This play pits three Brooklyn gangsters (two wannabes and a ``pro,'' Joey the Genius) against a bank. The bank wins, because Joey (Bob Manus) lost the plans and improvised the rehearsal for the job using a Monopoly board.
The scenes leading up to the gruesome finale -- the planning meeting, the goodbye scene between Tony (Dean Negri looking like John Travolta in a greasy pompadour) and his aunt Louise (Roslyne Hahn, acting 20 years older than her headshot) -- were low-key and effective. Kenny (Gil Grail, perfectly cast as Tony's sidekick), while not smart enough to realize he doesn't need Tony, is smart enough to know they don't need to do a bank robbery and move to California -- when all that's bugging Tony is living in the same town as his father. And Hahn did a touching turn as the over-the-hill wannabe actress, who could have played a hooker in Easy Rider.
But come the bank robbery (effectively acted out in freeze frames, with much shooting), the three gangsters are stuck in the vault, which has shut on a time lock. Worse, they are with a mortally wounded security guard (effectively played by Conrad Glover in one long death scene) and a bystander, Marty, a would-be NYU film student (John Jordan).
Joey, trading in his Humphrey Bogart shtick for Billy Crystal shtick, sneers and wisecracks throughout the scene, including when Kenny admits that he feels a certain way about Tony that guys from Brooklyn just don't talk about. Marty, the cinematic wannabe, offers them immortality if they will let him tape them shooting it out in a final blaze of glory when the vault opens. (It turns out he has no tape in his camera.) They all die in a hail of their own bullets when someone makes a wrong move.
This play may have been intended to show the dramatic arc that begins with the tough guys planning a robbery and ends with two of them reaching for each other's hands as they die, but it gets derailed by the crazed film guy and Joey the Genius. Nothing could survive in that bank vault, least of all a serious play about the dirty psychological underside of gangsterdom.
What aggravated matters in performance was a claque of Joey's friends, howling with glee each time he mugged to them on one of his lines or whenever Kenny tried to talk about his feelings for Tony. Perhaps author/director Gottlieb lost control of the production (it's been known to happen to neophyte author/directors). It's hard to believe that he truly intended the scene to be screamingly funny, which it was to some members of the audience. Well, that's live theatre.
Gottlieb's knack with one-liners proved a handicap in this play, since he set up the comic expectations of the audience with lots of laughs in the first two scenes. But those laughs were just comic relief for the bleakness of the general psychological scenery. The later laughs were a hysterical assault on the fourth wall and a denial of what the play was about. (Five guys dying in a bank vault offers slim pickings for comedy, except maybe in a Saturday Nigh Live sketch. And if this was such a sketch, why have the first two scenes?)
It is to be hoped that Gottlieb will return to the drawing board with this script and have another crack at it. There's an interesting play there, but it's buried under layers of superfluous matter.
The barebones set, lighting, and sound (the latter two by Andi Hogan) didn't hinder the production.
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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(In repertory with Summoners' Ensemble production of Macbeth. See p. 21 for related story.)
The director understood the play and told the story so well that footnotes were never required. That achievement signals a major gift.
Not all the innovations worked perfectly: sending radio messages from what looked like toilet seats around the heads of sentinels wasn't among the greater successes. But transforming a set drapery into a ducal garment, or setting the fatal marital bed scene with dancing sheets, were good ideas.
Steven Anthony Watkins, in his final year of the Actors Studio MFA program at the New School, displayed tremendous power as Othello. His career promises to be major. Inventing an African accent (with a Caribbean lilt), his ``sooty bosom'' featuring the kind of steel ``abs'' advertised on television, and graceful as a dancer when he sank in despair, he had no problem in his fiery scenes. Only in his gentleness did his bark sink slightly.
As Iago Grant James Varjas seemed a bit too wholesome for ``knavery's plain face.'' But he made up lawyer's arguments and poetry convincingly and thoroughly twisted Iago's complex psychology in the vortex of lying villainy.
The part of Desdemona lay a bit north of Karen Garvey's sprightly talents. Although physically she bore the bumptious youth of Juliet, her manner and operatic death rang more of a pampered Valley Girl who lost her hanky than a shattered Ophelia about to lose her life.
Thus, responding to Othello's rage, her ``What's the matter?'' justifiably drew laughs when terror was at hand. The actress's resemblance to Nicole Simpson (especially next to Mr. Watkins's athletic bearing) allowed the wife-beater's California tragedy to bubble into consciousness too often.
Erica Yoder, as the hapless wife of the villainous Iago, on the other hand, was simply wonderful. Her astonishing range veered from action to action, gracefully, logically, quickly, and beautifully in her too few, too brief monologues. Finally it was her character's death that redeemed the tragedy. Would that she had traded parts with Desdemona!
Jim Horigan as the passionate Roderigo displayed the adolescent enthusiasm and disappointment of a 12-year old; and Michael Lasswell's fine Cassio, whose macho approval of the fair Desdemona sets the tragedy in motion, did equally well designing scenery (dagger-shaped mirror shards hung on black lace panels over a spider-webbed stone floor) and discreetly modern costumes (black leather, white fabric, gold adornments, blood red mesh, and textured sashes).
Other actors (all were fine) included David Borror, Jennifer Cousin, Edward J. Cunningham, Eric Hanson, and Mark Pow.
Michael S. Appel's ``Rembrandt lighting'' caught the smell of blood, but occasionally left the players in the dark, which is interesting in film or on canvas, but sometimes not intended on the stage.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 2
Copyright 1997 Marshall Yaeger
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These two matched one-acts share much thematic material, concerning illusion vs. reality and the nature of the self. It is instructive that the Durang (an author with chronic lack of control of his fastball) came over much better than the Carozza. Perhaps the quality of the material inspired the actors to greater heights, or at least empowered them. Or perhaps the cast and director of the Durang were just up to it.
At any rate, Carozza's play starts with chronic critic Ralph Champion (Thomas Coté) sleeping at the table, his head on four pillows. An acquaintance, the even more obnoxious Myrtle Bender (Beth Soroken) enters and starts one of her endless monologs about herself. (Her monologs are punctuated throughout with asides by Ralph, as he comments acidly on the other characters.) They go to the airport and pick up their friend Ives St. Croix (Kelly Morast), gay globetrotter, one of whose annoying habits is backseat driving -- which leads to an accident, apparently not fatal (though the question hangs over most of the rest of the play). They go to a restaurant, where they meet the ghost of high-school acquaintance Ursula Lesniak (Tracy Newirth). Ursula is still obsessed with how unpopular she was as a teen, despite her willingness to fellate the chess team. At the restaurant they also run into Humphrey, the waiter (Michael Edmund), whom they've also known (and despised) since high school. Finally the secondary characters pick up the four pillows Ralph was sleeping on and exit, leaving him realizing that it had all been a dream. Hmmm.
That this Dream of the Rood scenario took all of 70 minutes and required five thoroughly unlikable characters rather limited the potential for subtlety, amusement, and revelation. The actors did a fine job of portraying their one-note characters, but the result was far from enjoyable. Compilers of Box Scores constantly run into this paradox.
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
The Durang play was a delight, by contrast. It portrays a young
woman, Jane (Lizzie Peet), whose personality
and family are both breaking up on the rocks of insanity. Her
mother (Carey Cromelin), Edith Fromage, is having
an affair with her own son -- or is it her husband? Or a foreign
lover? Or her father? (The all-purpose male was played with a
readiness to switch gears by Jonathan Sobel.)
Jed Dickson was delightfully Clark Kent-like
as Jane's shrink, Mr. Summers, who goes out and has a sex change.
Not to worry -- his wife comes in wearing his clothes and glasses,
because she too has had a sex change. But they feel uncomfortable
in new clothes, and switch, so that at the end he is wearing his
clothes as drag and she is wearing hers. Which would appear to
be a full circle, except that each has acquired all the other's
mannerisms, with their distinct genderness.
That Durang could pull all this off underscores his abilities as a minor playwright, who has difficulty working in a longer form. That the cast and director could pull it off with aplomb, in 20 minutes, deserves the highest credit.
The cartoon-cutout windows and doors were simple but effective; the dressing of the table and couch was pure cartoon (Bill Wood). The lighting (Richard Callahan) was bright and warm, as befit the false good cheer that pervades the play. (Costumes, Sharon Sobel.)
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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The problem with this earnest and heartfelt play about the homeless is its primitivism, which, while making all sort of points about its subject, fails to cohere as a dramatic work. Without the dramatist's artifice, there is no tension, excitement, or entertainment; without entertainment, propaganda becomes ineffective.
Evans's play concerns 17 characters -- count 'em! -- whose lives intertwine in a subway tunnel that has become a loose collective of homeless people. Their existence threatened by workfare bullies, the police, their own kind, and the railroad itself, they grimly survive in their underground ``adobes'' of cardboard and scavenged household wares. They even have an illegal source of electric power, which causes constant frustration as one or another member overloads it.
The major character is Ted (Malcolm Sonsire), whose wife (Jennifer Celia) returns to live with him while they both look for jobs (something he has an aversion to). But there is also a mother and her daughter (M.C. Smith and Gillian Boswell); the former has a workfare job while the latter tries to make it at school, where she falls asleep in class, and her classmates call her a ``tunnel rat'' and steal her books. As well as a ``seder lady,'' an old Jewish woman who tries to have a seder underground (Frances Lois); Ben (Paul Hiatt), who has a TV; two women, one of whom has been spurned by the ``mole'' people at ``the other end of the tunnel'' because she is HIV-positive (Nancy Star Moss and Sherry Chow); and two other unattached males (Christopher Boyd and Jonathan Ermler), who, with Ted, make up the informal ruling committee of the tunnel. At the very end, a woman brings her mother down (in a wheelchair!) with the intent of abandoning her (Judith Boxley and Patricia Vallance). The characters of the good guys (tunnel residents) are shown sympathetically, not hiding the insecurity and fear of failure that hinders their competition in the world above.
On the negative side of the ledger, a number of bad guys, painted in universal black, seek to end life in the tunnel. They are represented by two cops (Peter Villafane and Tim Norfleet) and two club-wielding homeless people looking to take over the tunnel (Norfleet and Brendan Gallagher).
Watching on are two bureaucrats, the incompetent Agency Lady (Cindy Owens) and a lawyer (Jennifer Ritchkoff, who also played what seemed to be a homeless mental patient).
These stories intertwine and unravel, seriatim, until the end, when the sound of a locomotive indicates that the occupants had better get out of the tunnel fast. (In keeping with the anticlimactic style of the play, the horn was heard at the end of at least two scenes, probably because of a bad sound cue.)
The acting style of all but a few ``principals'' showed a similar earnestness, with a lot of hand-sawing and wooden delivery. Actors seemed constantly to be wandering off their marks, as though they didn't know where they were supposed to be, playing havoc with the stage picture and focus of attention. The set (cardboard boxes) and costumes (rags) fit the bill.
The Village Voice once did a feature on just such a tunnel, which they described as pitch dark. Starting with darkness would have enhanced the theatricality of the piece, adding lights from drains, flashlights, etc. as needed. And an oncoming train could have been effectively staged, especially considering the excellent sound system. Instead the play used more or less full light all the time, except when the power went off.
Box Score:
Writing 0
Directing 0
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 0
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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Playwright/actor/director Assurbanipal Babilla was scratching his ass the other night in the Red Room at KGB. But Purgatorio, Ink, being the sort of company that prides itself on cutting-edge theatre, did not stop there. Mr. Babilla next offered his busy fingers to the noses of front-row audience members, none of whom, it is a pleasure to report, accepted the invitation. Not that they weren't game; one imagines that they'd already gotten their fill of the excremental.
Born Again is a creaky vehicle for the eclectic meditations of Mr. Babilla, who, as every courageous artist should, takes on only the largest of humanity's questions. That he does so in such a disorganized and pompous piece as this does not help his cause. Five women from the mythical land of Chorbia, all murdered by the same serial killer, meet in heaven (or perhaps hell -- vagueness being the hallmark of this sort of work) and dilate on their last few earthly hours. There is Scarlet Zhyvago (Elissa Kammer), a Carmen-like figure who meets her killer after years spent as a whore with her father as pimp. She, like her fellow victims, is turned on by her murderer, and finally turned on by BEING murdered; each woman experiences multiple orgasms while being brutally beaten and dismembered. (In a recent interview, Mr. Babilla stated, ``I have a feeling that in this day and age, the only interesting thing is murder. Anything else does not seem to be as sexually titillating.'' To each his own, as the adage goes, but it was a grievous error on the writer's part to assume that dime-store Freudianism would make an audience more receptive to his other meditations. In fact, this tactic made suspect all his other insights, some of which were admittedly quite good.) Other characters include Nagila Triptiknik (Lynne Kanter) who meets her slayer in a Chorbian bar, and Neon Blossom (Victoria Thomas), ``the last in a long line of fatalists,'' who is cut into tiny pieces in Tashkent. These three actresses in particular seemed to capture best the spirit of this work, provoking guffaws and gasps with every other sentence. Less successful, though still game, were Rebecca Levenfeld and Suzanne E. Fletcher.
Although virtually mute (aside from the occasional ``yeah''), Mr. Babilla's presence loomed large over the proceedings. The written version of Born Again contains a long monologue for his character, Kalvin, which in performance was instead distributed among the other five actors. This too seemed to be a mistake; these lines desperately needed an actor of force and presence -- perhaps Mr. Babilla himself -- to give them life.
The costumes and set (also by Mr. Babilla) were purely functional but did not distract from the action, which was perhaps also unfortunate. Musical interludes from the most popular aria from the world's most popular opera (The ``Toreador Song'') further weakened the play's claim to cutting-edge status.
Which is too bad, as there are a number of instances of quite poetic dialogue in the play, of which space permits only one example: ``Most stories,'' says Nagila, ``are a yawn with a little shiver thrown in at the end.'' Pithy. Elegant. But physician ... heal thyself.
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Scott Vogel
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Doing Macbeth with no intermission and a cast of 10 implies a pared-down script and a dedicated ensemble. Both were evident in this production, which marks an auspicious beginning for what is to be hoped will be a long and fruitful association with Cranky Bug Productions, who produced an equally impressive Othello, which ran in repertory in the same space. (A good way to stretch the Equity showcase rules to get more playing dates out of a run.)
The casting was achieved by having the witches and soldiers played by the same three actresses, which worked well enough. Kristina McFadden especially showed good vocal technique, although Julie Mazzarella and Rhonda Dodd also differentiated well among their many roles.
Stephen Reiss, as Duncan, had a regal look but perhaps was a little stiffer than necessary (before Macbeth stiffened him out completely). Macbeth, played by Richard B. Watson, showed a voice clear as a the proverbial bell, with an equally limpid interpretation of the lines. (It's so easy to get carried away by the verse without elucidating the subtext.) Another exciting portrayal, Sean Hagerty's Malcolm, gave a remarkably lucid play-by-play analysis of the text, without losing sight of the character -- an intellectual courtier who is loyal to his country but smart enough to get out when he has to. David Tillistrand offered a thoughtful (but obviously not sharp enough) sidekick as Banquo, while Jon Ciccolini portrayed Macbeth's nemesis Macduff as unimaginative but relentless. Julie-Anne Liechty's Lady Macbeth lost a battle with a noisy air-conditioner (the crucial, pivotal line ``Give me the daggers'' disappeared into the turbulent air), perhaps because of a reliance on a breathy technique inappropriate to such a steely role. She nevertheless conveyed the character's single-minded ambition, and kept Macbeth pointed in the right direction no matter how he twisted on the hook. (Ms. Liechty also played Lady Macduff.) Utility player Lars Engstrom did a good job as the Captain, Donalbain, Fleance, Messenger, and Siward.
The martial-looking costumes (Sara Southey) helped witches and others alike realize their roles, being vague enough for the former and chain-maily enough for the latter. The set (by Michael Lasswell, shared with Cranky Bug) comprised a couple of movable pieces with stairs and drapes, which served as battlements, hills, or what have you, as well as the shards of glass glued to the walls described by Marshall Yaeger in his review of Othello. The murky lighting (by Michael Appel, again shared with Cranky Bug), some projected through dirty shards of glass, underscored the claustrophobic mood. Fight choreographer Ian Marshall unleashed some healthy violence, though in one scene, where the death took place half off-stage, it would have been nice to have the one dead smear some blood on the fatal blade before the victor waved it around. Craig Wollynez's largely drum-based music was entirely appropriate.
Director Paul Shapiro and the Summoners are to be thanked and congratulated on this production and entreated to do it again with Cranky Bug -- Real Soon Now. The Box Score on this one is straightforward.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 2
Copyright 1997 John Chatterton
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Augusta Lady Gregory was a titan of Irish letters. As well as repopularizing the foundations of her national mythology, she co-founded the Abbey Theatre with William Butler Yeats. With such a distinguished pedigree in stage literature, the Looking Glass Theatre's revival of three of her one-act plays would seem an event well-worth interest. Unfortunately, only one of the works is at all memorable, and the Looking Glass production was generally quite forgettable.
The first play of the evening was The Gaol Gate, an overwrought little piece that goes nowhere slow. Two women arrive at a prison to visit the man who is, respectively, their son and husband. Upon being informed that he is, in fact, dead, they let loose with a sizable quantity of melodramatic bombast about the injustice loose in the world. It's only a little less turgid than it sounds, and Janet Hoskins and Sioux Madden didn't bring much to it as the women.
The second play, Dervorgilla, has considerable dramatic potential, though. The title character is the Queen of the King who, in the 12th century, invited in the British army to help him in a territorial dispute. Needless to say, the British took the opportunity to impound the entire island. The queen then went into exile in a convent and hid her identity, becoming quite popular with the locals. When an iconoclastic young drifter arrives, though, the past is made painfully present. There is a sharp sense of irony in the text, and some wonderfully three-dimensional characters as the evening threatens to ignite dramatically. But, save for Ruth Miller's rich, classy turn as the queen and Michael de Bienville's vinegary reading of the drifter, the cast failed to deliver. None of them (and this is true of the whole production in general) seemed to have their brogues down. They made them either too guttural, too wispy, or thought that velocity could make up for depth. A lot of the dialogue was lost due to this.
Dave was an overheated soap opera about class cleavage and the heart's ability to overcome it. Again, the drama was dissipated by a lot of misreadings and central character Gerit Queally's delivering most of her lines in a half-whisper.
Directors Justine Lambert and Kenneth Nowell (it is not indicated if they both directed all three plays or each took one or two) didn't do badly in physicalizing the action, although a perfunctory dash up the aisle by one character was just distracting. Careen Fowles' costumes were visibly done on a shoestring and had an indeterminate period feel to them. The uncredited set consisted of a wooden gate and a few chairs with a rather painfully improvised fireplace.
Dervorgilla would seem a work worth reviving. The other two plays of Irish Tears, even if
much better done, hardly seem worth revisiting.
Box Score:
Writing 0
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 0
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Michael Koroly
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It takes a pretty good reason to re-adapt the Greeks. Especially Antigone, which has been so brilliantly rewritten in this century by such theatrical wonders as Brecht and Anouilh, among others. And modernized translations of the original exist in droves. D.A.G. Burgos's adaptation places the focus on Creon and tosses in some modern political jargon, with lines like ``I suppose paranoia comes of being a political animal.'' The result is an intriguing effort, and the portrayal of Creon as a misguided and conflicted ruler adds an interesting dimension to the play, but ultimately it doesn't really work.
The difficulty in reconciling the modern with the classic in this production was most easily seen in the muddled costume design. While most of the characters wore what seemed to be genuine attempts to convey a period feel (draped fabric togas and sandals), Eurydice appeared in a fitted, spaghetti-strapped velvet evening gown. Likewise, Haemon's short toga periodically revealed a pair or red polka-dot boxer shorts. These diversions from the otherwise classical costuming seemed to have no real place in the vision of the production, nor were they boldly foregrounded enough to seem like actual challenges to the classical. Thus they appeared like mere inconsistencies, or mistakes. They were anachronisms that seemed added on for no good reason, not an integral part of the play. This was the case for the adaptation as well, whose language alternated between modern and classical, with no clear purpose.
The cast, for the most part, handled their roles adequately. John Naughton was a fine Creon, and portrayed the conflicts of the character with agility. He justified his actions in the name of appearance, to keep Thebes safe from an enemy that seemed to be a figment of his imagination, fueled by his Machiavellian counselor, Corianus (Michael Jalbert). Jalbert's performance was fairly ridiculous, as he paced about behind Creon, grunting and rubbing Creon's shoulders as if he were a World Wide Wrestling coach cheering on his thug. That Creon accepted him without question made Creon lose any credibility and sympathy he might have otherwise won. Creon's other counselor was Teiresias, played by Jeff Karr. Karr's stiff acting made his prophecies seem laughable, and when he admitted that ``we can never know the workings of the Gods,'' Corianus' cutting ``Then why do we keep you?'' seemed well-deserved.
Tanya Klein's Antigone was a shrill girl whose attempt to persuade her intended, Haemon (Brian Guzman) to murder his father was not a political rebellion but a last-gasp attempt to save herself. The only potentially powerful character in the whole play, in fact, was Yvonne Brechbuhler's Euridyce, queen to Creon, who sees through her husband's nonsense. Granted, her solutions and arguments are dismissed by Creon with the words ``this is why one should never discuss politics with a woman,'' so it doesn't do her much good. And she dies with the rest of them in the end.
Box Score:
Writing 0
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 0
Costumes 0
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Sarah Stevenson
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If you're going to update the Greeks, you might as well go all the way. And really have some fun with it. Judy Sheehan's extremely clever Aphrodite's Dungeon does just that, setting all those messed-up gods and goddesses just where they belong -- on a talk show. Where all their little neuroses, complexes (we did name the main one after Oedipus after all), marital squabbles and (literal) nymphomaniac tendencies can be put right out there for the world to see, and for the world to judge; for the world (or at least the studio audience) to forever affix the blame exactly where it is deserved. Is Narcissus to blame for his extreme, well, narcissism? Is it Zeus's fault he just can't keep his hands off all those sexy nymphs? And was Psyche emotionally abused by her evil step-mother? Who could be more appropriate than Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love herself, to sort all this nonsense out once and for all?
When Sophocles, Euripides, Aeschylus et al. wrote the originals, they were trying to convey something about the fate of man, the meaning of life, and other heavy things like that, not a bit appropriate for daytime TV viewing. So Sheehan has written a more user-friendly version. Who really cares about the fate of mankind when we can just pick someone to blame it on? And who cares about pleasing those wimpy ancient gods when we have the ``Great God Nielsen,'' who can cancel us out at any time, to please? Aphrodite (Heidi K. Eklund) has already done half of the required job -- rounding up a wide assortment of sponsors, including ``Ulysses Cruise Lines: for those long, long (long), vacations.'' Aphrodite's also got a certain attitude that is a welcome relief in a talk-show host. Rather than getting weepy with her messed-up god guests, she simply tells them to ``shut the fuck up'' when they get on the whiny side. Now if only Oprah would catch on....
Surrounded by a beef-cake technical staff (Branden Waugh as ``Applause Boy'' and Jason L. Mosher as ``Techie'') and a chorus of scantily clad nymphs (Laurie Anne Eamma, Cori Lynn Peterson, and Linda Horwatt), the Goddess of Love seems to have it all under control. But when the nymphs are overtaken by a force demanding their immortal souls, and the contestants don't quite behave the way they should, things get out of control.
Xan Replogle was adorable as Echo, a nymph who made the mistake of pissing off Juno, and as a result can only repeat what others say, a true curse (or perhaps a favor), as we learn from a flashback. Man, that girl could talk. And talk. And talk.... She is also, to her eternal discredit, in love with the horrible Narcissus (Paul Vinger). ``Who put a curse on Narcissus?'' asks our hostess, ``Or does he simply lack personality?'' Philip Albanese and Pamela J. Nigro offered plenty of personality as head gods Zeus and Juno.
Costumes, by Nancy Plominski, were full of wit, joyfully and irreverently mixing modern and classical themes. Set adaptation and dressing was effectively handled by Justine Lambert. Lights and sound were by Ken Nowell, and Paul James Bowen choreographed some damn good spats.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Sarah Stevenson
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In what is probably its first New York run since its Broadway engagement a decade ago, Les Liaisons Dangereuses was given a smashing production by the Westside Repertory Theatre.
Christopher Hampton's adaptation of Choderlos de Laclos' 18th Century epistolary novel concerns two French aristocrats in the mid-1780's. They are a man (Valmont) and a woman (La Marquise) for whom love is truly a battlefield. They no longer take any pleasure in sex for its own sake, so they attach emotionally sadistic games to it, seducing and abandoning others.
At first, this is played for very dark comedy, with Hampton's witty banter assuming the form of a verbal fencing match. But, as the man runs into misgivings he never anticipated about his cuckoldings, he comes into head-on conflict with the woman. This all comes to a chilling denouement with no winners, only victims or, at best, survivors.
Comparisons with the Royal Shakespeare Co. mounting are inevitable. In the smaller space at
the Westside Rep, the play becomes more of a chamber piece, rather than the grand symphony it was on Broadway. Director Doug DeVita's staging was inventive and dramatically resourceful in capturing the work's lacerating insights on male-female politics. He also exhibited a very clear, distinct vision to bind together all the performances into a self-devouring world. DeVita made the work a plea for love,
but an angrily anti-sentimental one.
As Valmont, Michael Martorano displayed an inspired truculence, and Kristen Freeley crisply communicated the psychological origins of the Marquise's cruelty. (The destruction of people's lives provides her only sense of power.) Janice Hughes made a very amusing transition from utter guilelessness into slutdom as a young seducee of Valmont's. William Mullin was quite good as a spurned lover, endearingly pompous in his hurt pride and bluster. In a crucial supporting role, Tara Kruse conveyed a wrenching anguish as one of Valmont's victims without ever overdoing it. And Carolyn Ledwith was charmingly amoral as a courtesan of Valmont's. (She also exhibited considerably more nudity than in the Broadway version in a funny scene in which Valmont uses her body as a writing desk; a nice, visually electric touch by DeVita.)
Carla Gant's costumes hit the period bulls-eye and their all-white theme nicely established the spiritual aridity of this world. Ray Rue's set didn't always do in terms of distinguishing location, but William Kenyon's very precise lighting compensated.
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 2
Copyright 1997 John Michael Koroly
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Playwright Edward Rising is a self-described ``hopeless (yet hopeful) romantic'' whose current play is dedicated ``to those in search of love which is so desirable yet elusive, that they may find it.'' Among those in search of said fulfillment is Mr. Ed Rising himself, as his bio loftily intones: ``Oh and by the way ladies -- yes I'm single!''
Much of ``My Dearly Departed'' is similarly blatant, but the play's unabashedness is one of its most pleasing qualities. Don (Kevin Cummings) is a young television executive whose wife Madelaine (Kelly Hill) is the eponymous departed. The play starts at the beginning of Don's widowhood; Reverend Al (Al Diorio), who has performed the funeral service, encourages the mourning young man to attend one of St. Michael's support groups for the bereaved. Thus partially rehabilitated, Don returns to his job at GTV -- Good TV, natch -- where he is immediately confronted by his recently hired associate, Dora (Hilary Gray). Dora is best described as the kind of stage character one meets with mind-numbing frequency in these situations. She's smart and exceedingly competent, with a take-no-lip mentality brought on, no doubt, by several years of clawing her way through a male-dominated industry. Her pairing with Don touches off a predictable set of fireworks, and a battle of the sexes is once more joined. Despite furious disputation, the audience never doubts for a moment that Dora will catalyze Don's return to the land of the living, or that the two will end the play in a sustained embrace. They believe this not because there is any chemistry between the leads, or any reason to suspect a possible love match, but because the playwright is a hopeless romantic.
Now, hopeless romantics are invaluable assets to our culture. They remind us of our true priorities, love and generosity. In this situation, however, the playwright is rather like the bored grand dowager who, ensconced in her parlor, attempts to amuse herself by arranging marriages. The wants and needs of the principals are never considered. Or in the case of the play, such wants and needs as might endanger the play's outcome are hastily disregarded.
Mr. Rising is far more successful at limning minor characters, perhaps because he has not paid so much attention to their fates. He has merely allowed them to be, and so, in the hands of sensitive actors, they come to love with glorious freshness. Laura Elizabeth Mayer was charmingly dizzy as Don's boozy boss, the sort of woman who screams when a fax machine doesn't work. As an oversexed high-school coach with a penchant for women with names like Mariana Delicious (Bruni Casiano), Billy Rowe had some fine moments as Don's dunderheaded brother. Even Ms. Gray, though hampered by the aforementioned constraints placed on her character, brought much-needed complexity to the part of Dora. This is the sort of actress who can actually sing an entire verse of ``Kumbaya'' on stage without once provoking snickers or fidgeting in the audience.
My Dearly Departed is a play about never giving up hope. And in a world where hope is considered a cliche unworthy of the stage, Mr. Rising and the Impact Theatre are to be commended for their passions and bold agenda. Perhaps audiences can look forward to future efforts, as the company moves away from romantic cookie-cutting, and toward works of genuine power and -- yes -- rising impact.
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Scott Vogel
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Shakespeare talked about ``the two-hour traffic of our stage,'' but his plays nonetheless usually run much longer. This production ran three-and-a-half hours and probably could have been trimmed a bit, but director Stephen Satta provided a good-looking and generally well-spoken Othello that added up to a generally very satisfying evening in the theatre. Satta moved his large cast around the ample stage well, and the entrances and exits were crisp. His fight direction (with Scott Gailbraith) was effective).
Satta also assembled an impressive ensemble cast. In the title role, as a man ``who loved not wisely but too well,'' Bernard K. Addison was imposing and powerful, commanding the stage from his very first entrance. This was a very fine performance of great range. Austin Pendleton, though, seemed miscast as Iago. His monologues to the audience were aptly conversational, but much of the time his grinning Iago, with frequent pauses and some unusual line readings, seemed to suggest that the character is a little crazed.
Critics have spent centuries trying to explain Iago's ``motiveless malignity''; it seems plain enough: he's been passed over for a promotion, and he's jealous of the young man who got it and much more of the Moor who granted it. Othello has power, acclamation, and a beautiful young wife: all things Iago would like to have. He finds he enjoys the control of events he obtains through his machinations as well as the political infighting that, once he has set it in motion, he seems unable or unwilling to end. Some analyses have him in love with Othello: his ``I hate the Moor'' can then be seen as just one side of a love-hate relationship. In any event, Iago certainly learns the meaning of the old saying: ``what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.''
Emilie Joy Weiner was a strong and moving Desdemona, and her scenes with Othello had force and passion. Kate Konigisor was an assured and sympathetic Emilia, and Katrina Ferguson was a lively Bianca. Donald Warfield did nice work as Brabantio: he was the concerned father rather than the blusterer that is more often portrayed. Cheryl Royce was an authoritative Duke. Chuck Brown was a fine Roderigo, and Scott Galbraith (Montano), Mark Lien (Lodovico), Matthew Burnett (Gratiano; and Michael Brandt, Tercio Bretas, and Kevin Reifel (Ensemble) rounded out the cast well. Finally, special mention should be made of Rik Walter's Cassio. His finely shaded portrayal was a delight. This was acting of the highest order.
The fine set (Kevin Ash), with an upstairs balcony and some flexible red curtains, efficient lighting (A.C. Hickox) and the music, a portentous cello, and sound (Chuck Brown) were well above the Off-Off Broadway average. Costumes were an interesting amalgam of Wildean morning coats and dresses, Chekhovian uniforms, and pirate/gondolier outfits of high quality that were well-thought-out --nice work (Jared Leese and Jeffrey B. Phipps).
Box Score:
Writing 2
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 2
Lighting/Sound 2
Copyright 1997 Dudley Stone
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Deep Dish, by Sean O'Donnell, is a parody of 1940s film noir, with a special attraction for Mildred Pierce. The plot concerns Mildred LaSueur, a Joan Crawford-type actress who is found near the L.A. docks with a bloody pie plate under her coat. She is subsequently arrested for the murder of her former agent Blackie Blackwell. The plot is then told in flashbacks. Mildred's career thrived in the 1930s, but now that it is 1945 she has gone slightly out of fashion. Her career really hits the skids with the release of Raging Queens, a costume picture in which she plays Elizabeth I. But the final straw is when her husband Terry leaves her for her makeup man Way. Mildred then receives a packet of photos of Terry and Way having sex. The note accompanying the photos demands $25,000, or they will be released to the press.
Deep Dish is a very amusing work. Playwright Sean O'Donnell clearly knows his 1940s films and makes good use of that knowledge. While the play took a while to get started, once it got going it rolled along at a very swift clip. While O'Donnell never goes too far over the top, he does add some nice contemporary touches, especially regarding the sexual desires of Mildred's plucky friend Eve.
The production of the Turnip Theatre Company was first-rate all the way. Although the production was essentially quite simple, director Frank Licato used the large space at The Studio so well he seemed to be mounting an extravaganza. He was helped greatly by set designer Jon Maass, who made fine use of slide projections. Beth Suhocki's period costumes were excellent, and Zdeneck Kriz's lighting created an appropriately dark mood.
On the performance front, The Turnip Theatre Company has much to be pleased about, especially in terms of its women. While the male performers all turned in competent work, theirs were not the meaty roles. The females, however, were excellent all around. As Mildred, Stephanie Martini was a commanding presence, turning in a wonderful comic performance that never turned too campy. Shawn McNesby was excellent as the ever-faithful Eve. Alicia Harding was very good as Verandah, Mildred's secretary, who has a secret past, a mental health problem, and in Act Two a very noticeable psychotic twitch. Lisa Stock was deliciously mean as Mildred's greedy daughter Leda. It should also be noted that unlike the casts of many Off-Off-Broadway productions, the cast of Deep Dish constantly demanded the audience's attention and had no problem being heard.
While parodies tend not to make for powerful theatre, Deep Dish is a well-written piece, powerfully produced by the Turnip Theatre Company. They should be proud. (Also featuring Benjamin Schulson, Joe Ambrose, Rachel Block, Ernest Mingione, Tom Hitchcock, Kelly Van Zile, Gino DiIorio, and Joe Ambrose.)
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Attanas
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Everything old is not necessarily new again, despite Chain Lightning Theatre's well-intentioned effort to prove so with its revival of Woman of Paris, a l 9th-century French play originally titled La Parisienne. Chain Lightning described the main character as ``the woman who invented `The Rules' of courtship''--a nod to the recent best-seller about how to nab Mr. Right. But Woman of Paris did not proffer any uncannily contemporary insights into romantic relationships, although it may have been the prosaic story and characters that precluded the show from making too much of an impression.
Chain Lightning did dress up the stage of the One Dream Theatre more elegantly than it's ever looked before, nicely replicating a European sitting room circa 1880. Designer Meganne George assembled pieces such as a settee, floor plant and silver tea service for her attractive set. George was also responsible for costume design, and her work there was commendable as well.
Beneath the fine accouterments, however, lay some bland portrayals of an upper-class woman, Clotilde, and the three men in her life: the one she's married to, the one she's in love with, and the one in love with her. Jim Siatkowski's and William Laney's characterizations of, respectively, the husband and the suitor were at best unexciting and at worst nebbishy. No surprise, then, that Clotilde would be more interested in the visitor named Simpson, although Lyle Walford did not project a dazzling personality in that role. Brandee Graff as Clotilde acted neither beguiling nor clever enough to engage the audience in her adventures. It was the small role of the maid Adele who came through with the most personality, as Constance Kane provided most of the humor in the show.
The fault with Woman of Paris may lie not in its stars but in its less-than-intriguing script. Promoted by Chain Lightning as an ``amoral comedy,'' the play faltered in both respects. Perhaps it's because of the play's uninspired plot rather than its supposed depravity that it hasn't been produced in New York since 1950. It may have lost something in the translation (although this English version was written by the noted linguist Jacques Barzun), or it may just be out-of-date. Running less than two hours, it was short enough to avoid being tedious, and the Chain Lightning production was enlivened by an excellent selection of incidental music. (Lighting, Scott Clyve; sound, Randy Morrison.)
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 2
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Adrienne Onofri
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Finale, the final production of the John Montgomery Theatre Company's 1996-97 season, is an evening of three one-act plays that all concern death.
The first piece was The Doll, by Patricia Minskoff. Set in a recently sold estate, it deals with Emily, an adult woman who is obsessed with Baby, a small doll that she played with as a child. When Harold, her father, makes a surprise appearance, she offers Baby to him. He is concerned with her obsession with the doll; but this only provokes Emily to dig up dirt from their relationship when she was growing up.
The second piece was Seduction, by Joe Borini. It concerns Jill, a classical musician who is dying of multiple sclerosis, and Jack, her ex-husband, who is caring for her as she approaches death. While their relationship is difficult to begin with, it is made even more troubled by the fact that Jill does not want to wait for death but rather wants Jack to help her commit suicide.
The final play was Birthday, by Suzanne Bachner. It is set on the night of Alexandra's thirtieth birthday. Just before she blows out the candles on her cake, she wishes for her recently deceased mother to return. However, she is surprised when the person who appears is her biological mother, who put her up for adoption at birth. Even more shocking, the woman appears not as the middle-aged person she should be, but rather as the 22-year-old she was when she gave birth to Alexandra.
While the concept of Finale is interesting (although a little depressing), the writing is hit-and-miss. The best-written of the three plays is Seduction. Although the subject of assisted suicide has been written about before, author Joe Borini adds a nice twist in terms of his characters. Although Jill is by nature sympathetic as she is dying, we discover that she is basically an angry, hate-filled person who drove her friends away long before she got sick. While Jack seems to be a devoted care-giver, we discover that he is an abusive philanderer who was rarely happy in his marriage. The other two plays, both interesting in terms of concept, never truly pay off. The Doll is touching, but weird, while Birthday is amusing, but never truly funny.
The production by the John Montgomery Theatre was simple and well intentioned. The strongest performances were given by Kristianne Kurner in Seduction and Felicia Scarangello in Birthday. Alexandra Eitel was very mannered but oddly touching in The Doll. Directors Jessie Ericson Onuf, Richard Kuranda, and Patricia Minskoff all did good, straightforward work. (Also featuring Jack Doulin, Fran Gercke, and Colette Duvall. Lighting design, Patrick Hillan; set design, Thom Fudal; costume design, Anne Guay.)
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 John Attanas
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...i'm sittin sweatin at the producers club and the air conditioning's on the fritz and a hundred people are fannin themselves like hummingbirds on prozac, while meantime five of new york's finest young performers are acting their heads off in so-so shanley, their make-up melting through all that white trash mumbo-jumbo and run-on sentences about, you know, LIFE. and i'm thinkin, like, i wanna run screamin into the street or throw my mother out the window, when it finally freakin comes to me that what I'm feelin is that this cast is too damn terrific for a play like this, and they oughta be doing chekhov and shit, but anyway, for the moment, let's welcome this new theatre company to the scene because fresh bread is what off-off-whatever-the-hell-it-is theatre oughta be about....
That's right, this bar crawl through Shanleyland is Fresh Bread's first New York production, and in many respects it's a winner. Skeptical? It took only a glimpse of Kelly Callahan as April, the delirious dipsomaniac with a fear of brandy alexanders. A vision of the gutter -- in ragged nylons and soiled dress -- Ms. Callahan held the audience breathless during each of April's several drunken hallucinations. In one, the character goes ``Christmas,'' a hysterical fit finally assuaged when Murk the bartender (played with sublime gentleness by Matt Barton) dons a Santa suit and presents her with a gift. It's tricky, this trailer-trash tragicomedy, and what it demands from actors is nothing less than insane commitment to nefarious objectives. This production possessed insanity in spades. As Linda, the Bronx bombshell who gets knocked-up every time she stops walking, Kymberly Harris was a force of nature. One feared for the seams in her tight velvet skirt as she ferociously, and hilariously, attacked the eponymous Denise Savage, her former grammar-school classmate turned man-stealer. Sure these women occasionally forgot proper New Yorkese, often slipping (improbably) into Southern belle inflections. But who's going to break the news to such frenzied shrews? Candace Juman was the long-suffering Denise, the desperate virgin trapped with her mother in an apartment that smells like a catbox. Early on, greater tension might have been achieved had Ms. Juman expressed the rage and tumult associated with a character named Savage; the opening scenes dragged as a result. But the bar came quickly to triangular life when the two women began competing for Linda's estranged boyfriend, Tony (Charley Riggs). From then on, the evening was a gloves-off fight to the finish, complete with Shanley's trademark cat-fighting-cum-metaphysical speculation.
E. Shura Pollatsek designed the costumes, all great with the exception of Ms. Callahan's filthy ensemble; the actress appeared to have been run over by a train on the way to the bar. C.C. Loveheart's design was spare but dotted with wonderful details -- a row of pool cues on the wall, a beaded curtain.
With eyes closed, the admixture of stale beer and Avon cologne was almost tangible. In this context, however, the choice of Ravel's Bolero as pre-show music was heavy-handed, to say the least. Or as Savage says, ``it's been done it's been said it's been thought, so fuck it.''
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 1
Acting 2
Set 2
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Scott Vogel
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From 1892 to 1954, over 16 million immigrants passed through Ellis Island seeking entrance to America. Set in the years immediately after World War One (no specific date is mentioned in the program, although 1921 is referred to in a promotional flyer), The Great Hall attempts to tell the stories of some of these travelers. They include an Italian family, a young Irish couple, and a woman who came to get married but can't find her fiancé. However, the show tries to tell too much about too many. As a result, it's impossible to care about any of them.
The show opens with an inspiring number about reaching America. The second song covers much of the same ground, as does the third, and the fourth. Through all this, there is no real conflict of any kind, making one feel as if you're watching the end of the story, not the beginning.
There are some bright moments, such as customs officers routinely Americanizing the immigrants' names and the terror the travelers feel when having to undergo medical exams. (No one could immigrate to New York who might become a ward of the city.) But these elements are introduced too late to have any major effect. It might have made a difference if they had been switched with the earlier, more joyous moments -- such as the wedding which closes act one.
Credit must be given to Cynthia Mazzant for keeping the cast of 31 moving on and off the small stage without bumping into each other. Nevertheless, the pace of the show, which ran over two-and-a-half hours, simply dragged. The music all too quickly became repetitious and tiresome, and many of the actors' voices weren't strong enough to handle the solo numbers. The costumes appeared authentic but looked too new to be believable. People who went through Ellis Island were the ``tired, poor and huddled masses,'' not folks who could afford to have their clothes cleaned every day. Sets were well done and the lighting was fine.
The idea behind the show is sound, but the execution came up empty. Shining in the distance with possibilities, upon closer inspection The Great Hall is little more then a tired, worn-out structure.
Cast: Rick Alessa, George Brouilette, B.J. Bruning, Terry L. Chisolm, Elizabeth Foerster Drennan, Sean Farley, Harrie Ficco, Sophia Kramer, Amy Goldschmidt, Jeffrey Goodwin, Janet Greene, Eric Johnston, Brian Keegan, Steve Lafiosca, Amy Looze, John C. McLellan, Kenneth Miller, Rostina Mincey, Alice Mistroni, Barbara Anne Neal, Therese Panicali, Troy Rohne, Flavio Romeo, Alan Schmuckler, Nicole Scrofani, Jamie Sofatchka Stuart, Abigail Trueblood. Scenic design, Brian R. Waggoner; costume design, Anne F. Murphy; lighting design, Bill Mellon; musical arrangements, Michael Advensky, Mark Baron, David W. Radulich.
Box Score:
Writing 0
Directing 1
Acting 1
Set 1
Costumes 0
Lighting/Sound 1
Copyright 1997 Judd Hollander
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(It would be remiss of me not to immediately thank the Flock Theatre Company and playwright Gilroy for their stirring defense of the gambling life in The Only Game in Town. So overwhelmed was I by the play's message, so convinced was I that this might just be my lucky night -- after all, the guy behind me won two tickets on a gambling cruise during the evening's entr'acte raffle -- that I rushed out of the theatre, throwing down pen and pad, in hot pursuit of a lottery ticket. And that ticket -- believe it or not -- was indeed a winning one!)
Mr. Gilroy's play starts with an unpromising premise. Joe (John O'Leary) is a Vegas piano player who's in desperate need of Leaving Las, the only problem being his casino habit. Upon meeting Fran (Colleen Kim Geraghty), a dancer on the Strip, the two immediately repair to her apartment for drinks, sex, and dialogue peppered with witticisms on the order of ``don't flatter yourself,'' ``it's been real,'' and ``thank heaven for small favors.'' Both Mr. O'Leary and Ms. Geraghty were attractive, credible performers, but the pleasure in them was undercut by anticipation of Fran's loving conversion of Joe from a life of gambling addiction.
Surprisingly, the playwright eschews moralizing, instead lasering in on the failure of nerve among lovers these days, their lack of courage hidden behind feigned unconcern and facile put-downs. Both leads were wonderful at displaying this mutual contempt while maintaining a bubbling undercurrent of sexual heat. (The duo's one explicit and beautifully lit sex scene-- by James Michael Hultquist -- elicited shouts of ``right on'' and a round of applause, no less, from that evening's audience.)
The play heats up in other ways with the arrival of Thomas (James Kissane), a married man who has carried on a ten-year affair with Fran but to whom she has now offered an ultimatum: divorce your wife or it's over. When the wealthy Thomas enters, it's with divorce papers in hand, a ringbox in one pocket, tickets to Europe in the other. Fran's ensuing dilemma, though hardly new, is the stuff of great opera; if only Verdi had played Vegas!
But back to the money trail. Aine Carey did a great job directing her principals in the evening's most harrowing scene, in which Fran reluctantly hides in her apartment the 12K Joe has won so far. At first Joe is grateful, before coming down with a case of what can only be described as the gambler's version of DTs. Mr. O'Leary was terrific here, a rabid animal willing to tear every plank from the floor in this bizarre game of hide-and-go-seek.
After such histrionics, the audience must have felt that the choice was clear: Joe must either give up the money or lose the girl. Surprise again.
At play's end, Joe wins not only the girl, but 30 grand at the crap tables. Wow. No wonder I ran out to play Lotto.
The Flock Theatre Company was in exceptional form here, with great casting, a nice set, and musical transitions sung and played to great effect by a talented folk artist, Peter Courtney. A fine evening overall, which left this reviewer impressed, moved, and two dollars richer.
Box Score:
Writing 1
Directing 2
Acting 2
Set 1
Costumes 1
Lighting/Sound 2
Copyright 1997 Scott Vogel