Way Off Loop

So it's come to this...

2007-11-14T13:41:00.000-08:00

I'm taking an indefinite sabbatical.

You might think, looking at my posting record, that I've been on sabbatical since, oh... July. Humblest apologies. Truth is, I have no internet at home, and I am very very busy doing mysterious other things. I loved maintaining this blog, and I love having a record of my theatre adventures, but it's safe to say that I've lost that blogging fire. For the indefinite now. I'm still catching a lot of shows, but I don't feel the need to tell you about it.

I'm still working over at Centerstage, as an editor, and a very, very occasional reviewer, but mostly as curator of the theatre picks section (a sneaky little job that allows me to see whatever I like, and not have to write mean reviews.) The Viola Project is roaring along, and the playwriting career is taking shaky, colt-like steps. My next readings are scheduled for February in the DC area, and oh, I was just recently a finalist for the Clubbed Thumb Biennial Commission, which is notable for being cool and downtown yet also having a fat wad of bills to throw at playwrights. At least, what I consider a fat wad. I haven't been able to use my wad-measuring calipers, because, as a finalist, I didn't get it.

In coming months, you might see some more newsy stuff like the above, or a special post for a festival, or who knows. The blog will remain useful for stalking purposes. But rest assured, if I ever go back to hard-core review blogging, I will get out the trumpets and let the world know.

And by that, I mean the theatre-blogging world.

Cheers!
Love,
Reina

We are the patriarchy! We are on the balcony!

2007-07-15T17:37:00.000-07:00

I've just spent a lovely, lovely Sunday hunched over my laptop doing tippy-tappy-typing chores like a good girl/pathetic Dickensian drone. If the world was just and kind I'd be out on the beach right now with Harry Potter 7 and a Moscow Sling. Instead, I'm blogging at you. Hope you like it, unfeeling jerks!

Past two weeks have been about plays that make a great noise. I saw "Jerry Springer, the Opera" last Sunday, when the Bailiwick was like the wrong side of a steam cooker. (the INside, get it?). Had fun anyway. I have a great weakness for choruses that have a collective identity, and a sense of humor. "Jerry Springer" had a chorus like that, and it's pretty much the only one I've seen outside of a G&S operetta. Sure, choral jokes don't tend to come off the first time (it's a diction thing) but when they finally hit, whether it's on the third repetition or when I'm listening to the CD, damn do they kill me.

On Monday, I got stood up by two people for "Siskel and Ebert Save Chicago." They have been chastised, thoroughly.

The title of this post comes from "Ragtime," which I finally caught last night. I don't think it's ever going to be a musical that I love- the lyrics and the book don't do it for me and everything is too on point- but Porchlight really makes it wail. Their music direction is so SHARP, equity, schmequity.

Anyway, it's a panorama of turn of the century America- during the bows, JP Morgan, and a number of other powerful/violent white males were standing up on the second level. I imagined an extra song for them.

Watching the detectives

2007-06-24T15:35:00.000-07:00

Silent Theatre's inaugrual production, "Lulu," totally knocked me out last year. It was sexy, weird, and brought all the most satisfying conventions of silent film to the stage. The troupe's sophomore effort, "Noir," had that old devil of high expectations to deal with. Despite having a lot of cool stuff going on, "Noir" was kind of a disappointment.
Ok, maybe too much cool stuff went on. The performers brought back the virtually wordless, stormingly physical, slightly herky-jerky acting style that gave "Lulu" so much punch, but now there's this talky-talky guy that keeps spewing hard-boiled chatter. Occasionally he shuts up, and things improve drastically. Something about all the verbosity drains one's attention from the gestures.
Still, I have high hopes for "Noir." When I saw Lulu, it was on its third of fourth revival. I've read some interviews with the director, and I think she's a whittler. I bet she ends up 86ing some of the characters, streamlining the plot, and severely restricting the narrator. I hope she gets the chance to do it.

Nine corpses at the least

2007-06-10T12:20:00.000-07:00

On Thursday I took in "Mr. Spacky, the Man Who Was Continuously Followed by Wolves," a title that's fun to say, not just once, but over and over again, in increasingly absurd accents. It's very much a style piece, Edward Gorey in pastels, with civil-war hoe-down songs about killing other people's fiances, and I quite enjoyed it.

Towards the end, the cast gave us a chance to vote for a happy ending, or an "every-one dies" ending. We were a small but vicious audience, and voted for tragedy, almost unanimously. Bad choice! There were only four people to kill, and they died in rather arbitrary, unsatisfying ways. (The seven-piece band remained untouched.) Perhaps the happy ending would have been more fun.

I mean, really, there's no point in killing everybody unless you can match or exceed the death-count in Hamlet, and Shakespeare sets the death-count bar pretty high.

Today in widely published jackoffery

2007-05-08T11:54:00.000-07:00

Oh LaBUTE.

I always thought this guy got a little too much credit. It is now clear that he's an actual blithering idiot. I have never seen so much rank ignorance of racism, America, theatrical practice, audience response and opera casting policies displayed in one place, and with such unabashed, pajocky pride. Seriously, an all-white version of "A Raisin in the Sun?" Labute says "I promise you, we'll be doing it not to be provocative but because it's a terrific American play." Too funny.

Possibly he's a brilliant parodist on the lines of Stephen "I don't see color" Colbert. I somehow doubt it.

A Public Service Announcement for my Future Self

2007-05-08T11:49:00.000-07:00

Having banished the internet from my home, I find that I just don't blog like I used to. And given that I blogged begrudgingly and infrequently before, this translates into near month-long silences.

However, I HAVE been seeing plays, so there. Since I use this blog as a reference for year-end wrap-ups, let me mention that I've seen Vox Pandora, Troilus and Cressida, and Gidget since I last posted.

That should satisfy the enquiring mind of Reina from 2008.

Less exposition, more slaughtering of rapists

2007-04-16T16:09:00.000-07:00

Tonight’s play, “Black Diamond,” started off with a life-threatening case of the expositions. It’s a common disease, but it’s particularly bad when the exposition in question is just stuff you don’t need to know. Boring journalist main character and supporting comic relief photographer exchange chit-chat about their pointless back stories, and get into some sort of internet flame war about oppression. It took far too long for the title character, a Liberian rebel leader, to bust in the door and start gunning down rapists. Which is what the public really wants to see.

Anyway, the show has potential, not to mention some great actors, but it needs a major slice job. The next time I see a play featuring an American journalist in some war-torn region, I’d like to see them use their J-school skills and gracefully elide themselves from the story.

New blogger has killed my ability to blog.

2007-04-06T12:52:00.000-07:00

So, heh. Yes. I've been out.
a. busy
b. limited internet access
c. but mostly this stupid google account thing.

See, blogger now insists that one's blog account be linked to a google account. In such a way that logging into one automatically logs you into the other. I decided to hook mine up to wayoffloop @ gmail, the account Chicagoland press agents know and love. However, this is not my actual email address, the kind I like to keep open constantly, do business on, sleep next to, etc.

Result? I cannot blog with my real gmail account open, which tends to make blogging far too annoying and tedious. Don't ask why. Just please, if you know how to fix this, tell me!

I saw some plays recently, but without being able to look at gmail I CAN'T EVEN REMEMBER WHAT THEY WERE. My internet hive-mind is disabled.

Happy hour

2007-03-23T07:05:00.001-07:00

I really have to hit more Second City openings. The reception was… well, it almost qualified as an after-party, with pitchers of beer scattered around, a serious buffet, and a congenial, crowded atmosphere.

The show prior (Between Barack and a Hard Place) was, of course, smart and funny. But I’m dreading the review. I haven’t seen a Second City mainstage show in over a decade, and I feel as if, in order to type intelligently, I should have. The SC people are high-level practitioners of a form (the black-out sketch) that was once revolutionary, and is now establishment. And I’m just- I’m ignorant! Ah well, this is the price you pay for mac n’ cheese buffets and comped drinks.

At any rate, these guys are pros, and you’ll be in good hands for the evening. You may or may not “bust a gut.” I did not. But I think I observed a few others in the busting process.

Ps. The TOC listings say that this review boasts “an extremely diverse cast (perhaps the most so in years).” One hopes this is not true, because then extreme diversity means two minority performers instead of one.

Our man in London

2007-03-18T13:22:00.000-07:00

Well, near London. Entirely tolerable member of the patriarchy Matt Board ran the numbers on last week's London theatre gender representation, with some fascinating results! appended:

So the tallies are in! There is quite good news and very bad news. Hold on
to your lunch.

First, the good news:

I'm pleased to say that Off-West End has done us proud. Out of 55 straight
plays currently running (discounting one musical and two Shakespeares), 30
were written by men and 25 by women. That's 45%. The female playwrights
run the gamut from complete unknowns through to Caryl Churchill. All told,
that's not bad. (The one musical was by men, btw.)

Incidentally, there were also 33 male directors and 25 female directors
(43%). The female directors were predominantly doing shows by female
writers.

Second, the bad news:

The West End is exactly the reverse. Out of 24 straight plays currently
running (discounting 20 musicals and 1 Shakespeare), only 2 of them were
written by women. One of them was "The Woman In Black", which is credited
to novelist Susan Hill but is actually just adapted from her novel by a guy,
so perhaps we shouldn't count that. And the other was Agatha Christie's
"The Mousetrap", which has been running since the Flood. So there you have
it - one mothball-ridden Agatha Christie play makes up the West End's entire
female playwright contigent, a delightful 4% of what they have to offer.

Of the 20 musicals, 4 (20%) had female writers. They were all
book-writers - no female lyricists or composers. Out of all 45 shows
currently playing the West End (24 plays + 20 musicals + 1 Shakespeare),
only 6 of them have any female contribution. That's 13%.

When it comes to West End directors, 35 of them were men and 10 were women -
that's 22%. (And several of those were your Julie Taymores - directors of
shows which have been imported and running for yonks now.)

So what's the grand total? Out of the 103 shows currently playing in
London, 31 of them were written by women. That's 30%. And all bar one (who
just happens to be Britain's best loved crime novelist, and whose production
is older than most people living in London) have their work Off-West End,
not West End.

What's the upshot? In short, you should come back to the UK - you can get
your play on Off-West End. But that's where you'll stay, sister.

60 Hurrahs!

2007-03-13T11:33:00.000-07:00

Pssst! "Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me" webcrawlers! Yeah you! Over here!

The Loopies are finally up!

Click here!

Love,
Reina

Rampant Sexism in Theatre, part II, the unscientific survey

2007-03-09T07:47:00.000-08:00

See my previous post for the official studies. Now remember when I told you to count? Last night, I counted. Just this week, just my particular city. Then I vomited.

Not having internet access at home, I used my copy of Time Out Chicago. Now, I could spend a lot of time reviewing my methodology (anything with a writing credit counts, cowritten plays of mixed gender get one mark in each column, cowritten plays of a single gender get a single mark, Shakespeare is not counted under any circumstances, etc. etc.) But it'd be almost pointless. The results are so horribly tilted that even if I'd been extremely prejudicial in counting women's plays as opposed to men's, I couldn't have made it past 30%.

This is what I got:
Plays written by men: 60
Plays written by women: 22
Plays written by people of indeterminate gender: 9

26%! That's counting both Late Nite Catechism shows, 365 days/365 plays, and the writing credit on a burlesque show. If you assume that all persons whose gender could not be determined are female (and why would you assume that?) you can pump it up to 34%.

But of course, there's Shaw and Wilde in there gumming up the works. Let's count only plays that are a. Chicago premieres and b. written in the last decade. That is, new works.

Plays written by men: 39
Plays written by women: 12
Plays written by people of indeterminate gender: 9

23%. Ouch.

There was a lot less info about directors, but here's what I got.
Men: 50
Women: 15
Not mentioned: 30

Who wants to bet that the real numbers are in that same range?

Because I'm a masochist, I might do this every week. I might even go to the internet cafe to get a more accurate count.

Happy International Women's Day!

2007-03-08T11:46:00.000-08:00

And welcome to my 101st blog post.

This is an adamantly non-political blog, inasmuch as its non-personal, non-celebrity, non-fashion, and, in fact, non-anything except theatre. Still, it's also Blog Against Sexism day, and boy, do I have some theatre/sexism stuff to blog about.

Read it and weep.

This 2002 study is the best and most complete information available online, and it's heartbreaking. For that year, female directors were in charge of just 16% of productions. Female playwrights wrote just 17% (A whopping 18% if you cut out Shakespeare!) A 2005 study conducted jointly by the Women Arts Project in New York City and Theatre Communications Group came up with even worse figures. And if you think that isn't current enough, go get your local theatre listings and count. Good luck breaking 30%.

And stop sputtering. According to the TCG study, 52% of mfa students are female, not to mention 60% of the play-going population. Either women are bad writers, or something stinks. Some have tried to deny the problem by ignoring the numbers, but these stats are cold and hard and brutal.

My question is, what the heck are you doing about it? The problem is real, and pervasive, even in my beloved Chicago. If you are not actively reaching out to female playwrights and directors, you are part of the problem. A lot of companies need to take a long look at their seasons, past and present. Not because it's PC (who cares?), not because it will get you more grants (it won't!), or even because it is morally right (it is!) but because it's bad art. As Time Out Chicago pointed out in its excellent article on race in theatre, the big old-boy network is made up of a series of aging young-boy networks. Now is the time to change, or we're going to end up with an increasingly loud cacophony of the same voice.

I would enthusiastically welcome any comments, and any debate on this post. I mean it. These stats make me feel grouchy and I'm spoiling for a fight.

Let's go see a nice dark quiet play

2007-03-07T20:05:00.000-08:00

I must confess that I went to see “Monster Garden” somewhat lacking my customary open heart. It is a Wednesday. It is cold. I was (and am) unusually tired, and the play sounded irritating. I was meant to go review it last night, but was struck down by a vomitous migraine. One can imagine the review under those circumstances:

“’Monster Garden’ is an incomprehensible display of gratuitous sound, light and motion. Why are all those actors talking and walking around? Why can’t we all just sit quietly in the dark? Every line is an ice pick to the occipital….”

Etc. etc.

But tonight, the play was fairly painless. It even had some enjoyable bits in it. It was one of those terrifically overwrought sexual dramas that I always want to be funnier, about a woman who used to murder men on principal, and the little girl she forced to help her. As is well documented, I’m against the death penalty as administered by the government, but fully support the Beatrix Kiddo Sexual Assault Law, so I appreciated that some actual baddies did get whacked during the course of the story. I also appreciated the evil AA group leader, who undermined his group members in a well-modulated voice, and spent a lot of time writing down things he said.

*Any rape victim, should s/he be so able and inclined, should be allowed to kill her attacker. And steal his car.

A sunny day, a matinee-

2007-03-04T15:26:00.000-08:00

Just returned from "The Juniper Tree" at City Lit. It was clever and tuneful and delightful, and went well with my cold shiny Sunday. It's a musical adaptation of the creepy cannibal fairy tale (of the same name,) and it has an accordion song. I think you'll all enjoy it. It even held my attention throughout constant iterations of the following dialogue from my seatmates:

Man: (dozing) Snerk.
Woman: (hissing) Open your eyes! Open your eyes!
Man: Wah?
(pause)
Man: (head clunks onto chest.)
Woman: Hold your head up, dammit!

Gripping drama, yes, but the show onstage stood up to it.

Last night was "The Invention Show," a musical at Annoyance. Their reputation was made with weird and harsh improv, so the show was surprisingly toothless. I mean, it was a bit like that show based on Schoolhouse Rock, but with more obscenities. Not that there's anything wrong with that. In fact, I was tired that I couldn't have handled anything more demanding.

Standing on the beach...

2007-02-23T20:25:00.000-08:00

Just returned from "The Strangerer," which was fairly frickin' brilliant. Like "The Hunchback Variations," (another Mickle Maher Theatre Oobleck thing) it's that long slow intellectual burn kind of hilarious. Again, like "Hunchback," it's a series of attempts to get at an unreachable moment of meaning and/or truth, except this time, the artistic agent is President Bush, and the medium is the 2004 foreign policy debate. Bush has been conflated with the lead character of Camus's "The Stranger,"* and has decided, for reasons that he is immable to enticulate, that he must kill Jim Lehrer in as entertaining a fashion as possible.

(At this point, Reina goes to read a wiki summary of "The Stranger" and is unenlightened. Where is your sterling liberal education now, fraulein?)

Even if, like me, you are totally ignorant of Camus, this is a lot of fun, and throws a properly absurdist penumbra around President Bush and his mission in Iraq. Plus, Colm O'Reilly!**

*Remember when Bush said he read that? Snicker.

**Disclaimer: At the time of posting, your correspondent is half-way through her badly delayed best of 2006 awards. As Colm O'Reilly has been a planned recipient of one award for some months now, we had really intended to get that out before seeing "The Strangerer." We would not want any hint of impropriety to smudge the Loopies, up to and including the notion that any shows seen in 2007 could influence awards for 2006. Sorry. You're going to have to take my word on this.

Way Off Loop's Best of 2006- Now Posted Sometime Before 2008!

2007-02-23T06:39:00.000-08:00

Ladies and gentlemen, small children, interested squirrels, the Loopies are back. After one year, still the leading Chicago theatre award in total arbitrariness and number of sexiest male lead divisions. Let's begin!

Sexiest Male Lead: Terrifying division: Colm O'Reilly (everything)
This big-headed gentleman confuses me in a primal way. He's brutally still. He plays monsters. He makes me forget the concept of informed consent. "Is being kidnapped and taken to a subterranean lair ok, or not ok? I have a strong opinion about this, but I don't know what it is." This marks O'Reilly's second appearance on the list (2005, SML: Portable Division, voice of Cesare), making him the Loopies' first and only two-timer. (Nathan Allen will be furious.)

Sexiest Female Lead: Actually Being Awarded this Year Division: Kyla Louise Webb for Lulu (Lulu).
Freeow! This polymorphously irresistible vixen could corrupt a nun (and come to think of it, what a picture.) Speaking only body language, her avid mouth smeared with black lipstick, Lulu had this award in the bag back in February.

Sexiest Male Ensemble: International Division, The Cast of 12th Night
Chicago Shakespeare Theatre imported a full complement of brilliant, gorgeous Russian movie stars for an all-male take on one of my favorite comedies. I'm serious. It was like being in heaven.

Sexiest Male Lead: Not Actually Sexy Division: Shawn Pfaustch for Billy Argo (The Boy Detective Fails.)
I really don't know what this guy is doing in this category, as he gave me more of a warm, back-to-childhood feeling. I would never want to corrupt such earnestness. Instead, I'd like to invite him and his blazer over to discuss cases and sing songs- he could change into a nice comfy cardigan and tell me that I'm special and... oh. That explains a lot. Never mind.

Christmas Spirit Award for Drastically Changing My Mood: 500 Clown Sings Christmas Carols.
Before I saw this show, I was a sick grinch, ready to go bunk with my folks in order to avoid a party taking place at my own apartment. After the show, I was a giddy yuletide monkey, full of cheer and surprisingly effective fake champagne, pumped to stay up till down. (Also wins an ancillary award for Show I Most Regretted in the Morning.)

The So-Called Life Award for Taking Me Back to High School: Dead City (Dog and Pony Theatre.)
Tells you a lot about my high school that a gender-switched gloss on Joyce's Ulysses made me feel more nostalgic than, say, any actual show set in high school. We salute you, Mr. Baker!

Googlemonkey Award for Following Your Own Damn Press: Peter Sagal (Wait Wait... Don't Tell Me!)
My post on this charming show won me a charming email from the host, who found it even though I misspelled his name. Hi Pete! I know you're reading this.

Best Weather: Mary-Arrchie for Buried Child
Warm, humid rain on a minuscule budget. This mildewy set's simple panel window (with real water!) made me feel damply depressed from the moment I sat down.

Most Mysterious venue: Angel Island
735 West on a North/South street? Don't speak to me of doglegs, this is something God never intended, something the human mind cannot compass. It is of the devil, and above a Starbucks. Fear it, shun it, give yourself maybe 15 extra minutes to go there the first time.

Best bad dress: Valentine Victorious
It's one thing to misplace a crucial prop, or to have a total lighting malfunction during a climactic song, or to miss a crucial sound cue, forcing one actor to kill another by shouting "Bang" loudly at his back. It's quite another to do all that and more, in front of a packed house and the first-string critics, and still deliver a roaring night of entertainment.

Worst Audience: The Earl
These drunkards scuttled the opening, creepy moments of a first-rate brutal/hilarious late-night show by snickering and talking out loud. I hated them. It was nice of the actors not to hit them in the head with a tire iron, but one can take restraint too far, don't you agree?

The Barnum Award for Slickest Sucker Punchers: Leaving Iowa
This corn-pone show pushed my buttons like a champion accordion player. I knew I was being manipulated, but I couldn't stop myself from laughing, sniffling, and getting wistful on cue.

Best Kids Show not Billed for Kids: Old Curiosity Shoppe
Hands down, 2006's best way to remind your little Snicket fan that Dickens did it first. "It" being "abusing orphans for the amusement of the public."

Feminist Brain Porn Award: Gaudy Night
Because the world isn't really full of diffident, witty, dashing English lords who would rather lose you than compromise your individuality. Sigh.

Best Re-imagining of a Shakespeare Character: Edmund in King Lear as a Daily Show Correspondent
Newsman's suit, field reporter's trench, reptilian teeth. I kept expecting this delicious villian to toss it back to Jon Stewart. And yet, unlike many other aspects of the show, it worked.

Well, my starlings, that's about it for this edition. Stay tuned for the 2007 Loopies, which will no doubt be posted around 7/4/2008. Let's go outside and play!

The Piano Tuner

2007-02-20T05:45:00.000-08:00

Saw it last week at Lifeline, but didn't have a chance to blog. Filed the review at Centerstage, also last week, sincerely should be up any day now.

Short story, it's lovely and you should go see it.

Cheers!
Reina

Those are the breaks.

2007-02-11T21:11:00.000-08:00

Just got back from "Landscape of the Body," or, more accurately, from that play's reception, which closed down the restaurant that we'd been intending to have post-show snacks at anyways. So I went, and shoveled down croquettes in an aloof manner, trying to ignore any idea of the journalistic ethics I'm not entitled to. Real critics don't have to deal with this problem- they are rushing home to make their deadlines.

Still, I see the problem. The people were so nice to me that I now feel guilty for disliking the show! I'll throw most of the blame at John Guare's script, which just irritated me. The man set forth, decades ago, to buck kitchen sink realism, so much so that his characters rarely have actual conversations. I rather prefer it when people on stage are not talking endlessly past each other, not because it's unrealistic, but because I find the spectacle of actors affecting each other to be more aesthetically pleasing. I also got sick of the long poetically elaborate philosophical monologues, again, not because they were unrealistic, but because they were unnecessary. In my favorite plays, the action has a rightness that doesn't always sink to inevitably (a total surprise can seem perfectly right.) The plot twists and added characters in this show just seemed arbitrary, and again, unnecessary.

It was well staged, and beautifully lit. It's hard to say what I would have felt about the acting if I didn't find the script so problematic. Bah! After two years, and after hearing a lot of great things about the company, I had to come see this for my first show at Artistic Home. I'd also heard good things about John Guare, though not about this specific play. How did I get so unlucky?

Fire up the shrink ray

2007-02-10T14:42:00.000-08:00

Redmoon keeps getting smaller and smaller. After the success of their ode to tichyness, “The Cabinet,” they’ve moved on to toy theatres about the size of a high-end flatscreen, where the bitsy action is filmed live and projected on a wall. I expect that the challenge of constant reduction will excite them, as in this charming neo-Borgesian story, and look forward to the day when Redmoon shows will involve solemn single viewing, and microscopes.

So, last night, I saw “Once upon a time, or the Secret Language of Birds.” The puppets and the set and the tiny little props were entrancing, and Redmoon continues to be generous to its viewers. Their stories do tend to flag, but there is always Something Else to look at. This particular story- about a little girl and a wrestler gone to seed who rescue all the birds of the world from a malevolent thief, was nicely paced, but too sweet by two halves. The plot was all right, but the heroine was downright treacly. Emily, a little girl of infinite cuteness and equal wisdom who saves the day through the thin bright power of her extra-pure heart. It didn’t help that the actress who narrated made Emily’s voice sound like Baby June’s.

And of course, she taught the adults in the story an important lesson, a common symptom of fiction in the young. Actual children don’t know more than we do. They know less. They know fewer bad things, though, which might be the source of confusion. Most of us will probably learn something from a child some day, but it will be the sort of thing no child could understand, or articulate. Storybook prophets like Emily, on the other hand, teach via lecture.

And yes, I get that Redmoon was trying to tell a fairy-tale children’s story here. It’s no excuse. Please witness (from recent years) Lilo, of “Lilo and Stitch,” Coraline, of “Coraline.” Going back further, the Pensevie children, and even Alice. Just because you’re a small girl and you don't exist doesn’t mean you’re not a person.

No-one to blame but ourselves.

2007-01-27T20:47:00.000-08:00

Just got back from the Latest Neofuturists show, "You Asked for It," certainly the year's only play based on a survey. Using highly scientific email forwarding techniques, director/creator Greg Allen asked 2200 Americans what they most and least wanted in a play. (You can take the online- survey here, although it won't affect the show.)

This is a stonkingly cool idea, and I was excited to watch it I wasn't disappointed, exactly. The idea remains cool, and I'm glad I went. But out of all the Neofuturist shows I've seen, it was the least fun to watch. This includes the show about the history of aerial bombing.

So, a one-act play containing what 2200 people most want, and another one-act play containing what they least want... are both not so great. You don't need a crystal ball. But you'd be a fool to miss it. Something like this is only going to happen once.

Yay. Puppets.

2007-01-24T21:38:00.000-08:00

There's something about highly skilled and successful professional puppeteers that makes them loath to entertain in their off-hours. I don't know- maybe it's all the jumping up and down with brightly covered felt for a living, making children watch and adore and want to cuddle the thing at the end of your arm. Maybe it instills a deep-rooted desire to be boring. All I know is, when I go to see a micro-budgeted puppet act put on by a moonlighting kid's TV stalwart, I always end up watching a couple of solemn sticks make their way across a screen an inch a minute.*

So yeah, went to see some puppets at Links Hall last weekend and it happened again. The first and last bits of the show were, respectively, dull/too long, and somewhat hypnotic/endless. The middle program was almost a winner- a sci-fi fable about a lady-like accordion-thing who gave birth to eggs, and a bellowsy science-thing who grew eyeballs on a tree. It had a great goth-gaslight-punk look. Most impressively, these weird faceless objects became people- weird little people who move in counter-intuitive, funny and distinctive ways. Excellent work by demented imp Jana Zeller. It could be a perfect little bit of grotesquerie if it had an ending. As it is, the piece just stopped.

A different and more raucous puppetry program is playing this coming weekend at Links Hall. I would say- go see it. Because you know you love puppets enough to risk a tingly butt.

*Sample size: three or four shows. Not scientific, but jeeze.

Sis. Koom. Bah.

2007-01-15T08:27:00.000-08:00

Saturday was "The Sparrow" at the Viaduct by the House Theatre. I actually purchased and paid for a ticket, because after a year or so of reviewing the House's story-driven spectaculars, I got too damn friendly with them. Buying a ticket absolves me from reviewing their shows in any official capacity, so I won't do it here either.

Instead, a lecture. People say that House shows, which are full of grand plots, action, fantasy and science fiction, bring young audiences in by emulating movies. This is crazy talk. The shows work because they're totally rooted in what you can do on stage. Almost every bit of spectacle, whether it's a nuclear explosion or a flying girl, does three things at once. First, it delights the senses in and of itself. Second, it lets you know that something big is happening in the plot. Third, it delights your head by letting you see the bones of the magic trick. And there's always great music.

"The Sparrow" is about a superhero cheerleader, kind of a Carrie smashed into Jean Grey with a sprinkle of Buffy. When a TV show trots out a superhero cheerleader, I roll my eyes. I know it's just an excuse to put actresses in outfits. When I heard about the House's superhero cheerleader, I jumped on my toes, because I knew I was going to see actresses do cheer routines. In outfits. Hollywood will not let you watch a dance sequence in a movie, unless said movie climaxes at a Big Competition, and I'm getting mighty tired of that story. Not that I'm knocking the big and little screens. They do many things well. Theatre just does some other things better.

2006-in-review later today, I promise.

Romance and leather pants

2007-01-03T22:18:00.000-08:00

Happy new year, oh my starlings!

I think I'll try to whip up a 2006 retrospective by the end of the week. No promises. I may look back, realize how much amazing theatre, I didn't see, and decide I'm way too much of a poseur to give out jokey awards. I only saw, what 45 plays? 2006 was a year of comparative slacking. Only to be expected. After all, 2005 was a mad, doomed, dash to glory, a demented attempt to see a show in every Chicago Off-Loop venue, a magnificent failure that will be sung through the ages. In 2006, theatre-going became a way of life.

And it's a damn fine way to live.

On to the first show of 2007! The Three Musketeers (1/3, get it?). A balls-to-the-wall attempt at a Very Big Musical, with cast members everywhere and impressively wide costumes for the women. I enjoyed it, because I am great of heart, and there was a lot to watch, but it worried me. The biggest problem- I only actually liked two songs. The music was usually decent, if hook deficient, but the lyrics were unfailingly bland. In fact, the songs were bland on a fundamental level, because the concepts behind them reached heroic heights of bland. There's nothing resonant and sparky in a song called "Paris by Night," or "Who Could Have Dreamed of You." There was nothing to match the sparingly used "All for one, and one for all," nothing with the potential to become a cliche.* All the numbers were tasteful, no doubt, but I'd rather have a little more Disneyesque cheese and a lot more of a good time.

Also, we sat in the front row side corner, which was both an action corner, and a terrible place to sit, as the show was totally oriented to the front. If you want to stage thrust, stage thrust. It means ALL the seats are good, and if there are two people on stage, everybody sees at least one of their faces. If you can't cut it, go back to proscenium. Sheesh.

When I wasn't looking at the actors' shiny satin/leather backs, I was happily terrorized by their swords. The first act had a couple of massive combat set pieces that had me melting into my seat back, and wondering if I could trust a musical theatre actor's point control. This part, of course, I liked. There's nothing better than a front row seat and a fear of serious injury.

Click for show details.

*The eminent feat of writing, of course, is to coin a cliche.

Moby Dick II: The Actor's Nightmare Revisited

2006-12-02T20:56:00.000-08:00

I'm tipsy from a benefit party cranberry lambic. (Your faithful correspondent is one of Chicago's greatest lightweights.) I'm happy to be home again, swathed in cashmere, drinking lemon-ginger drink and rubbing my wind-prickled face. I wanted to quickly log in, and let you all know that last night I faced my fears. I went to see the Building Stage's adaptation of Moby Dick.

Quick background. Over a year ago I had the classic actor's nightmare- you know, the one where you show up somewhere and everyone expects you to be in a play. In this case, the play was a symbolist Moby Dick being put up in a industrial loft of some kind. Devoted fans will remember that I kicked that dream's butt.

When I heard about the Building Stage's physical theatre, devised, rope- entangled adaptation of the book, playing in their west loop converted industrial space, I knew I had to see it, if only to tempt fate. (Captain Ahab knows that prophetic dreams are important.) I went one night before closing. No stage manager approached me screaming about my call. No actors pulled me on stage. I was called Ishmael by no-one. I was relieved, and disappointed.

The show itself was good, but not as good as "Dustbowl Gothic." They spent a lot of time on action, spectacle and stage pictures that just didn't drop the jaw. If they don't drop the jaw, don't spend too much time on them. They also seemed to think that narrator Ishmael was a wide-eyed innocent. In the novel, his syntax is his character, and that ain't it. He's a delicate mixture of sarcastic and laconic and loquacious, the kind of complete wash-up that you'd love to have a beer with. Maybe a lambic.