In the Cards

First off, let's get one thing straight: If you're going to tell the story of your life, you better remember your lines. Unfortunately, Kimberlee Auerbach had to call for her lines not once but three times during the performance of her one-woman show, Tarot Reading: Love, Sex, and Mommy, that I attended, where next to me sat a prompter wielding a flashlight and a script. Tarot Reading is ostensibly the tale of a 32-year-old woman's struggles to find an empowered sense of self- and sexual enlightenment in the face of her family's eccentric and often excessive demands. There is even a "lesson" at the end: After recounting the myriad tribulations of junior high, three failed relationships, and two near-death experiences, Auerbach concludes, "I know myself, and everything's going to be OK."

In reality, however, the show only convinces us that its protagonist has a painful lack of self-awareness. When the tarot card reader, projected onto a video screen behind her, tells Auerbach that she will not be playing with a full deck, there seems to be little recognition of what this may imply.

At another moment in the piece, Auerbach replays her 15 seconds of fame as a teen model in a commercial for Le Clic, an instant camera produced by a company her father ran. In another segment, her mother, projected onto the screen in all her botoxed glory, hisses that she turned down a scholarship from the Yale School of Drama. The privileged Auerbach appears entirely consumed in a culture that consumes, locked in schlock, unable to gain any critical distance between her self and the insecurities she might have parodied.

All of her problems have readymade solutions. When she gets crabs from a one-night stand, she simply goes to the pharmacist; when she catches a mysterious numbness from a flu shot, she visits the doctor and her ailment goes away. This, along with a few humdrum relationships, is what ignites Auerbach's epiphany about how she will overcome life's adversities. My friend quipped when we left the theater, "Worse things have happened to me

Perverted Pleasure

Offensive. Appalling. Dirty. Vulgar. Inappropriate. Obscene. The Banger's Flopera: A Musical Perversion embodies all those qualities and one more: brilliant. The brainchild of Inverse Theater Artistic Director Kirk Wood Bromley, with exhilarating music by John Gideon, The Banger's Flopera is playing at the Village Theatre as part of the 2005 New York International Fringe Festival. It is not to be missed. Flopera updates John Gay's 18th-century play The Beggar's Opera to perversely dizzying heights. The beggars, hookers, and crooks of the 18th century are replaced with modern-day pimps, gangsters, porn stars, and pop stars. The story revolves around the infamous Mac "Macky" the Knife, here a pornographer and gangster, and his band of degenerate, sexually ambiguous misfits. As Mac cheats, steals, and murders his way to death row, he falls in lust with the pure, pubescent Polly Peacock. Their twisted Romeo and Juliet story mirrors society's obsession with a corrupt culture and government.

Nothing is sacred as playwright and lyricist Kirk Wood Bromley pushes the envelope, lights it on fire, and then throws gasoline on it. Bromley is a master of language, stringing together his words into a poetic menagerie of double entendres, alliteration, and onomatopoeia. His world is so bizarre it defies reason, and it breaks all the rules of conventional musical theater. The story's heroine, Polly, sings a beautiful, yearning ballad while seated on a toilet, and the toilet later serves as a conduit for a love song between Polly and Mac.

The music is transcendent. John Gideon's exceptional, 16-song score includes rap, rock, torch songs, power ballads, and traditional Broadway fare with a demented twist. The obligatory group dance number is a lasciviously naughty anthem about the depraved joys of porn (as performed by a group of adult movie stars), while the finale climaxes (literally) against the backdrop of an execution. The music is brought to vivid life by Nate Brown, Taylor Price, Brad Gunyon, and Gideon himself.

The gifted cast of 17 operates as if they were a single unit. Everyone stands out and works with such conviction and passion, the audience quickly realizes it is witnessing the birth of something special. Joe Pindelski as Mac gives a star-making performance, and the two-hour-plus show lives and breathes off his every move. His voice is part leading man, part monster rock balladeer, and entirely inspiring. April Vidal as Polly transforms herself from precocious pop tart to naughty nymphet in the blink of an eye. Her precise comedic timing is matched only by her gorgeous, "my God can she sing" voice.

Dan Renkin and Anni Bruno tear up the stage as Polly's protective parents, Jonathan and Mimi. On a mission to save their virginal daughter from Macky's defiling deflowering, Renkin and Bruno play their stereotypical "Mom" and "Dad" roles with an over-the-top abandon that's a giddy delight.

Catherine McNelis as porn star Loosy Brown manages to make you laugh and breaks your heart even as she never loses her skanky core. John McConnel, Lydia Burns, and Randall Middleton generate countless laughs as Mac's band of malevolent misfits.

Ben Yalom directs this revelation with fiendish delight. He never loses sight of the story or its dark message, effectively directing the cast of 17 to intelligent, polished performances. The inspired set by Jane Stein captures Bromley's depraved world perfectly, proving itself to be versatile and efficient as each of the three weathered, metallic set pieces creates more than a dozen different settings. Karen Flood's costumes are a spark of creative genius, particularly her anatomically correct porn-star attire.

While the second act is slightly disjointed and perhaps a few minutes too long (particularly the 11th-hour political diatribe), The Banger's Flopera is a celebrated journey of epic proportions. It leaves one feeling exhausted, excited, and wanting even more.

Tables Turned

"Life's a bitch, and then you marry one." Actress Cynthia Silver watched in horror as this phrase was used on national TV to describe her wedding. Eleven million people witnessed snippets of her trip to the altar, mostly featuring moments where she cried over her reflection in a fitting-room mirror and burst into hysterical tears on a New York City street corner. Reality TV turned the happiest day of Cynthia Silver's life into a joke, but now it is her turn to tell the story. With her unique and witty one-woman show, Bridezilla Strikes Back, currently playing at the Flea Theatre as part of the New York International Fringe Festival, Silver delights audiences by giving her traumatic experience a humorous spin.

Silver first appears onstage in a puffy wedding dress appallingly decorated with a humongous white bow at the neckline. Her face is a scowl, and when she opens her mouth, the sound of a monstrous, mechanical roar fills the theater. This entrance assures the audience they are not about to hear yet another "woe is me" tale. Silver does not dig for sympathy, nor badmouth those who betrayed her. On the contrary, she is mostly complimentary toward the reality crew that shadowed her daily activities. Though they later stabbed her in the back, at the time they were filming she considered them her close friends.

Before reality TV turned Silver's life upside down, she was living in a studio with her fianc

Strong Man

Hercules in High Suburbia will definitely prove to be one of the high points of this year's New York International Fringe Festival. Produced by Watson Arts Project and playing at the Mazer Theatre, the show incorporates music, Greek drama, and high comedy to dazzling effect. Based on Euripides's Heracles, this tongue-in-cheek send-up of high society and married life transplants the Greek mythological hero and his family to the modern-day gated community of Thebes by the Sea. It opens with Hercules's wife, Megara, awaiting her husband's return after a three-year absence (he was off filming his television show, natch). On the day of Hercules's return, Megara and her family are evicted from their kingdom by the community's president, Lycus. Chaos, comedy, and the real legend of Hercules ensue.

Mary Fulham has provided a delightfully witty framework to highlight Paul Foglino's exceptional music. With a nod to Greek mythology, she perfectly captures the travails of contemporary suburban life, creating a whimsical script with inside jokes and farcical send-ups. Foglino has composed a superb score that has depth, texture, and endless humor. His music artfully spans every genre, from country to soul to Elvis-style rock 'n' roll.

The cast is sublime. Led by the luminescent Ellen Foley as Megara, each member of the six-person ensemble shines. Foley demands attention as her bold, brassy voice soars, and she attacks each number with gritty determination. Hercules in High Suburbia also allows Foley to delve into her theatrical arsenal, proving she is a skilled actress, a deft comedian, and an incomparable singer with a knockout voice.

Dana Vance proves herself a formidable force as she effortlessly takes on multiple roles to hilarious effect, whether dressed as a police officer, in pink fur and horns, or as a mad dominatrix. She even takes a two-minute role with a half-dozen lines and turns it into a comedic tour de force.

Postell Pringle embodies Hercules's strength and bravado to a tee, ably supported by his rich, soulful voice. The very amiable Hal Blankenship provides pitch-perfect support as Hercules's father, Amphitryon. Dan Matisa as Zeus and Neal Young as Lycus inhabit their characters with comedic conviction and delightful abandon.

Hercules in High Suburbia only falters in its staging and transitions. Fulham directs her actors to play everything at the edge of the stage, never allowing them to fully realize their space. And the otherwise excellent musical numbers don't get their full due under Fulham's lukewarm direction.

A hysterical musical comedy that is equal parts social commentary and Greek tragedy, Hercules in High Suburbia attains Olympian heights. In the end, all that's missing is more songs for Ellen Foley to sing.

Hurts So Good, Ja?

Some critics do everything in their power to craft a review from which no one can pull a quote for marketing purposes. Others, though they may not admit it, yearn to see their name emblazoned under an exclamatory phrase on a city bus or in a theater company's season brochure. I have been neither of these thus far in my reviewing career, but be forewarned. The following review of Soir

Voting Her Mind

Electra Votes strives to be relevant. But in its attempt to show the way power corrupts, how leaders with power destroy, and how history inevitably repeats itself, the Blunt Theatre Company's production never rises above a narrow platform of preachy banalities. Written by Sheila Morgan, who also stars as the title character, Electra Votes modernizes the classic tale of Electra, her brother Orestes, and their hated mother, Clytemnestra. The play takes place in an unnamed, present-day, oil-rich, quasi-Middle Eastern country besieged by war. (Sound familiar?) Electra broadcasts to her countrymen on World Democracy Radio, rallying against the injustices of "the false king" Aegisthus (George Bush) and his quest for money (oil) and power (world domination).

When the exiled Orestes returns, he and Electra take revenge against their country's oppressors. A newsreel of current events featuring President Bush and images of the Iraq war serve as the narrative for this multimedia event.

Playwright Sheila Morgan, actress Sheila Morgan, and their collaborative creation (Electra) share a very crowded soapbox, blurring the line between reality and fantasy. When the actress, in the character, speaks the words of the playwright, all three fail to provoke thought and just settle for self-righteous condescension. With Electra poised as the voice of the common person, her lengthy, partisan monologues alienate rather than persuade her audience.

For all the script's faults, Morgan is nonetheless an engaging and passionate actress. Her commitment to her role is compelling, as is her belief in the project. But her passion and dedication only make you wish she had better material to play.

Cidele Curo as Clytemnestra makes a small role memorable with her deliberate, menacing deliveries and wild eyes. In her craziness, Curo is the perfect foil to Morgan's volatile Electra.

Rhonda Dodd's pedestrian direction keeps the action moving, although she fails her less-experienced actors in moments of complexity. Costume designer Virginia Tuller's creations evoke a sense of East meets West with a coming together of old and new. She outfits Electra in feminine khaki war fatigues with a Middle Eastern flair. Clytemnestra wears a sexy, blood-red gown that foreshadows her destiny.

Morgan clearly has a strong and valid opinion about the current presidential administration and the Iraq war, but she squanders her opportunity to present it by overplaying her hand. In her attempt to make people think and to effect change, good ideas get lost in anger. It's the equivalent of using an atom bomb to deliver a warning shot.

Dating Games

The New York International Fringe Festival has many types of shows. There are solo shows written by and starring a person who's gone through hell and back. There are multimedia pieces that have the tendency to illuminate or enervate. Then there are the "hyped" shows, usually featuring a semi-celebrity in its cast or a pop culture reference in its title, or possessing some intangible quality that translates into an "it factor." Fluffy Bunnies in a Field of Daisies was one of the festival productions singled out by several publications as being a hot ticket. But unlike Silence! The Musical (based on a hit movie) or Bridezilla Strikes Back! (a one-woman show based on the writer/performer's experiences on the reality-TV series Bridezillas), which are also big sellers, Fluffy Bunnies has built its word-of-mouth solely on the success of its stage show in California. Besides a lot of sex talk, it is not as gimmicky as one would expect. In fact, writer/director Matt Chaffee has created a pleasant way for twenty- to thirtysomethings to spend 120 minutes at the theater.

The four main characters (Tommy, "Baby Boy," Nick, and "Re"/Jennifer) spend some of their time on abysmal dates and the rest of it recounting said dates over beers at the bar where Jennifer works. Chaffee has got around the "show, don't tell" problem with retelling events by showing the person on his date but having him turn around to comment to the other three at the same time.

Their problems are familiar but still amusing: Baby Boy (Samuel Bliss Cooper) doesn't like women with a past, Nick (Richard Gunn) is hung up on an ex who is clearly just interested in having a good time, and Tommy (Chaffee) and Jennifer (Jenna Mattison) bicker and counsel the other two rather than go on their own dates (or go out with each other).

Comedy ensues in the realistic, peppy banter among the four friends and in the characterizations of the dates. Baby Boy's first date, Yvonne, is lovely, strange, and not too bright, and freaks him out by moving too fast. (Sangini Majmudar does an excellent job playing the nuances of Yvonne's neuroticism and challenges the audience's sympathies with a sniffle or a well-timed crazy outburst.) Nick's obsession with Tessa is made all the more ridiculous by Jackie Freed's vacuous, sex-crazed (but believable) performance.

Though at times the foursome talks a bit too fast for informal conversation, they have a great ease with one another that really helps sell the show and their group relationship. Mattison's sassy girl-next-door, Chaffee's sarcastic Everyguy, Gunn's hunky but clueless romantic, and Cooper's insecure wannabe player represent the whirlwind that is modern dating, in all of its permutations.

Most important, the audience really got into it, with some members commenting that they'd seen the show several times. And isn't inspiring people to see some theater what the Fringe is all about?

Bad Blood

On the Kentucky side of the Tug River Valley separating the state from West Virginia, towering Appalachian Mountains serenely overlook acres of land that were once drenched in blood. Tourists flock to this century-old location, not for the picturesque view it offers of the beautiful Appalachians but for the folklore surrounding the area's former inhabitants, the Hatfields and McCoys. Feud: Fire on the Mountain, currently playing at the Village Theatre as part of the New York International Fringe Festival, chillingly recreates the lives of these two famously feuding families without sparing the tense audience any of the gory details. Writer and director Creighton James asks the audience to "jump into the world we have created for you" and "open your senses to the sights and sounds of the period." With the atmosphere he has created, this is easily done.

The men walk about in stained, untucked shirts, hopelessly wrinkled pants, and ratty shoes covered in dry mud. They rub their dirt-smudged faces with dirt-smudged hands while running handkerchiefs across their greasy, sweat-soaked hair. The McCoy and Hatfield kitchens both contain wooden tables held up on tree stumps, and their surfaces are covered with roasted chickens, jugs of water, and iron pots. Tiny saplings covered in red bandanas surround the McCoy home, while autumn leaves adorn the floor. In the background a live band, consisting of a banjo, fiddler, and guitar player, strums country and bluegrass music reminiscent of what mountain families might have played over a century ago.

The Hatfields and McCoys have interesting and intricate dynamics that define their respective families. On the surface they appear very different, but when threatened they react the same. Both clans are fighters, ready to stand up for their siblings; stare down their neighbors; and lynch, stab, whip, maim, or shoot dead anyone who threatens their kin. (Those sitting in the first few rows should be warned that a loud, smoky shootout will be taking place above their heads, and they might want to sit a little farther back.)

But those who can stomach the tension and bear the noise should sit as close to the stage as possible. The climax is a visual extravaganza of sound, light, and special effects coming together to turn the theater into a bloody battlefield between two families beside themselves with homicidal rage. Red light bathes the room, smoke pours eerily from the stage, and gun-wielding Hatfields and McCoys fire at one another from all corners of the theater.

The performers are excellent at both maintaining and escalating the suspense. Valentine McCoy (Keith Conway) is a terrifyingly loose cannon, while his brothers Paris (Gary Patent) and Sam (Scott Price) are so nervous with a weapon that you are never sure what they will do. The McCoy patriarch, Ranel McCoy (Will Brunson), is frustratingly passive in the face of his family's violent showdown, in sharp contrast to the Hatfield patriarch, Anse (Arthur Lazalde), who is unnerving in the cold and collected way he points a gun. However, it is little 7-year-old Alifair McCoy (Jaclyn Tommer) who can send the calmest heart aflutter when she innocently shuffles across the stage to examine a trigger-happy Hatfield boy with childlike amusement.

The Hatfield and McCoy feud is so wrapped up in myth that it is hard to pinpoint exactly what started a neighborly quarrel that spanned years and left approximately 13 people dead. Over the years the story has been told so many times that fact has blended with fiction, stripping the tale of all but one undisputable truth: violence breeds violence.

After experiencing the hatred and carnage in Feud: Fire on the Mountain, audiences might be moved to peacefully resolve their own conflicts before they escalate. This historic and true story is an alarming realization of what can happen when loving thy neighbor fails on a spectacular scale.

Small Town's Dark Secrets

Missouri-born Lanford Wilson, a pioneer of the Off-Off Broadway movement in the 1960's, has emerged as one of the theater's most cogent chroniclers of American life. In Book of Days, one of his best works, he combines the moral currency of Arthur Miller with the narrative finesse of Tennessee Williams. Thanks to New World Theatre, a new Off-Off Broadway theater company, New Yorkers have an opportunity to see a well-crafted production of this 1999 drama if they missed the New York City premiere, which was part of the Signature Theater's 2002-2003 season devoted to Wilson's work.

The evening opens with the 12-member cast reciting in choral fashion anodyne phrases about their fictional small town of Dublin, Mo. It is a device that recalls the stage manager of Our Town, but we soon realize that we have wandered far from Thornton Wilder territory.

The play, intelligently directed by Robert A. Zick Jr., unfolds as a series of vignettes. Each is framed by a date and a descriptive phrase

Da-Da-Da

In the wake of the Great War, conventional formulas of theater were left bombed out, shattered, charred, and shrapnel-flecked: the continent of Europe lay about like a vast corpse. The old aristocracy, in its spastic death throes, ushered in an age of material and mechanical splendor. Popular culture was born. An atmosphere of giddy anarchy glistened in the dim light of Parisian cabarets

Manhattan Puppetry

Eliza's Window, Natalie Burgess's captivating puppet play with music, illustrates how children's theater can edify even as it entertains. The hourlong play, being staged on Saturday afternoons through August by Paper City Productions in Manhattan Theatre Source's tiny second-story theater near Washington Square Park, is unapologetically moral without coming off as preachy, thanks to its wry humor and generosity of spirit.

The play follows the puppet Eliza, a depressed, wheelchair-bound girl whose well-to-do parents have recently split up, as she gradually learns from a parade of wise animals and spirits that money and what your friends think of you are less important than discovering your own song and appreciating the unique music that others make.

Creator and director Burgess, who spent three years at the Central Park Zoo as a performer, songwriter, and puppeteer, manages also to demystify music and music making for kids. As one of the musicians instructs Eliza about composing a song, "It's as easy as 1-2-3-4."

Eliza's Window can be enjoyed by the entire family. Burgess does not talk kid talk. She rightly assumes that children will stick with a compelling story that is imaginatively rendered and well paced, even if some of the jokes and big words go sailing over their heads en route to the parents in the audience.

The play might not travel well, however, since so much of the story is New York-centric, whether it's the running subplot about Pale Male, the Central Park red-tailed hawk, or Eliza's suggestions that the turtle looking for the "pond of plenty" check out Rockefeller Center, and that the rabbit seeking a garden head to a certain basketball arena.

Every element of the play has been carefully conceived, crafted, and executed, from the whimsical set design and puppets to the engaging songs. Burgess and the three other cast members

Rethinking the Bard

In a summer season full of Shakespeare, it's important to discern the reasons behind a theater company's choice of Elizabethan programming. Some groups produce the Bard so they can offer challenging acting roles and easily marketed entertainment. At these shows, you can expect the text and tone to be traditional, so the audience's enjoyment of the piece is based on an appreciation for the story line and its execution by the actors and director. At the other end of the spectrum are the groups that go high-concept, believing that Shakespeare's tales could be better expressed through a change in time period, place, circumstances, etc. With these shows, their success largely rests on how well the group integrates its vision into the show's framework while also proving that the change was a valid one. (Good leads cannot save, or excuse, a Hamlet performed on a spaceship.)

The CRY HAVOC Company calls its current season the 2005 Season of Questionable Distinctions. Their productions are "focused on issues of the intersection of gender and culture

Much to Say About Nothing

There is something inherently selfish about doing a one-woman show. Of course, most people perform them because they have something rather important to say

Critical Connection

Anne Fizzard has cooked up a fanciful comedy that takes aim at the class of people who take aim at Broadway plays for a living. Good Opinions lightheartedly chronicles several months in the life of Adele, a good-natured coat-check girl/entertainer who

This One's a Killer

"Laugh-out-loud funny" is a term used far more often than it is applicable, but it proves quite fitting in the case of Pulling Teeth, the macabre new play currently being mounted by WorkingMan's Clothes Productions at the American Place Theatre. Audiences will find themselves chortling quite audibly over and over again during this dark comedy, seemingly at the most offensive of moments. But that's precisely what Brandon Koebernick, a promising novice playwright, wants his audiences to do. His subversive combination of romance, black humor, and suspense is not unlike one of those meals served at fast food restaurants: instantly and thoroughly satisfying, but perhaps a little heavier than expected, with an extra kick that stays awhile.

Koebernick has indeed found a perfect patron in WorkingMan's Clothes, a production company geared toward encouraging new talent and presenting a host of different voices and styles. But his anonymity should not last much longer. Teeth positions him perfectly to join playwrights like Craig Lucas and David Lindsay-Abaire

Rolling Along

There is an old saying: "In a world full of caterpillars, it takes balls to be a butterfly." If this is true, Bounce's founder and choreographer, Eva Dean, must have grown colorful wings and burst from a cocoon the day her dazzlingly imaginative production first premiered at the 2002 International Fringe Festival. Since then, this full-length dance piece featuring five talented young ladies, one extraordinary founder and choreographer, and a horde of assorted bouncing balls has really been on a roll. Currently playing at Midtown's Dance Theatre Workshop, Bounce opens with tiny balls whizzing back and forth across a black stage while changing in color and growing in size. Soon the little balls are replaced by large ocean-blue ones, which are quickly pursued by young ladies who throw their bodies upon them, rolling to the floor like waves crashing to the shore. They repeat this movement until the visualization becomes as calming and meditative as a real ocean's ripple.

From here, Bounce keeps its audience guessing by branching off into a variety of skits, each with its own unique characteristics, styles, and themes. One piece, called "Playground," stars three girls playing with their bright red balls. Two scheming bullies clad in preppie pastel colors approach with their polka-dotted ones. A fight then ensues to see who can collect the most balls, while a hapless child simply tries to hold on to one.

Another vignette, "Flowing Fountain," takes a more serious, artistic approach, concluding with a noiseless duet spotlighting dancers Eva Dean and Lauren Griffin as they create soothing, spellbinding imagery with tiny, florescent, red and green balls.

Despite the overwhelming number of things a person can do with a bouncy rubber ball, Bounce takes the unique approach of using them as partners rather than props. The balls are incorporated into the scenes and dances so fully that they appear to be coming alive and voluntarily joining the dancers to tell their story.

There is a shorter version of Bounce for young audience members, called Bounce Jr., although children present for the full-length performance appeared completely engaged. For any youngster wishing to become a dancer, this production is a must-see, and for those truly inspired, Eva Dean offers "Balls" Dance Technique classes at her Brooklyn rehearsal space, Union Street Dance. But potential students be warned: the graceful movements these dancers use to fly across the stage on the backs of balls cannot be nearly as effortless as they make them look.

Still, by the play's conclusion and final vignette, "Surfing" (premiering in this current production), even the most uncoordinated, arthritis-stricken members of the audience will secretly wish they could throw themselves with abandon on a line of three turquoise balls, gliding across them as a surfer would a wave. In this lead-up to the play's finale, the large turquoise balls appear in a steady stream from backstage, forming pairs and triplets as they roll toward the audience in perfect imitation of a gentle wave determined to reach shore. The dancers then leap stomach-first into the lineup and ride it until they are deposited safely on the floor. After this motion is repeated several times, the illusion of a surfer on an ocean wave is so vivid you can almost taste the saltwater.

Unfortunately for these talented, flexible dancers, they are outnumbered by their rubbery colleagues, who are not to be outdone at curtain call. Before the evening ends, six performers and more than a hundred eager balls in all colors and sizes will appear with a vengeance to take their bows. It is virtually impossible for anyone of any age to see this play without having (pun alert) an absolute ball.

Roman Times

There are differing opinions floating about concerning the value of the scores of theater festivals that pop up in New York every year. Based on the success stories from these events, it's clear that their strongest asset to the artistic community is in identifying promising new playwrights and composers. At the Midtown International Theater Festival, a theater company appropriately named Unartistically Frustrated is presenting End Caligula, a smart, funny new play by Sean Michael Welch. As with most festivals, performances are scheduled back to back, to the detriment of those who like their theater to start on time. (On this particular night, the show began 20 minutes after its listed start time.) The three-quarters-arena black box with the fire engine-red seating contained a few props and set pieces originating from recent times. It was clear that this take on the famously equine-philic Roman emperor would be transported to the modern day.

The story begins as a middle-aged senator, Chaerea, tries to convince younger senator Sabinus that action should be taken to overthrow the Emperor Caligula. Much fun is had in the back and forth between the men, as the literal-minded Sabinus dissects Chaerea's statements even as he struggles to understand them. There are no satisfyingly concrete reasons given for their dissatisfaction in Caligula as a leader, though there is talk about the outrageous ways he supposedly entertains his houseguests.

Indeed, even when the man himself is brought onstage (accompanied by an amusingly tough-talking female soldier), there is nothing evil or crazy about him. Perhaps the stories spread about him are the fictional work of his Uncle Claudius, the stuttering, softheaded historian who may not be as dim as he lets on.

When the senators present Claudius with Caligula's report on the war in Germany, the elder gentleman mentions his nephew's strange affection for his horse. Upon leaving, Chaerea and Sabinus encounter news reporter/gossip hound Apostolus, played here as an oversexed, short-skirted, TV anchor-coiffed dame. Fearing that she'll write about their assassination schemes, Sabinus reluctantly ponies up the pony rumor. (History can fill you in on the rest of the story.)

Ryan Blackwell (Sabinus) and Matt Scott (Chaerea) make a fine team as the funny man/straight man duo. They seem to enjoy a strong rapport and ably handle the tricky and copious dialogue. Jesse Sneddon's Caligula is an enigma, all cool affability without displaying enough madness or sanity so you can make up your mind about his capability. As Claudius, Offie Sherman does a shticky, stuttering clown act in public, but comes across much differently when he's alone writing in his journals.

The cross-gender casting of the soldier and Apostolus does not strain credibility. Still, while Katherine Harte underplays as the Secret Service-esque strongman, Heather Lasnier overdoes it in Apostolus's flirtatious pursuit of a story. It would've been interesting to see her use the "helpless female" approach, so plausible in the patriarchal times portrayed, to get what she wanted.

Playwright Welch's story employs an interesting revisionist history, giving enough back story without becoming a documentary, and enough clever wordplay without stopping the action. As directed by Stacee Mandeville, the cast is given lots of stage business, much of which earns its own laughs.

In a summer bursting with productions, the theater audience has a lot of choices in genre, location, and price range. At the same time, it's difficult to separate the wheat from the chaff. For people who like original, intelligent comedy, go for these grains.

Echoes of Protest

In "Subterranean Homesick Blues" Bob Dylan sings, "You don't need a weatherman to know which way the wind blows" as a metaphor for impending cultural change. Taking their name from the song, the revolutionary Weathermen felt true change came from direct action. In 1969 and the early 70's they set up underground cells, declared war on the U.S., armed themselves with guns, and bombed their targets with improvised explosive devices. In Tom Peterson's timely and promising play, Peace Now, currently at the Midtown International Theater Festival, a Weatherman plans to wreak havoc after secretly infiltrating a group of students who take over a university's administration building. The play spans May 3-5, 1970, and includes a radio report on the infamous Kent State shootings on May 4, when four unarmed people were killed and nine injured.

Despite being one of the "members of a group of protesters who took over our university's administration building," Peterson shies away from labeling his show, which he also directed, a documentary. Indeed, it might be better considered a historical fiction: Peterson weaves personal experience, historical events, and dramatic situations into an intriguing composite of a 70's protest.

Unlike docudramas such as Execution of Justice and Gross Indecency that use discursive approaches, Peace Now is static and linear. The show focuses on the group dynamics among the protesters (and one injured veteran) who find themselves at a crossroads between patriotism and revolution. Peterson draws a convincing set of characters, among which we know there is a Weatherman hiding in wait for the right moment to push the protest into violent extremism.

In an attempt to convey the play's underpinnings and context, Peterson uses certain characters as messenger devices. Joel, a theater major (capably played by Michael C Maronna), gives a speech about the Weathermen and their history. Liberti, a quick-mouthed protester (passionately portrayed by Adrianne Rae-Rodgers), makes a compelling argument citing various wars and how she hates war but still loves the solider.

In some cases, too much information outweighs the dramatic situation, and Peterson's style slips into a prescription for an apathetic generation that faces similar issues but does nothing. Where he excels, however, is in the point-counterpoint arguments between characters. The former soldier Petrovich (a stoic Matthew Decapua) debates flag burning with protest leader Elaine (beautifully played by Cameron Blair), resulting in a richly written and well-acted conflict, one that is playing itself out again in today's courts.

In fact, Peace Now offers a wide range of clashing ideologies that have modern-day echoes. Each character brandishes his or her own form of patriotism, and the bonds or infighting this creates effectively drive the play (and the country) forward. The cast is very talented, with standouts including the impressively understated Frank Harts (as Alan, who supports the Black Panthers) and fresh-faced Kim Shaw (Susan, the doe-eyed freshman).

The set is simple: a desk and a chair and a back wall of windows that the cast uses to egg on the protest and the National Guardsmen accumulating outside. This figuratively places the audience in the administration building with the play's dissidents (a wishful choice perhaps?). One suggestion: If that wall functioned instead as a fourth wall and the actors faced out, it would allow audience to shift from perspective to perspective: from a protester to a National Guardsman, or from a student to an administrator.

With their unresolved dualism, Peterson's crafted dialogues paint an evocative portrait of 1970 and recall a time when dissent and patriotism were not mutually exclusive, as many believe today. With more development, Peace Now could become not only a distant voice from the past but surely an important beacon of the future.

See Peace Now's Web site for the performance schedule at www.peacenowplay.com.

Show People

Life in the arts, particularly in theater, can be glorious, uplifting, and life changing. Of course, with this high that blesses so many hopefuls also comes the potential for extreme disappointment, exploitation, and devastation. Theater and film are littered with stories about life in theater and film, and among the examples of the glittery rise and fall tale are A Chorus Line, Gypsy, Rent, A Star Is Born, and The Muppets Take Manhattan. Or, for another instance of this dramatic arc, see 21 Stories: A Broadway Tale, now at the Midtown International Theatre Festival. Written by G.W. Stevens, directed by Michael Berry, and co-starring Stevens and Marilyn Rising, 21 Stories is often appealing and sometimes touching. But it does little to improve upon the genre, filled as it is with navel-gazing artists.

Set in 1984, the play chronicles the experiences of two young people who move to New York City to pursue their dreams. Billy Youngblood, played by Stevens with a consistent look of wide-eyed hopefulness and a toothy half-smile, is a native of Yorkshire, England. Back home he was a popular football enthusiast, but in New York he is an aspiring Broadway dancer. Margaret Evans, played by Rising, is from Texas. Abandoned by her father at a young age after he instilled in her a love and talent for the piano, she runs away to New York to find her father and perhaps become a great pianist.

Both are living on the 21st floor of a Manhattan high-rise, and they become friends who support each other through their trials: Margaret's Vicatin addiction and Billy's relationship with a drug-abusing playboy.

The set is mostly decorated with two elements: impressionistic images of New York and an ensemble of dancers who create the ambience for most scenes. Mostly wordless throughout the show, the nine dancers rush onstage to create crowded city streets, a busy club scene, small pieces of big musicals, and unfriendly swarms of cattle-call auditioners.

The dancers' presence, and the way they engulf Billy and Margaret and enrich their environments, is one of the most engaging and remarkable elements in the production. And the fact that every Broadway song is lip-synced and no one ever sings (except Billy, who sings in spurts and usually just for emphasis) may be simply for convenience, but it also adds a ghostly quality to the ensemble.

Because those emotional, half-sung moments go to Billy, he clearly owns the show, even though 21 Stories is billed as a look at a "couple of misfits." Understandably, Stevens, one of the co-writers, spends more time examining his character, who (spoiler alert) by the end succumbs to the despair of having contracted AIDS from a callous lover and then kills him and himself. Margaret, who we learn through a brief hint has prostituted herself for Vicatin, also kills herself, apparently for no other reason than her failure to find her father and the fact that she didn't get into Juilliard.

Stevens, while unquestionably charismatic and energetic, becomes a bit of a one-trick pony, relying on his considerable charm and watery blue eyes to create a sympathetic character. And while Billy's story is interesting, it doesn't give enough new insight into the tragedy of AIDS (or into broken hearts and dreams) to sustain a two-person show. Anyone who saw the semi-autobiographical Jonathan Larson musical Tick, Tick

In and Out of Eden

The story of Adam and Eve