Yee of Little (Then Lots of) Faith: Byron Yee Denies and Discovers his Heritage in Paper Son

Byron Yee’s one-man show Paper Son opened August 13. For an hour and a half, Yee takes the audience on a funny yet touching journey. From his childhood as an outcast in Oklahoma, to his decision to move to San Francisco to become a stand-up comedian, to his quest to discover how his family came to America, Yee weaves his stories together with a delightfully entertaining and moving narrative thread. The show opens with Yee recreating an audition for a role in a film in which he would have to play a stereotypical Chinese restaurant owner, Pidgin-English and all. Yee reveals that he does not know how to do a Chinese accent, nor does he wish to learn. This audition experience triggers a desire in Yee to seek out his Chinese heritage and ask questions of his parents and family that he never had any previous interest in asking. The show is divided into five different segments, opening with the audition that beautifully lays the foundation for the rest of the show. Throughout the show, the audience is introduced to an endearing cast of characters while accompanying Yee on his sojourn. Most effective is a meeting Yee has with a tour guide at San Francisco Bay’s Angel Island (the West Coast equivalent of Ellis Island, where Chinese immigrants were interrogated and forced to stay until they were cleared for citizenship). The tour guide tells Yee the fable of how the rat and the cat became enemies, which becomes a poignant metaphor for the Chinese people’s plight in their new homeland.

Yee, who is currently a successful Los Angeles based actor and comedian, presents a fantastic performance, portraying every character from clueless Hollywood casting directors to his parents with humor, sympathy and pathos. Paper Son strives to emphasize that no matter how a person may deny his own past, it is always a part of him. Deeply entertaining and informative, is a delightfully moving lesson that any audience should be grateful to learn.

Three's a Crowd

...Double Vision is a work that is certainly hard to characterize. Part slapstick comedy, part naughty romance, part heavy drama, Barbara Blumenthal-Ehrlich's play is a funny, and ultimately hard-hitting, show about the ways men go about sabotaging their most important relationships. Presented at the New York International Fringe Festival and directed by Ari Laura Kreith, Vision focuses on three roommates with women problems. The biggest problem is Dave's (Shane Jacobsen): he keeps pushing away the women in his life. Mark (Quinn Mattfeld), meanwhile, gets involved only with married women to whom he never needs to fully commit. They could both learn a lesson from their other roommate, the oversexed, 50-something Ben (Chris McCann).

No single member of this mini-fraternity emerges as the play's protagonist; they get equal time making questionable choices. Dave, for example, refuses to ask his girlfriend, Mary (Rebecca Henderson), to turn down a job offer and stay in New York. Ben, who at first seems smitten with his significantly younger girlfriend, suddenly falls for—and woos—the nurse who lives nearby. But when Mark eventually decides to steal Mary, the audience should question his motivation. How could he be so cruel to his roommate? And, more important, why?

Blumenthal-Ehrlich provides a solid premise but never quite gets around to answering these questions. Nonetheless, Kreith has directed some solid performances. Henderson, McCann, and Mattfeld are all quite credible in their roles, but Vision is really Jacobsen's show to rule, and he does so in a committed, manic performance that, coming so soon after his comic turn in I'm in Love With Your Wife, demonstrates a great deal of range. He shows that Dave has a lot more brimming underneath the surface than one might expect. I just wish Blumenthal-Ehrlich had spent more time explaining what lit the fire in the first place.

Good, Wholesome Entertainment?

We all know milk does a body good, but does a play about four confused and horny people make for wholesome entertainment? Does the Body Good tracks the stories of two seemingly unrelated couples. We start with a down-on-his-luck milkman. On his first day at the job, a housewife plants a big, calcium-fortified kiss on him. The majesty of this kiss is such that it prompts him to break up with his fiancée, in the hopes that he and the housewife (whose name he doesn't even know) can someday be together.

Meanwhile, another story unfolds on the other side of the stage. Mr. Harrison is a junior high school teacher locked in an unhappy marriage. He is having an affair with a young, but precocious student. When he refuses to declare his love for her, she threatens to tell everyone about the affair.

For a performance like this to be successful, each half of the story has to carry equal weight. Unfortunately, this is not the case. The milkman story, which should be charged with erotic tension, falls flat. Olivia Henderson gives a shiftless performance as the housewife and you never quite buy the milkman's, played by Vince Eisenson, longing for her.

Fortunately, the other half of the play features a pair of fine performances. Ros Schwartz, who plays Quinnie, the lusty and precocious student, does a great job in a difficult role. You even believe her when she says things like, "I love your cute masculine whisper." Patrick Link, who also wrote and produced the play, is impressive as a teacher lost in lust in confusion, wondering whether his uninspiring marriage is worth saving.

It was Link's goal "to present four dangerously lost characters as they make the most basic possible decisions about what to do with their lives." Unfortunately, a sense of danger only permeates half the performance. In the other half, once the novelty of the kiss wears off, we're left with nothing but a milk mustache.

Fictional Authenticity

In Mary Brigit Poppleton is Writing a Memoir, an energetic new play by Madeline Walter, the title character, played by a vivacious Allison Altman, decides to fake teenage pregnancy as fodder for a memoir and as her opportunity to burst free from a mundane world. As long as her ruse holds up, so does the play. Under the nimble direction of Heidi Handelsman, the first act bounces along as Mary Brigit undertakes her mission: fake a pregnancy, gain her family's attention, and write a bestseller. The ensemble delivers stylized performances in keeping with Heather Cohn's set, which uses a series of candy-colored tables on wheels to form everything from school desks to a dining room table. Mary Brigit occasionally reads aloud from her memoir; its arch language contrasts with the play's pop-cultural sensibility and lends insight into her desire to be part of a grandiose world.

Handelsman keeps the material light and the pace up, never overemphasizing Mary Brigit's rhetorical questions ("Am I pregnant...Does it matter?") and providing space for the audience to recognize the ridiculousness of the situation. Her father's rapid succession of clichéd reactions ("Congratulations! -- I'll beat you! -- I'll beat him!") embodies the play's irreverent questioning of authenticity.

The second act sends Mary Brigit from her hometown in Ohio to Fire Island, New York. There, she falls in with teenagers who teach her to abandon her fantasy life. It's exactly what the play does not need.

Once Mary Brigit gives up the pregnancy hoax, the play falls apart. The first act's colorful tables give way to barebones realism as Mary Brigit learns to become one of the gang. By the time her new friends let her know that she need not join them in smoking pot and gleefully suggest they all get some candy and Coca-Cola, Mary Brigit Poppleton is Writing a Memoir has become the after-school special that the first act sends up.

In the play's press materials, Walter says she wrote the play in part to create a strong female character, but the second act has Mary Brigit join a history of female characters who require a charismatic, grounded man to rescue them from their own neuroses. That's a shame because Mary Brigit's quirkiness is the source of her charm.

NOTE: This play appears as part of the 2007 New York International Fringe Festival

Heartland Song

Bizarre antics saturate the New York International Fringe Festival, but one particularly brazen act will likely perplex and intrigue New Yorkers more than any nudity or profanity. Feast your eyes, dear cosmopolitan readers, on the simple joys of hay baling. Direct from the heartland, Farmer Song: The Musical is a charming, down-home venture set in Iowa and delivered by an authentic Iowan cast, some of whom, according to the program, are or have been farmers. Although it suffers from sluggish direction and the acting restraints of many of its cast members, Farm Song offers an important message cushioned by an endearing love story.

As explained in the program, the "farm crisis" swept the Midwest in the 1980s. Interest rates soared, land values dropped, and the resulting debt left many farmers struggling to get by. The show opens with the auction of Frank and Ruth Whitby's farm property. Despite the meager odds, their daughter Becky and her husband Carl decide to make their future in farming, and the musical chronicles their attempts to make a living.

Supported by a thumping three-piece band (fiddle, bass, and guitar), Joe Hynek's pleasant score—a blend of bluegrass, country, and folk—conjures up dusty roads and rusty sunsets. His lyrics are sometimes awkwardly phrased ("I wish that the wealth in our country was more spread across"), but certain songs, like the yearning ballad "Wild Rose," leave you wanting more.

The production plods along steadily in want of more focused direction. Conversations often meander and trail off inexplicably, and sharp attention to the show's central conflicts would certainly pep up its book. Stronger direction would also benefit the cast members, who—while earnest and plucky—turn in extremely uneven performances. The dissonant acting styles veer from naturalistic to presentational to completely bombastic. Still, Hynek and Amy Burgmaier (as Becky) generate sweet chemistry as the young couple. And Joel Perkins, the banker, gives a thrilling performance of the bluesy "Honest, Stubborn, and Simple," a melancholy ode to hardworking farmers. Perkins has such a genuine presence and lovely, easy voice that I found myself wishing for more verses.

If its melodramatic tangles are often laughable, the crucial subject matter that Farmer Song addresses is certainly not. Kudos to this hard-working troupe for trucking in to give New Yorkers a taste of something more wholesome and no less incisive than the usual artsy offerings. The Fringe is all about eclecticism and daring, and Pumptown Productions is working to redefine its borders on a new frontier.

All Aboard? Almost There, but Not Quite

The first thing that comes to mind at the opening of All Aboard, presented by the Armstrong/Bergeron Dance Company as a “multi-media dance work based on trains,” is an old work that led audiences to run out of the theater screaming. With a beep of a horn in darkness followed by an oversized film of a subway heading towards the audience, the similarity is strong between this scene at the Linhart Theatre at 440 Studios and the experience audiences had in 1895 while watching one of the earliest moving films, L’Arrivée d'un train à La Ciotat by the Lumiere brothers. Being unfamiliar with the medium of film, audiences were reported to be terrified of the looming locomotive.

Like the Lumiere brothers, co-artistic directors Carisa Armstrong and Christine Bergeron are innovators of their field, challenging the conventions of modern dance by using multimedia. Their work doesn’t send audiences scrambling for the door, but it does leave something to be desired.

Broken up into seven sections, the dance portrays aspects of a typical train ride: from finding the best seat to the final departure. This work evades the downtown dance genre because of its extensive use of film. In addition to the opening sequence, interviews are shown with train conductors and passengers. Other footage includes the dancers repeating live movements in Grand Central Station. The video, projected on a constantly changing screen, notably distracts from the dancers, pulling the focus away from the suspension-filled choreography.

The exception to this is in A Look into the Past, a solo for Ms. Armstrong. Her lyrical style subtly demands attention more than the video. She relates to the screen in a more complimenting way than the other dancers.

Another successful excerpt without film is Chug-a Chug-a Choo Choo, featuring 5 of the company’s 7 females. Without challenging technique, the choreography allows the personalities of the dancers to shine as they impersonate a train. The dancers are visibly more comfortable performing to familiar music, by the Asylum Street Spankers, rather than the mix of train noises and verbal anecdotes to which most of the work is set. Ms. Bergeron seems to be the only dancer who can move naturally to these sounds.

While the purpose of including film is clear, All Aboard may be more effective if the video is limited to the opening segment. A single clip could set the stage for an evening of dance alone based on the transitory nature of trains. Theater audiences may not appreciate the contrast of dance versus film, but modern dance enthusiasts can certainly be on board.

The Winter's Tale: A Musical Miss

The Winter’s Tale, like many of Shakespeare’s plays, has its share of problems, not the least of which are the time and tone gaps between Acts One and Two. Generally, owing to Shakespeare’s venerable verse (not to mention the sheer reverence for his name), these are problems that can be overcome in production. But wipe away the verse and add music and The Winter’s Tale Project, a musical import from Edmonton, Canada to this year’s NY Fringe Festival, has to work extra hard to do what Shakespeare could accomplish with the flick of a quill. Unfortunately, this production is not up to the challenge. There is nothing inherently wrong with making a musical out of one of Shakespeare’s timeless stories (West Side Story, anyone?). But it isn’t foolproof either and The Winter’s Tale Project makes for a widely uneven production with a handful of foolish choices.

For example, it is not unamusing to watch King Leontes’ irrational jealousy overtake him so suddenly in the first act. What is upsetting, at least in Shakespeare’s original, is the vehemence with which he feels the need to take revenge on his supposedly traitorous wife. But The Winter’s Tale Project is mired in unnecessarily exaggerated melodrama and leaves no room for laughs in its first act (the show is intermissionless, which is all the better as it can be assumed that a good portion of the audience would leave halfway through if one existed). Conversely, the show pleads for more melodrama in the second half.

After a full scene and a would-be In One musical number (if there were a curtain to bring in or set to change) about that famed stage direction “Exit, pursued by a bear,” the audience finds themselves in Act Two: rural Bohemia. The play is abruptly awash with airy, comedic situations that The Winter’s Tale Project handles with a less-than-deft, but largely enjoyable, ease.

“Piggy in the Middle,” a song written to elicit amusement, isn’t nearly as successful as David Demato, whose Clown is pitch-perfect.

Sadly, by the end of the show the overwrought sincerity of Act One has returned. Furthermore, the last hope for redemption is washed away as The Winter’s Tale Project eliminates nearly all ambiguity about what is, arguably, the greatest mystery in Shakespeare’s play.

In case it isn’t already evident, The Winter’s Tale Project is not a show for Shakespeare purists, nor is it a show for those lacking saintly patience. The production does get better throughout its nearly two-hour run, but the payoffs aren’t worth the wait.

Cut It/Cure It

The Our Lady of Pompeii Church’s Demo Hall is the fringiest of Fringe venues. Sunlight streams in from long neglected gray windows, icicle lights and fake ivy from some long abandoned post-service reception droop gloomily across the room, vending machines hum in the corner, and the seats are all on one level. It makes sense that the hall is home to Cancer! The Musical, the kind of boldly titled but low on quality show audiences have come to expect from the festival. The surprise is that, against all odds, Cancer! is actually pretty good. Who’d have guessed it?

Our story begins with a sextet of rats in a testing lab, each hoping that they’ll be the one to nobly die and cure cancer. One rodent gets his wish. The lucky scientist behind the discovery is Dr. Bernard Bernard, who hopes his awesome innovation will finally get him laid. However, it isn’t long before sinister insurance and pharmaceutical corporations are hunting for Bernard, forcing him to go into hiding.

The show does a nice job of combining its many slapstick gags and bad puns with the serious side of its title disease. The balance is impressive, and helped greatly by Topher Owen as Dr. Harris and Inga Wilson as Annie, the play’s young lovers. Dr. Harris is the show’s emotional core, but Owen is equally adept at physical comedy. Owen and Dustin Gardner as Dr. Bernard have a fantastic number halfway through the first act called “Cut It/Cure It” that’s worth the $15 alone. The remaining actors also drive the script forward with their energy and commitment. The most exciting numbers are the ones where everyone is onstage.

Despite being a lot of fun and having varying musical styles, it seems like the Fringe is the show’s current final destination. Work needs to be done if this wants to become a full-fledged evening out.

Strengthening the book would be the place to start. The show has an unnecessary intermission that kills momentum. Too much time is spent with Mr. Murphy, a mildly amusing side character. Sometimes scenes go on for too long. In particular, an extended early exchange between the show’s two female characters created a murmur in the audience over whether someone had missed an entrance. With these and similar improvements, the show has a shot at the mainstream.

Children's Hour

As the New York International Fringe Festival has grown, so have the ambitions of the productions that are a part of it. The "Urinetown effect" (which may be too antiquated a reference for New York newbies) has begat shows with high-profile actors, writers, and directors; strong production values; and serious artistic goals. Whatever happened to the kooky downtown shows of old? Some of that scrappy aesthetic is still kicking about in Princess Sunshine's Bitter Pill of Truth Funhouse. A nouvelle vaudeville for the snark set, this adorable confection features a small, talented cast of performers who sing, mug, and clown their way into audience members' hearts.

The driving creative force behind this piece is Princess Sunshine herself, played by Juliet Jeske. She is responsible for the show's script, songs, costumes, backdrop, and spark. While it's clear that she could put on great shows for kids—and, according to the program, does so as her day job—her wicked sense of humor and world-weary act make her a hit with adults as well. She's also got a knockout belt/legit voice, and can play a mean accordion and ukulele.

Jeske is joined onstage by her husband Joel, a clown by trade who is equally adept at verbal and physical comedy. His creepy Uncle Fun and intense Science Guy provide a little Borscht Belt and Bible Belt humor, respectively. Rounding out the ensemble is Brenda Jean Foley, possessor of a beautiful voice that harmonizes well with Jeske's, and Timothy James O'Brien, who plays a delightfully sulky Upper East Side teenage girl.

Together they make music, make jokes, and do a little puppeteering. (The hand puppets, created by Joel Jeske, are whimsical and backed up by great vocal work, though if they were equipped with rods for arm movement they would be even more appealing.) There are morals aplenty, but certainly not the kinds you get from Mister Rogers. If childish fun (with a devilish spin) is your cup of Fringe tea, why not have a drink with Princess Sunshine?

When Topical Humor Goes Right

Making what may very well be every pop culture reference since late 2005 is a fast way to avoid any real substance, but when done with wit, as in I DIG DOUG, it is also a quick route to laughs. The play, written and performed by Karen DiConcetto and Rochelle Zimmerman, engulfs its audience in a hyper-current whirlwind from the first sound cue. DiConcetto and Zimmerman (in one of her numerous characters) are college application essay-writing high school seniors who casually profess their social superiority to young female celebrities of the one-name variety (Paris, Lindsay, Hillary, et al). But when Paris’ post-prison morals become insufferable and a reality show is exposed as a work of fiction, DiConcetto’s “Girl” adopts democratic presidential nominee, Douglas Ward (a caricature of Howard Dean), as her new celebrity kindred spirit.

Girl embarks on a pilgrimage with her friend (Zimmerman) to Iowa to help Doug win the election. Along the way, the girls encounter everything from gun-toting animal rights activists to a waitress whose son has been sent to tour Iraq … in Cats.

Girl learns something about herself and about the world from each outlandish situation and the audience gets the chance to laugh at her US Weekly-induced naïveté. Witnessing a commercially-courted communist hippie named Echo teach Girl about the science and marketing behind trends like skinny jeans and the iPhone is at once pitiful and joyous (not to mention an absolute riot).

I DIG DOUG is a hysterical parody of modern society. Though it will be an obsolete relic two years from now, it is fresh in the meantime. The play thrives on its snappy, witty writing and nimble direction (by Bert V. Royal of Dog Sees God). While neither of the two actresses are fully believable as their superficial, vapid characters, that is the production’s intention. Zimmerman admirably accomplishes chameleon-like character shifts in only seconds, and DiConcetto skillfully finds the soul beneath her character’s shallow exterior.

A clever revelation at the end ties up a play that otherwise has had no ending in sight. Up to that point, the audience laughs along with blind faith that the plot is going somewhere. It is a testament to the play’s exuberant frivolity that this doesn’t occur to anyone sooner.

Saturday Night Live-esque topicality is nothing new, but it has not been done so well since Anna Nicole kicked the bucket. The brief moments that pass for substance in I DIG DOUG, despite being smartly constructed, are not the main point. In the end, fluff is just fun.

Just Clever Enough

Studio Six Theater Company is a new New York-based group made up of the first class of full-time American students at the famed Moscow Art Theater School. In their NY production debut, they present Too Clever By Half (or The Diary of a Scoundrel), which shows off their skills as an acting ensemble and offers a summer crowd pleaser for the Restoration Comedy lovers of the City. Make no mistake; this is a Russian play written in the 1800s - a comedy of manners and society reminiscent of A School for Scandal or The Importance of Being Earnest. The Russians, believe it or not, can be funny too. The production opens with a bristly-bearded man sauntering across the stage to make his way to the piano that sits near a downstage corner. He pours water from a wine bottle into a teacup and with that, we are in Moscow. Our hero is a poor, young social climber who is determined to make his way into the gossip-riddled upper class by marrying a woman with a handsome dowry. He decides to chronicle his experience by keeping a diary of his treacherous acts. He pretends to love a woman. He lies. He backstabs. He is eventually blackmailed and his actions are discovered for what they are at a crucial moment. At every turn, sticky situations arise that push us forward through to the end.

Studio Six’s theater is designed to highlight the ingenuity and skill of its actors. These performers make the most of the witty wordplay and present character relationships full of tension and chemistry. The bits of physical humor carried out by high-energy performers who had created very specific characters conjure delight and laughter every time. The quality of accents varied by performer, but not enough to pull you out of the action.

To further showcase the actors’ talents, the design elements are kept to a minimum. They utilize rehearsal blocks and scarves to great effect. You don’t miss any glitz and glamour, although as they continue to grow as a company (and as budgets grow), I hope they add in more design elements that will elevate their strong performances to a strong overall production.

This is a well-constructed and carefully directed presentation of a straight play. It’s great for the theatergoer that enjoys a light entertainment on a summer day.

A Musical Political Adventure

Terry Baum gets more than she bargains for when she volunteers with the Green Party. Fed up with the Patriot Act and the way the Democrats are responding, she soon finds herself running for Congress with no political experience. With fellow member Ilsa (played by pianist and composer Scrumbly Koldewyn in a lovely wig and leopard-print dress) as her manager, she becomes a write-in candidate on the 2004 ballot in San Francisco and journeys from stammering, apologetic neophyte to eloquent, confident politician. Baum portrays this transformation well, but BAUM FOR PEACE: The True Adventures of the Slightly World-Renowned Lesbian Playwright Who Ran for Congress, written and performed by Baum, ultimately suffers from inconsistent style and form. The songs, with music by Koldewyn and lyrics by David Hyman, are reminiscent of the 1960s/1970s political revues and vaudeville. With fun, silly rhymes like "arrow" and "Clarence Darrow" and “don’t have time to spare-o,” this musical style is fighting the straight-forward style of the rest of the show. Every time a song starts, the audience needs time to adjust. When the songs ends, Baum abruptly switches back to her more serious narrative (although there are a handful of jokes in the dialogue). One wishes that she would pick one of the storytelling forms, creating either a frothy yet smart political revue or a tighter narrative. Baum sells the songs, but going back and forth between the two styles throws her off at times, creating a shaky and uneven performance.

There are some nice elements despite the consistency problems. Baum’s character is engaging and inspires empathy, and the political process she navigates is fascinating and enlightening. The best moment of the piece occurs when the results of the voting come in. Baum has gotten 2.9% of the vote and is dismayed at the tiny percentage. Ilsa, however, is overjoyed. This is the largest percentage any small-party write-in candidate has gotten in United States history. It is then Baum realizes that with all her optimism, she never really had a chance. Her face falls as though she’s known this fact inside all along but ignored it with all the campaign excitement. She accepts her small success with a smile and moves on.

In spite of its weak points, BAUM FOR PEACE’s story lingers after the performers have left the stage, perhaps because the audience is much like Baum-- outraged citizens who want to be heard.

All Talk No Action

Len and Ernest chronicles the inability of two men to solve a conflict. The play begins in a dilapidated Brooklyn bar where Len and Ernest are waiting for a phone call. They sit on opposite sides of the room, consumed by their own thoughts, and speak candidly with one another about their insecurities. When the phone rings both men seem non-plussed, yet it is clear that this call is meant to change the course of events. They seem to know who is on the other line but the audience does not, nor does it ever learn. The call essentially serves as a catalyst for the men to argue over who should leave. But rather than leave right away, they question who should go, when they should go, how they should get to wherever they are going, and so on - perhaps a small nod to Mr. Beckett’s Godot. These seemingly mundane and often ambiguous conversations build to physical altercations, verbal spats and deadly silences but the relationship between the two men never escalates or develops. The conflict is drawn out in such a way that for 50 minutes no one actually does anything or goes anywhere. Finally, at the end, one man leaves. The actors who play Len and Ernest, Francesco Saviano and Mauricio Bustamante, are like two lost electrons that bounce around the wide empty set in slow motion. Their intentions are earnest but the dialogue doesn’t allow them to make any choices.

Characters need to make choices in any story, whether it takes the form of a play, a television show or a fairy tale. A character's decision to act pushes the plot forward. When there are no choices, there is no action, and if there is no action, there is no plot, and if there is no plot, the only result can be a very boring play.

A Dismal Camp Fairytale

Princess Mimi, Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Frog is further subtitled (A Play for Someone Else’s Children). If someone else’s children are little monsters, the nightmare of every babysitter in town, and long overdue for a good talking to, then by all means take them to see this play. Those kids deserve to suffer through this bottom of the barrel melding of The Frog Prince and Beauty and the Beast. Anyone else should stay far, far away. The title princess is a spoiled brat whose only companion is a golden iPod nicknamed Poddy. When she drops her beloved device in a well, she strikes a deal with a frog to fish it out in exchange for letting him stay at the palace. What follows is exactly what you’d expect.

The show, judging from the bios in the program, is almost entirely a product of NYU Tisch BFAs, both in front of and behind the scenes. The humor is low-rent college irony. Scraps of it could be amusing if cut into an Internet series of 45-second fragments, but no amount of bright scenery or energetic acting can disguise the fact that most of playwright Patrick Flynn’s script just isn’t funny. It’s too safe to be kitsch, too bland to be camp, and too often adult to be children’s theater. Society is past the point where merely dressing a man or woman in drag and having them walk around in fabulous outfits is worthy of laughs.

The fabulous outfits, however, really are just that. Everyone gets some great costume choices from designer Laura Helmer. Most characters sport a ridiculously oversized hat for comic effect. Princess Mimi’s headdress contains empty Tab cans that bang together when she makes any sudden movements. Scenic designers Andrew Scoville and Harry John Shephard find charming and simple ways to create the magical land of New Jersey, where the story is set.

But nearly everything else is off. Throughout the show, the two narrators constantly ask the Princess (in the kind of meta-theater talk only recent drama school graduates find amusing) to move the scene along for the sake of the audience. It’s as if the storytellers themselves know they’re telling a dud.

Passing Go Has Never Been So Dangerous

Echoes of playwright Richard Foreman's sensibilities ring through Richard Fulco's Get Out of Jail Free , but it's to be expected. With two former Ontological Hysteric Theater (Foreman's theater) alum (actress Sarah Politis as Chorus and director Anthony Cerrato) on board and Fulco's abstract material, it is easy to see the relationship. As former stage manager and assistant director to Foreman, Cerrato creates histrionics that are in his mentor's fantastical vein, but unfortunately does not demonstrate Foreman's panache with the existential. Somewhere in a distant realm, a totalitarian government has declared love and its associate emotions, such as lust and passion, to be illegal. Toiling in this society is a young couple, Buttock (Matt Cosper) and Half-Way (Jessie Paddock), who dare not touch and dare not desire for fear of incarceration. They rant and rave, and yearn, without admission of course, for an illustrious Get Out of Jail Free card that will allow them to love and have sex with a pardon. Keeping close watch on their interactions is Agent 3931254 (Sara Kamin), a federal bulldog in bondage gear that the promotional for the show says is striving for a promotion with the couple's arrest. There are two things wrong with this preview. Firstly, Kamin has created a character with a propensity for violence and torture, and this ambition, although mentioned briefly in dialog, is never at the forefront because her glee with inflicting pain supersedes it. Secondly, the reason why the arrest of this particular couple will win her a promotion is never qualified. Of course, the lack of substantiation could be chalked up to the fact that this play does not follow a linear, narrative thread, but because there are dueling conceptual and material elements, the lack of consistency and focus is brought to the surface.

The characters are very talkative and energetic, but everything they say and do enters the realm of the nonsensical. Unlike Foreman's work, there is very little intellectual meat to chew on here, but Fulco seems to be wrestling with the uniqueness of love in that it's the only yearning that can satisfy itself. For example, food satisfies hunger, sleep satisfies fatigue, but only love satisfies the need for love. Of course, this is one of the many declarations that are flung into the air, but it is the one that bears the most weight. The play also concedes that the removal of emotion from actions that are sexual in nature is impossible, which could be construed as support for the love-satisfies-love thesis.

None of the actors distinguish themselves because they all operate at the same frenzied tempo. There is no contrasting, straight character, and as a result, Cerrato has created a frigid vacuum. As the chorus, Sarah Politis and Ian Campbell Dunn are amusing because they are not anchored to anything, but they only contribute to the artless chaos. There are overused catch phrases, pop and classical literature references, and even a shout-out to Saturday Night Live's Sally O'Malley character. Unfortunately, none of it creates a fantasy that should be endured for more than fifteen minutes.

Visually, Kaitlyn Mulligan's set is a wonderful playground setting meant only for adults. She creates pieces that look like torture contraptions out of pieces that are meant for childhood revelry. Apart from the set, the costumes by Annie Simon are busy and mismatched, but perfect for this anarchic world.

Despite the relentless movement, I couldn't help but think that Get Out of Jail Free would work best as a radio drama because of its kooky sound effects and amplified drama. And if this is what a loveless world would look like, let us all beg Congress for its preservation.

Note: This production is a part of the 2007 NYC International Fringe Festival.

Ring in the New

The cast members of End's Eve: The Feast of 2012 congregate to ring in the new year, but they do so on Dec. 21, a few days earlier than tradition dictates. Why? Because, according to ancient Mayan prophecy, on that date in 2012 the world will end and be reborn. And so Leo (Nic Few) and his partner, Davis (Ethan Matthews), have decided to throw a costume party commemorating this passage. Written by Jennifer Gnisci and Hilary Park, the play follows the lives of these characters as midnight nears. Tuly (Marnye Young) is an eccentric Southern belle who relies on the comfort of Jack Daniels and special mushrooms, and has a habit of taking her beloved Mick (Tony Naumovsky) for granted. Xi (Devon Berkshire), hints that the personal demons she expelled when giving birth to daughter, Pi (Lauren Orkus), may indeed be returning.

Unfortunately, with a cast this size, it is difficult to familiarize the audience with all characters equally. I found that some important details explaining their backgrounds and histories with one another were missing.

Still, Young does an exceptional job conveying the play's theme of freedom and fear with a bold performance that's dynamic enough to draw viewers in but warm enough to show why the other characters are drawn to her. Orkus is also worth noting for effortlessly playing a young child quite younger than her actual age. And Timothy Smallwood hits the appropriate enigmatic notes as the mysterious guest Bardo.

As is the case with many shows at the New York International Fringe Festival, the play sometimes suffers from a kind of slapdash mayhem. For example, at certain times various party guests retreat to what is supposed to be a rooftop, but it appears as though they are merely walking to another part of Tania Bijlani's apartment set. Director Erik Bryan Slavin has a difficult task, always having to stage his full cast and move them around in various groups before the audience gets bored with the positioning in front of them. And when they're in the background, some actors appear to break character, simply watching the action, to which they should be indifferent.

Ultimately, what End's Eve portrays best is the mood. Slavin and the writers suggest an atmosphere of insecurity, where the world the characters know and the rules that govern it are coming to an end. It's both exciting and scary, just like real life.

Putting Away the Hater-ade: BASH’D Keeps it Real

On August 12, I hit the Village Theatre for a performance of Chris Craddock and Nathan Cuckow’s Bash’d: A Gay Rap Opera. I must admit, the title is what attracted me to this production, because the words Gay, Rap, and Opera don’t appear in the same sentence very often. In this case they go together brilliantly. Craddock and Cuckow (with help from music coordinator, Aaron Macri) have constructed a smart, funny and affecting piece of theater told entirely through the rap medium. Their rhymes are tight, clever, refreshingly out of the closet and above all, successful in conveying the tragic story that is the foundation for Bash’d. The show opens with Craddock (a.k.a. T-Bag) and Cuckow (a.k.a. Feminem) donning angel wings and encouraging all the “real faggots” to “limp their wrists in the air.” After this in-your-face introduction, the pair go on to narrate a story about two “star-crossed lovers” named Dylan and Jack who meet in a gay club, fall in love, get married (the show takes place in Canada, right after gay marriage was legalized) and seem primed to live happily every after, until, one night, Jack is gay-bashed by a gang of straights. Angered and frustrated by the police and the community’s failure to do anything about it, Dylan seeks revenge on his own terms.

Throughout the show, these two performers play every character from the lovers to their parents to the various faces that occupy the gay club scene. Both actors give an intensely energetic and convincing performance in every role they assume, eliciting both laughs and tears from the audience sometimes within the same line. Utilizing humor and their incredible “gift of gab” they put across an anti-hate message that is poignant without being preachy. The most effective moment in the entire show comes at the conclusion, when Craddock and Cuckow step forward and offer up shout outs of “Rest in Peace” to those who have been killed as a result of being gay-bashed. Overall, I left the theater thoroughly entertained and affected by this piece and would recommend it to not only gays, rap fans, or theater aficionados, but anyone who enjoys a great piece of storytelling.

Adrift at Sea

Married to the Sea, Irish playwright Shona McCarthy’s first full-length play, both compels the audience and leaves them adrift. Jo, an eight-year-old girl in Galway, Ireland’s Old Claddagh sea-faring community, longs to join her father at sea. She is left at home, where she struggles to understand family secrets and her father’s disappearance. When the secrets are revealed, however, they leave the audience bewildered and uncertain of their meaning. Siobhan Donnellan (Jo), has the difficult task of pushing the story along, as she is onstage throughout the entire play and has several long narrative monologues. She not only succeeds in her mission but is a fascinating actress to watch. Her face twists as she tries to comprehend her mother’s lunacy and widens into a grin when she’s telling a joke. McCarthy also brings depth to her role as Jo’s mother Mam, with haunting, vacant eyes that gaze out somewhere beyond the water.

The father’s character is a crucial missing piece of the story. His scenes never have the emotional weight they need to account for his strong effect on Jo. This might be due to the fact that Fiachra Ó Dubhghaill, the actor playing him, also plays six other characters (all seamlessly). The father’s character needs to anchor the story, yet he floats in and out.

The appearance of a woman named Queen of Sheba (Agnes Carlon) could be put to better use. When her name is mentioned, she emerges from behind the curtain, moves exotically and then disappears. Since she is the one who lures Jo’s father away, she demands a stronger presence, even if it is just a longer dance, so that her and Jo’s father’s actions are not as fleeting and insignificant as they currently seem to be.

In spite of its flaws, the play is imaginative and features enjoyable, lyrical language. The sea’s mystical quality permeates the story, almost suspending time, as the characters look out at the water with longing. The stage, bare save for a low table, a clothing rack, and a curtain, perfectly evokes the sea-faring town and the emptiness that both inhabits the characters and surrounds them. It would be nice to stay in this real yet magical land longer once the story elements are worked out because Married to the Sea has the potential to be an emotional and transcendent theatrical experience. As it stands now, see it for an original and compelling premise but be prepared for a wave of confusion.

Act of Faith

The Gospel According to Matthew, written and performed by Matthew Francis, probes fundamentalist Christianity’s approach to homosexuality on both a philosophical and a personal level.Francis melds autobiographical storytelling with documentary theater to produce a compassionate examination of the topic –- and a compelling theatrical work.

In an hour and 40 minutes, this impressive production, adeptly directed by David Drake, distills eight years of Francis’ interviews with prominent religious and intellectual figures (Rev. Fred Phelps, founder of www.GodHatesFags.com; Rev. Mel White ; Rene Girard ), gays, evangelicals, gay people who once identified as fundamentalist, fundamentalist who once identified as gay, and more. Francis’ quiet ease embodying each character belies the ambitiousness of such an undertaking.

Francis studied extensively under Anna Deavere Smith, whose ground-breaking solo shows blurred the lines between theater and journalism, and it shows. His portrayals are expertly executed, never veering toward broad caricature or vague abstraction. Like Smith, Francis uses simple costume pieces (a sports jacket, eyeglasses, a do-rag) to visually denote each character and seamlessly transition between them.

Francis proves equally deft at relaying his personal history as a gay man who once aspired to become a leader of fundamentalism. Sharing his own stories – and they are heart-achingly good – allows space for Francis to develop a rapport with his audience and humanizes what might otherwise be a stark presentation of frequently unpalatable opinions.

A recurring theme in the production holds that in Christianity, speaking is an act of faith. By giving voice to diverse –- and divisive –- ideas, The Gospel According to Matthew embodies that ideal. Speaking as an act of faith also describes Francis’ style of performance, in which listening likewise functions as an act of faith. Audiences of Francis’ storytelling will find their faith aptly placed.

A Poetic Tribute to Juliet

Juliet awakens to find herself among the dead. She sits within what looks like a tomb and stares at the constraining gossamer walls that enclose her insular space. A candle flickers beside her. She is not Shakespeare’s heroine however, and the setting is not the Capulets’ catacombs. This Juliet is a mother, a mother of seven to be exact, and she has been imprisoned in Romania after the Hungarian Revolution of 1956. She speaks in words penned by her youngest son, to a God she fears has abandoned her. This is the premise of Andras Visky’s play Juliet, which has recently been translated into English from Romanian. The story chronicles Visky’s mother’s internal struggles during the time she spent in a prison camp and the play is structured as one long monologue directed toward God. The strikingly gorgeous and talented actress, Melissa Hawkins, plays the leading lady. Hawkins’ devotion to the text and Christopher Markle’s astute direction bring Juliet’s fragmented memories to life. Her remembrances of events seem to ebb and flow from bliss to devastation as her personal biography takes shape on stage. The Independent Theater’s tiny playing space and Terrence McClellan’s scenic design heighten the poetic realism of the piece. The lighting scheme, however, sometimes brings us out of Juliet’s reality when it flickers from light to dark at seemingly random times.

Juliet’s only major deterrent is its length. The play’s running time is 1 hour and 30 minutes, which is a long time to listen to one person speak, however, Hawkins does a great job of keeping the dialogue moving at a rapid pace. Potential viewers are encouraged to sharpen their attention spans, as Hawkins' performance is well worth the effort.