Megan Khaziran as Lautrec’s mother, looming large, as she gives birth to Henri as a puppet.
Voyeur: The Windows of Toulouse-Lautrec explores the life of Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, the immensely talented 19th-century French painter and printmaker, using the sidewalks, doorways, and windows of Greenwich Village as the setting for a “pandemic-friendly theatrical experience.” Live performance, puppetry, music and a short black-and-white film combine to help the site-specific production tell the story of the artist who captured the seamier side of the Belle Époque.
Ryan Lisa with a puppet of Lautrec as he struggles with the end of his life.
The promenade performance begins on Christopher Street, where a riot of color, music, and night revelers creates the perfect entrée into Lautrec’s life. Dancers, dressed in short ruffly skirts and garters (à la the Moulin Rouge), do a provocative shimmy in the windows above a bar. Guiding us through the streets are Maryia Vasileuskaya on violin and Chris Rehmann with a small, handheld music box, at times playing Erik Satie’s bittersweet Gnossienne No. 1 and at other times a catchy French tune.
The first stop is a store that offers a ready-made mise en scène. Lautrec’s father (played with great dignity by Royston Scott) gazes at himself in a mirror attached to the wall inside. He stares hard as he struggles with his conscience—we later learn he was an absentee parent—and repeats the word “good-bye.” “Good-bye,” he says, holding out his hand as if clutching his son’s. Another good-bye is delivered with fury, and another with defeat.
A short walk takes the audience to a later time when Lautrec lived in Montmartre. In the front window of Chashama (set designed by Lina Younes) is an exotic dancer (the stunning Natasha Frater) who does a sexy striptease. But this is not a typical striptease—her clothing stays on as she playfully strips off her mask. It’s both funny and topical.
On the corner of Eighth Street and Sixth Avenue, Lautrec’s mother (Megan Khaziran) stands towering above the pavement in a shimmering white dress with an enormous skirt, like a veritable Mother Ginger in Nutcracker. Is she on stilts or a ladder? It’s hard to say, but her height adds to the dreamy quality of the story. Under her dress, a bright light casts a shadow while baby Henri is born. Emerging as a puppet (designed by James Ortiz), his deformity instantly apparent.
Jordon Waters dances on Christopher Street as Leila Mire (left, in window) Kayla Yee look on. Photographs by Hunter Canning.
There is very little dialogue, yet through Christopher Metzger’s magnificent costuming and the careful direction of Mara Lieberman, who also conceived of the show, the sad life and exceptional talent of Lautrec are vividly conveyed. Marin Orlosky and Ethan Pravetz are lovely as Lautrec’s young parents. They dance along Eighth Street, holding a picture frame dotted with lights like a vanity. A light and airy pantomime moves the story of their love, and the viewers, along.
Lautrec’s parents were from an aristocratic background (descended from counts of Toulouse); they were also first cousins, and the close blood tie gave Lautrec a myriad of undiagnosed congenital problems that left him frail and stunted his growth (he was only 4-foot-8). Although his parents supported his artistic talent, he escaped to Montmartre, a working-class neighborhood where artists could find cheap rent, and performers, singers and prostitutes all mingled and felt most at home. When the Moulin Rouge opened in 1889, he was especially at ease in the decadent nightclub that featured bawdy singers and cancan dancers.
In the storefront of Chashama, Natasha Frater is a lady of the night who does a special mask-wearing striptease.
The last stop of the show is the balcony at Judson Church, designed like an artist’s atelier (by Sadra Tehrani). The act of entering a performance space feels at once taboo and very special. It’s been a long while since spaces have been open for a theatrical purpose. The large, airy balcony gives the audience plenty of room for social distancing and offers a great vantage point to watch a brief film, in black and white, projected on the wall where Lautrec and Yvette Guilbert (played by Kelsey Rondeau in drag) in the cavernous sanctuary space argue about the pose. “Stay still!” Lautrec commands as he faces his easel. “No,” Yvette snaps. This push-pull continues until they settle in and he gets the pose he wants.
Turning back to the atelier, Lautrec (as a puppet held by Ryan Lisa) is sickly and reckoning with the end. The sparkles painted on his cheeks look like tears, and it’s hard not to feel a little tug on the heart at the thought that such an immense talent died of alcoholism and syphilis at age 36. As a site-specific theatrical walking tour, Voyeur: The Windows of Toulouse-Lautrec, is an excellent way to shake off the deprivation from live performance of the past six months.
Bated Breath’s Voyeur: The Windows of Toulouse-Lautrec, runs through Nov. 7. Performances begin at the Duplex, 61 Christopher St. at Seventh Avenue South, and move through the West Village, with stops at Chashama and Judson Church. Showtimes are Wednesdays and Saturdays, with shows starting on the hour from 6–9 p.m., and Thursdays on the hour from 7–9 p.m. (no performances Oct. 23). Audience members must be able to climb stairs and be on their feet for the duration of the performance. For times, tickets and further details, visit www.unmakinglautrecplay.com.
