Musical

East Meets West

The Beauty Inside is an appropriate title for Catherine Filloux's new play, now receiving its New York premiere at the Culture Project (45 Below). On the surface, the production suffers from tepid direction and the miscasting of a pivotal role. But digging deeper inside this moving and important piece reveals an exceptionally well-written script and several beautifully nuanced performances. The Beauty Inside is the story of Yalova (Tatiana Gomberg), a 14-year-old Turkish girl, and her relationships with the family that has turned against her and the stranger who will save her. After surviving a series of brutal rapes at the hands of her married neighbor, Yalova must go into hiding to escape her family as they seek to regain their honor by killing her. Her salvation comes in the form of Devrim (Jennifer Gibbs), a Turkish-American lawyer who takes on Yalova's case and challenges the centuries-old tradition of honor killing.

While Yalova represents the tradition and oppression of her Eastern culture, Devrim is the embodiment of the Western heritage that lives within her Eastern upbringing (she smokes and drinks, and prefers bikinis to head scarves). With Yalova and Devrim, Filloux has created an intriguing dichotomy of East versus West and old versus new. As Devrim helps Yalova to find her Western voice, Yalova teaches Devrim the beauty of her Eastern heritage. Their complex and fascinating (and touchingly humorous) relationship is the backbone of The Beauty Inside.

The heart of the play is Gomberg's Yalova. Gomberg constructs a complex, sensitive, moving portrayal of a young girl caught between circumstance, tradition, and longing. With an easy grace, her Yalova evolves from a sheltered child to a tortured victim to an independent young woman. It is a beautiful performance.

Gibbs, however, is a talented actress unfortunately miscast, with her broad acting style better suited to high melodrama than to the quiet honesty of Filloux's script.

If Gomberg is the play's heart, then its soul belongs to Michelle Rios and her portrayal of Peri, Yalova's mother. In a compelling battle of nature versus nurture, Rios's Peri is at odds with herself

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The Incredible Journey

O Canada, the new home and native land for all things artistic. First we became dependent on you for our movies (funny how much Toronto looks like New York and L.A.), then our music (Montreal, where were you during the boy band era?), and now you increase our dependency by offering up great theater. Do you happen to have any cheap oil up there as well? Pith!, an adventurous tale about letting go, comes to us from Edmonton, Alberta, which, judging by the stellar cast and script, may very well be the next hotbed for the dramatic arts. Expertly written by Stewart Lemoine, Pith! follows Jack Vail, a traveling sailor who drops anchor in Providence, R.I., just long enough to help a grieving widow come to terms with the fact that her missing husband will never return.

Jack's form of therapy is not recommended for the faint of heart. Travel is a must, and dangerous situations

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Tasty Fare

As different as they are delightful, the new plays that are part of EATFest: Spring 2005 make a strong showing. The festival's first selections, those of Series A, range in theme from an estranged middle-aged couple sharing a holiday in a hostile, Third World vacation spot, to a young girl trying to connect with her parents at her greatest moment of fear and separation, to a zany look at the dating destiny of a gay man at 40. Though varying in theme and tone, what the plays share is a vein of sweet and sad acceptance. With humor, irony, and sensitivity, each is touching and unique.

In the first, Foreign Bodies, it is clear from the start that Victoria and Maz are incapable of leaving behind memories of their cold British lives long enough to enjoy the first moments of their holiday abroad. In fact, the extremes to which they go, popping "harmony pills" to forget their dreary home life, numb them to the point of oblivion.

Written by Andrew Biss and directed by Dylan McCullough, Foreign Bodies is a gleefully dire, tongue-in-cheek look at how we lose our perceptiveness the more we try to smooth out the edges of our lives and relationships. Kurt Kingsley as Max and Laura Fois as Victoria are sharp and very funny as their characters, wide-eyed and unconcerned, banter casually and eventually turn a blind eye to imminent dangers.

In Asteroid Belt, Carly, a young college student on her way home from a play rehearsal, realizes in the play's opening minutes that she is about to die in a car accident. In that moment, she attempts to logically reflect on the illogical elements that placed her in such danger. In doing so, she also tries to connect with her parents by following them in spirit through the routine of worrying about the late-night whereabouts of their child.

Writer Lauren Feldman creates impressively touching characters with her simple use of detail. Carly's father, Jay (Sam Sagenkahn), tries to distract his anxious wife, Sue (Valerie David), by poking fun at her dislike of Mary Higgins Clark. And Carly reflects that she is ill equipped to handle her accident because she was "never good at spontaneity," and that if she had been, she would have gone into "firefighting...or improv."

Directed by Caden Hethorn, these characters all come to life with warmth and realism, particularly Carly (Rachel Eve Moses), who gives the most affecting performance of the evening.

The final play, Invisible, written by Marc Castle and directed by Mark Finley, is the most absurd and the most fun. In a gay nightclub, Jerry (Jack Garrity), who has just turned 40, is perplexed when his advances on younger men are worse than ignored

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The Audience's the Thing

If you are reading this review, you have probably, at one time or another, sat in the audience of a show. You watched the actors onstage portray all sorts of characters: sociopaths, drunkards, thespians, witches, revolutionaries

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Familiar Footprints

Shoe Palace Murray, the new Circle East production currently playing at Baruch College's Bernie West Theatre, pays homage to a more innocent era of musical comedy revue. This sweet story, set in a struggling theater-district shoe store during the 1920's, has plenty of charm and talent, and is a delightful throwback to many old-school screwball comedies from the golden age. But it also borrows from one source in particular a little too closely. A Depression-era business fallen on hard times. A nebbish salesman who pines for someone else's woman. Another female character who suffers from the violent temper of her significant other. Any of these elements sound familiar? They converged to great success as part of the framework of Little Shop of Horrors, that seminal mini-masterpiece. It is difficult to say whether playwrights William M. Hoffman and the late Anthony Holland had that show in mind when working on Shoe (which first opened in 1988), but the result is the same: this show cannot help but feel slight and derivative in inevitable comparison.

Nervous, stammering Benny Vogel (Jim Ireland) is the yin to slick womanizer Murray Howard's (Chip Phillips) yang. Together, this duo works at I. Miller, a 46th Street shoe store catering to stars and molls alike. Murray hatches a half-baked plot to open up his very own shoe palace and strike it rich, and ends up weaving a very tangled web involving a failing Broadway show, an aspiring starlet, and a female accountant. The action itself, which only really gets into gear at the end of the first act, is pretty slight, and certain details never prove wholly relevant. For instance, Shoe takes place on the day in 1926 that Rudolph Valentino was buried, but this detail never asserts its relevance.

Additionally, Hoffman and Holland create a major sea change between acts. Once the audience gets used to the marvelous team of Ireland and Phillips, most of the second act features a markedly different and yet well-performed (and occasionally riotous) set of scenes between Marion (honey-voiced Christa Capone), Murray's girlfriend, and Delphi Harrington (Alla Nazimova), a Russian actress who becomes an empowering mentor for Marion.

This kind of schizoid storytelling does benefit from some top-notch talent. From beginning to end, Phillips is the consummate pro, wonderfully slick as Murray and very generous as the play progresses in handing over the baton as Ireland's role takes center stage. Ireland is an absolute miracle worker, with his nervous tics, grimaces, nail biting, precious stammer, and horrific posture. The sextet of the cast is rounded out by two other fine performances: Sarah Irland as the beaten-up Lucille and Judith Barcroft in a small, early role as nosy doyenne Texas Guinan.

Shoe possesses a few other glitches that deal more with Barbara Bosch's direction than the script, including many instances where the pace needs to be picked up and some predictable bits of physical comedy (usually involving Ireland and Phillips twirling phone cords) that do not really pay off. But if these problems were to be fixed, a larger one would still remain. Hoffman, who two decades ago had major success with the excellent As Is, and Holland took a story that could have been delightful and made it merely palatable at best. With so many recognizable elements in play, this is a case of familiarity breeding a tad too much contempt.

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Gray Matters

Sketch comedy is a cruel mistress. She demands that you come up with original material. She insists that each show top the previous one. And above all, she commands that you do these things with a smile on your face and a song in your heart. At the premiere of BOOM, celebrated New York sketch group Elephant Larry's eighth new show, EL succeeded in making its mistress, and the audience, very happy indeed. As the audience filed into the Peoples Improv Theater, a screen was onstage, and "factoids" linking to the show, as well as ads for its co-sponsor (satirical weekly magazine The Onion), were being shown, movie theater-style. The lights dimmed, credits rolled, and out came four clean-cut boys, singing about how three of them were "following around" the fourth one. It was a straightforward premise, built on funny lyrical revelations, and kicked off an entertaining hour of live sketches, taped links, and songs.

Elephant Larry's members drew their material from television, history, and popular culture. A recurring joke involved a game show that was named after an overly elaborate description of its premise, rules, and grand prize. The traditional "man visits doctor" scenario was turned on its ear when the doctor turned out to be a chatbot. (For those unfamiliar with instant messaging, this is a computer-generated "persona" that responds to a user's questions with a stock set of answers.)

The most lovably silly sketch centered on Dr. Frankenstein's monster creating his own monster, whose vocabulary was mostly limited to the word "monster." The simple repetition of that word was enough to get everyone laughing, and the sketch continued in surprising ways from there.

One of the classic pitfalls of the form, which has plagued everybody from the lads of Monty Python to SNL's Not Ready for Primetime Players, is how to end a sketch. In the absence of a proper conclusion, writers will comment on the lack of an ending, spin the premise out into boredom, or just abandon the sketch entirely. To their credit, Elephant Larry's performers were able to end on a joke and a blackout, without leaving the audience feeling cheated.

EL has written a strong show, full of sketches that make you smile and several that make you laugh out loud. It's impressive how it has created a show that, without a lot of profanity, politics, or "blue" jokes, manages to play smart and not square. These guys are earnest, clever, and ready to please; it's a refreshing change of pace in an increasingly snarky, too-hip-for-the-room NYC comedy scene.

For those comedians who are willing to try their luck at sketch comedy, the creative struggles tend to outweigh the returns. (How often does a sketch comedian turn his or her stage success into onscreen success that doesn't involve being a background player on a televised sketch show?) Lucky for New York that Elephant Larry doesn't dwell on such things. Its performers' goal is simple: for 60 minutes, they want to make our troubles go BOOM.

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Prisoners of War

"If the war was over then all the dead had been buried and all the prisoners had been released. Why shouldn't he be released too?" wonders the title character of Dalton Trumbo's Johnny Got His Gun. While fighting for America in World War I, a shell blows off Johnny's arms, legs, and face, and robs him of his vision, hearing, smell, and taste. The novel takes place in his consciousness, blurring the line between dream and reality, as Johnny struggles to communicate with a world that has virtually forgotten him. Trumbo's tragic figure could be considered a metaphor for the condition known as shell shock, where soldiers returning from battle at that time had immobilizing bouts of panic, hallucinations, or even complete catatonia. This is the strange and mysterious subject matter that the Axis Company explores in the brilliant Not Yet Diagnosed (Nervous) 1918. In it, a group of soldiers attempt to figure out where they are, why they're there, and how to return home or to the front. Despite a vague familiarity with one another and their setting, no one seems to know exactly how he arrived.

The impressively realistic set design immediately transports the audience to a WWI bunker, rife with gas masks, cameras, and primitive communication equipment, and accented with a number of tunnels that lead to nowhere in particular. The sound (by Steve Fontaine) is limited to paranoia-inducing whispers of people and places, leading us to believe that all we need to do to escape is open our eyes.

The Axis Company members all put on strong performances as usual, with a particularly powerful showing by Margo Passalaqua, whose role is a not-quite-there presence. Passalaqua's androgyny not only makes her appear young enough to have fought in WWI but also lends her a haunting and innocent quality as she slips in and out of roles as a soldier and characters from lives once upon a time. No one else really recognizes her presence in the group, but she is almost constantly there, feeding the soldiers their lines (and sometimes completing them), which she does with a wonderful mixture of anger and melancholy.

Indeed, what makes Not Yet Diagnosed stand out from previous Axis productions is its arresting script. While it takes almost the exact same theme as last year's Hospital

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Love Taking Wing

Love, commitment, marriage

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More Money, More Problems

Outdoing the Jones's

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Portrait of the Artist

Deco Diva, the one-woman curtain-raiser in the 59E59 Theater's festival of new British plays, has an unusual credit line: written, performed, and painted by Kara Wilson. Over the span of this hourlong, finely etched portrayal of chic Art Deco painter Tamara de Lempicka, Wilson produces an accomplished copy of one of the artist's most famous oil portraits. It's a gimmick, but one that this veteran Scottish actress employs with panache in her zeal to bring her subject to life. Lempicka makes for a succulent subject, given her penchant for flouting social mores and the intersection of her life with the pivotal historical events of the early 20th century. With her exotic origins, love of luxury, and sexual daring, she embodied the zeitgeist of Paris of the 1920s, when the city was a beacon of personal and artistic freedom.

A Polish-born Russian

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Twisted Sister

The work of 27-year-old Polish theater troupe Gardzienice might properly be called Theater of Intoxication, as every sound and motion seems to both invoke the invisible and be possessed by it. In their performances, word truly becomes flesh. It is no wonder, then, that the late Susan Sontag called them "one of the few essential theater companies working anywhere in the world today." With Elektra, Gardzienice's latest "theatrical essay" adapted from the Euripides play of the same title, the group once again proves her right. The ancient story of Elektra and her brother Orestes begins with their father, King Agamemnon, returning victorious from Troy, only to be murdered by his wife, Clytemnestra, and her lover, Aegisthus. Orestes is smuggled out of the city before he meets a similar fate, but Elektra is not so lucky: Aegisthus, worried that a royal offspring would seek vengeance for the murder, forces her to wed a peasant. Though the marriage remains chaste, Elektra is consumed with grief and anger

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The Fight's the Thing

One good thing right off the bat: A Beginner's Guide to Deicide, like The Brothers Karamazov and Tess of the d'Urbervilles before it, stands proudly in the great literary tradition of spiritual discovery through buxom redheads with pointy weapons. Huh? In all fairness, I dozed in English class.

Nonetheless, there is a singular event occurring at Center Stage: the continuing evolution of a completely original theatrical aesthetic. The play surrounding it is terrible, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't go.

A Beginner's Guide to Deicide tells the story of Lucy (Andrea Marie Smith), a redheaded schoolgirl who wields the aforementioned weapons. Lucy and her sister, Skeeter (Caitlyn Darr), travel through time on a mission to kill God (Dan Deming), along the way murdering the big guy's allies (Joan of Arc, Dante) and his enemies (Nietzsche, Martin Luther, Henry VIII). A stage manager (Nathan Lemoine) keeps things humming along.

The play is Kmart theology at its worst, the kind of half-formed ideas a rebellious parochial-school student concocts during Bible study

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The Immigrant Experience

"They've all come to look for America." That line from Simon and Garfunkel's "America" is central to the story of Seven.11.2005, now playing at the Lower East Side Tenement Theatre. The play and theater are a perfect fit. Located in the basement of a building constructed in 1863, the theater is surrounded by museums, gift shops, and stores dedicated to preserving the memory of immigrants who migrated to New York's shores long ago. The air is thick with stories, and everyone passing through is eager to hear one. Desipina and Company has taken advantage of this inquisitive atmosphere by producing Seven.11.2005, a South Asian production that respectfully and skillfully pays homage to the neighborhood's rich history while promoting tolerance for the diverse community currently residing there.

Both walls of this tight, century-old space, which is designed to resemble a 7-11 convenience store, are adorned with plastic shelves and several household items such as tissues, orange juice, coffee, and cigarettes. Upon examination of this set, one cannot help but wonder: Who are these people who work all day and night at 7-11s?

Seven.11.2005 blows the lid off this question in a series of seven 11-minute skits about South Asian immigrants from all walks of life trying to get by in America while working in a convenience store.

The play thrives in its setting. The stories are intriguing, the characters believable, and the dialogue custom-made for its predominantly South Asian audience. There were audible squeals of delight whenever they heard a familiar phrase or dialect spoken onstage.

The play kicks off with a lovelorn American man (Andrew Guilarte) and a woman (Lethia Nall) flirting in a Paris convenience store. She once immigrated to the same area of New York where he lived and attended the same four-year college before she returned to Paris. The American is intrigued by their shared geography, and his flirtation turns sincere until he realizes that their different life paths render a budding relationship impossible.

When this scene ends, Guilarte effortlessly slips from his role as a suave, romantic seducer to an obsessive, nerdy comic-book dork in a scene that played to big laughs and appreciative applause.

It is important to note that there are no blackouts between scenes. When one skit ends, the actors quickly launch into their next characters. In a testament to their skill, they make these transitions smoothly and fully, shedding all traces of their previous characters like a dead skin.

However, one scene, called "Beckoning Cat," played too powerfully for its own good. It features a rowdy deadbeat (Jackson Loo) and a scheming convenience store owner (John Wu) plotting to steal a winning lottery ticket from a na

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Religion on the Rocks

A meditation on divorce and the Catholic Church, Rosaries and Vodka chronicles the story of Posey Malone, a staunch Irish Catholic whose life is shaped by her ineligibility (as determined by church doctrine) to remarry after an abusive marriage. This could be a fascinating topic to tackle, but rather than being a fascinating life, hers is just depressing. As a result, the play focusing on it doesn't fare much better than the marriage; both are doomed from the start. On the eve of their wedding, Posey's fianc

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Inaction Figure

A classic is a resilient thing. Those who would seek to bend one to their will

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Fat Man and Little Boy

Grotesquerie is proudly on display in Jessica Jill Turner's new play, Charlie Moose Makes His Move, onstage until April 10 at the Looking Glass Theatre. The titular character, played by Corey Patrick, is the worst kind of unbearable, egotistical bastard: he is convinced that he is a creative genius of unequaled brilliance, when in reality he can barely write for a bad soap opera. Charlie barks orders at his only friend, Simon, a fidgety, socially awkward 12-year-old, played with nervous abandon by Brian Sacca. And he is convinced that somewhere there is a coked-up stripper waiting patiently for his love, despite the fact that he has no evidence of this at all. Charlie is also disgustingly obese, weighing over 300 pounds, and has not left his chair in over a year.

If the sight of a giant lump of a man giving dictation to the most socially retarded boy imaginable isn't enough to give you a serious case of the heebie-jeebies, then perhaps a few other members of Turner's demented menagerie can raise the hairs on the back of your neck. There's Simon's mother, Nancy Tarbox (Kelly Eubanks), an aspiring sociopath whose path to enlightenment includes adventures in unwanted pregnancies and slamming her fingers repeatedly in a filing cabinet drawer.

There's also Gene Schiffer (Adam Tsekhman), Simon's twisted school psychiatrist, whose attempts at shepherding his students to proper mental health are offset by his Russian sexual repression. And then there's Honey Blank (Marci Adilman), who is, quite simply, the worst stripper in the world.

All of these widely careening elements, barely held in check by director Ashiln Halfnight's able hand, add up to one of the oddest, most hysterical, and most original pieces of theater I've seen in a long time. This is not because Turner and Halfnight trot out a few strange characters

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Doo-wop, Shakespeare-Style

An updated version of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream, Fools in Love interchanges ancient Athens for West Athens, Calif., and sets the play in the 1950s. This condensed, one-act adaptation is aimed at children, and, with copious amounts of physical comedy and a soundtrack of pop music, it proves that Shakespeare can be understood and enjoyed by even those generally (and wrongfully) deemed too young for it. The show opens with four lovers convening at a diner to sip sodas and lament their tangled love lives. Helena (Annelise Abrams) loves Demetrius (Antony Raymond), but Demetrius loves Hermia (Erika Villalba). That would be all well and good, as Hermia's parents want her to marry Demetrius, but her heart belongs to Lysander (Matt Schuneman).

Hermia and Lysander decide to elope, and both Demetrius and Helena follow them when they flee into the forest, where a group of resident fairies attempt to unravel and realign their heartstrings. Lovers' spats are also present in the woods, as Oberon (Andy Langton) and Titania (Margaret Curry) squabble over their own feelings and argue over the possession of a changeling child.

A cappella accompaniment to the action is provided by a group of doo-wop singers who drift in and out of the action singing 50's and 60's pop songs as a kind of Greek chorus. The oft-covered "I Will Follow Him" accompanies Helena's mad dash as she chases Demetrius deep into the forest, and when Hermia and Lysander sleep in the woods, the singers perform a snippet of the classic "Goodnight, Sweetheart." What the group occasionally lacks in pitch, they more than make up for with enthusiasm.

Besides that addition, however, the rest of the play stays the same. Though it is considerably cut down (while still running nearly two hours without an intermission), there have been virtually no changes to the language itself. Some characters have been tweaked ever so slightly to suit the time period, but little else needs to be changed to help kids get Shakespeare's comic characters. In this version, we have a pocket protector-wearing Lysander, and Peter Quince (Tom Falborn) and his gang are the diner's chef and busboys. The delightfully over-caffeinated Puck (Brandy Wykes) is constantly whipping out a steno pad on which he takes notes from the leather jacket-wearing Oberon.

Fairies flit throughout the play, and their sheer number is what allows children's involvement in the show. Children (and the occasional adult audience member) are invited up onstage to take part in the group scenes. They are welcomed with open arms by the fairies, who all do excellent work guiding the children. The fairies also rev up the energy in the theater, clapping along and chattering amongst themselves.

Sometimes, however, the fun gets a little overwhelming, as the chorus chitchat can draw too much focus away from the main action. Particularly when trying to keep kids following the story line, distractions like these are dangerous.

Some actors failed in making the material accessible, while others were wildly successful. Some actors were funny but lacked the overt comedy that's needed in shows for kids. The actors who were triumphant in their efforts

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Cruel to the Highest Degree

Michael Scott-Price has a lot to say. Much of it is said using four-letter words and racial slurs, making his Lynch PLAY a production not for those of a mild disposition. But American history (or history in general) is not for those with mild dispositions. Lynch PLAY makes sure that its audience is aware of this fact

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Lights! Magic! Set Changes!

Faust in Love, now playing at the Ohio Theater, is part two of Target Margin Theater's adaptation of Goethe's masterpiece. This second installment of the production's trilogy, which will be completed next year, concerns the most well-known aspect of the Faust legend: his romance with Gretchen (Eunice Wong), a young and innocent girl. As the story goes, Faust (George Hannah), aided by the demon Mephistopheles (David Greenspan), successfully woos Gretchen with gifts, sleeps with her and ruins her reputation, and then abandons her by taking a little vacation to hell. Upon his return, he discovers that his lover has gone mad and is imprisoned for murder. Faust finds himself torn between his desire to save Gretchen and Mephistopheles's insistence that he save himself. Directed by Target Margin's artistic director, David Herskovits, Faust in Love is a slick affair, with plenty of sly winks and nudges to the culturally savvy audience. The show's self-aware theatricality serves as both its most impressive and most detrimental aspect. While Herskovits's attention to production values makes Faust a visual joy to watch, the style of the show is so attention-grabbing that it sometimes distracts the audience from the story itself. The lighting is distinctive and dramatic, the sound design is playful and engaging, and the set changes are fluid and magical. But against the ever-changing backdrop of such beautifully crafted shapes and colors, the characters' conflict and desires seem bland in comparison, despite the efforts of the energetic and talented cast.

The play really shines during its scene changes, unlike most shows, which simply try to get through them as quickly as possible. Herskovits turns these transitional moments into tightly choreographed mini-scenes, during which a flurry of movement is coupled with an exciting burst of music. As the show progresses, the set evolves, gradually revealing a striking depth that dramatically portrays a variety of locations and symbolically represents the distance that develops between Faust and Gretchen. During the transitions, the audience experiences a revelation of space, and when the curtains and flys are removed, one can almost feel a collective shiver of delight rolling through the crowd.

The play's heightened sense of theatricality sometimes works to great dramatic effect, as in Gretchen's prolonged silence when she describes holding her dead sister as a baby. During this scene, the audience's attention was rapt as she wordlessly rocked her empty arms, proving that silence really can speak volumes. At other times, the directorial choices seemed overly devised and even a bit smug.

For instance, a sparkly curtain often appears to hide certain actions from the audience. At one point, someone mimes stomping on a ukulele behind the curtain, while cartoonish sound effects add a comical effect. The curtain is removed to reveal a now-broken ukulele. Although somewhat amusing, bits of business like this often seem gratuitous and out of place. It is difficult to tell whether Herskovits is attempting to make the story interesting by highlighting certain aspects of it, or whether he is simply trying to distract our attention from the boring bits by using any possible means.

The last scene of the play, in which Faust attempts to rescue Gretchen, is a welcome relief from theatrical tricks and gags. Their confrontation is played out in a straightforward manner and thus generates one of the most meaty and thought-provoking interactions of the evening. Once the tongue-in-cheek commentary is turned off, the actors are allowed to get down to the business of really responding to each other, and it is a joy to see. Although it might be nice if there were more of these moments in the play, it is satisfying that Faust ends on this emotional high note.

Herskovits stuffs a surprising amount of humor into the production, and the action proceeds at a pleasantly quick pace. He has successfully put a fresh, new spin on an old play, and the superficial elements of the production shine with style, grace, and a lot of charm. Although the characters may not inspire much empathy or interest, this is still a thoroughly engaging piece of theater, and Target Margin proves that there is more to a good play than simply a good story. In Faust in Love the set is not just an indication of where the characters are; it is the hat from which the magician pulls a rabbit. The costumes do not merely keep the actors from being naked, and the lighting creates much, much more than simply a lack of darkness.

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Seeing Other People

The stage is almost too small at Jewel Box Space, where Alex DeFazio's hauntingly beautiful new play, Radium, is being produced. And this is exactly how it should be. At the opening, six actors (who play five characters) walk to and fro onstage, at times narrowly avoiding bumping into one another. The effect is one of cramped claustrophobia. The inhabitants of DeFazio's world barely have enough room to negotiate their way through life and are incapable of taking a course of action without knocking someone else off his own course. Radium follows the lives of five gay men who fall in and out of love and lust, and break each other's hearts, over the course of a year. We see three different strong relationships form and fall apart, in most cases for no real reason that the characters can understand. They cling to each other desperately but are equally quick to toss away their lovers if they don't fit into the carefully sculpted world they have devised for themselves.

The first thing we see, once the stage has been emptied of bodies bumping into one another seemingly at random, is J. (Bobby Abid) and Alexis (Nathaniel P. Claridad) loudly and graphically having sex. J. cruelly stops their lovemaking before either of them can find release and callously kicks the frail and fragile Alexis out into the night. The difference in their attitudes is as striking as the contrast in their physiques: J. looks as if he were sculpted out of stone, while a strong wind could blow Alexis over.

The human body, and a person's relationship to his physicality, is one of the main subjects of this lyrical and erotically charged play. J. can literally see only himself, and his body is

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