A 'Mansplanation' Set to Music

The legendary director Harvey Cocks once claimed, “An actor must never be afraid to make a fool of himself.” And real men shouldn’t be afraid to be fools, either. At least that is the perspective of the creators of Real Men: The Musical, the playfully vaudevillian show at the New World Stages, an Off-Broadway multi-theater venue in Midtown Manhattan. This new award-winning musical comedy has been brought to New York City from the Actors’ Playhouse in Coral Gables, Florida. The show is cleverly written by Paul Louis and Nick Santa Maria, with impeccable musical direction by Martin Landry and exquisite arrangements by Manny Schvartzman.

Real Men: The Musical is a man’s view of men. As the characters read to us from the Book of More Men, we learn the truth about what goes on in a real man’s mind. Apparently, not much besides sex and sports. At least they are able to laugh at themselves about it. And sing about it. And play with puppets (and themselves) about it. As the piece follows the men in their journey into married midlife suburban crisis, we learn that they do want to understand why they are so stupid. According to the playbill, the play is set in “Present Day” to suggest that some things never change. It also reads that the place is "Everywhere," but Boynton Beach and Boca Raton sure are recognizable. Jerry Seinfeld's parents would love it. And who doesn't love South Florida?

The musical stars Stephen G. Anthony (I Love You, You’re Perfect, Now Change) along with the writers, Louis (from the 1995 TV series "Jelly Bean Jungle”) and Maria (Secrets Every Smart Traveler Should Know). Under the manly guidance of award-winning director David Arisco, these performers give us a hilarious and harmonious examination into the minds of men. All three performers effortlessly mastered the melodies and harmonies; a real twisted Rat Pack with the Three Stooges. While they were campy at times, that was what they were striving for and they did it well. The inclusion of puppet women heightened their point that men see women as objects with talking heads, breasts and derrières. 

Some of the lyrics were hysterical; some were a bit dated—heard them from my ex-husband and his father, in South Florida years ago. But again, they reiterate the point that men are limited in their thinking and that it is a universal disease. The production definitely caters to the older bridge and tunnel crowd. Married and divorced couples will get it but younger theater-goers might need variety in the music and a younger perspective (maybe the son in the song "That’s My Boy" could appear). The music was well-written and performed, reminiscent of the old great standards—but a bit repetitive in certain spots. There was most certainly room for a rock song, or other style of music, too. And while the men can sing, and move well, an audience does like to see nice legs. Not that Anthony's legs weren’t nice—he looks great in drag. While it was especially delightful to hear these real men’s confessions, the character development could have been further expanded. 

Particular songs that really hit the mark were "I’m Not with Nick" and "Married Man’s Lament," a hysterical number sung by Louis with help from Maria, Anthony and a giant penis. "That’s My Boy" was a real surprise. It was flawlessly carried by Nick, who has a real sense of character, comedic timing and honest acting. Anthony had a powerful voice, nice hair and could really move his hips. Paul was a hoot with the puppets; he really knew how to work them smoothly into his performance. Plus, he looked great in his cowboy outfit and tutu. They all had undeniable chemistry and it was clear they were enjoying themselves. So we enjoyed them, too. We all knew these fellows. They were our fathers and husbands in true form. It was nice to laugh at them and not get in trouble.

Real Men: The Musical is running through Jan. 2, 2016 at New World Stages (340 West 50th St. between 8th and 9th Aves.) in Manhattan. Check the performance schedule here. Tickets range from $59-$79 and can be purchased by calling 212-239-6200 or visiting Telecharge.com.

Uganda Comes to New York City

In 2005, Griffin Matthews made the nearly 7,000-mile journey from the skyscrapers of New York City to the hills of Uganda to become one of the many American volunteers looking to “find themselves” and “change the world” by building schools in Africa. Now, Matthews stars in a musical about his journey and in doing so, brings the lives of those in Uganda to a New York City stage. Sound a little cliché? Perhaps it is, but Invisible Thread is a feel-good story brought to life by a clever script, catchy score, uplifting message and talented cast.

Co-written by Griffin Matthews and real-life partner/composer Matt Gould, Invisible Thread began as a piece titled Witness Uganda which won the Richard Rodgers Award for Musical Theater in 2014. Griffin was a struggling actor booted from his church’s choir for being gay when he made the decision to leave his boyfriend Ryan (Corey Mach) behind to sign on as a volunteer. Instead of simply extolling this decision, Invisible Thread calls into question the reason that people perform altruistic deeds in the first place. Is it to help others or to help ourselves feel good? And does the motivation really matter if there is good coming from it?

Matthews & Luwoye

Through self-deprecating humor and witty lines, both Ryan and Griffin acknowledge their somewhat stereotypical problems. “Imagine, a gay in the tenor section!” Upon arriving in Uganda at the compound where he will be building a school, Griffin meets a woman who is ironically named Joy (Adeola Role). She has built up a wall to protect herself from the constant stream of volunteers who she has learned she will never see again despite their promises. Griffin also meets Jacob (Michael Luwoye), Joy’s brother who works at the compound. They quickly form a bond and Jacob reveals what is really going on with all the schools the volunteers are building. Pastor Jim, who we never meet, immediately sells them for a profit once the volunteers leave.  

Looking for answers, Griffin follows Jacob to the market, where he encounters and befriends four teenage orphans—Ronny (Tyrone Davis, Jr.), Grace (Kristolyn Lloyd), Eden (Nicolette Robinson) and Ibrahim (Jamar Williams). Discouraged by the news that his volunteer efforts with the school will result in no real change, Griffin decides that he will instead teach these four teens and Jacob in an abandoned library. As things progress, Griffin realizes that he may be in over his head. His relationships with the students and his determination to make a difference strengthen despite the obstacles.

Kids

Throughout the musical, contemporary songs mix with ones of a more Sub-Saharan styling but all are catchy and moving. The choreography by Sergio Trujillo and Darrell Grand Moultrie complements the music wonderfully and adds an energy and power to the performance that is further enhanced by stunning, soulful vocals from the ensemble. A dirt stage is slightly mismatched with the two projection screens, calling attention to the differences between New York City and Uganda.

Diane Paulus directs a talented cast with Role delivering a standout performance as Joy. Mach does what he can with the role of Ryan, though the character seems somewhat less developed than it could be and appears to be an evolving piece in the script based on previous iterations of the production. The climax in the second act seems somewhat muddled, though everything comes together in the end, perhaps too perfectly to properly portray the complicated topics addressed. Invisible Thread is a production which is clearly a result of passion and purpose but it manages to avoid becoming preachy or self-promotional.

Invisible Thread is playing at Second Stage Theater (305 West 43rd St. between 8th and 9th Aves.) through December 27. Tickets range from $69-$125 and can be purchased by calling 212-246-4422 or visiting www.2st.com. 

Nightmare on the High Seas

If art is about digging beneath the surfaces of things and restoring wholeness to human experience, run to see In The Soundless Awe, an important new play by Jayme McGhan and Andy Pederson now playing at Access Theater until Dec. 12. One of three plays in repertory with the New Light Theater Project (NLTP), it is beautifully produced and imaginatively directed by Sarah Norris, a founding artistic director of the NLTP company.

At the heart of the play is Captain Charles Butler McVay III, a highly decorated third generation Navy officer and the commander of the U.S.S. Indianapolis when two Japanese torpedoes struck it just after midnight on July 30, 1945. Three hundred men were killed in the first 12 minutes it took the ship to sink. Over the next five days, 900 more languished unsheltered on the high seas fighting sun, sharks, dehydration, starvation and exhaustion while anticipating rescue any minute. Three SOS signals had been sent as the ship went down but 600 more men would die before survivors were accidentally sighted by pilots on a routine patrol and rescued. It was the largest loss of life in U.S. naval history. McVay was court-martialed and found guilty of “failing to zigzag,” a way of steering to avoid enemy fire, although this maneuver was technically at the discretion of the commanding officer (himself).

How does one plumb such an experience: five days, 900 men and the mothers, fathers, wives and children forever caught in its vast net? This might have been a play about a Navy cover-up: its failure to provide standard destroyer escort for the ship (although six days earlier a destroyer was similarly torpedoed on the same route); and its mangled rescue operation that inexcusably left 900 men in the cold Pacific waters for five interminable days. But In The Soundless Awe is less about events—a sinking, court martial and suicide—than about an experience that is simply beyond the ability of the mind to grasp. What do we do with such an experience? What does it look like? What are its consequences for the survivors? For the families of those who did not survive? And for our navy and military, which in deflecting blame to one of its own, set the stage, the writers imply, for cover-ups to come in Vietnam and elsewhere. For us?

This is a deftly written and ambitious script that zigzags back and forth in real-time, in remembered time and in imagined time not so much as a way to tell us a story as to imitate the flow of mind itself in its perpetual return to the frozen moment, to the five days on the high seas which will forever imprison those who lived through it. On stage the bodies of the actors freeze and unfreeze as they play out the bits and pieces of this terrible scene: attempts of the Captain and his crew to distract themselves, delusions of help on a horizon, sharing the little water they had, discovering that a mate has lost a leg to a shark, the dying of the men one by one. A suggestive and repeating motif, the Gray Lady (Hallie Wage), a beautiful and tempting siren of death and release, pulls the dying off stage but also dances with McVay. The Captain imagines a meeting with his stern and distant father and plays cards with friends years after his court martial, but his mind always returns to those five days on the water until he steps out of time itself by raising a gun to his head.

The actors work in a theatrical style in which choreographed movement and gesture, video, lighting and sound matter as much as, or even more, than the words spoken. A stage direction includes a note: “nightmarish and Kafkaesque,” but so much more in the production is not in the script—the eerie blue light that bathes the stage when we first enter the theater; video clips noting each day on the water and how many men are still living. Phantasmagoria and metaphor are the keys to the excavation of the inner world of McVay, but also to a shared human interior. The creative direction of Norris and her brilliant creative and production team deepen the script and give the play its juice and strange beauty. The ensemble, who take on a variety of roles, are outstanding. The two actors who play McVay as a young man and as an old man, Chris Kipiniak and Leo Farley, are convincing.

In The Soundless Awe is a well-executed, well-conceived and beautifully produced play. What makes it important is that it enlarges the violated human dimension of a terrible event in our shared American history. It opens our hearts and imagination to the wartime experience of men who sacrificed for our common welfare. 

In Soundless Awe” runs until Dec. 12 at Access Theater (380 Broadway, 4th Floor, between White and Walker Sts.) in lower Manhattan. Performances run Thursday-Saturday at 8 p.m. Check NewLightTheaterProject.com for the exact schedule. Tickets are $15 and can be purchased by calling 800-838-3006 or visiting BrownPaperTickets.com. Limited blocks of free and discount tickets for veterans or active-duty personnel are available. Inquire at NewLightTheaterProject@gmail.com. 

House of No

It is December 31, 1899. The Stanhope family has gathered to close up the home of Alison Stanhope, whose poetry has become famous in the nearly two decades since her death. The surviving Stanhope siblings—the slightly strange Agatha and straight-laced John—have carefully controlled their famous sister’s public reputation. Now, on the eve of a new century, the discovery of a secret stash of Alison’s writings exposes a stark divide between the generations.

Inspired by the life of Emily Dickinson, Alison’s House by playwright Susan Glaspell, won a Pulitzer Prize in 1931 despite negative reviews and a meager two-week run. It was one of a string of controversial picks by the Pulitzer committee that eventually led to the creation of the New York Drama Critics' Circle. Metropolitan Playhouse’s production may be the first uncut staging of the play in New York since 1931.

At the heart of Alison’s House is the question of whether duty and honor or personal happiness and self-realization are paramount. Elsa Stanhope, who alienated her father John and gave up her good name to run away with her married lover, represents the values of the younger generation. John and Agatha hold up the example of Alison, who in a similar circumstance chose her good name, became a recluse, and subsumed her love in writing.

Unfortunately, artistic director Alex Roe’s respectful staging of Alison’s House does not reveal a forgotten masterpiece. While the text is solid, charming and often amusing, the central conflict between Victorian values and a youthful desire for personal fulfillment must have seemed out of date even at the time of the original production. Some of the lack of urgency is due to the production’s uneven pace. While the bulk of the production is performed in a leisurely fashion, the actors race through the climactic moments of both acts.

Another problem comes from the lack of a strong antagonist. John D. McNally’s John Stanhope is so genial and warm that his role as the representative of the past, a forbidding father who upholds honor at all costs, becomes blurred. Other cast members struggle, too. Blaine Smith can’t quite overcome the fact that he seems a decade too old to play the puckish Ted Stanhope, while Matt McAllister and Katharine Scarborough come across as visitors from another broader play.

Standouts in the cast include John Long as the weary, harassed Eben Stanhope, and Anne Bates as his wife, Louise, who cannot earn love despite molding herself into an ideal Victorian wife and daughter-in-law. Amanda Jones’ performance as Elsa is the highlight of the evening. Her touching performance drives scene after scene in the final act.

Roe has staged the play on a compact thrust stage, which transforms during intermission from a library in the public part of the house to Alison’s private bedroom, where all her secrets are revealed. The set serves the play well, especially during scenes involving many characters, although there are some problems with sightlines during intimate scenes (especially the play’s climax). Sidney Fortner’s costume design neatly illustrates the generational and social divides between the characters in Alison’s House. While the elder Stanhopes are clothed in sober browns and blacks, the younger members of the family—especially Ted and Elsa—wear brilliant red.

Metropolitan Playhouse’s production is a solid presentation of an underwhelming script. Still, it is a good opportunity to see a rarely staged work by the much-anthologized Glaspell. Perhaps Glaspell’s farewell to the Victorian age, with its rigid, hoary values, can still speak to the present day. Even now, young people struggle to find fulfillment in ways that make their parents want to shake their heads and say, as John Stanhope does, “I cannot bear your youth.”

Alison's House is running at the Metropolitan Playhouse (220 East 4th St. between Avenue A and B) in Manhattan until Dec. 13. Performances are at 7:30 p.m. on Thursday-Saturday and 3 p.m. on Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday. Tickets: $25 for general admission, $20 for students/seniors and $10 for children. To purchase tickets, call 800-838-3006 or visit www.metropolitanplayhouse.org/tickets.

Gay Rites Now

Steve, the ambitious new play by Mark Gerrard being presented by The New Group, belongs to a particular subset of gay theater that focuses exclusively on a group of homosexuals. The prototype, Mart Crowley’s The Boys in the Band (1968), reflected the self-loathing of its closeted characters, leavened with bitchy humor. (Its one ostensibly “straight” character may have been bisexual.) Later examples—Kevin Elyot’s My Night with Reg and Terrence McNally’s Love! Valour! Compassion! (both 1994); Peter Gill’s Certain Young Men (1999); and Chuck Ranberg’s End of the World Party (2000)—charted the difficulty of living in the age of AIDS and celebrated the nuclear families that gay people assembled to replace marriage or because of rejection by relatives.  

Gerrard’s play may be one of the first in the genre in which matrimony is no longer off the table. Apart from that milestone, however, the interests of its characters are mundane: the exhaustion of parenting, the temptations and repercussions of adultery, and alienation by digital communication. The specter of death is present, but in the form of Ashlie Atkinson’s lesbian buddy Carrie. Dying of cancer, she is one of two best friends to Matt McGrath’s Steven, often called Steve.

Steve’s other best bud is Matt (Mario Cantone), wed to Brian (Jerry Dixon). Steve focuses on the two sets of middle-aged partners navigating the new marital landscape. Steven is 47 and married to Stephen (Malcolm Gets); they have an 8-year-old son, Zack. Matt and Brian are childless. Providing complications are two other characters: Steve, a personal trainer who is never seen, and Esteban, a fetching young Argentinean waiter/dancer (Francisco Pryor Garat) whose path continually crosses Steven’s, until the inevitable occurs. If the conceit of the names is meant to signal that all gay men face fundamentally the same issues, the device comes off as excessively precious.

First among equals is McGrath’s character, and his decency is established by the way he helps the ailing Carrie. Even with the most sallow-faced crankiness, McGrath delivers warmth and a wry wit. Recalling a trip to the beach, he says, “I thought we were all at the beach having a great time… Four middle-aged men, and our occasional lady visitor, desperately interested in the slightest recognition that we’re still sexually desirable to the sexually desirable—or even to the almost-sexually desirable—secretly afraid that we’re not, but bravely clinging to the illusion—and each other—like a jaunty, gay Raft of the Medusa.”

But Steven has learned that Stephen is having an affair with Brian. Under Cynthia Nixon’s direction, we see it conducted through ribald sexting, shown on an upstage wall by Olivia Sebesky’s projections. Steven shields Matt from the truth, even after he learns that Brian has invited trainer Steve to move in, and with Matt, become a threesome. Moreover, that arrangement has been made possible by Steven’s taking in Carrie, grown sicker with her cancer and needing a place to stay. Feeling unappreciated and betrayed by Stephen, Steven pursues Esteban. It’s all fundamentally The Seven Year Itch, but multiplied and with twists.

One problem is that one never sees the relationship Stephen and Steven have before Steven’s discovery of incriminating evidence (which he keeps to himself), so the stakes are unclear. And Gets and McGrath have scant chemistry; they’re at odds from the first, and the former has a thankless part, frequently tapping on a cellphone in his hand as the audience reads the projections.

Nixon tries to lighten the tone using Broadway show music during scene changes (and in a prelude of roughly 20 minutes, when the cast stands around an upright and sings). And Gerrard ladles on musical-theater in-jokes relentlessly. Steve laments, “What kind of God would allow the movie version of Mame?” Matt talks about his upcoming three-way: “We’re excited. Excited and scared”—one of many direct references to Stephen Sondheim. Indeed, Steve’s drink of choice is a vodka stinger.

The unsettled tone may reflect the honest bewilderment of where gay life goes from here, but it looks only marginally different from what any relationship faces, except for the issue of sex. In a piquant but fleeting moment, Gerrard suggests that fidelity is an overrated construct. As Brian boasts to the group in the climactic scene: “I came this close to making out with the most beautiful boy in the kitchen who turned out to be the most beautiful girl. And maybe we made out a little anyway.”

The New Group presents Steve at the Pershing Square Signature Center (480 West 42^nd St. between 9th and 10th Aves.) in Manhattan through Dec. 27. Evening performances are at 7:30 p.m. on Tuesday-Friday and 8 p.m. on Saturday; matinees are at 2 p.m. on Saturday and Sunday, with special matinees on Dec. 16 and 23. For tickets, visit www.thenewgroup.org. 

Opposites Attract a Solution

Hard and soft qualities and everything in the middle can characterize a man’s masculinity. Mark Borkowski’s two-act comedy The Head Hunter explores masculinity through the contrast of two cousins who take on life’s challenges. Late 30’s writer Casmir (Trenton Clark) and his rugged, older cousin Salvy (Jay Rivera) come from the same family but occur to be from two different worlds.

The production feels more like a family drama and takes place during a winter in Hoboken, New Jersey in Casmir’s outdated apartment. Casmir’s white refrigerator, stove, and oven could have been from the 1950s. The worn rug, antique writing desk and wooden chair with a missing wheel give the impression that Casmir has not left his apartment in years. Casmir’s bland clothes even looks like he sleeps in them and contrasts with Salvy’s new, stylish clothes. Salvy is also taller, stronger and has more facial hair compared with his younger cousin Casmir.  The two men do not appear or sound like they are from the same neighborhood.

Salvy challenges Casmir’s ability to stand up to a movie producer who has the rights to Casmir’s screenplay. Casmir mistakenly signed his rights away and does not have enough money to hire a lawyer. Casmir says, “You're right, I was desperate. I needed the money. I needed...the attention. Somebody was recognizin' me.” Casmir and Salvy conspire to get the rights back to Casmir’s script. Casmir prefers to take a polite, gentleman approach when faced with difficult situations and Salvy resorts to brute force. When Casmir finds out that Salvy is a head hunter who decapitates people for the mob, Casmir says, “No, how do we come from the same bloodline?” Salvy says, “What, you sayin' you better [than] me?! ‘Bloodline.’ Hey, don't forget, the same guy who made Christ also made the devil. So go figure. ‘Bloodline.’” Great dialogue like these lines can be heard throughout the play and the value of the production is in Borkowski’s writing.

The writing is worthy of traveling to other markets and easily relates to the modern world. The subject matter is not only limited to New York City and our current time but has universal meaning that can apply to future generations.  Borkowski’s writing sheds insight into the varying moral and ethical principles that people adhere by. Casmir says with great honor that his deceased father had pride and Salvy says, “Pride. I love that fuckin' word. Ya know what that word is? It's an excuse, another excuse for a man to keep himself down.” Casmir counters by stating that his father still had a conscience. Salvy later goes on to challenge Casmir’s masculinity and says, “'Cause [you're] soft. Your insides, they gettin' ripe. [You're] ready to be plucked. Forget that, you are plucked. Like a tomato. It hangs nobly on the tree. Whole and hard, as if it's sayin' don't fuck wit me. It gets soft, it falls off the tree and gets squashed. That's what happenin', my friend. You are getting squashed.” The dialogue is brilliant, authentic, thought-provoking and allows audiences to reflect on their own lives.

Director Richard Gekko has an opportunity to insert his own vision and interpretation of the material. It would be interesting to witness Gekko’s slant on the text. Gekko could also improve the overall pacing of the production. The Head Hunter struggles with timing and could be more intentional. For example, the intermission seems to go on too long and could be shortened. Likewise, when Casmir steps out onto the roof, audiences might start to wonder when Casmir will return. Lastly, Rivera could slow down and take some deep breaths before delivering his lines so his performance has time to sink in with audience members. On the other hand, Clark’s timing as Casmir was on point when he spoke and his performance did not feel rushed and scrambled.

When entering the Abingdon Theatre Complex, a poster for The Head Hunter is not visible. The Dorothy Strelsin Theatre is on the second floor and is not easily accessible via the staircase, but there is an elevator. The theater is intimate and audience members feel like they are sitting in the living room of Casmir’s apartment.

The Head Hunter is recommended for theatergoers who love great writing and appreciate seeing family members from different backgrounds coming together to solve a problem.  Borkowski captures the natural voice of a broken writer and his criminal cousin. Audiences are able to grasp where each character stands as the plot develops. The contrast between the characters is like looking at two sides of a coin. The vision is clear and the aim is accomplished. The writing carries the show and theatergoers will be keen to see any other productions that Borkowski writes.

The Head Hunter runs until Nov. 28 at The Dorothy Strelsin Theatre in the Abingdon Theatre Complex (312 West 36 St., 2nd Fl., between 8th and 9th Aves.) in Manhattan.  Evening performances are Thursday-Saturday at 8 p.m. and matinee performances are Saturday at 2 p.m. and Sunday at 2:30 p.m. Advance evening tickets are $35 and matinee tickets are $20. To purchase tickets, call 212-868-4444 or visit SmartTix.com.

An Interplanetary Love Odyssey

Is Peter Story, the star of Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus Live!, an actor or a stand-up comedian? Audience members may be surprised to find that although Story uses his real name, he is in fact performing a scripted one-man play at New World Stages.

Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus Live! tells the story of a man, named Peter Story, whose life was changed when he saw author John Gray speak about his best-selling book by the same name. This life-altering book explains many of the differences between men and women in the hopes of making married couples throughout the world more in-sync with their feelings. Story intimately shares with the audience how the lessons from this book have affected his marriage. With perfectly-timed jokes, hilarious physical comedy and a laugh-out loud funny script—Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus Live! is raucous in its relatability.

Though the stage is set with a couch, end table and stool—none of it is necessary. Story needs no lights, no set and no soaring orchestrations to have everyone in the audience nodding in understanding, clapping in collusion and laughing along with his illuminating realizations about relationships. The two-hour show flies by with a broad range of topics—from vulnerability to trust to things done behind closed doors. As the story is told by a man, the show may focus a little more on the irrational ways women behave (“I have nothing to wear”) but it is all done in an extremely tasteful manner.

However, the author of the book is not to be upstaged by Story. Gray makes a cameo appearance in two video clips shown during the play and these videos are two of the most brilliant moments of the evening.

First, Gray explains how serotonin and dopamine levels differ in men and women and cause different reactions to stress. Gray simplifies a complex scientific explanation with the help of extremely clever animations. 

Second, Gray tackles the “points system” used by women. A bouquet of roses equals one point to signify a nice action by their spouse. A single rose also equals one point. And women also award themselves points throughout the day, making it harder for a Martian to measure up.

The evening isn’t all jokes though. A touching moment comes when Story reflects on the instant he knew he would marry his partner. Gray’s videos are truly informative and educational. And while the audience can laugh at Story for his error in asking his wife, “Do you think maybe it’s that time of the month?,” the true value of Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus Live! is in challenging men and women to think about their relationships in a smarter, more attentive way. Relationships will never be perfect but they should always be a priority. 

Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus Live! is running at New World Stages (340 West 50th St. between 8th and 9th Aves.) in Manhattan through Nov. 29. Performances are at 8 p.m on Nov. 12, 14, 19, 21, 23, 25 and 28 and at 7 p.m. on Nov. 15 and Nov. 29. Tickets are $79. To purchase tickets, call 212- 239-6200 or visit Telecharge.com.

The Real Change Agent

While some viewed Kathy Change as the flag woman who shouted nonsense and danced for hours on the University of Pennsylvania campus, others saw her as a legendary political activist who sacrificed her life in order to spread her message to the world. 

So who was Kathy Change? Based on a true story, the play Chang(e) captures the last few years of Change’s life and humanizes this historical woman. As an activist in the late '80s and early '90s, Change committed to transforming the world through speech and dance. She believed that our country had a corrupt government that would leave us into an economic fall and war with Iraq, and that the only way to stop those events was the mobilization of a loving and peaceful democracy. Despite Change's revolutionary leadership, her eccentric behavior caused some people to ignore her powerful words. 

Aside from her activism career, Change attempted suicide multiple times and blamed herself for her mother’s death. What kept her alive (and eventually led to her death) was her need for people to acknowledge that a transformation was needed in our world immediately. With a megaphone in her hand or with her body dancing in the breeze, she tried to convince people that this transformation can only begin from within by changing how we think and spreading love to others.

With a combination of theater, dance and movement, Soomi Kim and Suzi Takahashi devised Chang(e) in order to capture the many facets of Change. Within the play, the audience is able to see when Change is coherent and articulates her beliefs with vigor and clarity. These scenes stream seamlessly with Change’s conflicting states where she is high on drugs or stuck in her own head. Since the audience also feels like they're tripping on drugs, it's often difficult to discern imagination with reality in this production. 

The play's black box is transformed with a hippie theme. With a huge peace sign painted on the ground, disco balls hanging from the ceiling and Chinese lanterns lighting up the room, the set designed by Bryce Cutler was without a doubt constructed with the '80s in mind. Along with strips of white cloth as a backdrop, the flowing fabric allows for easy entrances and exits as well as a screen for projection.

The projection and videos by Kevan Loney were incredible in multiple ways. Projected on the backdrop and floor, the projection adds a larger depth to the show by including psychedelic images that bring us into the world of Change’s alternate reality. It literally transports the audience into the mind of Change that was absolutely necessary to the play's story line. During the production, Kim embodies Change by interacting with the projection by dancing and moving around it as if the images have come to life. These projections become part of the set that she uses in order to share Change's story. In addition, it allowed the company to include a video of Brendan McGeever's first-hand account of Change's impact. This retelling helped the audience humanize the misunderstood and radical leader.

Kim was passionate about sharing the story of Change and only naturally played the part of this historical Asian-American. The years of research was evident in her acting. She was confident with every line, every scene and every movement as if she was the woman herself. Kim shows her talent through her ability of changing between the confident Change to the unsteady Change that seemed to almost be on the brink of insanity.

The ensemble consisted of six actors—Ben Skalski, David Perez-Ribada, Kiyoko Kashiwagi, Criena House, Adriana Spencer and Zek Stewart. Their talent was clearly apparent in their unparalleled versatility to play multiple characters. This helped the scenes flow smoothly without any confusion between the characters.

Overall, this show highlights how Kathy Change is an example of a brilliant person who continually fights the demons in the world and in her mind. Chang(e) is for audience members who want to see a non-traditional play that captures the life of a non-traditional woman. 

Soomi Kim and Suzi Takahashi's Chang(e) is playing at HERE (145 Sixth Ave.) in Manhattan through Nov. 22. Performances are Thursday-Saturday at 8:30 p.m. and Sunday at 4 p.m. Tickets are $18. For tickets, call 212-352-3101 or visit www.here.org.

Kill Me Now

Carolyn (Lizan Mitchell) is a cranky old woman waiting for death. She asks her hospice nurse, Veronika (Nikki E. Walker), to help grant her last dying wish—to be killed before the day is over. As an outspoken and devout Christian, Veronika does not take this request lightly. In search of redemption, this duo reflects on their own identities and past experiences to determine whether suicide is the right decision or whether life should be treated as a gift.

Housed in Harlem's iconic National Black Theatre, Dead and Breathing is a forward-thinking play that challenges us to look at our own lives in order to understand the societal restrictions that exist in our community. It also challenges the audience to ask themselves to what length will it take for someone to change their views. Written by the young and talented GLAAD Media Award winner Chisa Hutchinson, this play captures the ideas that the policing of black bodies goes beyond physical violence and includes the restrictions in our lives that are created by the preconceived perceptions that society creates and upholds. It is these perceptions that shape our own identities and communities.  

Before the audience enters the theater, an exhibit is displayed in the lobby to help the audience understand the mindset of the show. The display poses the question: "How does language create a matrix?" This question is asked in hopes to help understand how the way of life can either liberate or restrict your mind. Once in the theater, the audience sits on lavish red seats that match the ambiance of Carolyn’s home. The set is beautifully displayed with golden frames hanging on the back wall, red carpeting throughout the room, a stain glass window in the bathroom and a large bath tub with golden feet. Even Carolyn’s costume also ties seamlessly with the set, revealing her upscale and rich taste. 

It is clear why Mitchell received the Helen Hayes Award for Best Actress. Her effortless enactment of Carolyn’s crude and blunt characteristics come across extremely well especially when delivering her exceptionally timed dry and sarcastic jokes. She has you continually laughing and sitting on the edge of your seat waiting to hear what she reveals about her past in hopes of convincing Veronika to help her die with dignity. Walker is the leading force that pushes the play forward. With her character constantly questioning and demanding answers, Walker effortlessly maintains the pace of the play and moves the story line towards an unpredictable ending. Together, this duo successfully creates a show that is extremely funny and entertaining.

Under the brilliant direction of Obie winner Jonathan McCrory, the scenic design (Maruti Evans), lighting design (Alan Edwards), costume design (Karen Perry) and sound design (Justin Hicks) effortlessly transports the audience into Carolyn’s extravagant home. Dead and Breathing proves that discussing very serious issues doesn’t have to be done with a serious face. With characters we rarely see on stage, this play gives a breath of fresh air on issues that need to be addressed within a comedy that allows us to humanize and connect with the characters. If for no other reason, people should see this show to experience a spiritual liberation that opens their eyes to the way they view their own lives in order to spark change.

Dead and Breathing runs until Nov. 23 at the National Black Theatre (2031-33 National Black Theatre Way at the corner of 125 St. and Fifth Ave.) in Harlem. Performances are Monday, Thursday and Friday at 7:30 p.m.; Saturday at 2 p.m. and 7:30 p.m. and Sunday at 4 p.m. The shows contain nudity. Tickets are $30. To purchase tickets, call 866-811-4111 or visit www.nationalblacktheatre.org.

Cheers!

The illusory brand of theatrical magic is difficult to find—especially in solo shows. Precious few one-man productions can effectively create that beautiful “baseless fabric” of a transportive play, and even then, their illusions are sometimes imperfect. A single body moves across a deserted stage with not much else but light and music and those elemental players for company. It’s easy to falter when carrying the weight of performance alone, but writer/comedian Terri Girvin, the multi-character star of director Michael Leeds' production of Last Call at the IRT Theater, bolsters an otherwise ordinary tale of a long-serving New York bartender with surprising humor and extraordinary moments of intimacy.

Pools of soft, yellowing light accompany Terri Girvin as she moves through her life story. She begins with a series of easy jokes; "Top 10 Ways to Annoy Your Bartender" is a recurring and sometimes quite delightful theme that runs through her monologues. She then proceeds to insert details of her family’s dysfunctional history in momentary, painful snapshots. These scenes are relayed with grim amusement on Girvin’s part, as it is her mother, a divorced, drink-happy ex-party clown who is the source of this dysfunction. Here, Girvin’s practiced, punch-line-delivering style gives way to the emotional drama of her relationship with her mother. Halfway through the play, the audience becomes unsure of its laughs, and seem more comfortable in silence.

But the scenes themselves are transitory. They seem more like floating motes of experiential anecdotes rather than seamless parts of an organic autobiography. Here is where Girvin’s talent for stand-up comedy interferes slightly with theatrical storytelling. The moments in which Girvin’s mother steps onto the stage in the guise of her own daughter are short; Girvin impersonates her mother uneasily, and is keen to relieve her audience’s tension with a joke. It’s easy for the audience to see that Girvin’s mother is an emotionally dependent, paranoid, unstable and completely unfit parent, but somehow her daughter doesn’t realize that this legacy is in her hands until the end. Consequently, Girvin’s mother, only heard and not seen, is never fully redeemed. For most of the production, she is a two-dimensional weight on her daughter’s shoulders. Girvin, by her own reckoning, deeply desires “freedom from the weight of her [mother’s] trauma.”

Regardless of these dips in storytelling, it is apparent that Girvin is the only person from her family who can stand her mother’s antics. She also seems, by her own telling, to be more involved in her mother’s disorganized life than her largely indifferent brothers. Girvin’s brother is especially blunt: “It’s fun when the circus comes to town, but when the circus never leaves!” A particularly hectic night at the bar sees Girvin taking close to 50 orders every 10 minutes. It is perhaps the aural and visual climax of the entire production. Girvin’s silent co-stars put on terrific performances, as evidenced by the unique collaboration between Grammy-nominated sound designer Phil Palazzolo and lighting designer Jason Fok.

With not a single prop in sight, Girvin clinks imaginary shot glasses onto the bar and pours fizzing drafts of beer into empty steins. She chats genially with the disembodied voices of her customers and slams a nonexistent cash register closed before turning to the audience and grinningly inquiring, “What can I getcha?” Every delectable sound, from the dull roar of conversation to the sloshing of a drink, matches in near-perfect synchronicity with Girvin’s expert movements. Every voice has its own extraordinarily ordinary life; Palazzolo and Fok have squeezed alchemical gold from the listless air with their superb intertwining of light and sound.

But the harmony of Girvin’s movements, in perfect beat and cadence to the swing of her bar, quickly devolves into chaos when she receives a call from her mother. Without revealing Girvin’s mother’s shocking escapade, and the proverbial last straw for Girvin herself, the harried and exhausted bartender ends up kicking everyone out of her bar. She listens shamefacedly to her customer’s insults and drunken raging (who only minutes before had flirted, smiled or laughed with her). She then slams her phone onto the bar, looking out teary-eyed and tired at her arrested audience as we wonder: Was that their last call?

It is this explosive scene that discloses the fundamental problem Girvin has with marrying the architecture of her life to that of her mother. We are never sure if she takes up the Sisyphean task of maintaining any semblance of a relationship with her mother after this. But this unmarried, diminutive, middle-aged working woman is still a hopeful, optimistic child at heart. Her ever-cheerful retort to the dull greeting, “How are you?” is a loud, “Living the dream!” The final scene is nostalgically beautiful, and we stitch up her disparate stories of love, loss and emotional pain into a safe blanket we wish we could cover her in. And in perhaps the most moving, and most fitting, end to this darkly humorous tale of a life not yet fully lived, Girvin leaves us with no ending. We only have her memories.

Last Call ran from Oct. 9-Nov. 1 at the IRT Theater (154 Christopher St., #3B) in Manhattan. For more information, visit www.terranovacollective.org.

Eternity Knocking

Holiday gatherings have provided the setting for many American dramas, from William Inge’s classic Picnic (Labor Day) to Anna Ziegler’s A Delicate Ship earlier this season, set on Christmas Eve. Ironically, Christmas was also the holiday observed by the Jewish families in Alfred Uhry’s The Last Night of Ballyhoo and Richard Greenberg’s The Assembled Parties. Now, in Stephen Karam’s richly textured new play, The Humans, Thanksgiving gets its due. First, though, this reviewer must declare that Stephen is no relation, although our paths have crossed and he is a charming fellow. [It will also be less awkward for me if I refer to him by his first name from here on.]

The Humans is set in a basement apartment in Chinatown, marvelously realized by David Zinn with sterile white walls and a spiral staircase that joins two floors, both visible. The upper seems to be below the street level, while the lower is a windowless sub-basement. Brigid (Sarah Steele), the female half of the couple occupying it, boasts to her skeptical parents of its uniqueness. When her mother, Deirdre (Jayne Houdyshell), observes that outside the barred upstairs window is “an alley full of cigarette butts,” Brigid defends it as “an interior courtyard.”

It’s not just the details of real estate in New York that Stephen gets right. The Blake clan that has assembled includes father Erik (Reed Birney) and his mother, “Momo” (Lauren Klein), who is in the advanced stages of dementia. From her bottle of Ensure to her unintelligible mutterings to her blossoming at the sound of singing, Stephen has captured the reality of someone in the throes of age and dementia, and the strain on a loving family.

Brigid and her boyfriend, Rich (Arian Moayed), have moved in together to the mild disdain of Deirdre—and it’s one of the charms of Stephen’s play that most of the disapproval of others’ actions voiced by the characters is muted in a way that indicates a fundamental respect for one another.

There are, however, hints of deep troubles in the family, from finances to health. Erik is cutting his own hair, and some comments lead one to believe that he a miserly streak. Brigid’s lesbian sister Aimee (Cassie Beck) has recently broken up with her girlfriend and has been facing serious health problems. She has also been laid off. There are other financial troubles that surface during the day, and only Moayed’s level-headed, easygoing Rich seems unperturbed—but then, he’s due to inherit a trust fund.

The disagreements and problems that arise are deceptively quotidian. The devout Deirdre brings a statue of the Virgin Mary as a gift—“she’s appearing everywhere now, not just in Fatima.” And she hints gently but repeatedly that Brigid and Rich should get married. Deirdre is also aghast at the condition of the apartment: loud thumping that comes from the apartment above and lights (handled by Justin Townsend) that seem to have a mind of their own, flickering on and off, so that an emergency LED light in Deirdre’s care package has to be sought out. Occasionally, too, a trash compactor rumbles nearby in the building’s depths (sound is by Fitz Patton).

Director Joe Mantello utilizes the two levels of the stage well, often with action happening simultaneously (though at one point, when all the characters are gathered on the lower level, a loud thud from the apartment above probably would not be heard).

The excellent performances are all detailed nicely. Mention is made of mom’s knee problems, and Houdyshell gingerly steps down the stairs, planting both feet on one step before lifting a foot to step down on another. Reed Birney invests Erik, who is carrying a burdensome secret, with weariness and anxiety. Cassie Beck’s Aimee is emotionally adrift and yet phlegmatic about her mother’s e-mails communicating gossip about friends getting ovarian cancer and lesbians killing themselves. And Steele’s Brigid is just enough of a pill to earn her a few demerits, but not enough to cause antipathy.

As good as the portrayal of the family is, Stephen has a last-minute twist that sets his bland title in stark relief and yet has been cleverly, carefully prepared. The Roundabout has commissioned all his plays, and although The Humans is only his third, its stagecraft makes one eager to see what’s next.

Stephen Karam’s The Humans is playing at the Laura Pels Theater (11 West 46^th St. between 6th and 7th Avenue) in Manhattan through Jan. 3. Evening performances are at 7:30 p.m. on Tuesday-Saturday; matinees are at 2 p.m. on Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday. The production has been announced for a Broadway transfer early in 2016. For tickets, call 212-719-1300 or visit RoundaboutTheatre.org. 

Fairy Tale Fantasia

Over the decades, the story of Cinderella has gone through many variant permutations: from the original publication of Charles Perrault's classic story in 1697; to Ever After, the film adaptation which was made some 300 years later and starred Drew Barrymore; Disney's animated version in 1950; and most recently, the studio's live-action remake this past year. Another version has found its way in downtown Manhattan at the Minetta Lane Theatre; it's given a certain burlesque twist as only Austin McCormick and his Bacchanalian band of misfits at Company XIV can provide. Following the success of their now-perennial holiday hit, Nutcracker Rouge (which first played at the Minetta Lane back in 2013 and will return again this November), as well as their seductive romp on unrequited romance, Rococo Rouge (which, in turn, premiered last year at a smaller venue in the East Village), XIV has quickly gained a strong following—and equally formidable presence in the downtown theater scene.  

With their growing reputation, along with their flair for the fantastical, one can only wonder what they can do with a story like Cinderella. What they end up doing is what they've always done and done well: serve up that blend of opera, circus, vaudeville, cabaret and dance that has become unique to the XIV style. There are gender-bending performers onstage, dancing along to a hip, genre-bending soundtrack. There are thrilling dances, choreographed by McCormick himself, steeped in their now-signature baroque style. There are titillating costumes, set against equally fetishistic lighting and sets, each designed brilliantly by Zane Pihlstrom and Jeanette Yew, respectively. And while XIV certainly has developed their own stamp, stylistically—they are also not the kind to rest on their heavily-gilded laurels. 

Here, they amp up other elements which have entertained audiences in the past—both their own, and the ones in King Louis XIV's own courts: that of comedy and farce. While we've seen shades of comedy in previous XIV productions (most notably in Jeff Takacs' and Shelly Watson's performances in both Nutcracker and Rococo), we've never seen it thrown under the spotlight in quite this way before. This is mainly due to company regular Brett Umlauf (last seen in Rococo) and XIV newcomer Marcy Richardson as the evil stepsisters, who—in lieu of an off-key "Sing, Sweet Nightingale" flute-off—participate in very, very high-pitched operatic duels and hilarious attempts at playing "Fur Elise" with glasses of water in-between acts. Also adding to the comedic mix is the always fabulous Davon Rainey as the Stepmother, whose vacillation between his double-act as the bizarro, 18th-century version of a "mom-ager" to the two sisters (Kris Jenner, eat your heart out), and a Mom-zilla to Cinderella is at once frightening and awe-inspiring—in the best way ever.  

Grounding the comedy with XIV's unmistakable brand of seduction are the equally-captivating performances of company regulars Katrina Cunningham, Steven Trumon Gray and Allison Ulrich as The Fairy, The Prince and our heroine Ella, respectively. Eternally ethereal in both presence and voice, Cunningham is perfectly cast as The Fairy, lending an interesting sensuality to the role not often seen in other adaptations of the tale. Her entrance alone is a heart-stopping sight to behold, not unlike the one induced by the flamenco dance sequence in 2013's Nutcracker. Gray's own entrance is one more in keeping with Cinderella's comical tone, providing a great contrast to his masculine aerial performance. However, it is Ulrich as the titular Ella who not only shows emotional depth with a simple gesture, but also incredible physical prowess despite her charmingly diminutive frame (see: above left picture).

Once again, Company XIV proves their staying power, spreading their signature grown-up magic onto a childhood favorite. Their spin on Cinderella is rife with sumptuous desire at every turn: where the Fairy Godmother is no longer a bumbling elderly lady, but a beautiful young woman bedecked in gold; where the mice turn into the hottest footmen around and the courtiers partake in dances that veer more toward frequenters of the S&M underworld than the ballrooms of Versailles. However, in true XIV style, it never crosses the line over into vulgarity—but rather, revels in flirting with that very line. Perrault may have won our hearts over with his tale back in the day, but if this critic had her way, this Cinderella would dominate the fairy-tale canon. After all, what's a happy ending without a little bit of danger along the way?

Cinderella runs until Nov.15 at the Minetta Lane Theatre (18 Minetta Lane between MacDougal and 6th Ave.) in Manhattan. Performances are Tuesdays-Saturdays at 8 p.m. and Sundays at 5 p.m. The shows contain partial nudity: 16 and over are admitted. Tickets for Cinderella range from $40 to $65 with premium and VIP seating from $75 to $105. For more information about this and other Company XIV productions, please visit http://CompanyXIV.com.

Down in the Depths

Solo shows tend to be showcases for talented actors, but the shows themselves may be variable. Sometimes they are mere vehicles for a talented star; sometimes they are more than vehicles. And once in a while, as in Empanada Loca, with Rent alumna Daphne Rubin-Vega, the star provides jet fuel for the vehicle. Playing a woman named Dolores in Aaron Mark’s precisely calibrated, terrific script, Rubin-Vega demonstrates that she is, even without singing, an astonishing talent.

As the show opens, Dolores spots the audience and wonders how we managed to find her. She’s in a deep disused subway tunnel in the New York system. She’s hiding out, and around her, in Bradley King’s astonishingly dim but effective lighting, one can barely make out a grate on the upstage wall and a large massage table. She is not used to visitors, although she says, “They still come down, sometimes they come, when they're expanding. They like this tunnel ’cause I got electricity—I set these lights up myself—and I got privacy, ’cause this is as far down as you can go. This is one of those tunnels the city gave up on before they even laid the tracks.”

No longer apprehensive, soon she is unspooling her life story, and Rubin-Vega brings warmth and passion to a tale that involves hard knocks and gruesome twists. “I’m only down here ’cause I'm not goin’ back to prison,” she says. “Thirteen years, they locked my ass up.”

She started out an ordinary college kid, a student at Hunter. “I was gonna be a urban planner,” she recalls. But her Aussie roommate wanted weed one day, and Dolores went along and met Dominic, a drug dealer. At the same time, her mother died and her father, a doorman, went to pieces and couldn’t take care of her. So she moved in with Dominic, whom she protected from prison after the police picked her up. After coming out, she went looking for Dominic and the money they’d stashed, and both were gone. The old neighborhood had one or two familiar faces, but nobody knew where Dominic was. But she spots a favorite haunt, Empanada Loca, which makes the small pies that are central to Latin cuisine. Inside is Luis, son of the proprietor she once knew; she knew Luis, too, but he was a child and is now a young man. He gives Dolores his late father’s room and even helps her drum up business by putting a sign in his window for her massage business. It’s a skill she learned in prison from her lesbian protectress, Tabitha.

Mark, who also directs lovingly, provides ample humor. Describing Dominic, Dolores remarks that she noticed he had “fingers like sausages” and bawdily suggests what one might extrapolate from that. The script is vivid, evocative and specific. There are mentions of a “purple hat,” a “red glass bong,” and at a Planet Fitness gym in the neighborhood, “these white chicks in polo shirts working there, they’re making green smoothies or some shit.” Dolores momentarily forgets what her father choked to death on, then remembers: “shish kabob.”

Eventually complications arise between Dolores and Luis, and the story grows darker. There’s a tip-off in the program about the inspiration for Mark’s show, but it’s better if you haven’t read it. There’ll come a point when the savvy theatergoer will suddenly cotton to the source—it’s been used in a famous musical—but Mark has gone back to original publications of the story and made enough alterations in place and character that it takes a major plot point to turn the audience member in the right direction. Suffice it to say, it’s a dark place that Dolores and Luis end up in.

Clad only in a black hoodie and black slacks, Rubin-Vega is a terrific guide to this hellish underworld, colored simply and darkly by David Meyer in shades of charcoal. When the story turns cringe-worthy, she is still a commanding presence. It’s not just a good performance; it feels like a landmark for a consummately gifted actress.

The solo show Empanada Loca plays through Nov. 8 at the Labyrinth Theater Company (155 Bank St. between Washington St. and the West Side Highway) in Manhattan. Evening performances are at 7 p.m. on Oct. 25 and 26, and Nov. 1, 3 and 8. They are at 8 p.m. on Oct. 28–31 and Nov. 4–7. For tickets, visit labtheater.org.

No Pot of Gold

An 8,000-year-old Irish fairy is not to be mistaken for a leprechaun in James McLindon’s Comes a Faery. The production opens with a grown woman (Meghan St. Thomas) acting like an 8-year-old girl Siobhan as she plays with a doll and toy truck. Though it is noted in the script for “a very youthful-looking adult [to] play Siobhan,” the casting does not work. St. Thomas sounds and behaves like a whiny child and looks more like an adolescent who is at the beginning stages of puberty. The mismatch in casting distracts theatergoers from acknowledging St. Thomas’ solid performance and her ability to carry the production. The director Shaun Peknic could have taken the liberty to cast a younger woman to portray the child Siobhan. On the other hand, Josh Marcantel is well cast as the Irish fairy Seaneen. Comes a Faery attempts to capture the emotional and mental impacts that a child experiences when their mother is away overseas serving in the armed forces.

The play takes place in an apartment in Cambridge, Massachusetts and the set design by Kyu Shin is modest and homely with a loveseat, lamp and nightstand. In the background appears to be a wooden stage with three boxes wrapped in beige paper that have light cursive writing. The brown coloring used for the wording is not dark enough to clearly understand what is written. The two large walls on the backstage appear to be a large book and they also have the beige paper with brown wording on them. The light and dark blue and white zebra print floor is distracting and it does not exactly match the blue and white blankets on the couch. The audience members were further distracted from the actors’ performances when a cockroach ran across the stage and St. Thomas killed it by dropping a book on the cockroach. Marcantel tried to sweep the dead cockroach under the stage with his foot, and the experience left a lasting impression with the audience.

Siobhan is fixated on seeing her mother again and is easily manipulated by Seaneen, who has convinced Siobhan that everyone in her life will leave her. Seaneen is never clearly defined as actually being a real, live fairy or Siobhan’s imaginary playmate. This is one example of how McLindon leaves it up to audiences to decide for themselves if Seaneen is real or not. The lack of clarity does not add much to the plot or Seaneen’s character development and actually creates confusion. Siobhan’s pediatrician Dr. Neery (Lori Kee) cannot clearly diagnose Siobhan’s condition or Siobhan’s relationship with Seaneen. When Seaneen convinces Siobhan to catch Dr. Neery on fire with a burning newspaper, Dr. Neery writes off Siobhan’s failed attempt and says, “That which doesn’t kill you makes for a great story later.”  Dr. Neery believes that Siobhan could be experiencing conduct disorder or possibly psychosis. Siobhan’s guardian and Aunt Katie (Michaela Reggio) thinks that it is normal for 8-year-old girls like Siobhan to have an imaginary Irish fairy as a best friend. Katie’s artist boyfriend Raphael (Benjamin Miller) is Siobhan’s only healthy, male role model and he appears to be the only person who can actually relate to her.

The value of the production rests in its opportunity to have a greater conversation about children who are raised by others while their biological parents serve in a war.  However, the lack of clarity and confusing casting has McLindon fall short in clearly delivering a message.  Simply leaving it up to theatergoers to decide what is happening or what the point is, suggests that the material is underdeveloped. The show runs for 120 minutes with an intermission and feels like it lags. A matured production will have theatergoers wanting more and not just waiting for the show to end so that they can go home.

Comes a Faery misses it mark and does not deliver to its full potential. The production would be much more powerful if St. Thomas were cast as Aunt Katie and a teenager played Siobhan. As strong performers, St. Thomas and Miller could compliment each other’s performances if they were paired together as boyfriend and girlfriend. Reggio portrays Katie as a victim of her own circumstances and instead of having theatergoers feel empathy for Katie, she occurs as annoying and tiresome to watch. Miller stands out in comparison to Reggio when they are partnered together. Miller’s energy feels like a sitcom actor. Comes a Faery is not recommended unless theatergoers are willing to overlook its shortcomings and focus on the dynamic performances by St. Thomas, Miller and Marcantel.

Comes a Faery runs until Oct. 24 at the New Ohio Theatre (154 Christopher St. between Greenwich and Washington Sts.) in Manhattan. Evening performances are Friday and Saturday at 8 p.m. Tickets are $18 and can be purchased by calling 347-524-0514 or visiting www.nylonfusion.org.

Finding True Joy

Sex, drugs, alcohol and money does not bring contentment to New York City lawyers, but it is still entertaining to watch the lawyers search for inner peace. Ethan McSweeny directs an accomplished ensemble in Thomas Bradshaw’s Fulfillment. Set in present-day Manhattan, the play covers ridiculous housing challenges and various pathways to self-satisfaction that resonate with New Yorkers.

The play's protagonist is a 40-year-old black lawyer named Michael (Gbenga Akinnagbe), who has worked 80 hours a week for the past nine years at a law firm with the same title of senior associate. Although Michael's colleague Steven started at the law firm the same time as Michael, Steven has been promoted to partner and makes $800,000 a year. Michael’s white, office hookup-turned girlfriend Sarah (Susannah Flood) claims that Michael has not been promoted to partner because of racism. She says, “Just think about it. No women partners, no black partners. I’m telling you this because we’re two of the only people from under-represented groups working here. We need to stick together.”

Whenever Michael’s white boss Mark (Peter McCabe) has a new, black client, Mark “trot[s] [Michael] out like a show horse!” Mark claims that Michael has not been made partner because Michael has a drinking problem.  Mark offers to have the firm pay for Michael to go to rehab, but Michael does not want to be away from work for that long. Michael also just bought a “shoebox in Soho” to live in for $1.5 million and had to borrow $80,000 from his mother’s retirement to help cover the down payment. Sarah says that Michael should instead “be living in a five million dollar apartment.”

This play’s message about happiness not being found in external things is communicated well. The value of this production is demonstrated in how this message is shown through the breakdown of Michael’s life. Audiences witness how Michael’s alcohol dependency feeds his insecurities and ultimately sabotages everything Michael has been trying to create for himself. New York City theatergoers will also easily relate with the intolerable amount of noise from Michael’s upstairs neighbor Ted (Jeff Biehl). The situation only escalates when Michael complains to the president of his condo association Bob (Denny Dillon).

As a grown man, Michael appears naive and boyish and easily manipulated by others. His own identity and sense of self-worth are questionable. Akinnagbe conveys Michael’s innocence eloquently and this allows for audiences to eventually develop compassion for Michael’s struggle. It also softens the cold, robotic, conniving exterior behavior of the other characters. Audiences begin to understand the roots of Michael’s alcoholism when Sarah says, “It’s only natural that you have no idea how to deal with people. You stopped maturing emotionally the second you started to drink [alcohol].” Michael started drinking when he was 16 years old.

As the characters seek fulfillment in their own lives, theatergoers may start to wonder if this production achieves what it set out to accomplish. Even with stellar performances like McCabe perfectly nailing his portrayal of Michael’s boss, the production seems like it is still in its adolescent stages. The material is fresh, quick and current but feels underdeveloped. The scenes tend to be short and end too prematurely for audience members to get the full emotional impact. The creative transitions between the scenes are flawless due to the lighting by Brian Sidney Bembridge and sound by Mikhail Fiksel and Miles Polaski. However, the multiple transitions become disruptive and lose their originality after a while. At times, the production relies on engaging audiences by using intense sexual scenes with masturbation, S&M and full-frontal nudity. Sex choreographer Yehuda Duenyas creates very realistic sexual scenes and it is like sitting on the set of a pornographic film.

Fulfillment does capture modern life in New York City and creates a greater conversation around what motivates and drives people. At the same time, Bradshaw could have focused more on universal, redeeming qualities.  This would add depth to the production’s message and allow for audiences to empathize with the characters’ vulnerabilities. McSweeny could also achieve this through directing the actors to have more emotional range in their performances.

The overall aim of this production falls short, and the production’s message has so much potential to mature and could even be further developed. Despite these weaknesses, the cast is superb and well worth seeing in this production. The Flea Theater has produced award-winning Off-Off-Broadway productions and is known for showcasing current and original material. For those seeking a captivating glimpse into the life of an alcoholic lawyer in New York City who has not come to terms with his alcoholism, then see Fulfillment.

Thomas Bradshaw's Fulfillment runs until Oct. 19 at The Flea Theater (41 White St. between Church St. and Broadway) in Manhattan. Evening performances are Wednesday–Monday at 7 p.m. and matinee performances are Sunday at 3 p.m. Tickets are $35, $55, $75 and $105 and can be purchased by calling 212-352-3101 or visiting www.theflea.org.

Shakespeare With Tears

You’re not ever likely to see a staging of A Midsummer Night’s Dream similar to that at the Pearl Theatre Company, a co-production with the Hudson Valley Shakespeare Festival. That’s almost certainly a blessing. Directed by Eric Tucker of Bedlam, a company known for its pared-down renderings of classics—including a powerful Saint Joan and Hamlet—A Midsummer Night’s Dream currently on the boards is a misbegotten mess. Somewhere underneath the countless irrelevancies encrusting this version may be a play about lovers, poets and fools, but despair at finding it sets in quickly.

Bedlam uses no props, so there’s a lot of miming of them; some you won’t expect. Early on, Hermia is tied up and her arms winched into the air as if she’s about to be interrogated by black-ops agents rather than Theseus. Anyone who has ever seen a traditional version of A Midsummer Night’s Dream may wonder what is going on—as will anyone who hasn’t. The five actors are not only responsible for imagining their props, but they take on multiple roles and produce their own sound effects. In fact, there is so much accumulated shouting and stage business that the story barely comes through, let alone the poetry.

Tucker has introduced action to accompany virtually every line. When Egeus complains that Lysander “bewitched the bosom of my child,” Lysander air-squeezes Hermia’s imagined breasts. When Jason O’Connell’s Bottom speaks of “a tyrant,” his hands become pistols and he shoots them. O bad tyrant! Looking for his comrades, Bottom says, “Where are these hearts?” That leads O’Connell to pull an imaginary one from his chest and gnaw it like Hannibal Lecter. Everything must be illustrated, no matter how inappropriately, in this Shakespeare for Imbeciles production.

It’s not enough to pile on irrelevancies: Tucker has vulgarized the play as well. When Mark Bedard’s Oberon says, “I do but beg a little changeling boy to be my…henchman,” the pause he inserts suggests latent pedophilia. When the actors cluster together late in the play (as they often do to become scenery, though not in this case), there’s suddenly an orgiastic scene of hip-thrusting intercourse and tongue work. When Puck returns to Oberon with the flower love-in-idleness, he doesn’t have it in hand. Oh, no, it’s down his throat so he can hawk loudly and puke it out!

Amid this goulash, Nance Williamson shows the best command of poetry, both as the brusque Hippolyta and lumbering Helena. Bedard recites the verse clearly enough, but doesn't quite find the music in it. O’Connell is egregiously irritating as Puck, Bottom, and Pyramus. As the last, he yells for Thisbe in the style of Marlon Brando as Stanley Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire. (He also does an impression of Al Pacino in Bottom’s “shivering shocks” speech, and they’re amusing, but unnecessary.)

The performers may be excused, given all that Tucker has taxed them with. They contribute constant sound effects and movement: weird noises, rolling around, wrestling, humming the music from Jeopardy and “The Girl from Ipanema,” grunts, clasping one another, shrieks, falling to the ground in an instant, tsk-tsks and putting on silly accents (Sean McNall’s Demetrius seems to be Spanish by way of Scotland; Bedard’s Thisbe has a Southern twang). Scarcely a sentence goes by without some enhancement. Oberon’s speech “The next thing then she waking looks upon/Be it on lion, bear, or wolf, or bull/On meddling monkey, or on busy ape/She shall pursue it with the soul of love” cues an aural zoo as the actors contribute the sounds of each animal mentioned. But nothing is so impressive as the rare moments when the words are left to be heard on their own—Bedard’s Oberon, speaking of a “boar with bristled hair,” or Helena’s late soliloquy. It’s then one realizes what quality the actors might be capable of.

Heaped with praise by critics at the The New York Times and The Wall Street Journal, this production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream was clearly not to the taste of a scowling woman speaking to a friend at intermission. Passing by, I overheard only the word “indefensible.” Whether it applied to those reviews or to the production itself, she was on the money.

A Midsummer Night's Dream plays through Oct. 31 at the Pearl Theatre (555 West 42nd St. between 10th and 11th Aves.) in Manhattan. Evening performances are at 7 p.m. on Oct. 7, 11, 12, 15, 20, 28 and 29 and at 8 p.m. on Oct. 9, 16, 17, 23 and 30. Matinees are at 2 p.m. on Oct. 8, 10, 14, 17, 18, 21 and 31. For tickets, call 212- 563-9261 or visit PearlTheatre.org.

Drink, Drink and Be Merry

Theater-going in New York City has a long and intimate history with drinking, from the boozy concert saloons and cabarets of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, to contemporary lobby bars on Broadway and drinking within immersive theater experiences such as Sleep No More and Queen of the Night. Occupying its own place in this legacy of combining theater and drinking, The Imbible at the Soho Playhouse not only serves drinks to its audience, but attempts to narrate the history of drinking since the beginning of humankind. This is a long and complex history, of course, and since The Imbible also attempts to explain the chemistry of alcohol and its biological effects on the body, the show can only tell a selective and incomplete history. But playwright and performer Anthony Caporale’s passion for the subject, as well as the overall fun ambiance of the production, make for an enjoyable and educational night at the theater/bar.

Artisan bartender and host of the popular web series "Art of the Drink TV," Caporale as "The Bartender" approaches the subject of alcohol from his practical experience. Trivia heads and history nerds will love the educational appeal of The Imbible, which is packed with facts on the history and science of alcohol. An especially magic moment of the performance is when Caporale reveals that the very basement that the play takes place in a former Prohibition speakeasy frequented by members of historic New York City’s Tammany Hall. To be drinking freely in space that used to harbor bootleggers is one of the most unique aspects of this production.

While Caporale educates and quizzes the audiences on facts about the history of drinking, the cast supports his documentary narrative with their dynamic voices and a capella harmonizing. The songbook of The Imbible draws from pop songs, and while it can be fun to recognize tunes, it may leave one yearning for more original music. That being said, the singers’ a capella talents are enjoyable, no matter the song, and the musicality adds to the amusing atmosphere of The Imbible. 

While the musical talent of the cast is undeniably strong, the comic moments of Imbible can be hit or miss. Much of the show's humor depends on ensemble bits, and at times, the group dynamic falls flat or comes off as forced. Furthermore, while the mood of this production is undeniably casual, the comic gags need more focus from the director and performers to really hit their mark. One particularly distracting actor habit was laughing or smirking during line delivery—while cracking up during a comic sketch is one thing, nervous or excessive laughing tends to steal away from the comedy. All in all, the malfunction of some of these comic moments may come from an ambivalent relationship between the supporting cast and the audience.  While The Bartender clearly communicates directly with the audience, as a narrator figure, the supporting cast is less securely related with the audience. The cast is, without a doubt, a funny group, but the comedic timing and stylization in The Imbible needs more polishing. 

The Imbible is set to run into January 2016, but the run is unlimited and could very well be extended. The popularity of this show may indicate that contemporary audiences are eager to engage with fun and accessible performances, especially under the socially lubricating effects of alcohol. It should be mentioned that audience members must be 21 or older to attend The Imbible and the ticket price includes three drinks. Each drink is creatively worked into the narrative of the play. While this show, like any other piece of theater, is not perfect, the talent and dedication of the cast endear one to its antics. The Imbible makes for a fun, boozy, and surprisingly educational night of theater in New York City.

Tickets (which include three drinks) are $55 and can be purchased at Imbible.org. Performances are scheduled through January 2016 and take place at SoHo Playhouse (15 Vandam St. between Varick St. and 6th Ave.) in Manhattan and run Thursdays at 7 p.m. and Fridays-Saturdays at 9 p.m.

Fairy Tales with Scary Endings

German brothers Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm are best known for writing Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White and many other famous fairy tales. There was also a darker side to the Grimms’ earlier works that included child abuse, incest and anti-Semitism. The short stories in Martin McDonagh’s The Pillowman echo the Grimms’ twisted side. The Pillowman takes place in a totalitarian state and deals with childhood abuse. The characters rarely experience a "Disney" fairy tale ending. Audiences are sure to be amused and horrified as this story unfolds.

The production opens with a proclamation from writer Katurian (Kirk Gostkowski) trying to weasel his way out of being tortured: “The only duty of a storyteller is to tell a story.” Detectives Tupolski (Deven Anderson) and Ariel (Paul Terkel) do not buy Katurian’s noble stand as a writer. Katurian recites one of his gruesome short stories The Tale of the Town on the River about a poor, little boy with no shoes who is bullied by the local children. One day the little boy offers a hooded driver a piece of the boy’s sandwich. The driver repays the boy by using a meat cleaver to cut off all of the boy’s toes on his right foot. The driver is supposed to be the Pied Piper and he is riding into the German town of Hamelin to lure away all of the children with his magical flute. Due to the boy’s missing toes, he is unable to walk as fast as the other children. The little boy is not taken away by the Pied Piper and becomes a Hamelin survivor.

Detectives Tupolski and Ariel claim they found the toes of a dead, Jewish boy in Katurian’s home.  The detectives assert there is a connection between the crippled boy in Katurian’s short story "The Tale of the Town on the River" and the Jewish boy’s death. A string of other child deaths could be tied to Katurian’s violent short stories. Out of the four hundred stories Katurian wrote, he says “maybe ten or twenty have children in [them].”  Audiences soon discover Katurian’s inspiration for these morbid stories in a film directed by David Rey. The film discloses the horrific abuse and neglect Katurian’s brother Michal (Kyle Kirkpatrick) experienced by their parents—which permanently left Michal “slow to get things.”

The value of this production is its ability to creatively show the effects of childhood abuse through the eyes of Katurian. As the main character and a family member, Katurian’s perspective is unique because he was never abused. His parents loved him and encouraged him to be a great writer. Audiences are able to connect with Michal’s suffering through Katurian’s love for his brother. Likewise, it is Gostkowski’s stellar performance as Katurian that carries this show.  Katurian appears clever and likable, and at the same time, he feels so slippery. Audiences are left wondering if Katurian is telling the truth or lying about the murdered children in his stories.

Anderson is not fully self-expressed and authentic in his portrayal of Detective Tupolski. Director Greg Cicchino could have Anderson face the audience more often and project his voice so that audience members can get related to Anderson’s character during his opening lines. Instead of gauging the audience’s approval of his performance, Anderson could be more powerful by fully stepping into his role as the lead detective. As Detective Tupolski’s partner, Terkel maneuvers through the action scenes seamlessly in his performance of Detective Ariel. When Terkel slams Gostkowski’s head against the wall, the audience gains a real sense of what it is like to live in a totalitarian state. However, Terkel’s frequent use of herbal cigarettes starts to become a distraction and eventually does not add to his character. Kirkpatrick’s performance as Katurian’s mentally challenged brother Michal adds comic relief when Michal goes on about having an itchy butt.

Production designer Aaron Gonzalez created a simple, gray set that feels like a cross between a makeshift jail cell and an abandoned office during the height of the Cold War. The Chain Theatre is a fresh, friendly, intimate space with a gallery exhibition in the lobby by Tyler Hughes. The seating is connected, and if someone in your row is fidgeting throughout the show, their movements can be felt by others sitting in the same row. There is also simulated gunfire during the production for those who are sensitive to noise.

If you have not had a chance to see a performance of McDonagh’s award-winning play The Pillowman, then this is an opportunity to do so. Since its first public reading at London's Finborough Theatre in 1995, the play has traveled around the world. The use of universal, childhood fairy tales allows for generations to easily connect with the material. It is McDonagh’s take on childhood abuse that is most startling and thought-provoking for audiences to discover.

The Pillowman runs until Oct. 3 at the Chain Theatre (21-28 45th Rd. between 21 and 23 Sts.) in Long Island City, Queens. Evening performances are Wednesday-Saturday at 8 p.m. and matinee performances are Saturday and Sunday at 2 p.m. Tickets are $18 in advance and $20 at the door and can be purchased by calling 866-811-4111 or visiting www.variationstheatregroup.com.

Not So Perfect, Definitely Absurd

In Laugh It Up, Stare It Down we are introduced to Joe (Jayce Bartok), who convinces Cleo (Katya Campbell), a woman he’s just met, that their encounter is a pivotal crossroads. This should definitely end in Cleo joining Joe for coffee, he posits. Cleo resists, claiming that she’s already met her “romantic crossroads”—a man named George. By the next scene, however, Cleo and Joe have been dating for two weeks and there’s never another mention of poor George. Not surprisingly, this isn’t the last brush with unfaithfulness in this play written by Alan Hruska and directed by Chris Eigeman.

The rest of the play follows in much the same way as these first two scenes. A plot is introduced, questions are raised, and then the story jarringly jumps to a point in the future, leaving the audience to wonder how exactly the couple got from point A to point B. From their first encounter to their looming demise when a hurricane strikes their town on Rhode Island, Laugh It Up, Stare It Down offers snapshots of climactic times in the couple's lives.

An absurdist play, Laugh It Up, Stare It Down is consistently zany. In one scene, Cleo and Joe’s baby is misplaced by a befuddled nurse before being found and returned to the nursery. In another scene, they sit down for dinner at a restaurant with blank menus and one entrée option. Unfortunately, scenes like this, though entertaining in their wackiness, detract from the script's more thought-provoking and philosophical side.  

Bartok and Campbell realistically portray a couple navigating difficult situations and raising important questions like whether or not romantic love exists, or is merely an illusion killed by “a bit of intimacy.” Are they ready for children? Can they overcome infidelity? Can they maintain “ecstatic” love when life becomes routine? How will they feel when the end is near? All of the conversations revolving around these momentous milestones in their relationship create more questions still.

Bartok and Campbell are buoyed by Amy Hargreaves and Maury Ginsberg who play a variety of supporting characters and really add charm to the show with the different personalities they create. Hargreaves is moving as Alberta, vindictive as Dorothy and hysterical as the Waitress and Nurse Leaving. Ginsberg is detestable as Stephen, intriguing as Arturo and hilarious as Chalmers. It’s truly a treat to watch the supporting actors as they display their acting range.

The biggest standout of the night was the creative team behind Laugh It Up, Stare It Down’s ambiance. Kevin Judge's scenic design, Jennifer Caprio's costume design, Matthew J. Fick's original music and Peter Salett's sound design impressed throughout, but never more-so than during the final scene. A chandelier becomes a buoy, lighting and sound portrays a dark night out at sea, and the result is truly mesmerizing.

If you want a play that doesn’t require suspended disbelief, has a straightforward plot, and a standard happy ending, Laugh It Up, Stare It Down is not for you. This play creates more questions than it answers. But maybe that’s the point. Laugh It Up, Stare it Down isn’t perfect, but it’s certainly absurd—fitting for a show whose tagline is “Life Can Be Perfectly Absurd.”

Laugh It Up, Stare It Down plays through Oct. 10 at the Cherry Lane Theatre (38 Commerce Street) in Manhattan. Evening performances are at 7 p.m. on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday evenings and 8 p.m. on Friday and Saturday evenings. Matinees are at 2 p.m. on Saturdays and 3 p.m. on Sundays. Tickets are between $59-$99 and can be purchased by calling 866-811-4111 or visiting Ovation Tix.