Month: September 2018

Branden Jacob Jenkins’ satirical drama An Octoroon, is an adaptation of Dion Boucicault’s 1859 melodrama of the same name. Preserving much of the same dialogue, it aims to enlighten by staging the script through a 21st century lens. An Octoroon begins with BJJ the contemporary playwright, conversing with the audience, explaining his trials as an African American writer. If you are an author of color, your work will always be construed as social commentary; other intentions ignored or brushed away. BJJ often illustrates his points by sharing dialectics between himself and his female psychotherapist, a woman he reveals as a construct. This theme of illusion created for the purpose of demonstration will be repeated. BJJ paints himself in clown white, as he and the other actors don their costumes.

Once the show (within the show) commences we are introduced to Minnie and Dido, house slaves on the Plantation Terrebonne who speak in an urban African American dialect. They provide comic relief as well as contrast to the antiquated dialogue spoken by the other black characters. BJJ plays George, the kind white heir to the plantation and M’Closkey, a despicable white overseer who schemes to cheat George out of Zoe, the love of his life, and his inheritance. Dora, the wealthy white woman, sets her cap for George, but he wants to marry only Zoe. Zoe, unfortunately, is an octoroon (1/8th black) and therefore not permitted to marry a white man.

Jenkins populates Octoroon with various characters, stereotypical, ethnically diverse, sometimes blurring the distinction between myth and reduction. Wahnotee the Indian is a drunken savage, Boucicault, a butch Southern aristocrat, Dido, a modern version of Prissy and Br’er Rabbit, Br’er Rabbit. Color-blind and multiple casting is used to great effect, evincing the conflict between honoring ethnic diversity and ignoring it.

Octoroon may be primarily an intellectual, rather than visceral experience. The play (within the play) deals exclusively in caricatures, the punchline being that Boucicault was denouncing slavery and racism, in the best way he knew how. He may have been enlightened for his time, but the diminished depiction of people of color nearly eclipses his best intentions. We get the upshot, but the 1859 melodrama feels like a debacle to us, in the 21^st Century. It’s not easy to grasp the practical application. The cartoony slant on characters makes them ludicrous, but the lack of empathy makes that sad. We can’t laugh, we can’t cry. What’s the take away?

At the risk of speculating I wonder if the possible impetus for the play (rage, frustration, indignation) is too far removed from the result. Jenkins creates a series of baffles, building tension between content and execution. We see the actors in and out of character. We see ridiculously unconvincing costumes, very much in keeping with Octoroon’s milieu. The show we witness takes some trouble to remind us of its artifices and the effect is intriguing, if not altogether emotional.

Stage West presents An Octoroon, playing August – September 30^th, 2018. 821 West Vickery Blvd, Fort Worth, Texas 76104. (817) 784-9378. www.stagewest.org

Though unacquainted with the script, I understood going in that Charley’s Aunt was a perennial of stage farce: British Comedy of Manners, drag humor, Dick Cavett once played the title role, etc. Set in 1892, amongst aristocratic college boys, Charley’s Aunt finds Jack and Charley in a quandary. Charley’s wealthy aunt is delayed and must cancel their engagement, thus depriving them of a chaperon and the company of Kitty and Amy. Their chum “Babs” (Lord Fancourt Babberly) shows up to nick their cache of champagne. Desperate to salvage their opportunity for skirt time, they badger Babs to assume the role of the mysterious heiress. As “luck” would have it, Babs is cast in a local comedy, and his lady’s togs are readily available.

Though their attempt at cross-dressing is crude at best, it’s convincing enough to fool everyone but the millionaire herself. Charley’s substitute Aunt just seems to have that certain something (!?) that others find irresistible. “She” cozies up to Jack and Charley’s girlfriends (leaving the boys stuck and steaming) and manages to cast a spell on Amy’s uncle and Jack’s dad. All of this with no particular effort. Naturally. Babs is thrilled by Amy and Kitty’s attention, and mortified by his amorous suitors.

In some ways, Charley’s Aunt reminded me of British pantos, where cross-dressing is an established tradition. The resulting humor more blatant, and yet more sly. Playwright Brandon Thomas probably owes a debt to Shakespeare, who thoroughly enjoyed gender bending. In the year 2018, when gender boundaries and talismanic attire are the subject of everyday discourse, Charley’s Aunt may feel a bit quaint. That being said, in the context of light comedy, it’s probably as good a strategy as any. Back in the day, innocence drove the punchlines. Of course the women snuggle up to a guy in a sloppy wig. Of course the impostor is a dude magnet. Rover Dramawerks’ Charley’s Aunt may leave a great deal of subtextual territory unexplored, but it undoubtedly makes for splendid, facetious comedy.

Rover Dramawerks presents Charley’s Aunt : playing September 13^th – 29th, 2018. 221 West Parker Road, Suite 580, Plano, Texas 75023. 972-849-0358. www.roverdramawerks.com

Charlie Baker’s marriage is a bit wobbly and so his old army buddy, Froggy Lu Seur, treats him to a vacation at a fishing lodge, and some respite from his troubles. The lodge is run by Betty, a sweet widow who dotes on everyone, and a longtime friend of Froggy’s. Catherine Simms lives at the lodge with her grown brother Ellard, who’s a bit slow. Catherine is engaged to The Reverend David Lee, whose intentions are not all that they appear. David is secretly friends with Owen, a toxic, unbalanced Klansman. David and Owen know that Betty could lose the lodge if crucial repairs aren’t made, and want to appropriate the lodge for their own nefarious purposes.

Charlie begs Froggy not to leave him at the lodge. He’s despondent and not interested in making new friends. He simply wishes to keep his own counsel. Froggy (in a stroke of genius) tells Betty Charlie’s “a foreigner” and can’t speak a word of English. Charlie isn’t crazy about this scheme, but he’s stuck with it. Initially, the others perceive him as a curiosity, more or less testing to see if he’s truly unable to communicate. But it’s easy enough for Charlie to fake, he’s not feeling especially gregarious.

Then a strange thing happens. As Betty, Catherine, Ellard, David and Owen attempt simple conversation with Charlie, he intuitively responds, in the context of his new guise. Knowing that he can neither repeat nor comprehend what they say, they open up in ways that can’t to each other. Like Singer in The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, Charlie becomes what each one needs. Unlike Carson McCullers, playwright Larry Shue weaves his narrative for humor and irony. Suddenly, the husband whose wife finds him boring, blossoms from his predicament. When Charlie is no longer himself, he finds all kinds of internal resources at his disposal.

Larry Shue takes an interesting approach to The Foreigner. He takes content that could easily be the stuff of catastrophe (infidelity, terrorism, hate crimes, larceny) and gives them a humorous slant. Charlie’s wife doesn’t hide her affairs, she’s actually quite nonchalant about them. When Charlie takes Ellard under his wing, he’s no longer the object of pity, his self- esteem increases exponentially. Over and again we grasp the wisdom of dealing with adversity by refusing to see it as cosmic rejection.

The cast (Nik Braswell, Joe Cucinotti, Robert Long, Sylvia C. Luedtke, Shay McDonald, Maxim Overton, Stephen Witkowicz, Caroline Ceolin, Josh Taylor) is consistently inspired, dedicated, convincing and gifted with amazing comic chops. Their timing is impeccable, their poise unmistakable, they bring gobs of energy, panache and warmth to the stage. The Foreigner is a splendid evening of hilarious, sly, intelligent theatre.

Pocket Sandwich Theatre presents The Foreigner, playing August 24th-September 22^nd, 2018. 5400 E Mockingbird Ln Ste 119, Dallas, Texas 75206. 214-821-1860. www.pocketsandwich.com.

Benjamin is a child born not long before the AIDS Epidemic. They diagnose him with hemophilia, when he is still a baby. Hemophiliacs lack the clotting factor, resulting in extreme hemorrhaging. The worst danger lies in internal bruising and bleeding. Hemophilia is more prevalent in boys than girls; one of the most famous cases was Alexander, the son of Alexandria and Nicholas Romanov, the last Tsar of Russia. Benjamin uses a medicine amalgamated from blood donations, and subsequently is afflicted by the HIV virus. All this before he reaches the age of 8.

When The Yellow Boat opens we bear witness to how idyllic Benjamin’s life is. He is but a wee lad, but his parents nourish him on all fronts. He’s encouraged to play, laugh, create, imagine and embrace new horizons. They correct, but never squelch. They persuade, but never strong-arm. The Yellow Boat becomes a metaphor for hope and adventure, and a world where only good succeeds. Playwright David Saar is quite perceptive in tempering his depiction of Benjamin and his folks. They are warm and sweet-natured, but down to earth. Benjamin himself is eminently likable but never crosses the line into preciousness or spunk. When one of his buddies informs him that a girl is fond of him, he is less than enthusiastic.

There is something truly miraculous about The Yellow Boat, beyond the way it finds moments of genuine mirth in the midst of overwhelming sadness. Which is certainly remarkable enough. The first rule of tragedy is : never stack the deck. If the situation is bleak, let the content speak for itself. Saar, director Taylor Owen, and the cast and crew, et al, have immersed us in this emotionally charged experience, without holding us hostage to the intense grief that is almost inevitable. They include us, (and yes, tears are definitely in the mix) but respect us enough to honor our humanity without exploiting it. We come away with deep appreciation for Benjamin’s parents, who were always honest with him, even when it was more tempting to sugarcoat. Theatre is so much about chemistry. So much about intuition. So much about tone. It feels odd to say The Yellow Boat was in many ways a joyful drama, but it doesn’t wring you out. We get a true sense of Benjamin’s zeal for living, the doors he opened for everyone he met.

Resolute Theatre Project presents The Yellow Boat, playing September 7th-16th, 2018. Amy’s Studio of Performing Arts, 11888 Marsh Lane, Suite 600, Dallas, Texas 75234. 972-484-7900. www.resolutetheatreproject.com

Perhaps we must read Adrienne Rich or Andrea Dworkin or Alice Walker to realize how pervasively degrading, angry and punitive attitudes towards women persist. We don’t notice because we’re submerged from the onset. We don’t think to look for it. Once I honked to wave at a friend of mine (walking by herself) to get her attention. It never occurred to me she might have had ugly experiences from strangers. I was woke. The differences in our experience was made sadly, horribly clear.

When we enter the theater for Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again., the space overpowers with bright white. Everything: chairs, walls, floor, steps, is brilliant white. Illumination? Starting from scratch? Emptiness? Playwright Alice Birch takes us through scenarios that illustrate the tilted dynamics between men and women. In the first, the female sexual partner wants to take on the role as aggressor, in the next, a dedicated employee wants to have Mondays off (her boss keeps wanting to make it about her gender) in the next, a woman lies down in the grocery aisle, dress up over head, genitals exposed. She explains she’d rather capitulate to the objectification of her body, rather than have the privilege taken by force. Though not in those words. What begins as nearly comical morphs into the desolate and grotesque. Birch gives us just enough information to pique and engage us.

We might look upon Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again. as a succession of dialogues and soliloquy that examine components of what it means to be female in relation to men and other women. Perhaps an attempt at reverse indoctrination. Motherhood, for example, can be used as a kind of oppression if it’s not what a woman needs in her path to fulfillment. In a particularly heartbreaking passage we gather the grandmother/mother feels no need to claim maternity as part of her identity. Bearing children doesn’t work for all women. Women aren’t obliged to consider their destiny in terms of some debt to society.

As we might ascertain from the title, this call to arms is a somewhat cerebral anarchy. It presents situations intelligently, often with somber irony. It has a 70’s feel (appropriately enough) and its grievances are carefully, skillfully presented, with dry rage. There are slide titles, red lights, sirens, bells, culminating in a chaotic, stream-of-consciousness jeremiad, expressing intense brokenness and confusion. As a whole the show is beguiling, troubling, provocative, though perhaps not as integrated as we might hope. We arrive expecting urgency, but at the core it feels more calm.

The cast of four women and one man (Christie Vela, Jenny Ledel, Max Hartman, Lydia Mackay and Tia Laulusa) directed by Vela, are fearless and bring spontaneity and wit to this unorthodox reflection on hubris, the patriarchy, female identity and wasted purpose. The script (as discussed at the Talk Back) left much to the discretion of the venue, and STT’s Revolt felt quite authentic and poignant as they sorted out the shape, logistics and personal truths of the piece.

Second Thought Theatre presents: Revolt. She Said. Revolt Again. Playing August 22nd-September 15^th, 2018. Bryant Hall. 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75219. 1-866) 811-4111. info@secondthoughttheatre.com

The deliciously demented gathering of actors, musicians, writers, techies, and directors at The Ochre House never seem to run dry when it comes to strange, stirring and marvelous ideas, often mashing ticklish hilarity with the melancholy. Written and directed by Carla Parker, Mousey happens in the bedroom of a young lady whose interest in toys is diminishing. The one she chooses to sleep with enjoys a certain status, but all in all, the toys are groping for a sense of purpose. Then Jack and his band of raucous monkeys arrive, to expose them to the possibilities of a wider cosmos. At the core of this chaos is Mrs. Mousey. She’s not as cynical the others, finding great comfort in the domestic rituals and enjoying the company of her husband: Mr. Mousey. Apart from this, she leads with an open heart, making her vulnerable and subject to manipulation.

Parker exploits the surreal quality of her vision: enormous thimble, matchbox, spool, and the humor to be found in this community of a girl’s playthings. Barb is the promiscuous Barbie Doll, Joseph the dedicated G.I. Joe, Fluffy the bohemian, stoner rabbit and Junior, a rapper suggesting Clifford the Red Dog (?). Much of the music we hear at Ochre House has the nightclub quality of ballads, torch songs and blues, and each character has their story to tell. [Please forgive My ignorance of music, if I’m mistaken.] Mrs. Mousey craves the bliss of maintaining a hearth, but her introduction to the hyperkinetic alpha monkey Jack, subversively sows the seeds of ambivalence.

Carla Parker has created a comedy that becomes a powerful examination of the archetypal assumptions that infuse our culture. Do we find our highest calling by striving for validation or giving comfort to others? Do our lives only mean something if we are loved? Is it better to seek security over the dazzling risks of adventure? Parker, in a startling, inspired, ferocious turn, ends with a kind of revelation that makes us rethink everything that came before. It seems bizarre to compare it to other shows like El Topo or Leaving Las Vegas or The Incredible Shrinking Woman or The Pillow Man; where the ache for grace and intrusion of the grotesque become something that confounds reason. Like the stigmata or The Catherine Wheel. Parker’s achievement here is sly, meticulous and stunning.

The Ochre House presents Mousey playing 18 August 2018 – 08 September 2018. 825 Exposition Avenue, Dallas, Texas 75226. 214-826-6273. www.ochrehousetheatre.org