Month: March 2018

The real surprise of of TJ Dawe’s and Rita Bozi’s 52 Pick-Up is how well the premise works out in practice. 4 actors, 2 couples, 52 predetermined scenes performed at random. Each card in the deck has a scene attached, and they are tossed in the air. Each performer takes a card from the floor, reads the prompt aloud (Do you like it? What are you thinking? I didn’t say that.) the lights go down, then up. The sequence commences. Some scenes are longer than others. Some quite brief. They are ironic or melancholy or sweet or angry.

Whether 52 Pick Up involves true spontaneity, or the mere illusion, it’s hard not to expect something cursory or cavalier. The tone, the depth of feeling, the way each scene fell into place, the impression that the various scenes are happening within a larger context, all quickly disabuse us of this notion. Almost as if we wouldn’t know the sequence was random if we weren’t told. The characters are the same even though they and we don’t know what’s coming next. In some ways 52 Pick-Up reminded me of Constellations, a show in which a man and woman appear to be repeating particular exchanges, with slight variations. While parallel universes were mentioned in The Talk Back, I preferred the idea that timing could affect the outcome of any event, large or small. That many results are possible depending on forces beyond our control. Tides, planets, clocks, moods, movement, impulse. Such is what Dawe and Bozi approach through this simple, brilliant concept. Though this show takes careful steps to remind us that each scene is autonomous (with a definite beginning and end) the narrative doesn’t feel disjointed. It doesn’t play like pastiche.

Director Stefany Cambra and her cast (Robin Clayton, Andrew Manning, Caitlin Galloway and Madeleine Morris) have handled this daunting adventure with great focus and finesse. The show runs 65 minutes but it never feels frantic or rushed. We feel as if we are watching a very detailed, pensive portrait take shape before our eyes; depicting the nature of attachment, estrangement, contentment, grief. It’s strangely exhilarating to feel a project so seemingly counter-intuitive, take hold of our hearts and imagination. The mind boggles when we consider what rehearsals must have been like. 52 Pick Up was a splendid excursion into the timeless and endlessly intoxicating world of broken, irresistible humanity.

I attended 52 Pick Up on closing weekend. Many thanks to Proper hijinx Productions for letting me attend.

52 Pick Up was performed at Dance Xpress, 4320 Marsh Ridge Rd Ste 130, Carrollton, Texas 75010. (972) 939-7200. properhijinx.com

Decades after the release of such classics as Detour, Double Indemnity, They Live By Night, Film Noir continues to fascinate and resonate with contemporary audiences. Written and directed by Ochre House’s Kevin Grammer, The Woman Who Knew Too Much is a musical homage to a genre characterized by a dark, lyric cynicism. An existential, never ending night where dystopia is a given. Grammer has constructed a blissfully dark narrative that celebrates noir while perhaps indulging in tongue-in-cheek mockery. We can smile at the wiseass dialogue while appreciating a realm where its all about booze, broads and brawling. With a pervasive tone of detachment and resignation.

Violet wakes up in a mental institution, with only scraps of recollection to explain why she’s been institutionalized. She is visited by her parents and Yvonne, her hostile, snarky sister. As her memory gradually returns, she finds herself in a nightclub loaded with sketchy activity, flirtatious (if chilly) banter, thugs, prostitution, and a predilection for knocking back hard liquor. (Lock the front door, cause baby I’m home!) As Violet’s nocturnal recreational activities are slowly revealed, and various characters croon the ups and downs of their tawdry lives, the jigsaw pieces fall into place. Marguerite, Violet’s mother at the mental hospital, is a madame at the nightclub. Soon memory and supposition splash into each other. What’s genuine memory and mere, transient fantasy? Yikes.

First and foremost in noir milieu is tone, and Grammer and this confident, intuitive cast have provided it in spades. Kevin Grammer’s script is inspired. Spot on. It’s a quintessential culmination of glamour, skepticism, sharp wit and dangerous misadventure. Everybody’s packing heat and at least slightly intoxicated. I have sung the praises of Ochre House in this column before, and The Woman Who Knew Too Much, is no exception. Attention to detail, quirky mannerisms, a meticulous balance of nuance, irony and layers of symbolism and meaning, made this splendid show memorable and engaging. I regret I was unable to attend before closing weekend, but bear in mind, The Ochre House’s consistently high standards for the future.

Ochre House Theater. 825 Exposition Avenue, Dallas, Texas 75226. 214-826-6273. www.ochrehouse theater.org

Agnes’ younger sister Tilly has died, before Agnes was truly able to get to know her. Like so many of us, she never believed time would run out. When Agnes discovers Tilly’s notebook for Dungeons and Dragons, she sees it as an opportunity for deeper understanding. She seeks out one of Tilly’s confederates to assist, as she explores the quixotic gameworld, so enigmatic to the uninitiated. This is the premise of Qui Nguyen’s She Kills Monsters, a strange blend of the melancholy and preposterous, the fanciful and crucial. Like a Rauschenberg collage or Lynch film, the balance of seemingly polarized elements seems to happen without contrivance or gimmickry.

As Agnes starts to learn the ropes and tropes of D&D (acquiring an identity, understanding protocols of sorcery, picking up the process of battle) she picks up on the discrepancies between Tilly’s everyday behavior, and her “shadow side” while playing the game. It’s not so much about good or bad, as Tilly’s chance to summon her more distinct, fearless propensities, in a context where players can evince without being mocked or reprimanded. The villains and monsters have their roots in the recognizable world, and little by little, Agnes comes to grasp her younger sister’s trials and travails, victories and disappointments.

It’s almost impossible to talk about She Kills Monsters without mentioning the numerous references to 90’s Pop Culture. Too young to pass for nostalgia perhaps, but familiar enough to tickle, considering the quantum leaps we’ve made since that pivotal decade. Nguyen seems to have figured out how to deliver unblinking camp without missing a beat, and Fight Choreographer Jeffrey Colangelo has brought it off with precision. When Batman and Robin walloped the sociopaths in the old ABC series, we knew they weren’t really fighting, but they were dead serious. When Agnes, Tilly, and their comrades engage in battle with various entities of destruction, it feels like a mash up of ferocity and poise. The result is bracing, hilarious and exhilarating. We feel Agnes’ loss, but also, the allure, the conciliatory aspects of D&D become plain. Nguyen has achieved an intelligent, clever and deeply moving piece that will lighten your burdens and resonate with your spirit.

Theatre 3 presents She Kills Monsters, playing March 8th-April 1^st, 2018. 2800 Routh Street, Suite 168, Dallas, Texas 75201. 214-871-3300. boxoffice@theatre3dallas.com

Before the current movement to empower those who have been sexually assaulted, it seems to me Alfred Hitchcock’s treachery was exposed by numerous venues. Two biographical films and expose’s by Tippi Hedren (abused during filming of The Birds) and Donald Spoto’s The Dark Side of Genius, revealed Hitchcock’s nastier side when it came to exploiting those under contract to him. Sadly, the phenomenon of indulging the despicable behavior of geniuses is nothing new. We can include Picasso, Fassbinder, Jon Huston and Woody Allen to name but a few.

Terry Johnson’s Hitchcock Blonde is set in 1959 and 1999, exploring three connections: between Janet Leigh’s body-double for Pyscho (“Blonde”) and Hitchcock, Blonde’s relationship with her violent husband, and in 1999: an undergrad named Nicola and her mentor/professor, Alex. The three are presented in parallel, suggesting similarities between the erudite (if somewhat oafish) Hitchcock, the relaxed film professor, and the troglodyte Husband. Ironically, Johnson depicts these three men as ultimately pathetic, preferring predation to actual lovemaking and resorting to lame scenarios to trap their objects of desire. We might even speculate that Johnson is working from Freud’s paradigm: Alex (Super Ego) Hitchcock (Ego) and Husband (Id).

In 1959 we see Hitchcock gradually seducing Blonde, in his quirky, indirect way. He plies her with sumptuous meals and works up the courage to suggest they film something like a screen test, requiring that she be nude. We also hear an ongoing monologue in which she describes to her husband, the strange experience of being naked in front of so many crew members for days on end, during the filming of Hitchcock’s notorious shower scene. There’s a sense that she is reflecting on her epiphany as a sexual being but also antagonizing Husband’s languid libido.

In 1999 Nicola and Alex take a sunny holiday in Greece, while examining mysterious, unlabeled cans of footage by Hitchcock himself, so degraded they must often deal with scraps. While trying to unravel this murky narrative, Alex persistently tries to convince Nicola they should become lovers. Nicola is intelligent but has emerged from humbler beginnings than Alex. By design or accident she is a brunette, though part of the revelation is Hitchcock’s obsession with the archetypal Blonde, as an exquisite, unattainable, icy empress. Not surprisingly, after Alex has overcome Nicola’s resistance (through shameless chicanery) he is no longer interested.

Kudos to the Benjamin Lutz (Director) the cast (Robert Bradford Smith, Nikki Cloer, DR Mann Hanson, Kayli Hessler and Jeff Burleson) and crew of Hitchcock Blonde for taking on this intriguing, complicated, sharp and profoundly disturbing drama of leverage, subjugation and defiance. On the surface it may feel strange and lurid, but there is depth, boldness, sly wit and electrifying insight here. We become so submerged and intoxicated by the rhythms of raw desire and sexual imperative, it’s only by processing after the fact we comprehend the grotesque power of objectification. This is theatre of the brilliant, broken, pathological mind. Go see it.

Giant Entertainment presents Hitchcock Blonde, playing March 8th-24th, 2018. Frank’s Place (Black Box) Kalita Humphreys, 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas, 75204. (855) 855-6777. www.giantentertainment.org

The Royale is just one example of the ugly, ritualized degradation practiced in the Old South. Fit, African American men are blindfolded and forced to fight one another, while wealthy white men shout racist invective and throw coins. The last one standing was permitted to scoop up the coins. This is the image at the center of Marco Ramirez’s The Royale, a drama inspired by the life of Jack Johnson, the first prize fighter in American history to go up against a white prize fighter.

Set in 1908, in a boxing arena, The Royale includes Jay Jackson, his sister, his sparring partner, his trainer, and his agent. It is a sequence of brief, powerful scenes that culminate in his confrontation with the white boxing champion. It explores the overwhelming cultural forces at work, as Jay tries to galvanize his resolve. It is not enough to believe in himself, he must consider death threats, rioting, the paltry sum he will receive if indeed he does succeed. After that his tribulations may continue. The systemic racism so firmly embedded in American society is so ferocious, so volatile, that being on the side of the angels seems cool comfort at best.

It’s worth noting the recent revival of certain shows, in the midst of current political upheaval and the resuscitation of evils some thought were buried and forgotten. In The Royale, set over a hundred years ago, Ramirez makes it clear just how little traction racial equality has actually managed. His race fable swings between the painful and the heartbreaking, the exhilarating and the sobering. He presents an inspiring, brave, downtrodden hero that is asked to forfeit more than most.

We usually associate heroism with accolades, or at least recognition. In Jackson’s case, he must rise above the vindictiveness of compatriots, and those who cared for him deeply and feared his persecution after the fact. Like the best dramas, The Royale demonstrates that the truth we discover in history is not always so easy or so simple. How African-Americans are too often summarily punished for wanting anything but subjugation.

Kitchen Dog Theater presents the regional premiere of The Royale, playing March 1^st – 19th, 2018. 2600 N. Stemmons Fwy, Suite 180, Dallas, Texas 75207. (214) 953-1055. www.kitchendogtheater.org

In some ways, Marc Blitzstein’s The Cradle Will Rock is reminiscent of Brecht and Weill’s The Threepenny Opera, though it’s more particular to the context of American politics in 1937, including economics and destitution, exploitation of the working class and fight to establish unions. While Threepenny is more global, exploring numerous issues that arise from the food chain, Cradle stays focused on how the wealthy extort cooperation from the poor, and stealthy power brokers like Mister Mister maintain the status quo. Threepenny is a dark show leavened by satirical tone, and Cradle is a satire with moments of dark socioeconomic clarity. For all my lofty exposition it’s raw, visceral, funny and intense.

Blitzstein described Cradle as “…a play in music” and it consists of a 17 member cast and a piano. Characters include a giddy benefactor to the arts, a young lady who earns extra by turning tricks, a pharmacist wrestling personal demons, a violinist, a doctor, a professor and a newspaper editor. And Larry Foreman, a labor organizer. Set in a night court, Cradle gives each character the opportunity to tell their story. Blitztein’s script and score are fresh and clever, suffused with irony and intuitive humor.

It bounces along, blending pragmatic rhetoric with deadpan gags. There’s corruption, xenophobia, blackmail and chicanery. Blitzstein demonstrates the entanglements that come from desperate indigence and the obsessive need of the privileged to keep blue collars from advancing. It’s often tongue-in-cheek, but its urgency, its barely contained anger pulls you in. Sets your pulse racing.

What words can I find to do this charismatic show justice? Defiant and funny. Raucous and witty. Subversive and sharp. Director Diana Sheehan has orchestrated this challenging show with mastery and finesse. Brick Road has assembled an exhilarating show and a spirited cast to bring you a political musical every bit as relevant as it was when our government shut it down, in the late 1930’s. Do not miss the opportunity to experience this glorious, theatrical refusal to cave to the will of fascist oppression.

Featuring: Mark Oristano as Mr. Mister, Jennifer Kuenzer as Mrs. Mister, Rachel Reininger as Sister Mister/Moll, Chapman Blake as Junior Mister/Gus/Dick, Francis Fuselier as Harry Druggist, Joey Folsom as Larry Foreman/Gent, Cherish Robinson as Ella Hammer, Doug Fowler as Reverend Salvation, Elisa Danielle James as Editor Daily/Sadie, Stan Graner as Yasha, Phillip Clark as Dauber,
Jerry Crow as Dr. Specialist, Robert San Juan as President Prexy, Cobin Born as Professor Mamie/Steve, Kwame Lilly as Professor Trixie, Francis Henry as Bugs/Cop/Scoot/Reporter

Brick Road Theatre presents The Cradle Will Rock, playing March 9th-18th, 2018. Cox Building Playhouse, 1517 H Ave, Plano, Texas 75074. brickroadtheatre.org/tickets. 972-467-7519.

Elio is a teenage boy, living with his well-educated, wealthy Jewish family in Tuscany. His father is a professor, and Oliver, an academician in his thirties, has come to stay with Elio’s (Timothée Chalamet) family for a few months. It’s the 1980’s and Oliver (Armie Hammer) ends most every conversation by saying, “Later.” Something about Elio’s petulance towards Oliver has us wondering. Gradually, their mutual attraction emerges, but not without feints, misunderstandings and delays. There is a fair amount of warmth and sweetness before it becomes apparent that Oliver will return to America, and marry his girlfriend. Call Me By Your Name ends with Elio gazing into the Christmas fire with tears streaming down his cheeks.

I’m not sure there is much that distinguishes Call Me from other gay coming-of-age stories other than three details. Elio’s feelings for Oliver are treated with great respect. No one is alarmed by the inter-generational aspect of their affair. Elio’s dad speaks to him with great kindness and understanding, never once suggesting he has a problem with his son’s same-gender sexuality. In fact, this speech may be the best part of the film. Director Luca Guadagnino certainly makes the most of Italy’s sunny vistas, though oddly, a couple of two-shots featuring a kiss between Oliver and Elio are blurry. Perhaps an indication of Elio’s ambivalence?

I must admit I found it strange that a film evolved enough to show us the details of a teenage boy’s homoerotic awakening, found it necessary to play peekaboo with the lovemaking scenes. Speaking as one who has reviewed numerous GLBT films, after awhile you begin to wonder if so much would be concealed were Elio’s love interest were an older woman. You begin to wonder if the director is apologizing to a predominantly hetero-centrist audience. When you are dealing with a visual medium and we spend far more time with prelude than actual romance, when the sexuality (which after all, drives the film) is veiled in deep shadow, you suspect that Guadagnino is backing away from the content.

I suppose it’s never a good idea to attend a film expecting to see a breakthrough, though in some ways (see above) Call Me By Your Name is. Ang Lee’s Brokeback Mountain was also groundbreaking but neither is really exceptional in terms of visual style. That being said, there is a great deal of insight and warmth evinced in Call Me that we haven’t seen before. It’s worth your time, if only for its advanced sense of practical humanity.

Angelika Dallas: 5321 E. Mockingbird Lane, Dallas, TX, 75206. (214) 841-4712. www.angelikafilmcenter.com

 

Chekhov’s Three Sisters, the warm, despondent story of Masha, Irina and Olga, aristocratic sisters who must weather the cruel exigencies that come with time and attachment, may be his most popular, drama. Such gravitas. Such bliss. Such yearning. From the first time we hear Irina express her longing to return to their idyllic lives in Moscow, we sense it will never happen. These three may belong to the privileged class, but they are also the soul of erudition, kindness and often, spontaneity. Chekhov manages to capture that light, fleeting, feminine quality of sparkling joy that women express in the company of each other. I’ve often wondered, if Chekhov wrote the character of Natasha (their brother Andre’s wife) to demonstrate the distinction between cache’ and arrogance. Genuine character is rare but anyone can be a snot. We see Irina, Masha and Olga through times of contentment and despair, exhilaration and disappointment.

Chekhov has written numerous characters for Three Sisters, creating a cosmos of various classes of wealth, servitude, intelligence and dispositions. Soldiers, servants, peasants, teachers. Blue collar, white collar, no collar. We see celebration and catastrophe, abundance and devastation. What makes this narrative so vibrant is the searching, urgent dialogue in which visionary political and philosophical ideas are explored. The dialogue is somewhat lofty, yet sharp and genuine. It’s plainspoken, but the characters are gazing at the stars. Even if they don’t know it. We may be in the parlor of women who always lived with servants and rarely cooked for themselves, yet we can identify with their struggles, set among Chekhov’s orchestra of tremulous souls.

When a young handsome soldier (who barely knows her) proposes to sweet, whimsical, Irina, we wonder if she really wishes to refuse. We wonder how Masha can stay with a husband she despises for so long. Yes, of course, Three Sisters is also a political, social and historical allegory referencing the class struggle in Russia, but it’s so much more. It’s introspective and rich with ideas, yet also infinitely recognizable. Intoxicating in its love of broken, feverish humanity.

Director Katherine Owens has managed this adept, versatile, engaged cast with a masterful eye for knowing where each character needs to be, and what they should be doing. A keen sense of their purpose and behavior. We in the audience often feel we’re in the midst of a five ring circus. The party scene with avid music and impulsive kisses and acrobatic dances quickens your pulse and tickles your spirit. The lovely, cold, white birches are an inspired notion. They are poetic, but isolated, encroaching and vaguely destitute. This new translation by Sarah Ruhl enhances accessibility, though I’ve got to wonder if Chekhov ever heard of the “pull my finger” trick? This will be my fourth time to enjoy Three Sisters, but I need to add that Undermain’s production is a glorious, sublime, intuitive spectacle that rises above the rest.

Standouts in this astonishing cast include: Ashlee Elizabeth Bashore, Jenny Ledel, Shannon Kearns, Joannna Schellenberg, Justin Duncan, T. A. Taylor Dean Wray, Chris Messersmith and David Meglino.

Undermain Theatre presents Three Sisters, playing February 7^th -March 11^th, 3200 Main Street, Dallas, Texas 75226. 214-747-5515. www.undermain.org