The theatrical version of John Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath, adapted by Frank Galati in late 1988, at 6th Street Playhouse was much heralded for its production; a river in the orchestra pit, a full size truck on stage, barn raisings/lowerings/setting on fire-ings – all of these things are appealing, after all, one of the great aspects of theatrical art is seeing something created there, done right in front of you, for anyone to watch and enjoy and experience live. However, while the production’s technical aspects certainly hit the right mark, the rest of the process (read: acting) was at times stagnant and uninteresting.
This is perhaps too unfair for the 30-plus ensemble that makes up the countryside from the dust bowl to California. In fact, the ensemble makes the show interesting when the scenes are creaking along like so many jalopies breaking down on the road to salvation. Tom Joad, our protagonist, played with a tremendous amount of dull by Brent Lindsay, obviously made a strong choice by playing very close and reserved, but the strength of it seems to disappear slightly when one can’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth. And the times that words are heard, they are strung together so fast that an eloquent speech about family becomes, “meagardagdarhbnrhadhs.” Insightful.
Chris Murphy dwarfs Lindsay in his portrayal of Grandpa Joad. His energy was intoxicating, but it looked as if he didn’t know what to do with it; everything he said was either shouted or muffled into his hands as his excitement grew about the trip. (It should be said, however, that his other character, the Man Who Gives Jobs To The Suckers Who Are Living In A Hooverville, is very quietly powerful.)
This is not to say that there aren’t some good performances in the cast. Ma and Pa Joad, played by Kate Brinkley and Dodds Delzell, respectively, give steadfast, simple, and elegant performances, keeping grounded when so many of the other performers drift off into the Somewhere Else. Dwayne Stincelli, as Uncle John also brings a touch of humanity to the show with his honest portrayal. And as stated before, much of the ensemble scenes are heartwarming and tragic; the simplicity sadness of living in this horrible time is apparent to everyone as they go through the motions of burying their loved ones (on stage, twice!) and try to survive.
It was hard not to pay more attention to the beautiful sets (designed by David Lear), sound and music (Jim Peterson) and costumes (Pamela Johnson) than the action going on upon, in, and around them. Indeed, the most interesting parts are the musical interludes where ensemble members/narrators come out and sing text and songs of the time. The show itself looks beautiful, now if only everyone else would come up to that level.
While Grapes of Wrath was not (by a long shot) a great show, the production values and the energy of the show is consistent, I can say fairly that I did not waste 2 and a half hours of my life, but unfortunately, 6th Street bit off more than it can chew.
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Polished Performances, Small Space
I have a perfect idea. Let’s take King Lear, one of the most well known Shakespeare plays (good or bad, depending on your opinion of the bard), contemporize it, and write it as a comedy. Will it ever work? Well, in Central Works’ revival of their 2002 play, Every Inch a King, it does, for the most part. Just spot the Lear references and tally up your score at the end.
“Our focus is originality,” the mission states at the beginning of the program, and this play, while thematically taking from a non original source, is stuffed full of original ideas in making the ultimate tragedy a little brighter, infused with hope, at least for the short term. This comedic adaptation is a sharp and interesting piece of theatre.
Three sisters, Gwen, Rae, and Leah have come to meet each other after their father, Reginald Leroy, an unseen but greatly felt presence in the other room, has had a stroke. From the start, he can no longer talk, but can communicate through thumping the “old walls” with his cane, and Gwen, the oldest sister, has assumed the role of caretaker, while the other two sisters have come, presumably at the request of Gwen, to talk about what to do with their father.
It is a workout for the three actors, even with a tight script – written by Gary Graves, who also directs - that keeps the action flowing, and in the Berkeley City Club, the performance space is more of a small lounge room than a theatre, seating just shy of 50. It is almost a double-edged sword; the nuances in all three of the women’s performances come out and the small space seems to get smaller as their tensions flare at one another as the night progresses. It is staged beautifully, with only one or two tricky areas in that “theatre in the almost round” space.
While the words push the action along at a nice pace, it was only the interactions between the sisters that was truly interesting about the play – there was a smattering of a plot, an accountant named Ed who wants to sell the land, and who was/is in a relationship with Gwen and Rae, and the character development is little more than stock: sister who cares, sister who doesn’t, sister who’s innocent (but psychic? Maybe it runs in the family).
However, the actors themselves inhabit the characters fully. Rica Anderson plays the youngest, Leah, who has found religion in the ancient Native American tribes of the region. Bad form to laugh at spiritual dances? Not quite sure, but Rica delivers them and other comments – mostly playing on her innocence – with the strength and commitment of a true comedian, as well as truly honest, heartfelt moments about her family.
Sandra Schlechter gives a touching performance as the oldest, Gwen, who takes care of Reginald, and has a great opening speech to the audience, (her 1st grade class). She has, perhaps, the most nuance of the three; the parts where she observes are sometimes more engrossing than the dialogue.
Jan Zvaifler plays Rae, the middle child, with bold strokes and confidence. Her strengths lie in the more action oriented scenes, when the sisters confront their pasts and previous arguments – Jan is incredibly convincing as a woman who wants what’s best for her family, and is completely sure on the path to take.
King is wonderfully designed in lights (Gary Graves), which invoke wonderful moodiness from sunsets to thunderstorms to the paranormal that happens at the height of the storm, to sound (Gregory Scharpen) – ranging from the sitcom idea of cell phones ringing at the exact inopportune time, to downright creepy, and costumes (Tammy Berlin), giving the three sisters distinct visual styles to even more heighten their characters. Of particular note should be the set designer, Chad Owens, who uses the small space to the utmost efficiency, and hinting at the disrepair with duct tape and rotary phones.
Aside for a few times where the energy fell, maybe a fluke, maybe a dropped line, maybe the fact that I was laughing too loud, the play felt longer than it was. But at an hour and forty-five minutes, it ends as a pleasant surprise at the end of the night. It was a great time out at the theatre; this is what art should be – simply extraordinary.
Every Inch a King by Gary Graves: 8 p.m. Thursday-Saturday and 5 p.m. Sundays through Nov. 18 at Berkeley City Club, 2315 Durant Ave. $25-$29, sliding scale; Thursdays, pay-what-you-will. 510.558.1381. centralworks.org.
“Our focus is originality,” the mission states at the beginning of the program, and this play, while thematically taking from a non original source, is stuffed full of original ideas in making the ultimate tragedy a little brighter, infused with hope, at least for the short term. This comedic adaptation is a sharp and interesting piece of theatre.
Three sisters, Gwen, Rae, and Leah have come to meet each other after their father, Reginald Leroy, an unseen but greatly felt presence in the other room, has had a stroke. From the start, he can no longer talk, but can communicate through thumping the “old walls” with his cane, and Gwen, the oldest sister, has assumed the role of caretaker, while the other two sisters have come, presumably at the request of Gwen, to talk about what to do with their father.
It is a workout for the three actors, even with a tight script – written by Gary Graves, who also directs - that keeps the action flowing, and in the Berkeley City Club, the performance space is more of a small lounge room than a theatre, seating just shy of 50. It is almost a double-edged sword; the nuances in all three of the women’s performances come out and the small space seems to get smaller as their tensions flare at one another as the night progresses. It is staged beautifully, with only one or two tricky areas in that “theatre in the almost round” space.
While the words push the action along at a nice pace, it was only the interactions between the sisters that was truly interesting about the play – there was a smattering of a plot, an accountant named Ed who wants to sell the land, and who was/is in a relationship with Gwen and Rae, and the character development is little more than stock: sister who cares, sister who doesn’t, sister who’s innocent (but psychic? Maybe it runs in the family).
However, the actors themselves inhabit the characters fully. Rica Anderson plays the youngest, Leah, who has found religion in the ancient Native American tribes of the region. Bad form to laugh at spiritual dances? Not quite sure, but Rica delivers them and other comments – mostly playing on her innocence – with the strength and commitment of a true comedian, as well as truly honest, heartfelt moments about her family.
Sandra Schlechter gives a touching performance as the oldest, Gwen, who takes care of Reginald, and has a great opening speech to the audience, (her 1st grade class). She has, perhaps, the most nuance of the three; the parts where she observes are sometimes more engrossing than the dialogue.
Jan Zvaifler plays Rae, the middle child, with bold strokes and confidence. Her strengths lie in the more action oriented scenes, when the sisters confront their pasts and previous arguments – Jan is incredibly convincing as a woman who wants what’s best for her family, and is completely sure on the path to take.
King is wonderfully designed in lights (Gary Graves), which invoke wonderful moodiness from sunsets to thunderstorms to the paranormal that happens at the height of the storm, to sound (Gregory Scharpen) – ranging from the sitcom idea of cell phones ringing at the exact inopportune time, to downright creepy, and costumes (Tammy Berlin), giving the three sisters distinct visual styles to even more heighten their characters. Of particular note should be the set designer, Chad Owens, who uses the small space to the utmost efficiency, and hinting at the disrepair with duct tape and rotary phones.
Aside for a few times where the energy fell, maybe a fluke, maybe a dropped line, maybe the fact that I was laughing too loud, the play felt longer than it was. But at an hour and forty-five minutes, it ends as a pleasant surprise at the end of the night. It was a great time out at the theatre; this is what art should be – simply extraordinary.
Every Inch a King by Gary Graves: 8 p.m. Thursday-Saturday and 5 p.m. Sundays through Nov. 18 at Berkeley City Club, 2315 Durant Ave. $25-$29, sliding scale; Thursdays, pay-what-you-will. 510.558.1381. centralworks.org.
More Hot Pies
First off, I would like to say that Sweeney Todd is my Favorite Musical. Some would call me a musical snob, because lately I haven’t really been enjoying anything that doesn’t have complex polyphonic harmonies and deep, twisted plot that comes from Sondheim and his various co conspirators. In the past, I’ve listened to this show and thought it can do no wrong, and that is that.
That being said, I’ve known about the new concept for Sweeney, now starting it’s national tour at A.C.T. in San Francisco, directly importing the show from its new Broadway revival (which in turn was directly imported from its London revival). For those of you not in the know, this incarnation of the demon barber is a very stripped down one; characters are vastly cut – gone are the days of the huge ensemble, it’s now a trim cast of 9. The set is sparse, with action and dialogue facing outward toward the audience, a few chairs, a large towering shelf full of various dolls, knives, and other – for lack of a better word – junk, filling the stands, and a large ominous black coffin in the middle of the stage. There is little guess as to what this musical is going to be about.
The orchestra is also cut, and the actors fill in those roles as well. Perhaps done because of budget, this concept is played through with vigor and commitment – bringing strange and innovative dynamics to the character interactions onstage: Antony, the excellent Benjamin Magnuson, and Johanna, played by Lauren Molina beautifully, play their cellos together in almost perfect choreography, matching their love for one another with quick, passionate bow movements. Every member of the cast plays their music aptly and professionally – no small task given the heavy tone of the show and the tightness of the space.
Sweeney Todd was written, so says Sondheim, for a small, intimate setting like this one, “less is more” – it was Hal Prince, the director of the original Broadway production in 1979 who went for the “more is more” route. Perhaps more is what was ingrained in the music itself, because without the heart pounding orchestrations contributing to Todd’s disintegrating sanity, and the nostalgia that comes from seeing someone’s throat slit and their lifeless corpse falling down a chute to the bakery below, something just seems missing. Perhaps to add a little bit of structure to an already plot heavy show, Tobias, the young barber-turned-pie assistant, is given a framing device of being in an insane asylum, giving his account of the events – the character is frequently seen avidly watching the action on stage. This falls short, but like the rest of the show, seems a fault of the concept and the director, not the commitment of the actor.
Certainly, it is the acting and singing and the all around greatness of the cast that brings this show out of a slightly boggy muck. Watching the show, I wanted nothing from the cast – they were doing everything with such commitment and power that I haven’t seen in theatre for a long time.
Magnuson and Molina, the two lovers who originated the revival roles on Broadway, are excellently matched. They fully engross themselves within the world of the play. Their cellos hotly match one another during their songs, burning their passion through quick strokes. Magnuson, playing Antony, is very much the idealist during the show, he believes through thick and thin that everything will work out, even when things continue to travel down to their darkest and the body count continues to rise (an abstract concept within the show, everybody who is killed puts on lab coats with blood splattered, gets up, walks over to their instrument, and continues to play. Quite effective and creepy, especially if you like a zombie motif). And Molina as Johanna certainly adds to that corpse fest, showing that she is truly her father’s daughter; as an ingénue she radiates innocence, beauty, but with a hint of crazy that grows (and grows and grows…).
The other two “lovers” in this show are Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett. It is unsure whether or not they actually have genuine affection for one another, or that they simply love the situation. David Hess makes an incredible Sweeney, taking more character choices from the original incarnation of the role rather than the revival. He ranges from genuinely monstrous to introspective sadness, and one can definitely see the arc of Sweeney’s numbing to the world through Hess’s beautiful performance. Judy Kaye plays Mrs. Lovett with a practical gruesomeness; her macabre sense of humor shines as she takes over the stage. Of course, Kaye leads the showstopper, “A Little Priest,” and she makes it a scene that makes the show worthwhile. It would be hard not to watch her if not for the excellence of the rest of the company: Katrina Yaukey plays the over the top Adolfo Pirelli (the king of barbers, the barber of kings) with grace and style. Edmund Bagnell as Tobias brings another beautiful touch of innocence to the mix; Keith Butterbaugh’s Judge Turpin brings an almost televangical touch to the role, his honesty is extraordinary as well, I almost felt sorry for him at moments when he was thinking about raping his adopted daughter.
Rounding out the cast is another exquisitely tragic Diana Dimarzio as the Beggar Woman; Benjamin Eakeley as a very slimy Beadle; and John Arbo as Jonas Fogg, who’s one scene near the end is short but strong, and adds to the overall macabre and ghastly tone of the show.
The best thing to say about the show is that everyone in the production looks like they’re having fun with what they are doing. And while the new staging is a little clunky and odd, the cast brings it together with strong commitment and excellent musicality.
That being said, I’ve known about the new concept for Sweeney, now starting it’s national tour at A.C.T. in San Francisco, directly importing the show from its new Broadway revival (which in turn was directly imported from its London revival). For those of you not in the know, this incarnation of the demon barber is a very stripped down one; characters are vastly cut – gone are the days of the huge ensemble, it’s now a trim cast of 9. The set is sparse, with action and dialogue facing outward toward the audience, a few chairs, a large towering shelf full of various dolls, knives, and other – for lack of a better word – junk, filling the stands, and a large ominous black coffin in the middle of the stage. There is little guess as to what this musical is going to be about.
The orchestra is also cut, and the actors fill in those roles as well. Perhaps done because of budget, this concept is played through with vigor and commitment – bringing strange and innovative dynamics to the character interactions onstage: Antony, the excellent Benjamin Magnuson, and Johanna, played by Lauren Molina beautifully, play their cellos together in almost perfect choreography, matching their love for one another with quick, passionate bow movements. Every member of the cast plays their music aptly and professionally – no small task given the heavy tone of the show and the tightness of the space.
Sweeney Todd was written, so says Sondheim, for a small, intimate setting like this one, “less is more” – it was Hal Prince, the director of the original Broadway production in 1979 who went for the “more is more” route. Perhaps more is what was ingrained in the music itself, because without the heart pounding orchestrations contributing to Todd’s disintegrating sanity, and the nostalgia that comes from seeing someone’s throat slit and their lifeless corpse falling down a chute to the bakery below, something just seems missing. Perhaps to add a little bit of structure to an already plot heavy show, Tobias, the young barber-turned-pie assistant, is given a framing device of being in an insane asylum, giving his account of the events – the character is frequently seen avidly watching the action on stage. This falls short, but like the rest of the show, seems a fault of the concept and the director, not the commitment of the actor.
Certainly, it is the acting and singing and the all around greatness of the cast that brings this show out of a slightly boggy muck. Watching the show, I wanted nothing from the cast – they were doing everything with such commitment and power that I haven’t seen in theatre for a long time.
Magnuson and Molina, the two lovers who originated the revival roles on Broadway, are excellently matched. They fully engross themselves within the world of the play. Their cellos hotly match one another during their songs, burning their passion through quick strokes. Magnuson, playing Antony, is very much the idealist during the show, he believes through thick and thin that everything will work out, even when things continue to travel down to their darkest and the body count continues to rise (an abstract concept within the show, everybody who is killed puts on lab coats with blood splattered, gets up, walks over to their instrument, and continues to play. Quite effective and creepy, especially if you like a zombie motif). And Molina as Johanna certainly adds to that corpse fest, showing that she is truly her father’s daughter; as an ingénue she radiates innocence, beauty, but with a hint of crazy that grows (and grows and grows…).
The other two “lovers” in this show are Sweeney and Mrs. Lovett. It is unsure whether or not they actually have genuine affection for one another, or that they simply love the situation. David Hess makes an incredible Sweeney, taking more character choices from the original incarnation of the role rather than the revival. He ranges from genuinely monstrous to introspective sadness, and one can definitely see the arc of Sweeney’s numbing to the world through Hess’s beautiful performance. Judy Kaye plays Mrs. Lovett with a practical gruesomeness; her macabre sense of humor shines as she takes over the stage. Of course, Kaye leads the showstopper, “A Little Priest,” and she makes it a scene that makes the show worthwhile. It would be hard not to watch her if not for the excellence of the rest of the company: Katrina Yaukey plays the over the top Adolfo Pirelli (the king of barbers, the barber of kings) with grace and style. Edmund Bagnell as Tobias brings another beautiful touch of innocence to the mix; Keith Butterbaugh’s Judge Turpin brings an almost televangical touch to the role, his honesty is extraordinary as well, I almost felt sorry for him at moments when he was thinking about raping his adopted daughter.
Rounding out the cast is another exquisitely tragic Diana Dimarzio as the Beggar Woman; Benjamin Eakeley as a very slimy Beadle; and John Arbo as Jonas Fogg, who’s one scene near the end is short but strong, and adds to the overall macabre and ghastly tone of the show.
The best thing to say about the show is that everyone in the production looks like they’re having fun with what they are doing. And while the new staging is a little clunky and odd, the cast brings it together with strong commitment and excellent musicality.
A Mysterious Success
A couple of weeks ago I went to see Word for Word's production of Angel Face at the Artaud Theatre. Coming from my cynical point of view of “every piece of theatre is shit,” especially since my last two experiences, and my current one, are experiences that bring up horrific visions in my head of stressful times, heartfelt performances, and amazingly dreadful directors. Needless to say, I came to the theatre not in the jolliest of moods.
What greeted me upon walking through the doors in the spacious Artaud was a set that seemed to take hints both from the Noir world and Expressionism. High rectangular white walls were in one corner, and diagonal from that, downstage left, a large block platform that serves as multiple apartments for the characters that inhabit this world. The lights gave the subtle hints that we were in a place of mystery; cool tones wash over the set, with one striking light of a window splayed across the stage.
The show itself brought nothing out of the ordinary for those who are familiar with Noir pieces, wrongful imprisonment, vengeance, an innocent woman led down the path of excess. The script was clunky at times, but made up for it with the punctuations of terms from the period, (“young dreadnaught” – a new car, “sucker for a twist” – unable to resist a woman) all referenced in a handy glossary in the middle of the program.
What came as a slight change from the formulaic noir films and theatre is that our hardboiled detective story centered on Jerry Wheeler, the sister of the wrongfully accused man. A murder takes place, and her brother, Chick, is framed for it, being the last person to see Ruby Rose Reading, a woman of loose morals. She follows the mystery to its end, and, with the help of a local dick/love interest, she digs deeper into the seedy underbelly of New York City.
Of particular note is Michael Patrick Gaffney, playing many characters over the course of the evening, came just short of stealing the show with his performance of what could be a largely overlooked part of an auctioneer.
While the ending is predictable and the text is a little quirky and rambling at times (a large section is spent in search of red herrings, and more often than not, it seemed like the action wanted to go quicker than it was allowed), the actors were in the same world, there were no weak links in the cast, and it was easily apparent as to how hard they were working by the fact that everyone looked as if they were naturally vengeful, stylistic, hard-boiled, streetwise people. The true delight of the story itself is the fact that Word for Word does exactly what it says. The company takes a story and, word for word, adapts it for the stage - the noir style works seamlessly with their own, and while the characters in any other play might seem neurotic dictating their actions without pause, it felt perfectly in context to hear each of them advertise their movements.
Angel Face is largely a fan piece – the play is primarily for true noir aficionados. However, the acting and the simple visual beauty of the piece give it a universality that could be enjoyed by everyone.
Or not, because it ended 2 weeks ago. Oops.
What greeted me upon walking through the doors in the spacious Artaud was a set that seemed to take hints both from the Noir world and Expressionism. High rectangular white walls were in one corner, and diagonal from that, downstage left, a large block platform that serves as multiple apartments for the characters that inhabit this world. The lights gave the subtle hints that we were in a place of mystery; cool tones wash over the set, with one striking light of a window splayed across the stage.
The show itself brought nothing out of the ordinary for those who are familiar with Noir pieces, wrongful imprisonment, vengeance, an innocent woman led down the path of excess. The script was clunky at times, but made up for it with the punctuations of terms from the period, (“young dreadnaught” – a new car, “sucker for a twist” – unable to resist a woman) all referenced in a handy glossary in the middle of the program.
What came as a slight change from the formulaic noir films and theatre is that our hardboiled detective story centered on Jerry Wheeler, the sister of the wrongfully accused man. A murder takes place, and her brother, Chick, is framed for it, being the last person to see Ruby Rose Reading, a woman of loose morals. She follows the mystery to its end, and, with the help of a local dick/love interest, she digs deeper into the seedy underbelly of New York City.
Of particular note is Michael Patrick Gaffney, playing many characters over the course of the evening, came just short of stealing the show with his performance of what could be a largely overlooked part of an auctioneer.
While the ending is predictable and the text is a little quirky and rambling at times (a large section is spent in search of red herrings, and more often than not, it seemed like the action wanted to go quicker than it was allowed), the actors were in the same world, there were no weak links in the cast, and it was easily apparent as to how hard they were working by the fact that everyone looked as if they were naturally vengeful, stylistic, hard-boiled, streetwise people. The true delight of the story itself is the fact that Word for Word does exactly what it says. The company takes a story and, word for word, adapts it for the stage - the noir style works seamlessly with their own, and while the characters in any other play might seem neurotic dictating their actions without pause, it felt perfectly in context to hear each of them advertise their movements.
Angel Face is largely a fan piece – the play is primarily for true noir aficionados. However, the acting and the simple visual beauty of the piece give it a universality that could be enjoyed by everyone.
Or not, because it ended 2 weeks ago. Oops.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Filling
This post fills this space.
It is truly nothing.
I meant to come up with some story, something
About bees
Or food
Or trees
Or plays
Or playing
Or time.
But it just fills the space.
It is truly nothing.
I meant to come up with some story, something
About bees
Or food
Or trees
Or plays
Or playing
Or time.
But it just fills the space.
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