Way Off Loop

The Recent News

2011-02-04T07:55:00.000-08:00

This blog has been totally abandoned for years, but since the Paper Machete just linked to it, I'll briefly mention everything I'm doing this spring as a playwright:

In Chicago:

Dream Journal of Dr. Jekyll (cowriter)

3/5-4/2

http://themammals.blogspot.com

Erratica (Chicago Premiere)

4/22-5/15

http://americandemigods.wordpress.com/2010/12/12/erratica/

Elsewhere:

Orlando Shakespeare Playfest (Workshop Production)

4/8-4/17

http://www.shakespearefest.org/plays-events/playfest/index.html

Great Plains Theatre Conference (Mainstage Reading)

5/28- 6/4

http://www.mccneb.edu/theatreconference/2011/Mainstage/mainstage_series.asp

2011 Collider Project (Commission and Workshop)

7/14-7/31

http://www.foxvalleyartsfestival.org/collider.php

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.

What if there were only four people in the world, and two of them were assholes?

2006-11-30T21:42:00.000-08:00

Just got back from Profile Theatre's production of "Fat Pig," which has been extended like 60 times because all of Chicago has a huge crush on the title character. She's played by Deborah Hearst, an actress so thoroughly charming that she nearly throws the entire premise of the play. Her character, Helen, lives in this awful tiny world where fat girls will never be loved, but honey, it's a traverse theatre. I looked right across the stage and saw an audience of the smitten.

She has pretty killer chemistry with Tom, the real main character, while giving every impression of being out of his league. He's a weak man, with awful friends, and geeky on the essential level (ie, lost and unsure), but dammed if they aren't completely adorable together. Against my better judgement (this is a Labute play, after all), my romantic comedy rah-rah juices got going. I was emotionally involved to the point that I wanted to take off my shoe and throw it at the villain.

Of course (and this doesn't qualify as a spoiler), Tom's smarmy little co-worker/male buddy and psychotic but toned coworker/ex eventually crush the relationship by being meanies. And this hurt, and hit home as it happened, but it didn't quite succeed as a "scathing indictment." I know society is pretty rough on the overweight, but the two meanies were way too over the top to make me, I don't know, question my own behavior or that of anyone I know. (This was in the writing, btw, not the performances.) They were worthless people. Why would any human being talk to them for more than two minutes?

Of course, this is often my problem when watching claustrophobic four-person dramas that expose the vicious deceit in romance and other relations. I just want to scream "Meet some goddamn new people!" Seriously. There are other people in the world, right? Take your girlfriend and go looking for them.

Christmas is the best time of the year...

2006-11-25T20:45:00.000-08:00

...to be drunk. Ah. I just got back from 500 Clown Christmas Carol. Children, I've been ill lately, so ill and fatigued that I seriously considered skipping a party being thrown in my own apartment. But no longer! 500 Clown has reignited my holiday spirit. Using nothing but pop music and worrying stunts. For indeed, one MUST dance like a monkey if one wants to dance. Excuse me, there's a party happening over there that I must attend to.

Crushin' on Russians

2006-11-23T21:55:00.000-08:00

Last night, I saw the imported Russian all-male 12th Night at Chicago Shakespeare. Sorry it took me so long to post. I had much drinking to do last night, and much eating to do today. Sneck up!

Anyway, lovely, wonderful production, populated by fit slavic dreamboats who are, to the man, glittering film stars in the mother country, appearing in such movies as "Investigation is Led by Experts" and "Siberian Barber."* (The audience was packed with swooning emigrees.) Unlike most English- speaking glittering film stars, these boys can act on stage. Lots to enjoy, but my unrealistic crush of the night turned out to be their Feste. On stage, he was basically Boy George. But how cute at the after party!

I should pause here, and admit a deep, silly, stereotype-laden love for all things Russian. I find the culture- which I know mostly through the literature- to be both touching and hilarious in its extremity. Read a capsule biography of Dostoyevsky and perhaps you'll see what I mean. One cannot choose but laugh. I'm sure it has nothing to do with reality, but often I'll read or hea about something that elicits this unique conception of misery and meaning and say "Ah! how delightfully Russian!" Anyway you could tell this was a Russian version of 12th Night, because the famous party scene didn't really get going until after Toby socked Maria in the jaw. That is, first we lie on the floor weeping, then we down four or five shots of vodka, and THEN we can really start to have a good time.

*titles of films are not made up.

B is for Basil, assaulted by bears

2006-11-11T20:22:00.000-08:00

Just returned from Gorey Stories, at the Viaduct, a show-with-music based on Edward Gorey's beloved, laconic, and unsettling books. Despite having been mounted twice before, the show had a slight case of the opening night stumbles. Or maybe not. There was something odd about the pacing, and it was hard to figure out if it was intentional. It was - an extra beat- after practically everything that happened. And before practically everything else that happened. And it kept the evening from taking off.

Here's what they did right- wonderfully detailed costumes that could have stepped right off the page. Several really funny performers- particularly the men, and particularly little Henry. And some quite nice music from live musicians.

The trick with story theatre, I believe, is generally to keep the flow going. You want to avoid saying something, and THEN having somebody do it. This happened in "Gorey Stories" pretty much constantly. My date for the night suggested that the pauses were an attempt to capture Gorey's essential dryness- the spare words that face you every time you flip the page. But then many members of the cast performed in a way that was positively wet- making Gorey's mildly deformed characters positively grotesque. I think the show could be really lovely with some cuts to the first act, a severe pacing adjustment, and a lighter touch from the actors. Oh, and thicker make-up. White-face works, people! So cake it on, and don't be shy.

Click for show details...

Chicks and Ducks and Geese Better Scurry

2006-11-09T22:01:00.000-08:00

I've just come back from the live taping of NPR's "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me"* with a terrific crush on Peter Segal. Yes, I know he has a family. It isn't the sort of crush that involves breaking up marriages. It's the sort that involves coffee and babysitting your kids for free. Anyway, it's a funny show, but has a tinge of that soporific NPR quality, meaning the energy level is just right for playing while you clean your room and drink tea and maybe lower than is ideal for a live evening. Or perhaps it's just me. I've been waging a three-week war of attrition with this cough, so a voice as harmonic as Carl Kassel's makes me long for afghan blankets. New best friend Peter Segal also had a nasty cold, prompting a fantasy scenario in which we ditched the taping for relaxed conversation in his living room while his wife brought us hot drinks. Yeah. Prolonged illness has really toned down my fantasy life.

After the taping, Segal takes questions from the audience. Now, earlier in the show, he'd dropped a line from a particularly bouncy Broadway standard, very apropos, but so damn bouncy that it immediately got stuck in my head, causing me to become rather bouncy in my seat. This is torturous when you only know one line. "Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry... Chicks and ducks and geese better scurry.. " I couldn't stop myself. I asked if he could sing the rest.

"I've been waiting all my life for someone to ask me that question." Pause. "Do you know how it starts?"

We both knew what was at stake. The possibility of an impromptu sing-a-long Chase Bank Auditorium "Surrey with the Fringe on Top" hung in the air between us. We could sense the glory and the sweetness of the moment. But neither of us knew the words. And so it passed!

Let this teach you, children, never to neglect the classics!

www.stlyrics.com/lyrics/oklahoma/thesurreywiththefringeontop.htm

*It qualifies as theatre. Why? Because that's how the Reader lists it.

Redundancy

2006-11-05T07:29:00.000-08:00

I am now going to blog about a show I saw on closing night. Helpful! City Lit Theatre's "Jekyll and Hyde" was quite well done, full of thrills of the slow, creeping sort. True, absolute, straight-ahead reader's theatre, where you'll often have four people on stage reading from each other's letters. The cast was full of people with interesting Victorian English faces, and laconic ways of speaking, so that by the time they got to the truly intense finale, the audience was quite suckered in. And it's closed. Oh well.

MOO COW!

2006-10-28T14:42:00.000-07:00

I've got a number of chemicals duking it out in my system right now, so please forgive me if I trail off in the middle of a sentence. I think the antihystamine is winning, but maybe I should send a cup of coffee down there to check.

Anyway, last night was a special night. I got reacquainted with a nearly forgotten chapter of my adolescence, Mr. Baker's high school English class entitled "Joyce and Frickin' Ulysses." Ulysses is a byword for excessive, famous, tricksy modernism, but I loved the class. It's a book to tangle with, a book to stand up to, and burrow into, a very long journey, and it's best to take your friends. Ah, Bess (to my left), and Nick (to my right), you were brave bright bastards. Cheers!

Forgive the nostalgia. It was prompted by last night's show "Dead City." It's Ulysses, essentially, gender reversed, shoved forward in time, and shortened considerably. I liked it. I enjoyed bright-eyed, bourgeois Samantha Blossom, and her epic journey through New York, through libraries and cafes and insufficiently shocking nightclubs. (Seriously, loud music and sexualized writhing wouldn't faze MY mother, let alone a 38 year-old New York babe.) The production needs some tightening, but the writing was funny, and the structure of the whole thing was satisfying. It took me longer to warm up to Jewel, the Stephen Dedalus counterpart. Stephen is an inherently vexing character, but Jewel was so gormless, irritating in an even more irritating way. Scuttle scuttle indeed!

Postmodernism looking at modernism is going to make the latter look silly. It's also going to make itself look irrelevant. "Dead City" has a bit of that problem, but it doesn't drop the ball in terms of entertainment. Which could be another problem. The real punch of Ulysses is that it gives you all the affirmation and structure of the classic story it's based on (the Odyssey) but only if you FIGHT for it. Joyce isn't going to hand you the happy ending, and the moral, because he knows you wouldn't value it if he did. Instead, he mucks up the telling of the story so that you can barely draw it out of incomprehensibility.

Just by putting the story on stage, "Dead City" makes it swift, and smooth, and easy. Unlike its source material, it's entertainment.

Two Stories for the Price of One

2006-09-29T22:12:00.000-07:00

Tonight's play, "The African Company Presents Richard III," had a killer premise, a flawless production, and an unfortunately weak script. This sort of thing can be frustrating for me, but it's still quite worth seeing. And the story- about a company of free blacks mounting a production of "Richard III" in New York, 1821- is based on fascinating historical events.

The first act was bogged down by blunt exposition and a tacked-on love plot. (There was also a bit too much of mustache twirling theatre producer/McOppressor Stephen Price.) But the second act hit the meat of the story- these nominally free black performers trying to define themselves, keep their dignity, and avoid epic-scale freak-outs in front of an inescapable white audience. There was this gorgeous moment where, as Price plotted with the town constable to shut down the production, the five company members dressed themselves and assumed their roles. (Admirable clever costume work, by the way. A single piece transformed each 19th century domestic's outfit into the clothes of Shakespearean nobility.)

Anyway, just before the play-within-a-play began, one of the characters speechified on the doubleness of their enterprise- the many audience members who were coming not just to see the show, but to see the show fail, or devolve into riots and arrests. "Now," he said, "The African Company present two stories at the same time!" Luckily, theatre just isn't that dangerous any more, but for those scenes, Caryle and Congo Square revived a moment when it was, and damned if it didn't blow my mind.

Action Corner!

2006-09-24T20:47:00.000-07:00

This week, I started off the fall season with a bang. Several bangs, actually, and a lot of heartrending whimpers. "King Lear," followed by "The Pillowman" and "Hatfield and McCoy." If there are any bloodier plays up in Chicago right now, let me know, and I'll see them, for the sake of completion.

I'd been warned about all of these plays in advance- especially "Pillowman." But the only one that actually bothered me was "Lear." I got out of "Pillowman," which is famous for its twisted violence against children, feeling moved, but not particularly shocked. There was horrible stuff in it, but it didn't go beyond the pale, for me at least. It all had a purpose. "Hatfield and McCoy" had plenty of deaths, but you know, not too many deaths for a story about an incurable feud. It's not always golden statues and handshakes, folks. In fact, it usually isn't.

Lear, on the other hand, had many violent episodes that seemed tacked-on. And while it had a slightly lower death-count than "Hatfield & Mccoy," and far less perversion than "Pillowman," it had an abundance of gratuity. You see, you have to tell the story. If you need to knife someone, you need to knife someone. If you need gunshots, and stomach-turning anecdotes, you need them. When you don't need it, and you did it anyway, then, and only then, have you gone too far.

Enough philosophizing and onto the shows! "Pillowman" is a lovely piece of work, one of those plays that seems like it must be the most important story the playwright has to tell. It also has this bit where a policeman tries to force a suspect to eat some severed toes. It drew some of the weirdest audience reactions I've ever heard- no straight out laugh lines to speak of, but a constant smattering of loud chuckles as various individuals found certain words irresistibly funny. Envision an insane post-modern Law and Order SVU thought experiment that eventually breaks your heart. Also, Tracy Letts is pretty spectacular.

"Hatfield & McCoy" is quite intense and quite beautiful- especially its juggernaut of a second act. The (historically-based) plot sort of bridled against "Romeo and Juliet" in a lot of cutting and interesting ways. Lovely songs, a teenage heroine so vivid I think I might have had her in a class once, and bleak, unending death. I particularly liked the stately gentleman who played the McCoy patriarch, and the McCoy matriarch (Stacy Stoltz) devastated me (as usual.) Also, who knew Nate Allen could preach?

N.B. for Hatfield and Mccoy. Certain seats are not for the faint of heart. If you want bodies to fall at your feet, and Ma Mccoy's tears to fall in your lap, get there early and plonk your butts in the front row seats side-audience seats closest to the entrance.

The burden of high expectations....

2006-09-19T21:40:00.000-07:00

...or, please stop adding rape to everything, Robert Falls. I just got back from King Lear at the Goodman, which was alternately quite good and quite annoying. Since this was a high profile, big-budget production of an absolutely devastating play, that means on balance I disliked it. I know this isn't fair to the poor high-profile, big-budget productions, but try as I might, I can't stop expecting them to be amazing. Especially when, you know, King Lear. I can't even read that play without having a total breakdown.

Falls has set Lear in a former communist kleptocracy, complete with track suits and too much gilt on everything. It's the kind of country that seesaws between conspicuous consumption and extended bombing raids, and the setting goes a long way towards contextualizing Lear's tacky behaviour. So, this allows for a lot of neat stuff, but also a lot of stuff that's just... not needed, or is in fact distracting, as if the play is smugly pointing out how cleverly it's been updated. Drive a car on stage? Reason not the need! And, you know, this is pretty common with Shakespeare. I'm getting to the point where the most shocking thing would be if, during their first scene together, Oswald and Goneril were NOT engaging in a sexual act. Please stop doing it during plot points, y'all.

The biggest problem, for me, was all the added rape. I find depictions of sexual violence pretty rough to sit through, and if it strikes me as gratuitous, I'll turn my anger against the artist, and not the fictional attacker. Also, why are the good guys suddenly rapists? I'm all for introducing moral ambiguity, but it can go too far, to the point where I'm perfectly happy to let you all rot in your former communist kleptocracy.

I'd like to point out though, that I'm not a strict textualist. I don't mind additions and departures as long as I love them. I won't spoil any of the good bits, but do watch out for the deaths. Cornwall's and Edmund's were super.

There were also some killer performances. Headliner Stacy Keach did beautifully as Lear, but Edmund and Regan really caught my eye. Regan had this wonderful, dead-on, stupid-girl whine of a voice, but she was still perfectly comprehensible, and in command of the language. Edmund looked like a Daily Show correspondent- not any one in particular, an amalgamation- reptilian, smug, very unsettling.

To sum up: strong reactions, often negative, expectations for this sort of thing are always going to be high. Like I said, this is Lear. I can't read the last scene without crying. But at this end of this production I was distracted, and angry. And dry-eyed. But perhaps that's what they wanted.

What's marginally better than drowning?

2006-08-18T20:51:00.000-07:00

I am become a very damp girl. Seriously. I had to wring out my sundress and then hang it from the chandelier. If I had thought to spray the thing with febreze before leaving the train station, I could consider it laundered.

And this, dear writers, directors, and all other purveyors of theatre, is why you need to make good shows for me to see. Because when I have to swim back home after a Friday night opening, I really want to be able to say it was worth it.

Sorry, "Keep Ishmael," but not so much. This musical kept getting more and more irritating. At first, I was irritated by not being able to hear the words in what I suspected was a snappy, tuneful, opening number. Then I was irritated by a series of !wacky! plot turns, and then by a lot of dumb, flat literary allusions. At no point was there any evidence that anyone involved in the show knew how microphones worked. My customary intermission checking of the program was also irritating, as it revealed that the director had a good amount of experience and thus no excuse.

I'm being a little unfair. I liked the show for a good part of the first act. But the first act closer was an utter, utter train wreck. You know, busy and sluggish at the same time, smugly !wacky!, badly staged, and full of this guy shouting "SHAMU!" over and over again, which, I hate to break it to you, was less like a joke that gets funnier with repetition, and more like something embarrassing that a crazy person keeps repeating on the train. The show never recovered.

The whole thing was such a sitcom, really, completely with a disingenuous moral. "The suburbs aren't so bad." Now, I know and respect people who agree with this statement*, but I don't think the writer believes it. The entire "Naperville" flavor consisted of name-checking chain stores. Please don't have a big closing number about how wonderful Naperville is when you make it look pointless and bland. If what you really want to say is:"Naperville, marginally better than drowning," then at least have the balls to say it. It was condescending, that's what it was.

"Keep Ishmael" is a riff, or something, on Moby Dick. Which I never finished. Lost it on the Montrose bus 1/3 of the way through. But I know enough to fake it, and I know that "Ishmael's" engagement with the text was pointless and facile. There actually is something to be drawn from the original Ishmael's listlessness/restlessness and the mellow plight of over-educated and underemployed modern postgrads, but the show only followed that thread for a minute. Instead, it got wrapped up in this idiotic Shamu plot. Melville's mythical beastie was both a whale, and a symbol, an emotional force and a big honking mammal. The whale in "Keep Ishmael" is neither- it's nothing but a reference.

*Having never lived in a suburb I have no opinion.

Save me! And hover over me with your wings!

2006-08-13T22:36:00.000-07:00

Greetings, my pork chitlins. I am totally recovered from the serious dental surgery that turned me into a bitter, autistic hermit for nearly a month. Due warning- I'm still suffering from acute deadline-itis, and will be working under a reduced show schedule.

I suddenly have no IDEA what is happening in Chicago theatre. Ah well. Let's get back into it. But first- one of them rare touring shows.

Today I finally returned to the Cirque de Soleil, an obsession of my childhood. I saw the first show come to Chicago when I was, what, eight? I laughed so hard my lungs hurt. I stared so hard my eyes started to ache. Yeah, the audience experience can be pretty intense when you're tichy.

And also when you're big. When a big budget touring show comes to Chicago, I tend to shrug and say "It was ok, but there are better deals in town." $20 is my upper limit with ticket prices. But Cirque... look... it's a LOT of show. A whole darn lot of show. And even if you respond badly to its artsy fantasia vibe, it will blow your mind. The Cirque won't take offense! Your mind is all it wants to blow.

The current show has a vague storyline, like all of them do: an old clown imagines his funeral procession: jugglers, acrobats and angels. The premise gives rise to some killer moments- something about an angel watching over a tightrope walker is like a bolt to my heart- but the real emotional punch is always within the acts themselves. Defiance! Achievement! Joy! Gravity is for putzes! Cirque acts often pretend to mess up, in order to pump the drama. I don't find this at all dishonest. These people make the impossible look effortless through years of unstinting effort. If they fall once, on purpose, it's only to let us see the falls upon falls that have gone before. Then they leap up, and do it perfectly- and that is real. Thank the angels above them, just out of reach, urging them higher and higher.

Wild and unwise

2006-07-20T15:44:00.000-07:00

Prepare for radio silence. Tomorrow morning I'm getting all four of my wisdom teeth pulled, so if I see any theatre at all this weekend , it will be playing inside my head to a sweet Vicodin symphony. Go outside, y'all!

Getting some sleep

2006-07-08T22:19:00.000-07:00

Back out and around after a shameful multiple-weekends absence. Ah theatre, ah vaudeville, how I missed you.

Just got back from Live Action Cartoonists at the Storefront, the lovely mid-sized, city-owned blackbox that gives punk non-profits a place to play in the big kid's theatre district. I love this town- the government actually exploits its theatre scene. Downtown has a natural desert-like quality, but the Daley-Medicis keep gamely filling it up with circus performers, festivals, and insane public art. It's hard to get anything to take root in the Loop without food, shopping and nightlife, but they won't give up, the dears! I think my next ludicrous goal will be to attend every city-sponsored free event in one year. First step- perfect the human cloning process.

The show itself was quite neat, but neater in medium then in message. "Performance of Sleep in One Long Act Without Intermission" is about sleep, death, and various stages in between. There's a story, sort of, one that manages to intertwine the "right to die" controversy with the death penalty. (Which is not a controversy as far as LAC is concerned, and not as far as I'm concerned either.*) It's sort of a Neo-Futurists show on acid and speed: giant cartoons drawn on the spot, awesomely slick video project everywhere, giant blinking eyeballs, etc. etc. In addition to live cartoons, there's some sharp cartoon style acting, with frozen faces and thousand-yard stares.
However, the ideas behind it weren't as subtle or resonant as they should have been. Yes, the death penalty is bad, and yes, keeping people in persistent vegetative states is problematic. The show got caught up in those two fairly didactic points, and didn't go as deep into our relationship with sleep and death as it needed to. Ah well. Still looked cool.

Last night I caught "Fuck the Back Row," a film/live music event curated by the Dresden Dolls, a band that loves vaudeville as much as I do. Doesn't quite qualify as theatre, but I had a hell of a time. Both good and bad. I sat through the single most inexplicable act I have ever had to sit through, but at the end I got to have my girl-crush on Dolls frontwoman Amanda Palmer confirmed by proximity. Kids, she's so cool. And she wants you to get your art on, even if nobody else likes it.

So that's my directive for the weekend. Obey Miss Palmer. Obey the Daley-Medicis. There's a lot of empty space out there, and we need to fill it somehow.

*We're both firmly against it, in case you were wondering.

An open letter to certain members of the audience...

2006-06-17T18:24:00.000-07:00

This is hard for me to say, because lord knows I want you to have fun. I want you to stay out late, and laugh loud, and get drunk and rock out at the theatre. I want you to know that "live performance" doesn't mean "fold your hands like good children and shut up." Keep all this in mind when I say to you, honestly, please, JAYsus, just because the show starts at 11pm doesn't mean you get to be total dipthongs.

Let's review:

Cackling with laughter, cheering the actors, being thoroughly engaged in the proceedings= good.
Making your own dumb little drunken jokes during quiet moments of a play= asshattery.*

Is that so hard?

Last night I saw "The Earl," a very cool and neatly done show that should have been both creepy as hell and funny as hell. The play opens with a long, genuinely tense moment of stalking. The lighting, the barely visible actor, the sound... they all worked together for about four seconds to give me a sense of visceral dread. After four seconds, some audience member decided to start audibly making fun of the barely visible actor's hair. Suffice it to say, my viscera checked out.

The show was still fun and bloody, but that idiot did take something away from it. The people at Red Orchid know what they're doing- I could see how that long creepy moment, followed as it was by immediate brutal violence, was meant to affect the rest of the play. For one thing, it would have made it much funnier. Make people scared and uncomfortable first, and they'll laugh their guts out. The move from terror to humor was well planned, and I could SEE it, as an informed technician, but I didn't get to feel it.

News flash, buddy. Nobody came here for you.

Ok, rant over. Go see the Earl, I liked it anyway. Note, it's being marketed as an old school micro-budget late-night shock fest (they've even downgraded the fliers,) but it's not the kind of old-school Chicago late-night splatter shock-fest you have to be drunk to enjoy. It's disciplined, tight and well acted. Sigh. I think the marketing campaign is cool, but I worry that it's giving certain people the wrong impression. I'd appreciate the thoughts of anyone who went to see it on a different night.

Actually, that's a lovely general question for this week. What's the line between being an engaged, responsive audience member and being a jerk? How much noise is too much noise? How much noise isn't enough? If anyone involved with the show happens to read this, what have your audiences been like in general?

Very quickly- last week, I took in "Gaudy Night" at Lifeline. It's one of their adaptations, and it's romantic, if a little stilted at the exposition. It brought back pleasant memories of my own time at Oxford, which is, and always has been, a rarefied, weird and seductive place. It also brought back a less pleasant Oxford memory, which is something of a spoiler and will thus be the second footnote.*

*It may be excusable to crack a joke during a really really really really bad play. Mean as hell, but excusable. And by really bad, I mean "makes you want to throttle yourself with your own tongue."

*Those who have read the book or seen the play will get the connection: On her birthday, the scout for my dorm came to work drunk, with a black eye. To our horror, she defecated all over the washroom and smeared it around. Ah, the scout system. Introducing awkward matters of class to well-meaning undergraduates since the commoners got let into Oxford.

Good thieves, bad busses.

2006-06-11T09:07:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I hit "The Good Thief" at Gift Theatre, which has one of those surprise locations. You schedule a review with some vague idea that it's off the blue line, then wake up in the morning and realize it's in Jefferson Park. You all know what that means for a Lincoln Square girl- Lawrence bus to the end of the line, aka the slowest and most depressing bus ride in Chicago.

But you know, it was appropriate, because the main/only character in "The Good Thief" probably has to take some hellish Irish equivalent of the 81 West anytime he has to go anywhere. Poor little ex-thug.

So, nicely done show. The weakest part for me was Conor McPherson's script. I can see why Gift Theatre picked it- it's a funny, sad, short monologue-play that Artistic Director Michael Patrick Thornton, who is recovering from several catastrophic strokes, can do sitting down. And he's fantastic in it. Really engaging, with that honest-bullshit Gaelic twinkle in his eye. So, it's an ideal showcase for a lovely, charismatic actor, but for me there wasn't much special about the crime-gone-haywire with a soupcon of femme fatales story.

But talk about spectator challenge! Two of the most gripping moments were when Thorton dragged himself on and off stage. Now, look, he's an actor who we're supposed to look at, but he's also an extremely young man who needs to use a walker to get around- who you are not supposed to look at. Tension much? This worked beautifully when Thorton entered, but when he exited after his bow, after the applause had died down, we all just sat there and watched him go, feeling pretty certain that the theatre was over, but not quite able to look away. Interesting.

Also, this marks the first off-loop non-musical I have seen featuring original music NOT written by Kevin O'Donnell. The man's total domination is slipping.

The girl theatre blogger fails to post for a while

2006-05-28T17:58:00.000-07:00

Bad non-poster, bad, bad.

Kittens, I'm off to workshop my play, Erratica, in Muncie, Indiana. Check it out here: http://www.bsu.edu/calendar/event/0,1361,142828-10675-17824,00.html and here http://www.bsu.edu/theatre/article/0,,27114--,00.html (Reina afficianados will be amused to note that I'm once again tangling with that unconscionable title-stealer, Wendy Macleod.) Forgive the lack of new reviews for next week.

But this week? Time to play our favorite game: catch-up. Last Saturday I took in Spamalot and ehhhhhhhh. Pleasant enough, but something made me uneasy about the way the audience roared in anticipation of its favorite bits from the movie. Wouldn't you have more fun doing that at home with your friends? Also, the rampant silliness of the staging was cute, but would have been much cuter on a millionth of the budget with thirty people in the audience. My snobbery again? Perhaps, but there's just something about invention in response to a low budget that flicks my Bic. I mean, that's part of what made the coconuts so great in the movie version- who can afford horses?

I caught a Thursday matinee of the Clean House at the Goodman with my friend Liz. I enjoyed it, but I don't really get all the fuss. Number one sin for me: not funny enough. The writing had a certain bland sitcomishness at times that COULD have been intentional, but I wasn't sure to what effect.

And of course, best for last. "The Boy Detective Fails," now playing at the Viaduct, is lovely. I hearted it with all my heart. The little red curtain, the witty, dingy sets, the teal harpsichord. It had a bit of Wes Anderson aesthetic going on, which is a new trick for the House Theatre and very pretty. And Shawn [smashes the keyboard randomly] was precious in the title role. So earnest! I was right there emotionally, and I will have that boxed, please.

Put about the word...

2006-05-21T11:34:00.000-07:00

Polyrhythmic is looking for witty, fabulous, outrageous women to perform in the Female Feature, a benefit for the Viola Project at Trace, June 6th. They'll have their regular open mike at 10:30, but the feature at 11:30 will be all-girl, all the time. We want poets, stick balancers, singers, dancers, magicians, fire eaters (ok, not fire eaters, they're against code)....any five minute solo performance done by a woman. This is a great chance to try out your act while supporting Chicago's best Shakespeare workshop for girls!

Contact me at wayoffloop at gmail dot com, and I'll put you in touch with the appropriate people.

www.violaproject.org

I don't believe in astrology...

2006-05-20T16:26:00.000-07:00

I believe even less in joke astrology. But my horoscope in this week's Onion gave me chills.

Libra September 23 - October 23
Disappointment will be yours this week when what you first believe to be the play's curtain call turns out to be just Act 1, Scene 2.

Invasion of your MOM

2006-05-14T20:28:00.000-07:00

This week: Invasion of the Minnesota Normals, WNEP at the Apollo Studio- a play about the total absurdity of those personality tests they use in corporate America. It was eeeeenteresting, you know. Didn't love it, didn't hate it. A slow start, some moments of intense hilarity, weirdness and bite, and rather a pat ending. They had good performers, but some of them were a great deal subtler than others. Not to say better, but there was a style disconnect between some actors that kept the play from cohering. Judicious cuts and some actor adjustments could really improve it.

My first time in the dear, homey little Apollo studio. So cozy! So neat! Love the little corner bar!

Does she live?

2006-05-06T22:38:00.000-07:00

Adapting something like "The Old Curiosity shop," a serial novel by someone who got paid per word, is no easy trick. I just got back from the Lookingglass theatre's swing at it, which was graceful and energetic and beautifully staged (of course!) By and large, the actors had the cartoonish vitality of the classic Dickensian sorts, especially their Quilp, whose posture was nothing short of uncanny. He did the whole part in a constant plie, all the more impressive since his spidery thighs look to be nothing but bone. The knees on that man! Fair warning: It's Dickens at his most raucously sentimental, but even cynics will have a lot to laugh at. Also should be a great show for kids who dig Lemony Snicket. Ah, torturing children. Creating great literature for young and old since the Greeks.

Also, before it closes, try to make time for "Dustbowl Gothic" at the Building Stage. Why? First, it's free- not just for me, but for everybody. Second, it is beautiful beautiful beautiful, category stark. (I mean to say, starkly beautiful.) It's also quite funny, with some great actors, and some pretty music. It's a little sketchy on plot and sense, but it's just coup de theatre after coup de theatre.

I am a sucker.

2006-04-24T22:42:00.000-07:00

Saturday, I took in Leaving Iowa at the Royal George. And I was prepped for a total bland-over. You know, cornpone family vacation/coming to terms with your dead father comedy drama for ages 10 to 110. I didn't think it would hurt, but I was expecting some involuntary eye-rolls.

But you know what? It got me. The stupid show got me, in all of its slickness and calculated heart tugging, and despite the horribly dull central character. The secret, my kittens, is good performers. The cast had two superb comedians (one playing an annoying little sister, the other playing loads of tiny roles), and they kept everything sharp and entertaining. But it was Bradley Armacost, as the dead dad, who brought the meat, and made me feel all... moved. He was so sweet, and earnest, and daddish, and committed... just the most precious old actor ever. Whenever the show was in his hands it vaulted to this whole other level where I couldn't criticize a thing. I was toast. I am a sucker.

Forgiveness

2006-04-22T16:26:00.000-07:00

So, I did that irritating thing where I go see a show, and put off blogging about it till after I write the review, and then feel like blogging isn't worth it. Well, not today!

Last week was "The Golden Truffle," which I really enjoyed. I loved the over-the-top dress up quality, the way the consumerism theme played out in all the fun stuff you could buy, the cake shaped set, the truffles, the banquettes. But my plus one for the night, the very smart and talented Andy, hated it. He thought the music sounded bad, the script was awkward, the character development half hearted.

I completely agreed with him. I loved the show anyway. I don't know why I'm sometimes so forgiving... show to show it doesn't make sense. But the "Golden Truffle" swept me off my feet as soon as I walked into the transformed Redmoon Central. From that second, I was full of good will, and willing to sit through any amount of acoustic irritation for another shot of magic. They had me at "Hello, may I show you to your seat?"

Off-nights in the Loop

2006-04-04T22:23:00.000-07:00

Saw the House Theatre's "Ellen Under Glass" (pretty title!) at the Storefront downtown tonight. It was both lyrical and underpopulated. Seriously people, I know it's a weeknight, but live a little! Anyway it had gorgeous music, and fluid, oh-god-we're-slipping-into-the-dreamworld again transitions from the magical to the mundane. It also starred Carolyn Defrin, about whom I've written my first ever Two-Sentence Performer Review:

Carolyn Defrin never blinks. Carolyn Defrin only closes her eyes on purpose.

They just have someone back there with a curling iron.

2006-04-02T22:52:00.000-07:00

Earlier today I took my mom to see "Cradle of Man" at Victory Gardens. We both agreed that the acting was top notch, and the script only good in Act Two. My mother was also impressed with the lovely hair on the entire female cast, and posited the existence of a backstage person dedicated entirely to touching it up between scenes.

My mom is so cute!

Friday was "Emma" at the Breadline. Smidge disappointed, I'm afraid. The first Reverie show I saw was enthralling- a French farce that should have been too wordy and too plotty and too silly to work at all, but was ceaselessly delightful and hilarious. This one was too long, and just couldn't keep things moving at a high froth. "Emma" used, I think, pretty much exclusively the original words from the book, and used multiple-character narration, which I like, but instead of just using the most delightful Austen passages, it relied on narration to move the plot along. Someone once said that narration should only be used if you don't need it. Still, there were some great funny moments before it overstayed its welcome, and Emma herself was all that you could have wanted. Looked a bit like Emma Thompson too, which is a plus.

Last week I also took in "Fighting Words" at the Viaduct. Go check out centerstage to see what I thought!

I was watching TV, ok?

2006-03-24T11:58:00.000-08:00

Back from nearly a month-long hiatus, taken because I needed extra time for my top-secret non theatre-going pursuits.* My first night in the soup wasn't disappointing, exactly, because it was Lincoln Square Theatre, very charming, but definitely a community operation, and stuck in the obligatory church basement. Hence, not sky-high expectations. But, it could have been loads better than it was. Abelard and Heloise is some scorching subject material, you know. Remember the masturbating nun puppet from "Being John Malkovich?" Yeah, those are the famously celibate lovers. The show had good, solid production values, and managed to create some awfully pretty lighting moments without anything that could be called a rig. And the majority of the cast was solid. However, nothing really fantastic could have been made out of the melodramatic yet anachronistic script, and Abelard was the most irritating male lead I have ever seen. Quite affected, quite actory, and didn't ever seem to be listening or responding to the other people on stage with him. I don't get it. There were loads of good male actors in the cast- I can't believe they couldn't have found somebody better.

Yet, at the same time, I gotta give mad props to Lincoln Square theatre. I love that they're constantly putting on new scripts, which is not usual for a community theatre, and I always have a qualified good time at their shows. I wish they'd revive "Pirate Bones," a script I read for Victory Gardens which they'd premiered some years ago. I thought it was really lovely.

*out of town guests, Viola Project stuff, y'know, writing plays my own darn self

Will somebody PLEASE get the spectacle?

2006-02-26T19:07:00.000-08:00

Just got back from a fundraiser held at the Noble Horse- you know, that stable you can see from the brown line near Sedgewick? Lord, I nearly died. Fancy air-filtration they might have, but it's no match for my hair-trigger timothy hay allergy.

Anyway, Noble Horse used to be a barn, but they redid it as a much smaller, ad-hoc version of Medieval Times. Dinner theatre with ponies! As a whole, it was charmingly inept, but spotted with some really jaw dropping acts: circus riders jumping on and off horses at gigantic speeds, somersaulting around, riding backwards and upside down, this fabulous woman with a bullwhip whose horse walked on its hind legs and, and bowed and spun around like it had an orc on its tail. Acts like should be supported-- they COULD be supported-- by excellent non-horse performers, a better thought-out theme, and some nifty costumes and props. I am issuing a CALL to our fine spectacle oriented theatre companies. I know some of you have always wanted to do a show with ponies- there's somebody in the city right now with the right facilities and some of the right performers. All they need are some fine theatrical geniuses to spin sheer gold out of the hay. Just tell me- I'll get you the numbers.

Meanwhile, it was a very cute show, and the children in the audience adored it. Free pony rides for the little ones at the end.

Saturday night I caught "Serpent Woman" at the Side Project. Didn't enjoy it as much as I'd hoped. See, it was about a man who had to free his magical wife from the clutches of shapeshifting fairies, a premise which I like.* And most of the fairies, especially a pair of super-clown types, were great. But the man and his wife were boringsville, so when they triumphed, I really didn't care. I wanted the fairies to win, as they were more fun. Still, giant puppets!

*Even though the fairies are slacking from their rightful occupation, baby-stealing.

Honestly, WHORES. Or, Reina judges a play without seeing or reading it.

2006-02-23T08:11:00.000-08:00

So, a while back there was a show playing at Steppenwolf that I refused to review. I like to go in with an open mind, and this was one of those plays that I thought I would despise based on the plot synopsis. I hate to talk smack about a writer whose work I've never seen, but Adam Rapp? It's like you wrote "Red Light Winter" with the express purpose of making me hate it. I mean, "love triangle between two men and a prostitute." It might as well have been titled "How to convince Reina to skip a play in eight words or less." I skimmed the reviews, and even the positive ones confirmed my suspicions. So, I skipped, and pre-emptively lost respect for Mr. Rapp.

Anyways, I just opened up this week's issue of the New Yorker to find a big review of the New York production of "Red Light Winter." Now, the big review is generally pretty long, and goes into a lot of detail, so you might think some exculpatory nuance would be revealed. Oh, but nay. Every single detail the critic revealed made me hate the play more. And it was a glowing review! An absolute tonguebath! Read it here: http://www.newyorker.com/critics/theatre/articles/060227crth_theatre
Here's a little sample re: Lisa Joyce as the hooker: "She is a languid, soft-spoken object of desire; in her pliancy, she exudes a sense of lostness. " Gag me. It sounds like the classic hooker relationship plot, plus the guys' relationship from "Sexual Perversity in Chicago" (minus the funny), plus the blog rantings of that weirdo who keeps looking at my friendster profile and thinks that women hate "nice guys."* Can anything possibly be well written and acted enough to win me over after this?

Now, a lot of this is a matter of taste. I'm so over that whole Neil Labute thing about cruel bastards and sad sacks with no personal resources who are only interested in sex and obsessive love. Maybe it seems propulsive, vile and compelling the first time, but then it's just your own personal little fantasia. It's just little. Why would I spend so much time with boring, horrible idiots? Plus, it is about a prostitute, and I've developed a Pavlovian hate reaction to sex worker characters, especially in plays that think they are gritty and real. And, darn it, I need actual women on the stage some of the time. Just occasionally!

So, am I being terribly unfair? Has anyone seen this play? Is anyone else so over this whole aesthetic in drama? What sex worker characters do you find acceptable? (I have a short list, mostly from genre stuff.) And what do you all do when you're pretty sure you'll hate a play before you see it? I like to think that I judge plays on execution rather than subject and content, but this seems to be an exception.

*Please note that many woman like nice guys. Many women hate pathetic misogynists.

p.s. Sorry about the formatting weirdness and the black ads. It'll be fixed when I have time. Meanwhile, enjoy the ease of reading black type on white!

Feather pants! Feather pants! Feather pants!

2006-02-23T00:05:00.000-08:00

Last night was the big shiny manly "Swan Lake" at the big shiny Cadillac Palace, a theatre which so wonderfully embodies its name that I don't have to describe it. Swan Lake is a marvellous show because:
a. russian ballet music
b. shirtless men in feathery pants having gay tension all over the place. Swan-studs!

However, it was a bit of a cautionary tale about remembering to eat before shows. The first half of act one filled me with delight, but the second half, the magical swan-communing half, seemed very long. I can't tell if there was some flaw in that part, or if it was just how badly I wanted to get to the snack bar. I'm going to give it the benefit of the doubt, because I loved the parts of the show for which I was not starving.

Strong women in cheesy musicals

2006-02-20T17:07:00.000-08:00

Saturday night I watched, I kid you not, a musical about Gertrude Stein. The main result was an overall increase in my appreciation for La Stein. She is damn funny! All those locutions and circumlocutions and repetitions have some killer laugh lines stuck in. The woman who played Old Stein, (doing mostly talking, very little singing) had a steely glint-in-the-eye deadpan going on. She seemed clever and almost dry, and as if she was having a very good time. But what she's in, it's such a frickin' musical, you know. (I love musicals, by the way). It just had, especially in the beginning, some of those qualities that people who don't like musicals make fun of them for. You know, like people walking slowly towards each other as they sing.

However, the staging improved vastly once the vaudeville and jazz parodies started up, and the music was lovely from start to finish. Stein's lines set remarkably well! I might have preferred a dryer presentation of the same songs, one that didn't tie them all so explicitly to Stein's life. I also could have done without the presence of Young Stein (a lovely top-notch singer who did a great job, it's not her fault that her role was a bit of cheese). Just...dryer. More cool. More of a martini, so that when the sentiment comes, it knocks you out.

Sunday was another life told through songs- Nina Simone's. I would recommend it for the music, the tight little band, the pleasingly over-the-top performance by the lead, and the seating arrangement. Black Ensemble is a gorgeous mid-sized theatre! Very round, very tiered, and you can walk to your seat without sidling. The stage itself had two levels and a little alcove for the band- it looked good even with the horrible spatter paint job on the floor.*

However, the interstitial material was not much fun. Some dramatic material, certainly, but not much drama. Just very inert. And Nina mimed playing the piano while singing, which I disliked. Not because she didn't mime decently, but because she didn't sing like a person who was playing the piano. Ah well. When she gets out from behind the grand and rips into songs like "Mississippi Goddamn," she's killer.

*Once I was in a play where the directors got high on fumes or something and decided to spatter paint the floor with red. In the morning, it seems, they were horrified. This sort of story is the only explanation I can ever think of for the presence of spatter paint on the floor.

I get reviewed!

2006-02-16T13:13:00.000-08:00

In the course of constantly googling myself, I found this: http://www.thebloggingjournalist.com/2006/01/way_off_loop_a_.html

Anyway, this person is a blogwatcher, a blogexpert, a blog... critic? He has trouble reading my site because of the white type on black background. Now, I get annoyed when theatre companies make their shows hard to watch with stupid stagecraft choices, and then act like those things aren't important, so I think I'd better pay attention. On the other hand... yeargh. I dislike the other blogspot templates, don't have the skills or time to make my own, and don't want to have to set up the links and ads again.

So here's my tipping point. If just one other commenter says the white on black is a bad idea, out it goes. I want to be flexible, but not a reed in the wind.

Nifty Theatre Podcast, and a Call to Our Readers

2006-02-14T11:10:00.000-08:00

House Theatre studmuffins Nathan Allan and Jake Minton have an interesting podcast up:
http://blog.thehousetheatre.com/2006/02/new_house_podca.html

It's a bit unwieldy (30 minutes!) but midway through they get into a discussion on one of my favorite topics- the effect venue has on the overall theatre experience. Nate and Jake are very aware of how the grungy, underground warehouse feel of the Viaduct has contributed to most of their shows, and to their brand as a whole. I'm so glad I'm not the only one who thinks about/writes about/ gives assignments to her theatre students about this stuff! Your audience's night out starts way before the show does. Every element that you can exert some control over- the lobby, the seating, the neighborhood, even the drive/bike/bus/train over- it all counts.

I think everyone who's seen a House show will agree that the Viaduct is a perfect match. But that's not true for every production! I'd like to challenge the seven or eight regular readers of this blog- which show would you like to see in which venue, and why? This can be a current production, a past production, or an entirely theoretical production, but it ought to be a real venue.

My own pick? I'd like to see "Lulu," now playing at the pleasant but anodyne Theatre Building Chicago, restaged at the Chopin. The Chopin's wedding cake exterior and shabby, decadant Old World interior would be an ideal setting for the Silent Theatre company's dirty, black and white jewel. Show and venue share a morally bankrupt, shell-shocked chic.

What do you think?

Issues of Audience

2006-02-10T21:46:00.000-08:00

I saw the Neofuturist's prime-time show, "A Child's History of Bombing" tonight with a friend. As I sat down, I realized that I'd taken a total and complete Russian to a show that was probably about the atomic bomb. AWKWARD.* But actually, the show made the Cold War look like an actual lovers picnic. It was more about your hot wars, your 7,000 degrees at the center of a nuclear explosion wars. That's very hot indeed.

So, a pretty rough show for Valentine's weekend. It was documentary style- I could have dealt with a few more theatrical tricks- but yeah, I cried. Very hard-line, very no war is good war. Well, look, it's true. I do believe that sometimes you have to fight, but bombing is never ok. Don't atomic bomb people. Don't regular bomb them either, or fire-bomb them. Napalm is right out. It's simplistic to say so- and the show is often quite simplistic- but I think they were trying to go right back to the simplest ways of looking at things (hence the "child" in the title) and remember that this sort of thing is terribly wrong. Even when you do it to cities in Nazi Germany.

Other issues of audience: a couple of people brought actual children. I wonder if they were confused by the title, or if they just wanted to get the liberal fires started early.

*You must imagine this said by my Bitchy Gay Roommate, who actually doesn't exist. He's just a persona created by my actual roommate.

Nothing if not critical.

2006-02-09T07:48:00.000-08:00

I'm a little worried that all of this criticism is making me jaded. Preventing me from joining an audience in the spirit of wide-eyed wonderment. Causing me to scoff at things I've seen before. Making me a critic at the expense of being a spectactor. I hate to believe such things about myself, but after seeing the current "Short Shakespeare" at Navy Pier, Macbeth, I have to say. Yeah, a little.
This is Chicago Shakespeare Theatre, after all, an entity that demands high expectations- even in a 75 minute matinee show aimed at the kiddies. And so, when they do a ritualistic/tribal Macbeth with symbolic, billowy fabric and transforming witches, of course I'm going to say "old hat." Maybe it was because it curtained at eleven am (!), maybe it was because I detested the costumes, but nothing surprised or delighted me. What am I coming to?

But seriously, the costumes. It looked like the whole cast had shopped at the Alley, or maybe even Hot Topic (except for Lady Macbeth, a dead ringer for Tilda Swinton in the Narnia Movie). Fake tattoo shirts. Lots of black leather. It was like this desperately uncool attempt to make Shakespeare cool. "Look kids- the bard is SO HARDCORE. Check out this ink!" That really was my biggest problem. The slight sense that I was being talked down to, combined with the way they were scared to let Shakespeare do his own work on the little ones.*

I mean, this is Macbeth! If you can't get into an edited version of Macbeth, you might be dead. And I think that's what saved the production. It was decently acted (even though Macbeth himself was too young and had a bit of Shatner going on) and it was this really good play. My mom, who'd never seen Macbeth live before, was entranced. If the teen target audience doesn't revolt at the cool-mongering, this play will get it done.

Still, it made me feel pretty glum about my own cynical, black critic's heart. Luckily, that night I went to see "Lulu" at TBC. Show me something beautiful, show me something new, show me something well done, and I melt into a drooling fangirl. If I hadn't seen 75 plays last year, would I really be able to appreciate the immense difficulty and perfection of what Silent Theatre company did? I think not! It was a lurid, filthy, stylish, hilarious silent film come to life, and for pete's sake, go see it.

Love,
REina

*Oh, also, the way they upped the supernatural involvement until the whole question of Mac's culpability resolved into "witches did it."

Me me me me me

2006-02-06T11:05:00.000-08:00

If you can get your hands on a copy of the February 5th Sunday Tribune, check out the Tribune Magazine. There's a nifty piece on the Viola Project, complete with cute pictures of me, the other teachers and the kids. The feature is called "Face Time" and the headline is "Drama Queens." You can also read the article online (http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/magazine/chi-0602050421feb05,1,6174103.story), but there are no cute pictures.

Yikes! It speaks!

2006-01-28T21:12:00.000-08:00

Colm O'Reilly wigs me out. I mean it. He hardly ever moves, and he has this giant head and I can't stop watching him. It's like he's this rock in the middle of the stage, a rock with some kind of tragic history and a slow brute strength. He's a very strange actor, but he makes my heart beat faster, in confusion or possibly animal fear. I've been to two of his shows before- once he was just a recorded voice, once he spent the whole thing in a Quasimodo mask. In tonight's show, "Letter Purloined," he mostly just hummed synth-pop in lieu of actual words. Perhaps this is a blessing, as a whole show of O'Reilly talking and moving like a normal person would make my head explode.

Not that "Letter Purloined" didn't try, anyway. It's a super nifty show, with 26 scenes, a to z, performed in random order (i.e., not a to z.) The Neofuturists, who have a few prints on this play, have gotten us to chill about randomly ordered shows, but "Letter Purloined" actually has a plot. Tricksy. It's based on a plotty story, the Purloined Letter, the silliest, plottiest, least consequental part of Othello, and a number of amusing theoretical writings with no plots at all, and there's no control at all over chronology.* Amazingly enough, I think I could tell you precisely what happened, if not precisely when.

This show also taught me something about myself: I'd be awful at the "name that tune" board game. My recognition of Othello references was running at an easy 100%, wheras my recognition of the Who oevre was like, 15%. I've never realized how irritating it is when other people laugh at jokes that you don't understand!

*The ending tonight, Z, was suspiciously good.

What am I doing in a class joint like this?

2006-01-21T12:30:00.000-08:00

It's been a Goodman weekend for me. The big shiny Mary Zimmerman Pericles on Thursday, and the adorable "Year with Frog and Toad" last night. Again, I have to stop going out after shows, as it throws off my blogging schedule.

"Frog and Toad," I should mention, is definitely a children's show, and there are children there. I think kids are very cute and entertaining, and up till now, I've always believed they enchance any performance experience. (The small girl who sat behind me at Lookingglass Alice was one of the highlights of the show.) No longer. I've learned the hard way that, while adults are larger, less droll audience members, they have far superior control over their bladders. The fetching child in the seat next to me became way less cute when she peed during the watering can sequence.

After discreetly changing seats during intermission, I relaxed and focused on the sweet gentleness and spotless professionalism of the show. It's really lovely, funny if low-key and has some great tunes. It's worth watching for the costumes alone, which skip make-up and furry suits for witty, evocative outfits that a mouse or a bird or a mole would wear if they were people.

As for Pericles- well, it's not a very good play. One of those Shakespeare plays that people tend to think he didn't write all of, owing to how it sucks. It's repetive, much of the speech is stilted, there are too many plots, some of which vanish entirely. I find it most useful as context for the disjunctive, wrenchingly emotional "Winter's Tale" and the perfect perfect perfect "Tempest." Shakespeare wanted to do this particular sort of fairy-tale like story, encompassing both a terrible tragedy and a reconcilation, and it's instructive to watch him grapple with the difficulties of staging that sort of plot before hitting on the over-the-shoulder-shoot of the Tempest. Luckily, there does seem to be one more use for Pericles: as an excuse for Mary Zimmerman's trademark lyrical staging. Woot!

I have just one more thing to say. Pericles, as cast and played, is such a doof.

Backdated theatre!

2006-01-21T12:28:00.000-08:00

Kay, so. I wrote these a couple weeks ago and gmailed them to myself for posting after the loopies. Crazy, but that's the way I roll.
Don't like to mix my years up.

Tonight was "The Big Rock Show" at Davenports, starring Scotty Iseri
as the whole band and Tim the Roadie as Tim the Roadie, who can't be
bothered. All kinds of fun. However, it's slightly too short to
sober up from one of Davenport's fine girly drinks, meaning that I
only got home after a lot of tipsy, cold, bewilderment. Can you catch
up to the Western bus on a bike? Yes, but not after midnight, folks.

Finally made it over to Angel Island for Buried Child. Angel Island,
which houses the old-school bruiser storefront Mary-Arrchie, has
challenged me in the past. I have twice been defeated by its address,
735 W. Sheridan, as Sheridan is a North/South street. Yes, it's not
only off the map, it's in some kind of alternate dimension.*

Buried Child is a very creepy little play, and M.A. did it flawlessly.
They had all kinds of rain machines dripping water onto the outside
of the set (How could they afford it? Perhaps because they got all
the furniture from the alley.) The atmosphere was damp, and close,
and perfect.

I'm not a huge fan of the whole Sam Shepherd terrible lacunae style.
The problem with awful secrets is that they're either confusing when
kept or a bit disappointing when revealed (Oedipus is a possible
exception.) His characters lead compulsive, illogical lives. This
seemed right for the southern Illinois farm nuts, but the big city
interlopers didn't make sense to me. They were entirely devoid of
personal resources, cute little straw people all ready to be
destroyed.

Nevertheless, Mary-Arrchie pulled me into the creeping horror of the
thing stagecraft, good actors, and sheer commitment. The characters
are constantly doing inexplicable things to each other that seem
somehow right, elements in a ceremony, like covering each other with
corn husks, or sticking fingers in each others mouths. This, combined
with the amount of physical change and destruction visited on assorted
props, gives the production a sweaty sensuality. The cast manages to
make it feel as if we'd all like to communicate this way. What's odd
about these people is that they don't feel the need to control
themselves.

*Dogleg! Don't talk to me about doglegs. This stuff isn't natural

Click. Click. Click. "Bang!"

2006-01-13T22:32:00.000-08:00

I've been holding back my posts so that the year-in-review stays up top, but no longer. I just gotta talk about Valentine Victorious. Like a lot of people, I've been waiting a year for this show- ever since I saw the inexplicably-set-in-medieval Japan prequel, "Curse of the Crying Heart." Valentine genre-hops to a film-noir forties Chicago. It had me grinning like an idiot, bouncing up and down, and endlessly babbling about how awesome it was. Even though it was a very well attended dress rehearsal. I am so hideously jealous of the people who get to see it Saturday, when they flip the opening night switch and it all coheres. Tonight, I got a hugely entertaining and inspiring mix of awesome scenes and classic final-preview moments. You know, the absence of crucial props or sound effects, severe instrument malfunction just before the final song, etc, etc. All beautifully handled.

I would go tell you to see it tomorrow, but you can't, suckers. Go see it as soon as you can get tickets. Oh, and even if you don't smoke, bring a lighter. I'm just telling you now.

Best of 2005

2006-01-08T18:22:00.000-08:00

Do the Jeffs bore you, just a little? Would you rather have awards that are completely arbitrary and consist mostly of categories for "Sexiest Male Lead?" Well, the Loopies are for you.

Sexiest Male Lead (Breeches Division) Peter Greenberg as Sir Tristram in "The Talisman Ring"
Sometimes being unbelievably sexy isn't about good hair, a winning smile and a dimpled chin. Sometimes being sexy involves making dour remarks while shooting the flames off candles and never moving your face at all. The determinedly unromantic Tristram makes a flat first impression, but after he saved the day via brilliant swordfighting, quick thinking and a few rolls of the eye, I was ready to faint into his competent arms. Er, the Regency-era men's clothing didn't hurt either.

Sexiest Male Lead (Guitars Division) Nathan Allan as Sorrow in "Curse of the Crying Heart"
A lover and a fighter, a rock star and a samurai, Sorrow has the heart of a lost little boy and the chiseled face of the best looking guy in your junior high. I think Princess Sakura nailed it when she said something like "You play the GUITAR. You wear a MASK." I mean really, what else could a woman want?

Sexiest Male Lead (Portable Division) Cesare in "The Cabinet"
This foot-tall puppet is basically Johnny Depp in paper mache. Think! You could take him anywhere! He's got stellar cheekbones, that whole goth-chic thing, and the quavering, tormented voice of Colm O'Reilly. Hot. Just hot.

Sexiest Female Lead
Wait. What? I'm sorry, I was distracted, let's move on.

Best Night of Pure Entertainment (Vaudeville Division) Lavender
Cabaret for "Tribute to the Eighties."
I've enjoyed several Lav Cab shows since, but something about Eighties Night was just magic. Was it the cocaine-and-sugar aesthetic of the period tunesmiths? Was it the wearing of knee socks, and the ripping off of wifebeaters? Was it the Sugarbabies' perennial good humor, sense of fun, and god-given hotness? Oh no, my friends, it was all of that, plus two gin and tonics.

Best Cock Block: Springloaded Theatre for "The Monkey House."
Springloaded's feisty little adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut stories nearly charmed my pants off. And their staging of "Long Walk to Forever" almost earned Brennan Buhl an award for Sexiest Male Lead (Nervous Tics Division). But they had to follow it up with "The Monkey House," which can only be described as pro-rape, and squicky with it. Way to go, Springloaded. Way to make heterosexual women feel gross, and heterosexual men feel guilty. Now, how is anyone supposed to get any action? (Except gay people.)

The Ibsen Award For Best Last Ten Minutes: Mabou Mines for "Dollhouse."
At the dispirting intermission for this show, my friend Laura made a prediction: "I bet it's the end of the Wizard of Oz and theydrop the silly accents and demolish the dollhouse." I shushed her, because I try to be an open-minded critic, but I was horribly afraid she was right. I should have had more faith. After a long evening of clever, tedious avant-garde choices, Mabou Mines pulled a splendidly original, gut-wrenching, curtain-closer right out of Ibsen's butt.

The Ibsen Award for Best Last Two Minutes (Comedy Division): Neofuturists for "The Last Two Minutes of the Complete Works of Henrki Ibsen."
This chronological career retrospective taught me that a playwright can rise to greatness after writing whole bunches of awful, awful plays. It also taught me that "Ghosts" is hilarious.

Best Single Costume: Strawdog Theatre for the Bearded Lady in "True Ballad of Falls Blessing."
This sweet, ruched, confection looked like a circus outfit made by Betsy Johnson. I just loved it. Even with the beard.

Best Single Overall Look: House Theatre for the Witch of the West in "The Great and Terrible Wizard of Oz."
Slashed to the navel, with a flowing skirt and these detachable bat-wing arm thingies, Laurie Klapperich's costume was pure sex, and also pure witch. Add Molly Brennin's elegant black and green bob, and armful of tattoos...you've got an iconic presence that will temporarily obliterate all images of warts and pointy hats.

The "America is Scary" Award for Depressingly Relevant Revival of a Chestnut: Raven Theatre for "A Few Good Men."
Torture, arrogance, and military cover-ups. It was written when? 1980s? Oh, Jesus.

"America is Scary" Regional Award: Theatre Harrisburg (Harrisburg, PA) for "Inherit the Wind."
The theatre opened this redux of the Scopes Monkey Trial to coincide with the Dover Area School District trial on teaching intelligent design. Should I applaud their timely use of the medium, or should I shudder that they can even BE timely with a play that premiered on Broadway in 1955?

Weirdest Mix of Emotions inspired in Reina Hardy by a Show: Steep Theatre for "Book of Days"
It made me angry, and hungry for cheese. This has never happened before, even though hypocrisy is awful and cheese is delicious.

Most Uppity Techy: Scotty Iseri
This moxious sound tech seems to prefer bright red pleather to his rightful blacks. Not only does he headline the Big Rock Show, he somehow manages to get on stage while doing effects (Kid Simple, The Long Christmas Ride Home.) He's lucky he's cute, or I'm sure the union would have something to say.

Best Concept: The Dean Evans Show
I'm so over national celebrities. But where can I go to ogle hometown heroes in a classic late night format? The Dean Evans show, of course, the Neo-futurists' live talk-show parody featuring local doers-of-awesome.

Best Lobby: Chopin Theatre
It's shabby, and dull red, and so like a New Orleans whorehouse, all worn velvet and pendant lamps. It makes me feel decadent in this frugal, old-world way.

Best Fight Scene: The Viola Project for "Taming of the Shrew."
Nepotistic, yes. But I'll stand by it. There's a lot of great fightwork in this town, but until you've seen two eleven year old girls whaling on each other, you haven't been truly entertained. There were punches to the face! Hip checks! They threw chairs! Cora and Ileana, you made me proud. I'd watch the scene again right now if I could.

Best Unintentional Audience Participation Moment: Me at "Lookingglass Alice"
The Cheshire Cat was crouching right in front of me. He looked so cat-like and alert, I couldn't resist petting him. A grown man! How inappropriate, really. Then he turned around and sort of cat-nuzzled my leg. Awww, actors.

That's it for this year, my sweet potatoes, my fruity booties. Watch this space for the best of years to come, and go see some theatre this weekend, dammit!

The Sweet Side Effects of Failure

2006-01-04T22:51:00.000-08:00

So, I didn't do it.

2005 came and went, and I failed to see a show in every fringe, off-loop and store-front venue in Chicago. Some of them closed this year, some didn't run any shows. Some popped up in November like mushrooms. Some were inaccessible by public transportation. Some, I was too damned lazy. In retrospect, it was a crazy idea.

Still, it was a beautiful one. And though I maintain that, if I hadn't been distracted by my paying review job at Centerstage, I could have pulled it off, I'm happy to have failed in a spectacular venture. Because here's what I did do:

In the course of one year, I saw over 75 separate pieces of live theatre.
I visited at least 54 Chicago theatre venues.
I went out every gosh-darn weekend.
I learned to take a deep breath and give my opinion.
I became a bona fide, I-know-more-about-Chicago-theatre than you storefront snob with the knowledge to back it up.
I was not at any point a dick about it.
I saw the work of countless talented people, some of whom I was lucky enough to get to know.
I had my concept of what can be done on a stage blown apart and reconstructed several times.
I cried in public, and in company.
I visited parts of the city that I didn't know existed.
I learned to use buses, not just trains.
I made a list of 22 venues that I'm going to get to by May. I swear.

Stay tuned for the 2005 year in review, and the awarding of the long awaited Loopies.

So far Off-Loop that I'm actually on the East Coast

2005-12-25T21:16:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas, friends and well-wishers!

This holiday weekend isn't a good one for seeing non-holiday related theatre. That is, if it's up, it's closing, so I've got nothing to review. This makes my fingers itchy. This makes me think that I'll lose my swing.

So, a few quick words about last week, when I visited NYC for a play reading and got re-introduced to the concept of paying for theatre by my stunning editrix friend Liz. Liz is a rare creature, an exquisite long-limbed unicorn, an inveterate audience member in her early twenties who is not herself in the business somehow. She always takes good care of me.

First, we took in "Orson's Shadow," a famous-person drama, you know, very nicely done and acted with flash. The actor playing Laurence Olivier (ha! you poor sap!) was over the top but in an appealing way. Still, now I need to find out if Olivier actually was reminiscent of my old piano teacher.

And a note to playwrights/directors who are using the audience address thing, even sporadically and in a cute way. Please remember that we have seen it before, lots of times, and won't be surprised out of needing it work well for us like any other theatrical device. Ok? And under no circumstances end act one by having your pseudo narrator character look portentously out at the audience and say "intermission." And if you MUST do that, please don't follow it with a big dramatic lights-snapping-off noise. Because I'm going to follow THAT with a derisive snort.

Next, we saw "Apparition," in an elaborate music box style theatre that had been painted a uniform periwinkle blue. (Not the stage, just the molded walls and the fancy proscenium). Odd. I felt middling about the show, which I think would have been much better if it hadn't tried to be about every scary thing ever. Yes, I know you're trying to explore the nature of fear, but you don't have to be so encylopedic about it. Despite a Macbeth-themed throughline, the show fell into that uncomfortable space between revue and big, meaningful play. People think, when I make this criticism, that I'm talking about a mixture of "high" and "low." Forget that! I don't believe in it. I do believe in the difference between a vaudeville presentation, where the pieces don't need to add up, and a cohesive performance, where they'd better. I love vaudeville, and burlesque, but I dislike most shows that try to do what they can't. "Apparition" was like a series of little 'scary story' playlets trying to be an overwhelming statement about fear. It's not impossible to take these little bits and make them add up, but it's hard, and that play didn't do it. Also, wasn't really scared.

The third and final show was by far my favorite: "Bach at Leipzig," just a great piece of pseudo-intellectual, clever-bastard fun. I tripped out of the theatre feeling bubbly, and witty, and very attractive. I went with a little throng of people, and they were all made just as happy as I was. But only I felt compelled to offer the playwright a drink. I forget I have no clout in New York.

Or indeed, in Chicago. Cheers!

At the very last, we took in some burlesque in Liz's Brooklyn neighborhood. Liz has previous expressed a preference for Chicago-style hoochie-coo. I think I can see why. I'm told by burlesque elite that the LA scene is almost stripper-esque, with crotch-front dance moves and a big emphasis on hot bodies. New York is the polar opposite... very arty, very "I'm standing here taking my clothes off and here is my body and you can just cope." Chicago is in between, with a good amount of dancing, a lot of cute gimmicks, a sweet coyness, and natural bodies. The two acts we saw were interesting, but not a patch on the Lav Cab's Siamese Cats number. There was a great non-strip act though: a close quarters trapeze number to "Midnight Radio" from Hedwig. Perfect, triumphant, and uplifting, even if people had to discreetly move their beers to stop the swinger from knocking them off the table.

Best ending ever...

2005-12-11T07:51:00.000-08:00

Last night I saw Raven Theatre's "A Few Good Men." On the one hand, it made me very sad, because the whole military cover-up story was so horribly relevant. But in real life, the crimes are worse, the cover-ups go higher, and the justifications are pretty much the same. On the other hand...
Raven's production took a blatant turn towards sentiment when a guy in the audience proposed to his long-term girlfriend during curtain call. According to my roommate, who's a bit of an Aaron Sorkin freak, they cut that part from the movie. Normally, I disdain such cheap heart-string tugging, but Raven made it work. Awwww.

Slam it good.

2005-12-03T22:31:00.001-08:00

It's possible that I believe in miracles. Tonight I saw Mabou Mines Dollhouse- you know, the one where the men are three-foot and change and the women are amazons. (I must say though, the press release oversold the height of the women.) Promising, yes? But halfway through the first act, I was starting to feel as if this was just one of those shows with nudity, and deliberate over-acting, and simulated sex acts, and goat-men, and ballet dancing flautists, and oh whatever. Just the same old shocking bag of tricks, and the silent-movie posturing with piano between was making it way too long. Like, I get what you're doing and I like it, but do we need so much of it? When we hit intermission at 9:50, there was serious audience attrition.

Fools. If you come to a Doll's House, you come for the last 10 minutes. Mabou Mine's last 10 minutes (or possibly 20, my sense of time was skewed), well....out of all the nasty sex avant-garde bla bla there rose a miracle. I won't describe it, but believe me, my mind was blown. As if during the previous two hours they'd just been distracting me while inserting a ballon into my skull in order to blow it up at the end. The amount of sheer crazy madness going on, the genuine shock and surprise at something terrifying and intense and new... Someone behind me was sobbing uncontrollably. So in its own way, it was very traditional. Just what you'd expect for three acts, and then you get punched in the face.

But I'm kind of worried about writing the review. First, there was a last-minute understudy sub, and I can't figure out who it was. Second, I have no idea how to refer to the male actors. I'm pretty sure "midget" is offensive, I don't know if "dwarf" is accurate, and I've never been able to bring myself to believe that any group would choose to refer to themselves as "Little People." I'll probably just call them "men under 3'4," which is suave, if not elegant.

Help! Help!

2005-11-20T18:55:00.000-08:00

Tonight I saw the very scary pre-crack-up and suicide Sarah Kane drama "4:48 Psychosis," as staged by the very good and very hard-core troupe "The Hypocrites." As I understand it, the text of the play is basically a poem, giving Sean Graney ultimate freedom in creating characters, settings, etc. etc. He has used this freedom to freak me way the heck out, putting the action on and around three separate raised platforms, like art installations. There are no seats-- the audience mills about, moving with the focus, so you're never able to fully avoid the terrifying, terrifying actors. And it's all in a tent. From the moment I walked in, I was panicking, because I knew these people were literally trapping me inside the mind of a suicidally depressed woman.

Now, I'm suggestible, and as a defense mechanism, I find it hard to fully relax in hypnotic situations. I have trouble giving over my mind to my yoga teacher, and she just chants things like "I am.... fully alive." So forget this play. Five minutes in, I had an interior conversation that went like this:

- Let's go. Let's get away from here and these crazy dead-baby women.
- No! We have to stay and review this show. We are getting paid.
-You're referring to yourself in plural already.
-We're going to be totally fine, and we can't go.
-Ok, but I'm going to take half your brain, and go over here, and babble about inane trivia for the rest of the show to prevent you getting too involved, ok?
-No!
-Don't you think that actress looks suspiciously like that girl you went to high school with?

And so on. My brain kept up the fully formed, rapid fire sentences until the thing was mercifully over. Backpedaling frantically to keep me from going into the upsetting pit that is Sarah Kane's head. I still got out of there feeling distinctly shaky.

One hour performance. Two hours recovery time. What a show.

Orientalism! And more Spanish Inquisition

2005-11-12T16:36:00.000-08:00

This afternoon: Manuscript Found in Sargossa. The set excited me, as it looked a lot like what my Viola Project students came up with for their last workshop at 3Arts. Killer story, or rather stories, as it's about a young man who, while journeying through the mountains to Madrid, gets sidetracked into a gypsy camp full of people who have been likewise sidetracked and always insist on explaining why. Gorgeous, although a bit inexplicable right at the end, and the circus tricks really served to advance and illuminate the story, instead of dominating it. Circular, gasp-worthy, Picaresque. Also, incense was burned. I think this should happen more at the theatre.

Cloud Nine at the National Pastime

2005-11-11T22:44:00.000-08:00

Tonight's play put good old Caryl Churchill on the map way back in the day. It was a lot of fun, long, and left me with the definite impression that something had happened. I'm not sure what. It's a very deliberate gender-bender and expectations up-ender, full of impressively glib depravity. Everyone's British, so there's a lot of that joke where awful, meaningful phrases are tossed of in the middle of empty politeness, and everyone reacts to them by staring straight ahead. I really like that joke. The staging (god bless unit sets) had depth, and there was all kinds of motion and tension going back and forth. Got a little sappy though. Right at the end.

It's nice to see the loft of National Pasttime's ceiling put to good use. The last time I saw that space it was in the hands of the clueless (See: my review of Hack/Slash).

But good job, Infamous Commonwealth. Way to overcome my terror at an 8-person audience with an engrossing show.

ZOMG Hemingway RL Slash Fic!

2005-11-11T15:29:00.000-08:00

Old Earnest's boundless machismo is definitely ripe for the homosexual fantasy treatment. And who better to play Spock to his Kirk than effete drunk F. Scott Fitzgerald? "The Amazing Adventures of Scott and Earnest," now playing at City Lit, amazed me with how little it skirted around the issue without ever letting the two authors kiss. All in all though, a bit unsatisfying, some of which could have been remedied by putting notes in the program to explain which bits of the plot were fantasy, and which weren't. Also, set changes of some length, and a peculiar stiffness to the acting. Really, I was hoping for it to go fanfic all the way, with scenes of glorious adventure and long make-out sessions, but mostly I got Mexican jail scenes. Some funny moments, though.

The venue? City Lit is in a church, a churchy church, and it's on the second floor, so you get eyeloads of social service programs as you walk up. However, it is a servicable little space, with seats arranged in a companionable U. It's also quiet, and darn close to the Byrn Mawr El.

I'm behind two weekends, so let me rush to catch up:

Last week, part of a bill of one acts in a brand new South Side Theatre, the EP. It's a storefront, and oddly enough the storefront window bit comprises the back wall of the theatre space, so you could theoretically open the black curtains and have real windows out onto a real street. But I'm betting they did it to catch the eye of passing traffic. Had a party to hit, so didn't stay for the whole thing. But Shawn Pfasdflkjl remains fantastic. Creepy, touching short about a man control-alt-deleting his robot mom. Shawn Pfawery is so cool that I might someday learn to pronounce or spell his name.

Friday before that, I went on what I like to call a real theatre adventure,
meaning a show put on in some completely unreasonable spot that is
under no circumstances a theatre and is also impossible to find.
Triple points if it's on the South Side. Real theatre adventures are
a lot of fun, except I'm usually late to them.

So, "Monkey House", in Chinatown, actually, in this brutally lovely
old industrial building by the river. They just had a room with some
chairs, and they'd put a lot of found objects in it, charming
charming. The vibe was very Andersonville, which is the authentic of
Anthropologie, for non-chicagoans keeping score. Endearing,
phonographesque sound system playing the prettiest darn music.

The centerstage review for this one is already up, so if you fancy learning more, look out for it.

Now to banish my headache before tonight's show.

Well, Buckle my Swash.

2005-10-15T17:11:00.000-07:00

"The Talisman Ring" at Lifeline is yummy. Sort of a regency romance with swordfights and men in breeches/ greatcoats. (WHY did that look ever go out of style?) Plotwise, it was a long game of doublecross between an infinitude of cousins. But mostly it was about romantics and competent people, and how they can really all get along, in the end.

Lifeline, as ever, does a tight, inventive staging. Not a black box in sight.

Love,
Reina

Theatre Advenure! (You are fighting a Black Box)

2005-10-15T10:32:00.000-07:00

I am dauntless, and feckless, and I saw three shows last night. Three! I am the greatest!

First up was "The King's Proposal" at Cornservatory. Totally delightful. Just a late night, shoe-string panto version of a servant comedy, where identity is super-fluid and mistakes are a way of life. It was notable for having two pairs of royally separated lovers, one gay and one straight, and for the sly performance of the evil King (who shows his philanthropy by releasing orphans into the wild). Just a happy, crazy place where you can make a puppet out of your dead best friend, where a dress can change a man into a woman, and a pair of glasses can change him back again. Funny, but about half an hour too long....

Hence, we were 9 minutes late to the next show "Hack/Slash" at the National Pasttime. Yes, it's just a late-night bit of Halloween fluff with spraying blood that you can attend drunk, and NO, it wasn't good enough. The two leads, a Buffy knock-off and her slavic monster sidekick, were fantastic- deep snarky voices, and comic-book good looks. But the majority of the other actors had no idea what they were doing- and didn't even manage to make their performances entertainly bad. Also...

The set changes. Scenes were short... never more than thirty seconds, and often only about five. (I don't think they bothered to change a word from the comic books). True example of a scene change. "We need to talk" (blackout... actors shuffle around in total silence, moving furniture. Lights up. Actors commence talking. No, this was not played for laughs. Wouldn't have been so bad, except every scene change entailed moving several unneeded black boxes, in silence, for a period almost as long as the preceding scene. I wanted to leap on stage, steal the cap gun, and shout "The next actor who even touches a black box will be shot!" This would have improved the play considerably.

And yet, people seemed to like it ok. Perhaps no-one had told them that pop theatre can be just as good and fast moving as pop cinema, if the people who put it on have a clue. Didn't any of you people see "Curse of the Crying Heart?" Sheesh.

So, if you tend to get annoyed by really, really stupid stagecraft, but still want some Halloween happiness, skip Hack/Slash and catch the same company's midnight burlesque show, Vamp, also at the National Pastime. Vampire strippers, zombie MC, and a really very limited use of black-boxes.

The Venues:

Cornservatory: A small stage, but well equipped with levels, and multiple exits. It appears to have been painted by a demented third-grader, which is great for a very specific type of show.

National Pastime: A medium-cavernous black box with all of this white plaster detailing, and, I think, a 20 foot fake fireplace. I sort of love it.

400 Words (and only one of them can be "slight")

2005-10-13T21:47:00.000-07:00

"Personal Assistant," a one-woman show in a bar: When I walked in, there were only three other people in the whole place, hopefully there for the show. Panic set in at once, so that when my date for the evening asked if I'd like a drink, I said "Oh god, yes." I normally don't drink at shows, but the prospect of comprising 1/5th of a comedy audience was too much to face sober.

After the scary start, "Personal Assistant" wasn't painful at all (Three more audience members waltzed in at the last second.) It was a series of low key impersonations of various Hollywood types, and the actress got a steady stream of chuckles out of us. But she spent almost no time on her central persona, making her intended story arc less of an arc then an ellipse. Short, but it should have been shorter. Then it could have gone into the middle of a nice one-person show showcase as a sorbet course.

Did they even have crack back then?

2005-10-12T23:28:00.000-07:00

"Man of La Mancha" tonight. Nifty! I didn't know it had a framing device (Cervantes telling the Don Quixote story to a bunch of prisoners during the Spanish Inquisition), which means it has at least three layers going at any given time. This played out in lovely ways sometimes... like when a violent type who'd been trying to get a knock in on Cervantes the whole time got to play an opponent of Quixote (who was 'enacted' by Cervantes). Just when it seemed like some real violence might erupt in level one, the thug took a classic underarm stab and died a hammy, hammy death. Rejoicing!

Cervantes/Quixote was less central to the story than you might expect. The whole Sancho Panza relationship, the cornerstone of the books, was eclipsed by the Dulcinea thing. Dulcinea, played by a tavern slut played by a crazy prison slut, is Quixote's main foil here- which makes sense, because the musical has jettisoned all the satire and most of the comedy. She was rather splendidly haggish, shrieking and throwing things at people, and growling in a low, rough voice- very much the Spanish Inquisition corner crack whore. So yeah, it could be a bit much that she gets inevitably redeemed, but once you have your female lead rubbing a "knight's favor" in her armpits out of spite, you've won me over. Also, she got most of the best songs.

So, I could mention how this the musical is fundamentally untrue to the books, but that'd be unfair. And silly. I think the authors knew perfectly well that they were taking a crazy, multi-layered, hetero-explosive* satire and making it into a message play about dreaming the impossible dream against impossible odds. They weren't adapting the book, they were writing a musical about what that crazy old coot does to people. Against their better judgement. The end of the first book, I believe, has Quixote returing to sanity on his deathbed. The public wouldn't accept it, knock-offs sold like hotcakes, and Cervantes wrote a sequel. "That ending is bullcrap! Let him ride again! Let him ride forever! Sancho too!"

*So full of different kinds of things that it's like to bust.

Happy Birthday to me!

2005-09-28T08:32:00.000-07:00

I'm 24!

Kick off my Sunday Shoes...

2005-09-21T23:42:00.000-07:00

So, hideously late night having seen "Footloose" at the Marriot in freakin' Lincolnshire, and now, laundry. I would also like to mention that I have lost my second bicycle in a month to bicycle thieves. Kick a bicycle thief today!

So, Footloose was fun... ish. Extremely, extremely fluffy. I perhaps should have been drunk to totally enjoy it. However, it is one of those musicals that folds in hit songs from the 70s that are frequently sung on American Idol. Yes, the two best numbers were "I Need a Hero," (which inspired deep, deep Kareoke cravings within me) and "Let's Hear it for the Boy." All the young people had strong, overwrought pop-rock voices, and were good dancers, and the all the old people had stage presence. The lead girl was kind of slutty- not an actual slut, nor a wide-eyed innocent- but just a sort of slutty teenage girl, which makes me happy. She had a pretty cat face. The secondary girl had some lovely pipes and channeled Molly Shannon. The lead male was serviceable but rather boring.

All in all, not my cup of tea. See, it's about a town where dancing is illegal, and though that seems like some crazy red-state allegory stuff would go down with that plotline... eh, no. It's actually about getting over grief. Gyp. But it won back my goodwill with the ultra-high-energy, reprise every song in the show finale.

Forgot to tell you all about "The Great and Terrible Wizard of Oz" on Saturday. Molly Brennan's outfit alone is worth the price of admission, but add in her actual performance, and Jake Minton's just damn cute Lion, and all those darn munchkins, and the tango, and Cliff Chamberlain's action-star parody tin-man, and all the rest, and you'll get a very good deal indeed. I don't care what you say. As far as I'm concerned, this is the only Oz in town.

Sunday brought me to the very bizarre and super-lovely spectacle by Redmoon, "Loves Me, Loves me Not." Wondrous. I know they had to knock it together last minute in order to avoid the wrong sort of Katrina associations, but I was still quietly thrilled. I couldn't even tell which marvelous things were Redmoon, and which were just nature being obliging- like a suspiciously well timed flock of geese.

Sing out, Louise!/ Damn everything but the circus.

2005-09-12T00:50:00.000-07:00

Darn, but it's hard to take a week off. Breaks my stride.

Anyway, earlier today we had Gypsy with Porchlight at TBC. Very famous, strange, and good show which I had never before seen. Odd hybrid. See, it's about vaudeville performers, and there are three classes of songs. Deliberately awful in a charming way vaudeville numbers- (Let me Entertain You), pert vaudeville tinged old school musical songs (All I Need's the Girl) and semi-psychotic, hugely dramatic arias screaming forth from a broken soul (pretty much everything Mama Rose sings.) These last, interestingly, have little vaudeville tinges (because the person singing them is a performer in real life), but they keep breaking down, and the music is gorgeous, and the words are terrifying, and so, really, I can see why people make a big deal about Mama Rose. She's a fascinating monster. She kept making me cry.

At the same time, you have cute numbers with kids, and funny numbers with strippers. They can't really take any of the oomph off Rose, but it's always great to get a little variety show in. Porchlight had cute kids, and a fantastic Mama Rose. Perhaps a little too much always at the highest intensity, still... Louise had a nice voice, but was a little colorless, and needed work on her striptease. I wonder if Toots L'Amour can sing at all?

And again. Variety acts. Hephaestus at Lookingglass was last night. I'm afraid this was a disappointment. Which is odd. I mean, Hephaestus is one of my favorite Greek gods- not quite as sexy as Hades and Persephone, but still romantic and endearing. And the circus! I love the circus! I love the silks, and beautiful girls on swings, and sudden, arrested falls. They lift my heart up with them. And Lookingglass has some wonderful acts.

Problem is, adding the story to the acts didn't really enchance them. It detracted from them. I'll explain more in my official review, but right now I'm very tired. I'll just say this: circus acts, like vaudeville numbers, don't really tell a story very well. Perhaps the most effective story to tell with a circus act is one about circus performers. Like the creators of Hephaestus. Can you think of anything more romantic than marrying someone you met when you were both child acrobats and then travelling around the world with your tiny acrobat offspring? Because that really happened! It was in the press kit! I mean, the Amazing Wallendas. If that title doesn't scream perfect piece of theatre I don't know what does.

Quantum Ethics

2005-08-28T00:07:00.000-07:00

Tonight I saw Copenhagen, which was intense served up with a side of intensity. And fries. The first 20 minutes or so were rather rocky. Every other line was "It was 1935 when I helped Von Barenburg discover interspatial hemowhatsits in Minsk." I mean, it would go year, name, science city. It was definitely the Star Trek/ER jargon syndrome. Plus, I'm unnerved when people reference dates in casual conversation.

But, gosh darn it, it did take off. And it got me biting my lip over things like intentions, and what it means to be a good person, and how the heck a great voyage of wonder and scientific discovery turned into the big boom. The biggest boom. Also, I like Bohr's (Terry Hamilton) big soft face, and I like Heisenberg's brill-cream head and puppy dog eyes.

The play is basically a bitterly protracted argument about why Heisenberg visited Bohrs in Copenhagen during the occupation, and about why the Nazis didn't get the bomb. Many worthy points were made, but I'd like to make just one, on behalf of Kurt Vonnegut: Any reason for not dropping the atom bomb on a major city is the right reason.

Japanese Schoolgirls Rule

2005-08-21T19:22:00.000-07:00

…Can’t… use… internet. Must… blog… in… word. How I hate the stone age. This won’t be fixed till Tuesday and I am not best pleased.

Anyway, finally made it out to Saint Charles to see Mikado 2005. At this point, I must confess that I like Gilbert and Sullivan. I am, in fact, a Gilbert and Sullivan FAN. The music from the Act One finale of the Mikado works on me like cocaine. I consider it a basically perfect piece of entertainment. On top of this, I have actually been fantasizing for years about a modern day Japan version of the Mikado, replacing the Victorian love of kimonos and pagodas with our present anime and school-girl-panty-dispensing-machines obsession.* You see why I had to truck it out to the superburbs.

I was very, very pleased. In terms of sets and costumes and gimmicks, they had practically everything my heart wanted: a glowing white Tokyo-style box set for the first act, men’s chorus of salarymen, women’s chorus of… well… schoolgirls…but wearing the classic Sailor Moon style uniforms**. Harajuku finery in the second act. Nanki-Poo as a punked-out pop idol. Karaoke. Karate. Bliss.

The music… well, Sullivan’s melodies are intact, but they’ve been rescored for four-piece rock band. Could have worked fine, but they were off stage, and the sound system was a bit wonked, so they sounded thin and fuzzy. They also modernized the style of the music, which worked sometimes, and which didn’t work sometimes. I guess I’m just attached to the big, fat orchestra sound. The cast was also only eight men and six women, so I kept wanting to jump in and add heft to the soprano chorus.

I think my pickiness on this subject is really a compliment- I want them to do this production with a huge cast and all the marbles.

More on the set: There were two screens flanking the stage, showing a rotating selection of Japanese advertisements- just getting into the whole Tokyo constant madness thing. The screens also displayed really excellent jokes during some of the numbers- Ko Ko’s Powerpoint presentation of “I’ve Got a Little List” being by far the best. The modernized staging gimmicks they came up with for the various songs were by and large brilliant.

In summation. Tiny heart, tiny heart, tiny heart. Noble Fool really understands how to fetishize a foreign culture without being offensive. They showed a bunch of “yellowface” clips from movies during the opening chords, as if to say “Hey, this isn’t Japan! It’s Victorian England as filtered through Victorian England’s version of Japan filtered through our version of Japan as a way of mocking the Eternal Bureaucracies, and also, having fun. Also, great tunes!” The splashy production is not about Japan, but about the way we view Japan. The play itself is… well, it’s still my beloved Mikado.

*In my head, it is a hugely-budgeted movie, with physics-defying Moulin Rouge style musical numbers. It stars Jack Black as Ko Ko. Oh god, it’s a good movie.

**Non G&S people, this is a funny sentence because they were Japanese Schoolgirls in the original version too. It just meant something different back then.

Back-dated....

2005-08-21T19:03:00.000-07:00

Friday night I went to see Lavander Cabaret once again. Still fantastic, but not quite as good as the first time. The MC, for instance, was different (or at least a different persona), and he worked too gosh-darn hard. I like a chill MC, with a little darkness in his soul (Jack Midnight for instance, or Sasha from "Don't Spit the Water"). Tonight's cute theme was the movies- great idea, but if you're going to introduce acts with trailer, for pete's sake, don't use the full length versions!

Still, a great show, and I am for sure going to be attending their Pajama Party next month.

Whoah.

2005-08-15T00:08:00.000-07:00

I promise you, I'll write something about the Crazy Locomotive tomorrow.

Just one thing. They said it was a crazy locomotive, and you should believe it was a crazy locomotive.

I saw more plays than you, if you count the one I watched in my dreams...

2005-08-14T10:05:00.000-07:00

After almost a month of slacking, I am now going to see plays in my sleep.

This Saturday, I combined a Centerstage late night review with the Stages new musical theatre festival at the Theatre Building. And of course, the one play I dreamed about. Let's go backwards from the top, shall we?

Don't Spit the Water: Ah, how I love the bastard arts. This was very much like the burlesque shows I've seen, only without any naked girls. Guys- it's still totally worth it! It's a game show, essentially, where you try not to laugh. You try especially hard because your mouth is full of water. Three extraordinarily wacky comedians each get a crack at three contestants, who are normally plucked from the audience. (This week, there was a trio of NPR comics on as contestants, which caused that familiar 'Who's the straight man' phenom. There's a reason why audience participation comics never pick people who REALLY want to do it.)

There was a very sweet, very authentic jug band as an opener. They played a lovely song with the refrain "You may leave- but this'll bring you back." And I will find it, and I will purchase it. The jug band's best moment: their bassist disassembled his instrument and used its top half to swiffer up the water on the floor.

Finally, I must say a word for the host: Sasha, a pitch-perfect inept Russian schlockmeister, with a mute, traumatized, sweet-faced sidekick named the Noob. Also, the announcer, the urbane Big Dummy. Also, the Interrogator, who might be my favorite gimmick comedian ever. Heh heh. "Mustache."

Earlier that day I caught two concert performances of new musicals during TBC's completely insane festival. I mean, theatre at 9am? On a Saturday? Anyways, fun and interesting, but I haven't found the new musical I can root for yet. "The Devil and Dexter Webster" had some nice tunes, and might make a good late night production with generous helpings of kitsch. It could definitely afford to lose a few songs.

I also saw a double bill of one-acts. "The Big Ending/ The Big Beginning." Very odd. The first one was about a musical producer with a brain tumor that caused him to hear music all the time. The second one, written by a different team, was about the first one. Really- about a struggle to get the first one produced (except it was not written by the people who actually wrote it, but by a dead guy). Number one was all right- even had a song I wanted to take home. Strong performance by the squishy faced lead. Number two was awful. Broadly caricatured, and yet not funny. Even performers who did a decent job in number one were transformed into indigestible hams by number two. Just a pointless, dumb 'satire' of musical theatre production.

On that subject: oh Stages festival, what do you have against producers? Everything I saw today had a producer villain-- or at least a producer main character who was a total jerk. In the case of "Devil and Dexter Webster," a producer was actually Satan. What gives?

Finally, at maybe 10am last morning (I slept till noon), I went to one of those apartment plays that are in vogue now. I went while sleeping. It was quite good, even though I was the only audience member. My dream actors really gave it their all- I woke before intermission, but I think it concerned a ram-rod matriarch with a vicious secret, a disabled, possibly murderous daughter, and a good hearted sister trying to hold it all together. Straight-up southern gothic.

God, I should probably go see a movie or something.

Are we naked, or... OK, we're naked.

2005-08-05T20:54:00.000-07:00

This is shaping up to be the weekend of non-traditional dance performances. "The Living Canvas," now playing at Victory Gardens, is basically naked people covered by projected images. How naked? Completely naked. This show wins Way Off Loop's Full Frontal Male prize (previously held by "The Judas Kiss") for having the human penis on display pretty much all the time.

But, true to its little program philosophy statement, "The Living Canvas" is totally non-prurient. It's nifty and arty and playful, not sexy. And at times, it's sublime nifty. A naked human body seen under certain kinds of projections, moving, the projections moving, sculpted by light, flattened out by patterns..... can just look amazingly cool. Bodies don't always look like bodies. Depth is played with in funny ways. Sometimes- under a leopard print projection, for example- the performers seemed tatooed all over. Sometimes they seemed totally flat, as if they were made out of the pattern. You could swear, sometimes, that you had to be watching something on a screen.

The show comes off best when it just plays with that awesome central conceit. The performers change with their projected environments, but they can also move from one field of patterns to another. Like the delightful moment when a wave of water projections washed up on a shore of sand projections, spurring an adorable beach scene. The more serious arty bits dragged a little. And one number- a war protest piece- just didn't hit me right. Naked people are so blatant, and photojournalism of atrocities is so overwhelming... projecting one on the other is a bit unsubtle.

I think the show could have used a little tightening, and a better beginning to end flowthrough... it's also a bit much to ask audience members to join in... but the pieces that work and the sheer beauty/weirdness of the images makes it worth seeing.

Are we dorks, or are we cool?

2005-08-04T21:03:00.000-07:00

So, tonight I saw something called "Party Girl" at the Hothouse. It was mildly perplexing, because it has something to do with this club scene that I know nothing about. I sat next to the clubs reporter from New City, and I kept trying to read her notes, to find out if what I was looking at was cool or not. Like, are they making references to weird after-hours party practices? What is that thing with the plunger?

Plunger aside, it's not like there were any great mysteries, or anything deep going on. We had a number of characters- drunk chicas, b-boys, janitors, queer police officers with a penchant for ballet, and a soundtrack of what I'm pretty sure is house music. They kicked around, acting silly, dancing in groups, and rubbing their crotches. Some of the characters were pretty great- like the convict in the prison outfit who would dance his heart out, then stand stock still and glare at the audience with unbridled hate. But most were not funny enough. And the sexual/violent overtones of a lot of the pieces went too far for a fluffy dance show- like the hazing/gang initiation of a pig-tailed wannabee, or the notable abuses of power by a lesbian cop. A really promising bit, where a cute audience member got a lap-dance from about 10 gorgeous, muscular looking men, went south when it moved away from its performative aspect and became mostly about fondling the volunteer.

Thing being, the kids didn't really have the chops. They were clearly having a lot of fun, but I'd say 80% of them had no snap. No placement. There's probably a technical term for it, but I mean that special quality in a dancer that causes onlookers to think "Hey! She really just put her foot there, just now, into space. I noticed it." They also kept trying things that were just a smidge beyond them technically.

Now, in a fun-fun dance show, I don't require technical ability. Hell. I love the Belmont Burlesque, even though the Bombshells can just about do a two-step. But they've got wit! And they make the hoochie-coo culture they're drawing from really appealing. And that's the thing. I could get drunk, I guess, and enjoy this show. I even enjoyed it sober. Perhaps it's that I don't know jack about club culture. But the party girls didn't make me want to learn.

Lights up!

2005-07-28T19:57:00.000-07:00

Back after a too-too long hiatus. The nasty thing about stopping blogging is that you lose the knack.

Tonight, I saw "Tremors: Edited for Television" at the ever-reliable Neo-Futurarium. One night only- you missed it, suckers. There are, I believe, two more weekends of bad film scripts in concert readings. Worth catching, for sure, but that was the last taste till Autumn of delicious House-flavored theatre.*

This weekend will be packed full of show. Check back and back again.

*A bit like strawberry... inventive and damn good-looking.

Why does the phrase "Delusions of Grandeur" keep coming to mind?

2005-07-11T21:47:00.000-07:00

Just got back from my first main-stage show at the Athenaeum, which is everything a well-appointed high school theatre ought to be. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's what it used to be. The Athenaeum- former girls school, yes? I'll look it up later. It's about the size of my own high school's rather exceptional theatre... meaning way way way bigger than anything I normally see plays in.

The show, "City of Angels," was kind of hoping to be a big Broadway style production. The hired spotlight car and the 40s autos outside for opening night were great touches, even if the spots were on for several hours of total daylight. Also, opening on a Monday...a day that's a particular bugaboo for one of the show's characters. Cute!* Lots of publicity effort there. There was even a revolving stage. Just like in Les Miz!

Nevertheless, there was a veneer of amateurism over the whole darn thing. Not really a thin veneer either. The revolving stage squeaked. Bits fell off of the set. The voiceover bits were sometimes unintelligible. People bumped into each other. There was a moment when a male/female pair of characters did a sloppy, flubbed, it-was-never-gonna-happen-anyway jump lift. I felt the moment was emblematic. It struck me as an above average community theatre production, but because of it's obvious pretensions, it didn't get the sympathy from me that AmDram** usually gets.

The cast had uniformally good voices, and a lot of them had very impressive credits. I'm not entirely sure why the whole thing seemed so inert, so overlong, so awkwardly staged, so much as if the actors were phoning it in long distance and making up for it by talking really loudly. I think only one actress turned in a cohesively good performance from beginning to end. I'm not thrilled with the music in this show, but the book is full of good lines. Why weren't any of them funny?

I had a conversation recently with Phil from the House, about the weird experience of sitting way too close to the stage at "Wicked," and wanting to tell the chorus members to calm down, honey. Ok, Phil felt that way about the whole cast. I felt that many of the leads pulled it off some of the time. The point is, playing big without looking like an idiot can be tricky. If you're out there having fun, if the space is small, if you can take yourself seriously and not seriously at the same time, and if you have the chops, a few technical fluffles won't phase you. I don't know. That could have been part of the problem.

But it was not torturous. The unnamed play that I still haven't gotten around to reviewing because it was just that bad*** was torturous. This could have perhaps been enjoyable if it was a lot shorter.

*And strange. I was able to nip out during intermission and audition for Gypsy.**** Ah, Mondays.

**As they say in Britain.

***Ok, that was "The Movie Game." Don't worry, it's over now, and it can't hurt you.

****Ok, so I actually didn't audition for Gypsy. Critical license. Made a good story, right? I did, however, finally get to meet Kris of www.angst-identprone.org and TOC. Nice guy.

Mmmm.... Delicious Jews....

2005-07-09T21:37:00.000-07:00

Tonight's show was Amerikafka at Trap Door. Lots of good, funky stuff- puns, songs, nudity, puppets, puppets engaging in songs and nudity. Maybe too much stuff? It's two plus hours long, and the first act especially spent too much time circling about.

It's about Kafka's love of the Yiddish theatre, with a bit of biographical portrait. Also, it's a Yiddish style staging of Kafka's unfinished novel, Amerika, with Kafka as audience member and occasional interlocuter. Also, Kafka is dead, and the play is an attempt to exorcise his dybbuk from a world that has moved on into the sort of tragedies he can imagine only too easily. Also, Kafka is naked.

Great, weird staging tricks are all over. The jokes, irreverent and foul, are also great, but there should have been more of them. Better jokes to weirdness ratio. This is practically a vaudeville tradition, after all. The amount of nudity, however, was pretty good! Full marks. Also, at least one song that I want a copy of.

This kid they've got playing Kafka is fantastic... haunted eyes, gaunt frame, intensely baby bird. The cast is very huge though, and a little uneven. One actor was really solid, but didn't have quite enough oomph for his ultra-demanding part. And a couple of actresses who can't project or enunciate managed to sneak in. I mean, I'm five feet away from you. It shouldn't be difficult for me to hear what you are saying.

I think the venue is one of my favorites so far. Storefronts are for punks! This one is actually behind a restaurant- the very lovely Jane's. The Leopard Lounge is right next dooranges, and there's plenty of time to nip over there during intermission for a martini special. Not that I would do that. But you could!
The theatre itself is small, of course, but newly renovated, with a decent tech set-up. Their bathroom is shockingly lovely. Yes, shockingly. I've been to a lot of storefront theatre bathrooms. Their backstage is...well... after bows the actors filed off and were seen pulling a curtain closed behind them. The curtain bulged out. Awww.

Burlesque is the new awesome

2005-07-07T23:36:00.000-07:00

Blew back in from the Lavender Cabaret's 80's Night. My god! So much fun! I am making this a monthly trip, and you should too.

I also recently enjoyed the Belmont Bombshells. Great shows, for different reasons and also some same reasons. The Sugarbabies (of Lavender Cabaret) are dancery dancers, with high kicks and all kinds of posterior muscles. The Bombshells are, by their own admission, actors...adorable normal girls with goofy smiles.. their vibe is very old time vaudeville. You get to sit and watch in seats. Their MC, Jack Midnight, works the boozy, mildly depressed lounge-hound thing to perfection. The Lavender girls are far more amped up- they perform in a club setting. One stands and woots. One marvels at the thing that girl does with a hula hoop.

One does NOT, as a female, feel grossed out or threatened by either burlesque group. There is no male-pandering strip-club vibe. Don't worry, and don't hesitate to show up. *

Finally, both shows featured the Amazing Tomas, an itty-bitty bespectacled magician of whom I am an official groupie. Whether he's twitchily performing card tricks, doing shocking things with balloons and cigarettes, or inducing us to chant his name, I (heart) the Amazing Tomas.

Night!
Love,
Reina
*For the BB's show up with a bottle. It is BYOB. Score!

Back! With a new raffle!

2005-07-06T13:53:00.000-07:00

Want a voucher for free theatre tickets? Email wayoffloop at gmail dot com with the subject line "Take me to the Theatre!"

Caveats: You only get one ticket per show, choices are limited to what I happen to be reviewing. But I see good stuff.

You don't have to re-enter if you've entered already.

Taking a nap-

2005-06-22T15:38:00.000-07:00

Just to let you all know...

There are loads of reviews up at insideonline.com. However, I'm not going to see anything this weekend. I have mysterious and complicated Other Plans.

I will return next week with new shows and a raffle!

Love,
Reina

You've gotten eviler since I saw you last...

2005-06-19T23:24:00.000-07:00

Gosh, I'm beat. I have to stop going out after shows. Gets in the way of the blogging, and that's most important.

The True Ballad of Fall's Blessings had gamblers, and the supernatural, and the old west and at least 12 too many plotlines. Not that I don't like crazy plotlines, but sometimes I want more time with my favorite actors. Yes, the play needed at least 70% more Jamie Vann.* This lady Jennifer Avery also appealed to me, in the same way Mr. Vann does-- clearer and bolder than most people can manage to be on stage.

I liked it a lot. I liked the story, and I liked the set, and I overall approved of everything that was happening. There were many little points where the play tripped for me- went too far/not far enough/in general didn't have the chops- but not enough to make me feel badly towards it as a whole. Plus, it contained my favorite single costume of the year so far: a splendid Betsy Johnsonish frock/pantaloons ensemble for a bearded lady.

Lovely background music... but as a wild-west musical it fell down on the musical part. There were only six songs, and some of them were... well, I'm tired. But the point I'm trying to talk round to here is that six is not a large amount of songs. Six is an acceptable number if a. the songs are performances within the text (eg 12th night) or b. the songs happen only at moments of unusual intensity and are somehow set apart (eg curse of the crying heart). When there are 15 numbers in a show, it's ok to have people sing about their philosophy of life, or about what they're making for breakfast. My point is- there were some full-fledged musical type songs in what I would classify as a song with plays, and they didn't quite work. I actually asked- why did you start singing just now? And I'm not the sort of person that asks that about musicals.

The venue was well insulated. Hurray! A first for this weekend!

*I saw Mr. Vann, this great bald stevedore shaped actor, in King Lear, where he was extremely fabulous as- Kent, I think. One of the good ones. My praise of him is more based on King Lear than on Falls Blessing, in which he had little to do but look interesting and sound dangerous.

What is this bullshit? Give me the cheese!

2005-06-17T22:21:00.000-07:00

"Book of Days" at Steep Theatre. This play made me angry. Angry and hungry. Angry and hungry is a first.

The anger is easily explained by the bastardly actions of the play's villains. The hunger... partially explained by the fact that I didn't get out till 10:40, but also by the way certain characters kept talking about cheese. Delicious, aged, artisanal chedder. Even though the plot swings on a covered up murder, and sports religious hypocrisy and a cheating spouse, I was at least as emotionally engaged with the cheese. "No, no no! You conniving, prejudiced, grasping, pompous evil jerks!" I barely managed to not shout. "Don't you give that aged provolone to Kraft to be turned into velveeta! You give it to me!"

Now, as I sit before my computer gnawing on this almost acceptable hunk of swiss I bought at the all night Jewel 20 minutes ago, let me make it clear that I got more out of the play than a longing for cheese. I spent most of the second act trying not to shout for all sorts of reasons ("No! Don't tell him that! He's evil! Don't grant him that anullment! Argh!")-- even worse form than at a movie, because the actors really can hear you.

Overall, great play, about this genuinely charming little town that gets small minded and nasty by the second act. But not in a didactic or irritating way. There's both murder, and a play within a play, so it passes the Hamlet test.* Fantastic heroine too- adorable, sturdy bookkeeper/community theatre actress/ amateur sleuth/ hapless truthteller Ruth Hoch, who plays Joan of Arc on stage and on the streets. Krista Forster did a fine job in that role, as did Tom Hickey, her cheese obsessed husband. Very likable characters, who I admire, respect, and agree with, especially about cheese. Egan Reich was funny, but by no means stereotypical, as the talented bi-coastal refuge hired to direct the little town's production of Shaw's Saint Joan. And Alex Gillmore was infuriating as the bad guy. I single out these guys for being great. The rest of the huge cast was solid... not exciting, but ok.

The venue (Steep Theatre) won points for being sweet, and for having real wooden chairs instead of seats. Also, couple steps from the Sheridan Redline.
It lost major points (and how!) for the rockabilly songs that were clearly audible through the much of the second act. I mean, not just thumping base, but actual words, and harmonica solos. Poor actors.
It's quite tiny, also. Even with a full house, the audience doesn't outnumber the cast by much. Created a certain amount of staging awkwardness. Actors kept subway shuffling round each other. But I liked the tiny.

*The Hamlet test: Could I gratuitously bring up Hamlet when discussing this play? See! Just did.

Very Possibly Simply the Best Thing Ever

2005-06-13T19:46:00.000-07:00

It's 1985, people, get it together!

Ok, I'm sorry. I'm not making sense. I'm too much hyped up. Barrel of Monkeys is by far the best Monday night out I've ever had. All of you- why haven't you seen it yet? Multiple times!

So, quickly, BOM is an organization that goes into public schools, induces children to write stories, and then stages them. Both in the schools, for the benefit of the authors, and every Monday night at the Neofuturariam, under the title "That's Weird Grandma," for the benefit of all. The actors in question, by the way, are top-notch*- the comic timing, the boundless energy, the works, no ketchup. I teared up at the end. I reserved a copy of the CD. I bought an amazing t-shirt, which I will be rocking with deconstructed denim tomorrow down at the Grind, to the thunderous envy of all.

I went to see the "Celebration of Authors," which means the show was longer, there were over 30 actors, and the audience was full of screaming kids/writers. I like screaming kids. I know a lot of people don't. I'm considering returning next week before I write the Inside review... just to let y'all know what the ambience is like on a normal night. Who wants to come with me? It's only an hour long, so plenty of time to hit the Hopleaf afterwards.

*Including my hero Molly Brennan. Do you want to know how cool she is? The Jeffs were tonight, and she is nominated, but instead of going to a ceremony to honor herself, she went to a celebration to honor these kids. That in itself, gentlemen, you might think is pretty cool.** But consider this: she sent a puppet to the Jeffs in her place. Game, set and match.

**And now, so that we don't forget the forces of anti-awsomeness, I'll give my award for un-cool behaviour. I'd been eagerly awaiting the "Sin" issue of Topic Magazine, until I read the following l'il anecdote in Gawker (quoted w/o permission, sorry):

One Topic editor tells me about the totally dick move he pulled on a flight back from Paris. “I was sitting next to this guy, looking disdainfully at the mass market spy paperback he was reading. And when he fell asleep I took it out of his seat pocket, ripped out the last three pages, and put it back. But when he woke up, I found that he was actually very nice. He asked what I was reading and it was To the Finland Station by Edmund Wilson. And he was all, ‘Oh, what I’m reading isn’t quite as literary,’ and I’m, like, repressing laughter. When I got to the terminal, I looked at what I’d torn out and the entire book hinged on what was in those last three pages. So, yeah, that was pretty fun.”

I can't even describe to you what a completely worthless person this guy seems to be. Topic Magazine, for employing such a person, you lose points. I will read the articles I'm interested in while standing up in a bookstore, and give the money I've saved to Barrel of Monkeys.

Hmmph!

2005-06-12T23:00:00.000-07:00

So, several total jerks over on Craigslist decided to flag my posting in free stuff of the second ticket raffle as spam. I am grandly peeved. Different raffle, different ticket... hence, not spam. Please don't do that. There are about 50 people so far who are interested in getting some live theatre- let those who want to know about it know!

Sheesh.

I'm going to wait a week before reposting. Bookmark us, because that's the only way you'll find out about new raffles!

In other news, I saw "How I Learned to Drive" at Profiles Theatre. Sunday Matinee, audience of four. Half of whom were late.* I'll bet the evening audiences were better- Sunday Matinees are horrible things, kids.

More detailed thoughts on it tomorrow, kittens. But for the record, they deserved a bigger crowd and, despite outnumbering us (the audience) they didn't pull their punches. If you haven't seen this play, go see it for certains. If you have- well, like I said. More thoughts tomorrow.

Love,
To all y'all except the flaggers- no love for you!
-Reina

*yes... one of them was me. I suck.

This week's first responder tickets gone!

2005-06-11T15:13:00.000-07:00

Email wayoffloop at gmail dot com to be entered in the general drawing. Note- if you have entered already and haven't won, you don't need to do it again for the general drawing.

Winner picked Monday! Remember- it is just one ticket per show- you can't take your mother/boyfriend/cousin/wife, but you can send them!

Love,
Reina

But Georgie.... don't you know... you're a flaming homosexual?

2005-06-10T23:38:00.000-07:00

"Queen Lucia," just opened up at Lifeline, is a funny little beast but very well done. I had a head cold and I still enjoyed it. That's high praise, that is.

It's not formally odd- it's a straight ahead musical in form, but it... well, it's about an English society woman, the titular Lucia, who is queen bee of a little town called Rizzom. (sp?) She's the most charismatic, has all the artistic authority, throws the best parties... and then this utterly fabulous opera singer buys a country home in Rizzom, and Lucia is toast. Furious toast. So you'd expect this to be a very hyped up Gilbert and Sullivan meets Earnest, Importance of... but it isn't. Not quite. It's a little subtler, and more emotionally icky, and it has one of those deflated in-between, bittersweet endings that are so disorienting in musicals... like the original ending of "Pippin" but not as much of a mind-fuck.* In musicals my gut always wants someone to die or get married, preferably both.

That's not to say it won't evoke happy G and S memories... lots of operettaish numbers, lots of great staging... a hilarious act one closer where Lucia sings your basic aria of revenge in the middle of a party. While people are doing a bunny hop. Choice. And did I mention the great staging? Those Lifeline people are superb at arranging actors on their itty little stage and moving them about during songs.

Ah- and the venue itself. Severe, severe rake. Stage looks like a postage stamp from up there. But I love it. Only heard a train one time.

Must to bed. Head cold rearing its awful... head. again.

*I realize this is my second Pippin reference in a month-old blog. I have neither excuse nor explanation.