Steven Leigh MorrisNEW REVIEW GO SMUDGE The birth of a child usually is seen as a joyful event — but what if it isn't? In Rachel Axler's disturbing play, the lives of an expectant couple — Colby (Heather Fox) and Nicholas (Mark Thomsen) — are upended when Colby gives birth to a limbless being with a single eye. The infant is not only strange to look at; it also responds weirdly — or, more commonly, not at all — to attempts to communicate. At home all day, Colby reacts to it with despair and rage, but the ingenuous Nick, a census official, falls head over heels for his new baby girl — although that doesn't keep him from concealing her oddity from his family, or forestall his mailing out a dissentious questionnaire to the public titled “What Could You Kill?” (Sample question: Could you kill a pig?) Nick's peculiar behavior corners the concern of his brother Peter (Bart Tangredi), a snide guy whose cynicism, within this piece, stands in for the world at large. Axler strews her unsettling story with harsh humor that might have offended but doesn't. Instead, higher motifs — the definition of life, the limitations of love and the human struggle to adjust one's expectations to painful realities — remain the production's paramount focus, under Darin Anthony's discerning direction. Tangredi's smarmy dude adds an edgy dynamic, while Thomsen is especially affecting as a man struggling for his illusions — and his sanity. Joe Slawinski's sound design elaborates nicely on the couple's nightmare. GTC Burbank, 1111-B W. Olive Ave., Burbank; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m., Sun., 2 p.m. (added perf Thurs., Feb. 3, 8 p.m.), through Feb. 19. (800) 838-3006. Presented by Syzygy Theatre. (Deborah Klugman)
For all NEW THEATER REVIEWS seen over the weekend, press the More tab directly below.
NEW THEATER REVIEWS scheduled for publication Jan. 20, 2011
NEW REVIEW
AMY & ELLIOT As sweet, slacker champion Elliot sits on his grubby
couch, propping his safety-pinned Converses on the coffee table and
strumming his guitar, a theme pushes through the haze of weed and
inertia: Writer, director and star Ryan Eggold watched a lot of movies
about the '90s. Built around Elliot and his bumbling but earnest
attempts to navigate “grown-up” relationships, Eggold's play is as vague
as its setting (“The City” in “The '90s”), as circular as the path
Elliot makes pouring Cap'n Crunch for his visitors, and as self-absorbed
as his exasperating best friend, Amy (Alexandra Breckenridge). In other
words, he's constructed a close approximation of the movies, like Singles and Kicking and Screaming,
that ended up romanticizing the angst and aimlessness of the
existentially challenged 20-somethings dubbed Generation X. Eggold's so
comfortable with the script that he glides through the show like a
dancer. But too often, his puppy-dog charm turns grating when his
dialogue dips from funny (“I don't wanna join Jehovah's Witness or
whatever,” he says through his door to a solicitor) to cutesy (“Ice
cream, yeah, we all scream for it!”). Robert Baker is refreshingly solid
as the lone adult in the play; and Gillian Zinser, Eggold's cast mate
on TV series 90210, deserves credit for the considerable steam
picked up in Act 2. Stella Adler Theatre, 6773 Hollywood Blvd., Hlywd.;
Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m., Sun, 3 p.m., through Jan. 30. (818) 342-4319.
(Rebecca Haithcoat)
NEW REVIEW GO CIRCLE MIRROR TRANSFORMATION
Photo by Ben Horak/SCR
The
opening of Annie Baker's comedy about five ordinary people in a Vermont
community center's drama class couldn't be less funny, or theatrical:
five bodies lying on the hardwood floor playing a counting game, where
each shouts one number in the sequence of one to 10 without interrupting
anybody else. The purpose is to be “present,” and sensitive to the
silence in the room. And the action never leaves that room, designed by
David Zinn, through a series of short scenes spanning the six class
sessions over six weeks. There's much silence in Sam Gold's staging of
the entire play — deliberately, strategically. Though set in a drama
class that veers into group therapy (nobody does any acting, one
aspiring actress complains; they just tell stories from their lives, or
from the lives of their classmates), both the play and its production
aim to squelch the kinds of theatrical devices that keep an audience's
attention; at the same time, the play reveals microscopic truths of
day-to-day living. These include awkward silences. It's a bit like
turning a video camera on a rather mediocre acting class, to see what
that says about life. Playwright Baker brings similar verisimilitude to
the dialogue, which consists of non sequiturs and interrupted
confessions, in what might be called profound inarticulation. Despite
the buckets of cold water thrown on the artifices of theater that
usually keep our attention, Baker's poeticism and play structure are
deviously canny. What emerges is a tautly structured, macroscopic poem
about the trajectories of ordinary lives as seen through a microscope. A
middle-aged, newly divorced carpenter (Ayre Gross) falls for the
younger actress (Marin Hinkle) up from the city; though she toys with
him for a week or two, her real target is the husband (Brian Kerwin) of
the group leader (Linda Gehringer). Their marriage falls to pieces
before our eyes. And so on. Not sure the insights about infidelity and
breaking hearts and sexual abuse go beyond generic, but the way they're
revealed, mostly in the silences, is a wonder and a credit to the
ensemble. Call it a Chekhovian exercise in modern Vermont. South Coast
Repertory, 655 Town Center Drive, Costa Mesa; Tues.-Fri., 7:45 p.m.,
Sat.-Sun., 2 & 7:30 p.m., through Jan. 30. (714) 708-5555. (Steven
Leigh Morris)
NEW REVIEW GO CIRCUS INCOGNITUS
Photo by Amanda Russell
Armed
with a Charlie Chaplin-esque persona, acrobatic acumen, a snare drum,
fruit, a rickety ladder and an uncanny knack for inspiring giggling fits
in small children, Jamie Adkins performs a one-man circus that needs no
big top. At the outset, simple props perch unobtrusively on a mostly
bare stage, an artistic choice that evokes the endless possibilities of
an empty palette. Adkins, who has performed with Cirque du Soleil and
Montreal's Cirque Eloize, eases into the filling of said palette,
launching the show with a bumbling battle between man, chair, cardboard
box and slip of paper. The concepts behind his gags are simple (retrieve
the slip of paper from inside the cardboard box); the execution,
anything but. (Dive head-first into the box from a chair that
continually tips over.) Whether juggling, walking a dubiously flimsy
tightrope, teaching a bowler hat a few dance moves or chasing a
flashlight beam, Adkins always plays the stupid adult, to the delight of
young audience members. The directorial shouts from the audience of 6-
to 10-year-olds are half the fun here (“If you don't hold on, you're
going to fall!”). Meanwhile, adults can marvel at Adkins' honed clowning
techniques and impressive physical fluidity. By the time Adkins clamps a
fork between his teeth for the purpose of catching oranges hurled at
his face by audience members, he has already demonstrated the
squeal-inducing joy of skilled silliness. Kirk Douglas Theatre, 9820
Washington Blvd., Culver City; Sat., 11 a.m. & 3 p.m., Sun., 3 p.m.,
through Jan. 23. (213) 628-2772. (Amy Lyons)
NEW REVIEW GROUP: A MUSICAL A therapy
session's powerful emotions and needs should be a fine match for the
intensified drama of musical theater, and for book writer/lyricist Adam
Emperor Southard's uneven and intellectually ambitious musical about
group therapy. Sadly, though, director Richard Tatum's lackluster
production is marred by flat acting and indifferent music (by Josh Allan
Dykstra). As kindly psychiatrist Dr. Allen (Isaac Wade, nicely intense)
starts his new group-therapy practice, he opts to try an experiment:
hiring a rock band. The songster shrink prescribes that his patients
“sing” their confessions and arguments in session, on the theory that
rock music will allow troubled souls to find inner peace. It is, of
course, a daffy idea that would give Jung nightmares he hadn't already
diagnosed, and would make Freud drop his cigar. Yet Dr. Allen's troop of
patients obediently warble their way through their neuroses. Likable
college student Paul (Michael Hanson) belts a song about not being able
to have a relationship, while gay kid Chris (Evan Wall) operatically
finds the strength to come out to his dad. Other members of their group
find closure for their problems, as well — in song, natch. Although
Tatum's sometimes haltingly paced production can't be faulted for
sincerity or good intentions, it suffers from a double whammy: The
generic-therapy conflicts strain to engender our sympathy, while the
songs are a collection of slight melodies and unexceptional lyrics along
the lines of, “You've got your issues. Here, take a tissue.” The
ensemble works together well, crafting a set of engaging characters, but
a lack of training is frequently evident in their singing. Powerhouse
Theatre, 3116 Second St., Santa Monica; Thurs.-Sat., 8 p.m., through
Jan. 29. Presented by Los Angeles Theatre Ensemble. latensemble.com. (Paul Birchall)
NEW REVIEW
GO MACHO LIKE ME
Photo by Eric Sueyoshi
In
her solo performance, the very funny Helie Lee explores the issue of
male privilege from a South Korean female perspective. (Though she was
born in Seoul, her family emigrated to the U.S. when she was 4.) She saw
firsthand how her brother was treated as a crown prince, while she and
her sister were judged purely on their marital prospects — provoking
her parents' urgent concern with getting her married. She decided to
live as a man for 10 weeks, to experience the strength and freedom she
attributed to men. She strapped down her bosom, had her hair cut short,
acquired a masculine wardrobe and set out to gain entry to all-male
enclaves; the results were not what she expected. She found that men's
lives were no less constricted than women's, limited by competitive
machismo and the fear of being perceived as gay. The tale is both
illuminating and hilarious as she gains new insights into what it's like
to live as a man and as a woman. By the end of her experiment, she's
delighted to return to the familiar bonds of femininity. With director
Sammy Wayne, she has forged a rich, witty, seamless tale. Coast
Playhouse, 8325 Santa Monica Blvd., W. Hlywd.; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m., Sun., 3
p.m., through Feb. 13. (800) 595-4849, macholikeme.com. (Neal Weaver)
NEW REVIEW GO ME, AS A PENGUIN
Photo by Claudia Unger
Yorkshire
playwright Tom Wells' comedy, in its U.S. premiere, is a throwback to
British “Kitchen Sink” dramas of the 1950s. This one might be dubbed a
“Toilet Bowl” comedy. “I think you should see this,” says visiting
Stitch (Brendan Hunt), peeking out from the bathroom door belonging to
his his very pregnant sister, Liz ( Mina Badie). “Whatever you've done,
just keep flushing,” she fires back from her threadbare couch. The play
unfolds from her grubby living room. With his penchant for the comfort
of knitting, idiosyncratic and perhaps mentally touched Stitch is
visiting his sister in Hull from even more rural Withernsea, in order to
check out Hull's gay scene. The tenderness between the misfit, almost
mortally lonely Stitch and his very pregnant sister has much in common
with Shelagh Delaney's 1958 similarly tender play, A Taste of Honey.
Themes of loyalty, love, and desperate longing – intertwined with
sado-masochistic behaviors — just keep trickling across the divide of
centuries, and in much the same gritty, earthy theatrical style depicted
in filthy furniture (set by John Pleshette) that represents poverty,
and not just the poverty of financial resources. Pleshette directs a
fine production that gets to the heart of the matter, even if some of
the North Country dialects drift a wee bit southwest into, say, Alabama.
Hunt serves up a dynamic performance as Stitch, laced with twitches and
subtle mannerisms. Bradie's Liz has a similar richness and
authenticity. James Donovan plays Liz's partner, and the father of her
child, Mark, with a blend of the requisite gruffness required by a guy
trying to scrape out a living in Hull, masking a soft-heartedness that
would get him cast out to sea, were more people to know about it. Stitch
becomes obsessed with a callow aquarium attendant named Dave, played by
Johnny Giacalone with an arrogant brutishness that's a pleasingly
heart-hearted antidote to the eccentric humanity that shows up in the
room. In her pregnancy, Liz has become almost addicted to a popular
British snack called Battenberg cake. “Ah,” remarks Stitch drolly,
watching her opens the wrapper and melt into paroxysms of delight at the
first bite: “Sponge. Jam. Marzipan. All the major food groups.” What
keep audiences watching new plays may not be new forms at all, but
merely the references that provide the necessary inclusion. The Lost
Studio, 130 S. La Brea Ave., Los Angeles; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.; Sun., 4
p.m.; through March 6 (323) 960-7721. (Steven Leigh Morris)
NEW REVIEW 99 IMPOSSIBLE THINGS
Photo by Chelsea Sutton
Though Chelsea Sutton's play is not set in Central Perk
(there's no Rachel or Monica, no Ross or Chandler or Joey in Sutton's
Magic Bean Coffee Shop locale), there is a Phoebe of sorts. Actually,
there are six of them. But instead of performing amusingly absurd guitar
songs, or recounting childhood tales of woe in hilarious ways, these
“Phoebes,” along with two imaginary friends and a guardian angel, simply
ramble on about “what's real” and what's not through 12 largely
incoherent scenes. There's barely a plot, a story, dramatic stakes or a
protagonist, and the central conflict (the soul of the drama) emerges
sporadically. Most of the dialogue sounds like a college improv show in
which someone said, “OK, you hang out in a coffee shop, you have an
imaginary friend but you're not sure why, and nobody else is either:
Go!” Sutton's serving as writer, director and producer suggests a reason
behind the absence of a critical or collaborative eye. Even the
performances, save that of RJ Farrington (who portrays the guardian
angel), lack sheen. The highlight of the production is Bryan Forrest's
authentically detailed coffee shop set. Eclectic Company Theatre, 5312
Laurel Canyon Blvd., Valley Village; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m., Sun., 7 p.m.,
through Feb. 13. (818) 508-3003, eclecticcompanytheatre.org. (Mayank Keshaviah)
NEW REVIEW GO SMUDGE The birth of a
child usually is seen as a joyful event — but what if it isn't? In
Rachel Axler's disturbing play, the lives of an expectant couple —
Colby (Heather Fox) and Nicholas (Mark Thomsen) — are upended when
Colby gives birth to a limbless being with a single eye. The infant is
not only strange to look at; it also responds weirdly — or, more
commonly, not at all — to attempts to communicate. At home all day,
Colby reacts to it with despair and rage, but the ingenuous Nick, a
census official, falls head over heels for his new baby girl — although
that doesn't keep him from concealing her oddity from his family, or
forestall his mailing out a dissentious questionnaire to the public
titled “What Could You Kill?” (Sample question: Could you kill a pig?)
Nick's peculiar behavior corners the concern of his brother Peter (Bart
Tangredi), a snide guy whose cynicism, within this piece, stands in for
the world at large. Axler strews her unsettling story with harsh humor
that might have offended but doesn't. Instead, higher motifs — the
definition of life, the limitations of love and the human struggle to
adjust one's expectations to painful realities — remain the
production's paramount focus, under Darin Anthony's discerning
direction. Tangredi's smarmy dude adds an edgy dynamic, while Thomsen is
especially affecting as a man struggling for his illusions — and his
sanity. Joe Slawinski's sound design elaborates nicely on the couple's
nightmare. GTC Burbank, 1111-B W. Olive Ave., Burbank; Fri.-Sat., 8
p.m., Sun., 2 p.m. (added perf Thurs., Feb. 3, 8 p.m.), through Feb. 19.
(800) 838-3006. Presented by Syzygy Theatre. (Deborah Klugman)
NEW REVIEW TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD
Photo courtesy of The Production Company
It's
easy to understand why playwright Christopher Sergel's 1970 stage
adaptation of Harper Lee's sentimental Southern Gothic novel was adopted
for its annual pageant by Lee's hometown of Monroeville, Ala. Its
depiction of a noble white patrician defending a helpless, subservient
black field hand from being framed for rape by ignorant white-trash
extremists is undoubtedly how the South would like to view its Jim Crow
past. Why the Production Company chose Sergel's Sunday-school chestnut
to inaugurate their new home at the Lex Theatre, however, remains a
mystery. The chief virtue of director T.L. Kolman's by-the-book
production (amid designer August Viverito's lamentably clumsy
clapboard-facade set pieces) is in allowing the company's versatile
stock players to strut their stuff in the play's numerous supporting
roles: Ferrell Marshall as the story's wryly astute narrator, Maudie
Atkinson; a nuanced Jim Hanna as Maycomb's perspicacious Sheriff Heck
Tate; Inda Craig-Galván and Lorenzo T. Hughes' twin portraits of dignity
under duress as Calpurnia and Tom Robinson; Skip Pipo being diabolical
as inbred bigot Bob Ewell. Beside these veterans, juveniles Brighid
Fleming, L.J. Benet and Patrick Fitzsimmons hold their own with
confidence as, respectively, Scout, Jem and Dill. But it is James
Horan's weirdly accomplished, cadence-perfect mimicry of Gregory Peck's
film performance as Atticus that proves the evening's perversely guilty
pleasure. Lex Theatre, 6760 Lexington Ave., L.A.; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m.,
Sun., 3 p.m., through Feb. 20. (800) 838-3006. A presentation of the
Production Company. theprodco.com. (Bill Raden)
NEW REVIEW GO TWELFTH NIGHT marks the
worthy launch of this theater's 17th season. With its multilayered
plot, theatrical high jinks, silly sweetness and romance, Twelfth Night
is one of the Bard's most popular works. With a nod to the traditional
yuletide celebration after which the play is named, director J.C.
Gafford's production features music, caroling, dancing and revelry. The
setting of Illyria is here re-created as a large, raised platform,
surrounded by a table set for a feast, kegs and some old boxes. Though
not especially picturesque, it has a certain rustic appeal, and changes
in scenes are smoothly handled by a member of the troupe with
hand-painted placards. Kristina Mitchell does a fine turn as Viola, the
main character in this romp of romance and mistaken identity, who is
shipwrecked and separated from her twin brother, Sebastian (Jackson
Thompson), on a different part of Illyria. She goes in disguise as a boy
named Cesario, employed by the lovesick Duke Orsino (Jim Kohn), who
uses her to court (on his behalf) his beloved but less-than-requiting
Lady Olivia (Amy Clites). But Viola has herself fallen for her employer,
the Duke, while his would-be mistress, Lady Olivia, finds herself
smitten with the “boy” Viola is impersonating. The unraveling of this
romantic knot makes for lively comedy under Gafford's smart direction,
with uniformly good performances. Seth Margolies is a riot as the
bumbling Sir Toby Belch. Casey E. Lewis, who puts one in mind of Stan
Laurel, is equally funny as the comically foiled Malvolio, while Jason
Rowland provides tons of laughs as the fool, Feste. Knightsbridge
Theater, 1944 Riverside Drive, Silver Lake; Fri.-Sat., 8 p.m., Sun., 6
p.m., through Feb. 13. (323) 667-0955. (Lovell Estell III)
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