Month: November 2021

Hannah and Franklyn are a young, Jewish married couple, and so are their dearest friends: Martha and Ben. Ben and Frank are college buddies. Frank and Hannah are the quieter couple. Martha and Ben always argue, but not like, say, Albee’s ..Virginia Woolf. The four have trials, but love each other, and take it in stride.

Both couples are trying to get pregnant. They’ve spent years going to specialists, looking for a successful strategy. Through a couple of curious coincidences, Frank finds Allison, a college Freshman who prefers to find her baby a home, rather than explain to family in Iowa. Somewhere along the way, however, they get the impression that Allison’s Jewish, and she assumes Frank and Hannah are goyim.

In Kosher Lutherans, playwright William Missouri Downs has written an absorbing, entertaining narrative, both wisecracking and wise. Struggles endured by the friends are often crushing. Curveballs Martha describes as God’s way of blindsiding us. Humor can alleviate catastrophe. Downs has an intuitive feel these slapdash koans, seeming contradictions to explain deeper problems, like the point of suffering. Jokes to bridge the inexplicable and undeniably comical. “I bought strawberry lube, but my wife’s allergic.”

The second act is notably funnier, but that’s obviously the idea. Downs is faithful to what the story needs. What are Hannah and Frank willing to forfeit for an end to misery? Downs is cunning in his nuance. He manages a balance between handing out yarmulkes and characters so generic they might be agnostic or Wiccan.

Director Rick Tuman deserves kudos as well as his deeply involved, intrepid cast. Kurt Kelley (Franklyn) Sara Rashelle (Hannah) Trevor Smith (Ben) Kristi Smith (Martha) and Lydia Williams (Allison) keep the chemistry punchy and plausible. Believable but believably absurd. They avoid the urge to nudge us, leaving room to identify with characters. Instead of selling the punchline.

Kosher Lutherans engages us with the lives of friends who care so much, who offer guidance and warmth. Downs works in surprising turns, gags with chutzpah and pointed wit. Humor nearly coalesces with the hopeless. But somehow it works. This is a strong, touching, memorable show.

Rover Dramawerks presents: Kosher Lutherans, playing November 11th-20th, 2021. Cox Playhouse, 1517 H Avenue, Plano, Texas 75074. 972-849-0358. www.roverdramawerks.com

Ruth and Charles Condomine are British aristocrats, filling their days with parties, teas, and other social gatherings. One day Ruth decides it would be amusing to invite Madame Arcati, a medium, to come over and hold a séance for their guests. From the minute she arrives, it’s obvious Arcati’s off her chump, going on about necessary elements for the welcoming ritual, including the exclusion of red meat from her dinner. None of this implies (of course) that she’s not a legitimate channel. They switch to a smaller table, light a candles, place their hands on the surface. Arcati circles about, drawn into a trance, carrying on (Oh wait. Is someone there? Rap once for yes.) then shrieking like a banshee and conking out.

Considering the ceremony a disappointment, the guests leave and the Condomines chat over aperitifs before bedtime. Much to his chagrin, Charles discovers Elvira, the ghost of his late wife, has decided to pay a visit. Now Elvira isn’t some creepy, eerie, moldy deceased entity. Oh no. She’s exquisite. Willowy, patrician, withering, intelligent and a jovial nuisance. She’s not above insulting her husband’s current wife outright. Ruth cannot hear, but once Charles reveals that Elvira has returned, Ruth gets when she’s being mocked. And once Elvira’s started confronting Charles with his equally disgusting behavior, the two square off. The Condomines are dismayed to find Arcati has no clue how to return Elvira, to the Invisible Choir.

Like Oscar Wilde and Tom Stoppard, Noel Coward has a knack for clever, understated satire. Elvira is an absolute terror, and (excuse the expression) poisonous as hell. Not so much a penchant for belittling, but the passing, airy, snide remark. Her her cringe-worthy jibes at Ruth, exposes the weaknesses in Charles’ present marriage. Of course, Mr. Coward is a champion at subversive spoof. A waiting list for visitation requests, an annoying little girl ghost who brokers supernatural consortium, this sort of thing. Once we gather how fatuous and self-absorbed the characters are, any sympathy all but evaporates.

The cast of Richardson’s Theatre Centre’s Blithe Spirit is spot on, and quite skilled at tone and touch. Carol Rice (Ruth) Robert San Juan (Charles) Leigh Wyatt Moore (Edith) Anthony Magee (Dr. Bradman) Michelle Goltzman (Mrs. Bradman) Lorna Woodford (Madame Arcati) Blair Taylor (Elvira) harmonize as though they they’ve rubbed elbows for years, and pick up cues with stealth and finesse. British humor isn’t always easy to perform, so much of it’s about subtext and culture. But Director Rachael Lindley pulls it off, and the evening was a roaring success.

Blithe Spirit was presented at Richardson Theatre Centre and it played October 15th-31st, 2021. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. richardsontheatrecenteorg

In February of 2012, 5 women (wearing brightly colored ski masks) entered The Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow and staged a protest of an illegal Presidential Election, shouting a 45-second punk prayer: Virgin Mary chase Putin away!  They were removed by force. After the tape of the event was posted on YouTube, they were arrested as enemies of the state. But once the tape went worldwide, their performance became the greatest piece of performance art in Russian history. The women were tried for hooliganism, and 3 were sent to prison. Though subjected to horrific torture (including sexual abuse) it’s been suggested their celebrity spared them from execution. As explained by its members, Pussy Riot is a movement, not a band. Anyone who’s been subjugated or marginalized can join. Just stage a public protest, and you’re in.

IMPRINT Theatrework’s production of Barbara Hammond’s We are Pussy Riot (or Everything is P.R.) is predicated on the concept that subversive ideas are more easily accepted under the guise of humor, or, as Pussy Riot would have it:  Revolution is fun!  There is a fine tradition of speaking truth to power through satire. From Court Jesters who were given free reign, to mad Biblical prophets, to political cartoonists, the role of the giddy or eccentric idiot, who nonetheless has the leverage to reveal uncomfortable facts, has held steady for centuries.

The set consists of chain link fences, large black blocks, neon colored and plain protest signs, flyers, banners. There are numerous costumes and props and the actors playing various parts including symbolic roles: a nun (the church) doctor, professor (intelligentsia) judge (government) putin, reporter (the media). The piece (transcribed from court documents) presents a true, contemporary fable of ordinary women who express their discontent through congenial, civil disobedience. Their conduct is not destructive, aggressive or harmful. No one is assaulted or intimidated, no profanity invoked, no property damaged. And yet this small group of mischief makers are persecuted, ill-used by the justice system, provided with sketchy defense, and sentenced disproportionately for their “crimes”.

The spirited, agile, versatile cast jumps in with all four limbs, joyous and earnest and proactively inviting the audience to participate, without leaving their seats. I was handed a scarf, a balaklava (orange knitted mask) and a Dove chocolate. We Are Pussy Riot! Is a withering, comical, brave, sardonic narrative that moves, mostly at a breakneck pace, including a kangaroo court, an intellectual who dies from hunger strike, a song and dance by the smarmy fascist himself (Putin on the Ritz) and rowdy hi-jinks. Chaos. Tragedy. Rage. Contempt.

Buffoonery as a tool for those on the side of the angels. A feel for the slapdashed yet deadly sincere. All in the service of a simple plea: We have the right to our dignity. We have the right to be heard. Pussy Riot set forth a paradigm for plain, everyday folks to demand respect. To make the distinction between assertion and criminal activity.

Imprint Theatreworks presents We are Pussy Riot (or Everything is P.R.) October 29th-November 13th, 2021. Thursdays through Saturdays. The Bath House Cultural Center. 521 East Lawther Drive, Dallas, Texas 75218. 214-670-8749. www.IMPRINTtheatreworks.org

It’s the night before Alicia’s wedding and her fiance keeps calling Jason (her brother) trying to track her down. Alicia’s visiting Jason’s hotel room (hers is on the same floor) to get some quality time before the big event. Jason (Mathieu Myrick) and Alicia (Stepanie Oustalet) are close, and she confides that she’s having second thoughts about her bridegroom. Jason keeps his sense of humor. Perhaps his younger sister is suffering from 11^th hour jitters. Alicia presents him with a taped message from their mother. Their mom committed suicide, so it’s understandable that he’d rather wait for such an ominous portent.

In this frantic, chaotic life of ours, there are many kinds of intimacy. Wife to husband, parent to child, brother to brother, aunt to niece, buddy to buddy, cousin to cousin. They are all different, but one’s no better than another. Siblings share a special bond. They can be frank in ways others can’t, because they will always be connected. Come what may. Alicia and Jason have suffered numerous ordeals: missing father, mother they lost too soon, pieces of their history that are sketchy. They’ve carried one another through difficult times, and seem to be reasonably intact. The two start raiding the stock of matrimonial wine and getting up to mischief. They play truth or dare. A customary trope of the theatre is to provide the characters with alcohol, making it easier to face painful secrets. In this case, the fact they’re in love with one another.

The subject of incest has been the subject of numerous plays. Tis pity she’s a whore, House of yes, Mourning becomes Electra, Fool for love. Franky Gonzalez’s Before you get married bears some resemblance to Sam Shepard’s enigmatic drama. Like May and Eddie, Alicia and Jayson don’t have the whole story. There are details they haven’t got. In both, the sister’s beau is a buffoon. In both, brother and sister have been subjected to trauma, and adult catastrophes, long before any child should. Even the titles, Fool for love and Before you get married, suggest a romantic comedy, until the curtain rises. It might be different if Jason and Alicia were iconoclasts. If what others think didn’t matter. But maybe it does. And, in any case, they believe that what they want is wrong.

In Before you get married, Gonzalez explores what most of us believe is the pinnacle of human attachment. That the intensity of wedlock is far stronger. Which (again) is not to say that Platonic relationships are not as meaningful, or poor substitutes, or even a given. As a culture we assume so much. There are lousy marriages and deeply caring friendships. Jason and Alicia are faced with a dilemma. However they find themselves now, they were raised as brother and sister. No rationalizing can change that. And so the two are left to muddle through an impossible situation. One way or another they must forfeit a relationship they cherish.

Franky Gonzalez has created a phenomenal work of theatre, here, navigating a profoundly disturbing topic with reflection and sober reasoning. There are so many opportunities here to miscalculate or back off or equivocate. He took on a devastating subject and forged a powerful, unflinching narrative, of two people who find themselves shaken to the core, through no fault of their own. By making the show an immersive experience, we are asked to be braver than we might want. Gonzalez is a masterful, intelligent artisan.

It’s hard to do justice to Myrick and Oustalet’s performance in this emotionally charged show. Needless to say, tone here is everything, and both bring nuance and meticulous presence to a drama that’s 90% visceral. With the audience being so close, it’s amazing they’re able to keep focused, engaging us in every syllable, inflection, layer of meaning.

Bishop Arts Theatre Center presented: Before you get married (an immersive experience) by Franky Gonzalez. 215 South Tyler Street, Dallas, Texas 75208-4934. 214-948-0716. bishopartstheatrecenter.org

 

An enduring detail of Dallas Cultural History, the Good Latimer tunnel once connected Deep Ellum to the rest of Dallas. Back in the day, Deep Ellum was the hub of frantic nightlife, with jazz and blues, pool halls, dominoes, The Cotton Club, weed and nose candy among its distractions. In the 1920’s it comprised the largest gathering of African Americans in the South, where you could find gambling, dancing, drinking and (seriously) religion. All in one night. Sadly the day came, when the Good Latimer was sealed off, though not necessarily the glory days of that district.

Ravinia Whitfield and Good Latimer have been a couple, living together for more than 30 years. It takes awhile, before we realize they’re not married. They fold laundry, sweep, relax, read, and eat at the table. When they play cards, it’s blackjack, which feels like an odd choice. Seems they both worked at a casino before they met. When Ravinia has an accident, it’s Good who rushes to her aid, and waits by her hospital bed, till she wakes up. They go home together, as if this is how it’s meant to be.

As she describes it, one day, Ravinia realizes she is no longer in love with Good. She doesn’t offer this information freely, and takes no pleasure in disclosing it. Naturally, Good finds this news alarming, and it doesn’t help to know she hasn’t fallen for another, nor was there one, triggering event. Ravinia is nothing if not practical. She doesn’t scream, or get dramatic, or tell him to leave or weep. Since they’re not married, there’s nothing forcing them to stay together. But then, there never was. Nobody lied, or held anyone hostage, or faked pregnancy, and so forth. Ravinia was never motivated by some salient imperative, so her next step isn’t obvious.

Playwright Angela Hanks has concocted a very cunning and subtle conceit that elucidates Ravinia’s dilemma, and the reasons why human beings choose to cohabitate. Why do people choose to live together, to look past the other’s exasperating habits and inexplicable blindspots, whatever the pretext? Good Latimer is Ravinia’s spouse and a tunnel that took African Americans to the part of town that was theirs. A place where they were free to kick up their heels and mingle, and celebrate life. But that tunnel was filled in years ago. Deep Ellum still exists as a fairly high-spirited bohemian district, but there’s no going back to the way it was.

Ravinia must ask herself the timeless (Talking Heads) question: “How did I get here? Is any any marriage perfect? Do I want someone to take care of me? None of these are easily answered, and Hanks takes no refuge in gimmicks (though she includes some oracles) or disrespecting Ravinia’s solemn quandary. In love or not, she obviously cares deeply for Good, and owes him the truth. Good Latimer is an unsettling, sometimes melancholy piece, suffused with warmth and humanity.

Kitchen Dog Theater presented The World Premiere of Good Latimer, by Angela Hanks. It played (and streamed) October 7th-24th, 2021. 4774 Algiers Street Dallas, TX 75207. 214-953-1055. www.kitchendogtheater.org

 

Political satire is all the rage right now. Desperate times call for merciless punditry, all the better to ease the chaos that rises like Noah’s flood. Terms like: “partisanship”, “tribalism”, “unruly” and “insurrection” barely seem to cover it. If it all. To the rescue comes Lauren Gunderson with The Taming, a cunningly constructed fable. Three women find themselves somehow in a rather wild dialectic on the foundations of democracy and constitutional government. Gunderson has written a smart, glib allegory on how practical, decent, too often polarized folks can coexist. The Taming is entertaining, if not altogether substantive.

Patricia and Bianca find themselves held prisoner in an upscale hotel room, with no idea how they got there. Patricia works for a carnivorous, ultraconservative senator. Bianca is a left-wing progressive liberal, who writes a very successful blog. Both have the fierce courage of their convictions, and once the other is identified as an arch-nemesis, the litany of name-calling ensues. The two square off, while trying to ascertain how they’ve found themselves in this posh prison, nursing brutal hangovers. Enter Katherine, Georgia’s contestant for the Miss America Contest. Not only is she a devoted, articulate patriot (as are the other two) she is on a crusade, to salvage our sinking society. Gracious and respectful though she may be, she refuses to parole Bianca and Patricia until they work out a manifesto to restore America to its former integrity. Such as it was. The three embark on an excursion to colonial times, when the forefathers were hammering out the details of the Constitution.

The program notes explain The Taming is Gunderson’s spin on Shakespeare’s Taming of the Shrew, which struck me as odd. Shakespeare’s comedy considers male versus female dynamic; dominance and capitulation to the alpha. While Gunderson’s comedy is nothing if not feminist. If Katherine has the upper hand it’s nothing to do with her gender or sexual orientation. If anything The Taming mocks these stereotypes, which is fine, because, it is a spoof.

Director Cheryl Denson has juggled the elements of bickering, optimism and subversiveness with great skill, using the considerable strengths of Kimberly Michelle Thomas, Leslie Marie Colins and Jenna Caire to best advantage. The actors evolve as the narrative does, skillfully avoiding the appearance of contrivance. Denson handles the improbable premise with a light, yet firm touch, sailing through without missing a note.

WaterTower Theatre presented: The Taming: October 13th-24th, 2021. 15650 Addison Rd, Addison, TX 75001. 972-450-6232 Boxoffice@Watertowertheatre.org