I saw something, and I'm saying something: Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (?)

Macbeth
directed by Adrianne Krstansky
Presented by the Actor's Shakespeare Project

True, I talk of dreams,

Which are the children of an idle brain,

Begot of nothing but vain fantasy,

Which is as thin of substance as the air

And more inconstant than the wind…

If there ever was to be a “dream” production of Macbeth, this is the stuff of it. Full of haunting images that stay with the audience long after the show ends, and plot points that get lost in the fever minutes after they are revealed, it seems as though the Actor’s Shakespeare Company has been so focused on their casting, interpretation, and process that they forgot one thing; the story.

It started off on a promising note, with the three Witches (played with potency and spark by Denise Cormier, Bobbie Steinbach, and Jessica Kochu) meeting amid the linoleum and lamps of Susan Zeeman’s set. The three Weird Sisters became a highlight of the production; a periodic pulse in an otherwise uncharacteristically weak showing. But as soon as these bubbles of the earth vanished, the audience was left with somewhat of a mess to deal with.

With all the discussion that Ben Everett’s written introduction implies, you’d think the company would have decided if they were going to play the roles as women or as men. Anna-Alisa Belous’s rag-tag parade of skirts, leather corsets, and boots don't indicate either gender too strongly, and the performances rarely add any illumination on the subject. Marya Lowry in the title role is surely scary enough (and man enough, I suppose), with her gaunt expression and wide eyes, but she is stiff, both physically and emotionally throughout the production. Her Thane stalks the strangely oriented playing-space barking h(is/er) lines the entire duration of (what’s left) of the story, with no sense of ark. Here both the Macbeths seem loony straight off the bat. And although Lowry’s interpretation was a little too gruff for me, next to the usually consistent Paula Plum’s Gold Dust-worthy Lady, it was a minor inconvenience. I’ve found myself a fair-weather fan of Plum’s, but realize that she is much better suited to the classic comedies (All’s Well That Ends Well) and more brittle, contemporary roles (The Goat and Miss Witherspoon) than high drama and tragedy. Her Lady Macbeth reminded me of my first hesitant experience with her as the odd woman out in the ART’s 2006 No Exit; both roles found her unable to dull her sometimes campy delivery to match her fellow actor’s, making her stick out like a screechy thumb.

And although a handful of the supporting cast turns in some astute performances, it really isn’t their job to redeem a play from its inadequate leads. Steinbach balances her delicious hag of a witch with a bawdy, ball’s out (can I even say that?) Porter, and even gives her strangely New-Age Duncan the sympathetic air he needs. Jacqui Parker brings the heat as a transfixingly butch Banquo, although her way with gender is wasted, and even out of place, in the sea of infertile and impotent performances. The direction gave the audience a few tidbits to chew on; most notably the recurrence of a chalice to commemorate a crowning or deal (dare I suggest a reference to Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code revelations?), and a shadow puppet Birnam Wood, operated ominously by one of the witches. But even if some of the women involved did their lines justice, and some of the directorial touches were interesing, I found myself more often moved by Jeff Adelberg’s lighting scheme and David Wilson’s exemplary sound design than any of the humans onstage.

Adelberg’s sheer variety and inventiveness in catching all of the passageways and corners of Studio 102 was incredibly evocative, and David Wilson’s music and soundscape often made for more compelling listening then the actual text. The deranged lullaby underscoring Lady Macbeth’s infamous “I have given suck…” speech and the persistent thrumming of strings gave this show the suspense that it deserved.

For when the harsh lights settled and the gull cries and echoes died away, there wasn’t much of a plot to pay attention to. With an already truncated text, the company would have needed to squeeze every line for its meaning to be successful, or more importantly, comprehensible, and here they can’t seem to get rid of them fast enough. Even though I had just read the play in a class last spring, I found myself struggling to keep up with who was who and what was going on. In the end, I felt as though I’d sat through “Macbeth lite”; all the images and half the content.

After the success of last year’s all-male Titus Andronicus, I suppose this sort of thing was inevitable, both as a valid artistic response and a way for the Actor’s Shakespeare Project to further cash in, but it seems no one really thought about how they’re really two different ball games. An all-male cast in the context of Titus is really an artistic after-thought, seeing as only two of its characters (three, if you count a doomed bit-part) are female to begin with. John Kuntz (in one of the best performances I’ve seen him give) gave Tamora a harshness that avoided the kind of evil-queen camp the role can bring out in actresses, and although Paul Melendy was not as successful, his gender gave the rape scene license to be much more brutal than it could have been had Lavinia been portrayed by a woman; distancing enough as to avoid becoming live “torture porn”, but realistic enough to show the true grotesqueness of the action. In an all-female Macbeth, although many digs are thrown around surrounding both genders, and the witches provide an interestingly female center of power, the majority of the characters are male. I can understand casting women in these roles could illuminate some possibly interesting explorations of feminism, and power among women, or of gender roles and the concept of “weakness”, but the ASP Company didn’t seem to put much thought into any kind of interpretation after the cast list was put up, thinking their job done. The ASP is one of my favorite local companies, and it seems they have hit a step that they fell over rather than o’erleap. It certainly was not a completely lost cause, but I hope the rest of their season (especially their “King Lear reunion special” of a Tempest) pans out, rather than dissolve into as insubstantial a pageant as this one.

I saw something, and I'm saying something: The Big Guns

Dying City

by Christopher Shinn
directed by Daniel Gidron
presented by the Lyric Stage Company of Boston

I was really impressed by most of the elements of the Lyric Stage's production of Christopher Shinn's recent off-Broadway show; the lighting, the set, the script. Everything except the performances, which seems like it may dampen the overall experience of a play that employs a two person cast that, for the first half of the show, struggles to rise to the quality of the material. But don't worry, the play succeeds in spite of some of the choices made by the two certainly eager, but uneven actors featured in an otherwise successful showing.

The story opens one evening in Kelly's partially packed-up Manhattan apartment as her dead husband (Craig)'s identical twin brother Peter arrives, unannounced and in a tizzy. If this sounds like a lot, it is. The first ten minutes are somewhat plagued by Shinn's not completely seamless merger of awkward conversation and possibly more awkward exposition. It isn't helped that neither Jennifer Blood, nor Chris Thorn, seem to know what to do with either character at first. As we learn that Blood's Kelly hasn't contacted Craig in the year that has passed since her hubby did, we also learn that Thorn hasn't completely wrapped his head around Peter's motivation (or his sexuality) in this scene. Seemingly overwhelmed by having to play not only a passive aggressive schemer, but a gay passive aggressive schemer, Thorn settled for a physicality that was a little too light in loafers (shall we say) for my liking, and line readings that seemed overeager for someone who hadn't seen his aforementioned, visably delicate, sister-in-law in a year. Jennifer Blood's handling of this scene seems more reasonable at first, but her exasperated delivery and sodden posture soon reads as anemic for the role on which the show's structure pivots. But as soon as the play plunges the audience and actors into its illuminating look into the gray areas in life, everyone fares better.

As Peter leaves the room to take a phone call, we are transported several months back in time, to the night before Kelly's husband Craig is to be deported to Iraq, with a quickly changed and more stoic Thorn re-entering to portray the other brother. Shinn cuts back and forth between these two seemingly unrelated nights, forming a tantalizing triangle of relationships between all three characters.

Thorn scores higher with the manlier of the men, giving Craig a subtle reading that fits for what may be just a memory, and becomes a powerfully evocative cipher for the rest of the play. The show gathers remarkable steam as it continuously ratchets up the stakes, but never allows the audience to fully feel the significance of either scenes until its end. Shinn has written a play that has incredibly skillfully reckoned the elusive "public and personal" to great affect. Although hot button buzz-words like "Abu Ghraib" and talk of whether or not the Iraq War is justified made me cringe at first mention, "Dying City" does not melt into what Suzan Lori-Parks describes as "play-as-wrapping-paper-version-of-hot-newspaper-headline". The text never treats its characters as mouth-pieces for opinion, and keeps the focus on the emotional narrative of three people grappling with the world and each other. In fact, its Shinn's inclusion of these references and images that may make "City" so affecting. By setting the rough love of Kelly and Craig, the tender, and maybe vicious, brotherhood of Peter and Craig, and the devastating connection of Kelly and Peter afloat in images of towers falling, sexual deviants, and men killing each other in combat, Shinn has the audience questioning what exactly he is trying to examine, relationships or war, and in doing so, makes us reflect on both.

David Gidron's direction lets Shinn's writing take center stage (where it belongs), letting the initial tone dupe the audience into thinking its watching the theatrical equivalent of a John Le Carre novel, before slowly building up to an ending that might only disappoint those looking to leave with tied ends as opposed to, say, thoughts. The only place where Gidron seems to slip up is the tricky transitions between scenes that clutter up an otherwise efficient pace. Scenic Designer Skip Curtiss and Lighting Designer Robert Cordella provide pitch-perfect support to this already strong work. Cordella moves evocative drawing-blind stripes across Curtiss's immaculate Trojan Horse of an entry into the grand tradition of Straight Play Drawing Rooms, which imploded my expectations just as Shinn's writing does. Don't let my initial snub of the performers (or the performers themselves) deter you from seeing "Dying City"; its the kind of show where my first thought after it ended was that I wanted to just stay in my seat, and see it all over again. And maybe this time with a cast that really elevated it to the "run-don't-walk" potential "Dying City" clearly has. You don't have to run for it, but I certainly wouldn't recommend missing it...

I saw something, and I'm saying something: Kentucky Confusion

The Kentucky Cycle: Part 1
by Robert Shenkkan
directed by David J Miller
asst. directed by Julie Levine
presented by the Zeitgeist Stage Company and the Way Theatre Artists

The facts:
1) On October 6th, at 2PM, I saw "The Kentucky Cycle: Part 1" at the BCA Plaza Black Box.
2) This was the first public performance of the show and, technically, a preview.
3) I really wanted to like the Kentucky Cycle.

I really did. Which made it all the more difficult when I realized , halfway through the third one-act of the show, that the production just wasn't cutting it for me. I left, disappointed, but understanding. This was two small (and feisty, as their press release would have us believe) companies, and one Big Play. Maybe it was just too much of a stretch.

And then the reviews started coming out. First the Globe, then the Phoenix, then countless bloggers, all piping in glowing praises of the solid accomplishment of fitting such a sweeping parade of connected stories into the tiny BCA Black Box. Although I was happy for the companies involved (who would certainly need some good press to sustain an audience for their 7-week run), I was also slightly bewildered. Why couldn't I join the crowd in lifting Zeitgeist and Way Artist's production up as exemplary? Had I gone crazy and mistaken a brilliant show for an uneven one?

I, unfortunately, don't think so. Although there certainly were striking moments and performances, for every one there were one or two puzzling ones, or just a simple lack of direction.

The production started off on a strong note, with a simple pre-show concert (the live music continued to be a highlight) and procession of the cast into the theater, ending with a tableaux that lead us into the first play, entitled "Masters of the Trade". Michael Steven Costello was sharp as the greedy and conniving Michael Rowan (a role he would play for the next three sections before meeting a perhaps timely end, considering), digging his teeth into a thinly disguised villain role. In the second play (Ironically titled "The Courtship of Morning Star"), he was matched by the striking and fiery Mia Van de Water as his Native American concubine. It was in the third section, entitled "The Homecoming", in which the thus far solid production was shaken. Here Mia Van de Water was asked to age her character 16 years, from a resistant shrew to a woman smoldering with resent. Her capable grip on her younger character slipped, as she seemed unsure as to what these years meant to Morning Star. This was one of the fundamental issues I had with the production. Even if an actor showed chops as one persona, soon the play had them switching hats and jackets for another, which was, in many cases, played less convincingly. Certainly not all of the mostly-competent cast suffered from this phenomena. Cheryl Singleton exuded promising energy as Sureta Biggs, Michael Rowan's homecoming surprise, in a scene where a bath-tub stabbing was her competition, and she stood up to the challenge. More impotently, after returning from the intermission, she followed through with a wearily grief-stricken and 27-years-older Sureta. But this became an uncommon occurrence as actors reappeared in new clothing, but with somewhat less intuition and spark then previously displayed.

The direction succeeded in what would be the most obvious challenge of the cycle; pace. With the first part alone containing 5 separate one-acts and spanning 80-something years, the decades sped by assuringly. Although I think some credit is due to Schenkkan's script, which doesn't stick around any tragic scene for long, Miller's production did move. But in the larger department of staging, I found his vision to be somewhat bland in what would appear to be an opportune project to flex his directorial muscles. I suppose there is something to be said for solid, subtle direction, but some sections of this show seemed to scream for some attention. Our first (and maybe only) taste of what the production could have been came in Morning Star's birthing scene, as she stood facing the audience, delivering one of the text's more glorious speeches (propelled forward by persistent live drumming), and another actress, doubling for Morning Star, mimed birth with her back turned. The image of the two women, screaming in unison as Van de Water breathlessly cried to her people's gods while her double shuddered in delivery, was exhilarating, and punctuated the moment with intensity. Too often the subsequent scenes were played with thudding naturalism, which I found ill-fit to the big, mythic intentions of Schenkkan's play. This style may have been more convincing if the physical production stepped up to the challenge.

The close proximity of the audience to the action provided the quieter, softer moments of the play with an intimacy, but this same proximity robbed many of the stage combat routines and on-stage murders of their potential impact. I felt that if proper blood effects couldn't be attempted, then some sort of stylization should have been employed, which may have given more power to the violent acts of the story. David R Gammon's boys-club production of "Titus Andronicus" last spring utilized an innovative substitution of water for fake blood, which produced a manageable effect ( equal parts Guignol and Taymor) that gave the violence both a visceral and cognitive reaction. In a show that also seemed to be going for grit, the physical production was off-puttingly spotless. Killers rarely were marked by their crimes with blood on their hands, and in the midst of the countless monologues about land, I thought the scenic design greatly lacked any element of dirt or stone. I wonder how the show would have played in Riccardo Hernandez's gravel-strewn wasteland that was the setting for the A.R.T's 2005 "Desire Under the Elms", which shares the Kentucky Cycle's Greek tragedy transposed to the amber waves and purple mountains of America.

But in the end, pros and cons aside, I did admire these two companies for attempting what is, by any sensible theater-goers book, a very Big Play, and more importantly, a very bold move. It makes me wonder why these massive undertakings (thinking ahead to Boston Theatre Work's future mounting of both parts of Kushner's epic "Angels In America") are being mounted by the smallest companies in Boston, while the ART fills its season with not one, but two one-person shows and prepares for the second annual head-scratching movie adaptation/desperate ploy for youth (following in the great footsteps of "Wings of Desire" and "The Onion Cellar", to be discussed later), and the Huntington has just babysat a somewhat amusing import that outlived its stay (but will surely not on Broadway). I like the companies involved in The Kentucky Cycle for taking, what i consider to be, a Big Fucking Risk. Do I consider it a complete success? No, but I certainly am glad that it is getting positive press. I just hope that in its future endeavors, I can be in on the game.

!EXTRA, EXTRA!: Gold Dust Orphans announce first show....

...and its a re-mounting of one from last year. The group just recently announced on their website that this winter they will be bringing back their North Pole/Hannibal Lector mashup "Silent Night of the Lambs". Gold Dust favorite Penny Champagne will take on the Jodie Foster role of Rudolph's daughter, and everyone's favorite Larry Coen will reprise his role as St. Nick gone bad.

I don't know if I'll be taking in another viewing , but I do highly recommend anyone who missed it last year to get on the Gold Dust Orphan mailing list and take advantage of their special ticket offers. Usually it involves some hoop-jumping, like leaving their office a ticket order in character, but its worth it if only for their inclusion of a small dog on stage. I won't say that I'm not disappointed that it's not a new production, but there sure is nothing that quite puts me in the holiday mood like lewd drag queens and cheap, 2-dimensional sets.

New kid on the block....

I figure that I've been reading Boston theater blogs long enough that its time for me to maybe try one of my own. I was mostly spurred by the gigantic wave of positive press from Boston critics and bloggers about Zeitgeist (and Way Plays)'s Kentucky Cycle, a wave I unfortunately am not part of. But, I'll address that, as well as whatever other opinions, news, and tidbits strike me, later. Amped yet?