupe whose unique blend of jazz, opera, vaudeville, burlesque and old-time theatrics have been shaking up the theater scene since its founding in 2006.
According to the old adage, “love is blind” – so goes the premise behind Shakespeare’s classic play, A Midsummer Night’s Dream. The Titan Theatre Company’s production expands this idea with the concept of a sort of “blind” casting – that is, having eight of the nine actors’ roles chosen for them by the audience before every performance. Through this method, the notion of love as something that does not discriminate is quite literally put on display and brought to the forefront in ways possibly never before seen with the play. The results, with the company’s talented cast, is a romantic comedy like no other.
For the uninitiated, A Midsummer Night’s Dream tells the tale of a group of young lovers, a pair of which – Theseus, duke of Athens and Hippolyta, queen of the Amazons – are about to embark on their upcoming nuptials. The rest of the lovers find themselves in a love triangle (or perhaps, a love square), as Demetrius pines for Hermia, who is betrothed to Lysander, while Helena yearns for Demetrius’ affections herself. In the midst of all this, a play is scheduled for the wedding celebrations by a group of simpletons: Quince, a carpenter; Flute, a bellows-mender; Snout, a tinker; Snug, a joiner; and Bottom, a weaver. Rounding out this eccentric cast of characters are the creatures of the wooded forests in which much of the action takes place: Puck (also called Robin Goodfellow), a mischievous hobgoblin; his master of sorts, Oberon, king of the fairies; his queen, Titania; and her attendant, Peaseblossom.
It is through Oberon and Titania’s quarrel over the possession of an orphan boy that the plot thickens, as the Fairy King orders Puck to use a flower with magical properties in order to make Titania fall in love with a beast, so as to pluck the orphan from her ownership while she’s in her daze. The two conspirers also happen to witness Helena pursuing Demetrius in the woods, and Oberon orders Puck to cast Demetrius under the spell of the charmed flower. However, while the task of distracting Titania is successfully done (as she falls for Bottom, turned into a donkey after the group’s rehearsal in the woods), Oberon discovers that Puck has mistakenly made Lysander, not Demetrius, fall in love with Helena. So ensues madness of comedic proportions.
Shakespearean actors are often lauded not only for their ability to decipher and interpret the Bard’s language, but also for their sheer ability alone. They are often classically trained, and as such are able to embody these characters and present them to a modern audience with ease and grace. The cast of this production is no exception – in fact, they far exceed all the usual qualities of a Shakespearean actor, given the task thrown at them. The unique casting process challenges each of the eight actors (the character of Puck is always played by the same actor; in this case, by Matthew Foster) to memorize all 16 roles in the play.
While confusing at first, as some of the female roles were played by men and vice versa, switching things up with the casting only helped to further heighten the comedy and eventually made for a great night at the theater. Each actor was given a track of double roles, and each one was astounding in their grasp of each character. Jonathan Matthew Finnegan was wonderfully flamboyant and ever as the scorned lover of Helena (he also played fairy Peaseblossom), while Sean Hudock was adorable in his roles as the romantic Hermia and shy, cowardly Snug. Though perfectly capable as Lysander, it was Lloyd Mulvey’s take on Flute that garnered much laughter, particularly during the “Pyramus and Thisbe” scene. One of the production’s taglines was: Who’s your bottom tonight? – and this night’s Bottom, played by Emily Trask, was the highlight of the evening, as she managed not only to make the audience cry with laughter, but also induce chuckles from her fellow cast mates.
The casting process also gave way to an interesting reinterpretation of the costumes. As no one knew beforehand which roles they were to play, the cast was first introduced to us wearing “uniforms” of white dress shirts and black slacks. Once cast in their roles for the night, their individual costumes were adjusted, with the women wearing skirts and sashes, and the men wearing sweaters and blazers over their outfits. For the lovers, costume designer Scott Frost had each pair wearing corresponding colors, a clever way for the audience to figure out whose true love belongs to whom.
As for the set design, the production went for a minimal yet elegant set befitting a fantastical play such as this, featuring a simple stone-like platform, replete with bits of shrubbery. Alan Pietrowicz’s lighting, most of which consisted of a neon-colored fixture along the back wall (which would change color depending on the scene), as well as overhead lighting, which would dim in order to signify the transition from day into night and therefore setting the tone for the lovers’ trysts in the forest.
The Titan Theatre Company’s rendition of A Midsummer Night's Dream is one that will leave you entranced and thoroughly entertained. With a clever reimagining and talented cast, this is one dream you won’t want to wake up from.
A Midsummer Night's Dream is playing at The Secret Theatre (4402 23rd Street in Long Island City) until November 3, 2013.
