Month: February 2024

 

Veronica and Michael are hosting a meeting between them (and another married couple) Alan and Annette. Alan and Annette’s son hit Veronica and Michael’s, in the mouth with a stick, knocking out two of his teeth. Veronica has drawn up an agreement, spelling out the details of the incident, and the necessary steps to resolve it. This is all handled very cordially, with tact and without animosity. They have a lovely conversation, there’s tea and torte, everything goes well, until they reach a sticking point. They can’t seem to agree whether the boys should meet so the offending child can apologize, and they can hash it out? Also should the parents be present? Alan repeatedly points out that it’s a waste of time, deliberations will be insincere and besides, they were just doing what boys do.

Every time the four start to say goodbye, some argumentative point pulls them back. Throughout this dialectic between the four, Alan is on the phone with a business colleague, attempting to salvage a legal case that’s going sideways. Gradually things regress. First it’s couple against couple, then men against the women, then man and wife against each other.

Alan makes a short, supposedly offhand observation (I worship the God of Carnage) that we’re all bestial beneath the surface. (It’s interesting that we might have expected that kind of rhetoric from Michael.) Now this is not a new theory. From post-graduate literary classes to sports events to elections: any respect or kindness is a veneer, and brutality a badge of authenticity. As if no one is ever genuinely charitable or tolerant. As the show continues, Veronica and Michael (and Annette and Alan) are screaming disparagements at each other. Perhaps this what they really wanted after all. So much for civility.

Written by Yasmina Reza, God of Carnage is a French satire, that premiered in 2007. Comparisons to Edward Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? are inevitable, I think. Two couples dragged (George and Martha, Honey and Nick) into a prolonged night of vicious abuse. One character is so overwhelmed by the ugly turn things have taken, she gets physically ill. Manhood and the lack thereof have a place at the table; women are either insipid or Amazons. Albee’s drama is not without flaws, of course. If handled properly the piece moves energetically, but if not it can really drag. The characters of Nick and Honey exist only to to show George and Martha (and themselves) at their worst. But It’s George and Martha’s story. However savage the older (not old) couple they’re not as shallow or pretentious as the younger couple.

Of course Reza, has her own version of the premise. None of the characters belong to the intelligentsia, and they are all equally matched. It’s not about one couple or the other. It runs at 90 minutes and covers roughly the same ground as Woolf. Changing alliances, the small talk and lurking contempt are the same. The God of Carnage lays out its ideas about behavior and the true nature of humankind. Then tests it. It explores the difference between actual altruism and lip service to an ideology. But even IF we are all snakes underneath, we still have to live together. Even if its about the rightness or wrongness of unbridled aggression, it just isn’t desirable or fulfilling to do nothing else but go for the jugular. In that sense it’s categorically different from Virginia Woolf. Albee is all about descent and redemption. Reza,  permission to brawl and regret. It’s funny till it’s not.

In the hands of director Christie Vela the dialogue has a spontaneous, familiar feel to it. When you see a play like this, when the action goes full throttle, you don’t always know where to look. How to keep up. Vela orchestrates this chaotic content, efficiently and effectively. The cast: Natalie Young (Veronica) Mike Schraeder (Alan) Ethan Norris (Michael) Lauren LeBlanc (Annette) is flexible and intrepid. From Young’s Sue Ann Nivens on steroids to Alan’s insufferable, self-absorbed attorney. From Norris’ arrogant troglodyte to Annette’s homophobia, these four have the chops to pull it off without batting an eye.

Theatre Three presents God of Carnage, playing February 1st- March 3^rd, 2024. 2688 Laclede Street, Suite 120, Dallas, Texas. 214-871-3300. theatre3dallas.com

For a very long time the debate has raged. Does suffering make for better art? Is powerful art possible only when the artist has been damaged and tortured? Does misery equal poignancy or does that aspect emerge as a defense against unimaginable abuse? If you’re haunted by viciousness, why not use it to stoke the steam engine? Work your way past it? So goes the cunning premise of Martin McDonagh’s The Pillowman.

I think it bears mentioning that McDonagh also asks if decency makes any difference. Or is it quaint delusion? McDonagh’s worldview is a ferocious, poisonous one, and he savors disabusing us of candy-ass notions. If we could prove that intense pain creates essential artistic voices, what then?

The Pillowman opens with Katurian (the author) waiting, after he’s been hauled off to jail. He doesn’t know why. Ariel (sadistic goon) and Tupolski (detective and Ariel’s superior) arrive. Ariel proceeds to give him a beatdown while Tupolski (a toxic snotrag) disparages Katurian for supposed sleights and disrespect. Katurian does not follow the news.  He’s aghast to hear there’s been a succession of child murders, that just happen to recreate his ghoulish stories. Ariel and Tupolski keep suggesting that no one with a healthy mind and/or soul could devise such disturbing, vile content. Tupolski reads the stories aloud, while other cast members act them out. Insipid nursery school music is inserted to enhance The Pillowman’s contempt for sweetness and innocence.

Katurian Katurian cares more about preserving his oeuvre of short stories than anything else. They’re his legacy.  Proof he’s left the world better. He believes art can change humanity. To remind we gathering of lost souls, there are still legitimate reasons to soldier on. Katurian hangs on to this, though he’s been subjected to years of horrific treatment. So impressive though his writing may be, it’s more nihilistic, more sardonic than sunshiny.

The Pillowman is McDonagh’s brilliant, reprehensible, astonishing, pathological satire of civilization, hypocrisy, and metaphysical cannibalism. Optimism isn’t just laughable, it’s stupid. Kindness is a ruse. We are surrounded by soulless humans, just waiting to fuck with us. It’s not easy to match tones, but it reminded me of Jerzy Kosinski’s The Painted Bird or Flannery O’Connor’s A Good Man is Hard to Find, or Brecht and Weill’s The Threepenny Opera.

The problem with McDonagh (and his taste for messing with our heads) is his carefully articulated assertions about Draconian punishment and man’s capacity for utter ruthlessness. For all his nasty revelry at our expense, he makes valid points : Charity and grace are grand, but they don’t get the job done. Welcome to the jungle. He’s not right and he’s not wrong. A nefarious Zen Koan.

I have been a proponent of Outcry Theatre for some time, overcome by their fearlessness, intelligence, vision, professionalism and gift for the fanciful. Not once have I been disappointed. I cannot begin to imagine the nightmares endured by Rebecca Johnson-Spinos when directing The Pillowman. Finding the right balance to carry this angry, sad, wry piece must have taken awhile. To orchestrate the story and keeping everyone on pitch.

Connor McMurray was alarming and triggering as Ariel, the bully cop who can’t resist knocking Katurian around. Will Frederick is touching and amusing as Katurian’s older, gentle brother, Mikal. Bryce Lederer is compassionate, smart, authentic and deeply, deeply moving as the author Katurian Katurian. For all his grisly obsession, he’s kept hold of his humanity, his kindness. Gifts the world doesn’t have much use for. Lederer manages a difficult, demanding role with finesse.

If edgy, inspired theatre sets your heart pounding. If it calls to you in your sleep. If you leave the theater a different person than when you arrived. If it dazzles and leaves you breathless. If nothing exhilarates you like phantasmagorical sleight of hand. Don’t miss Outcry Theatre’s The Pillowman.

Outcry Theatre presents The Pillowman, playing February 16th-25th, 2024. The Stone Cottage at Addison Theatre Centre, 15650 Addison Road, Addison, Texas 75001. 972-836-7206. www.outcrytheatre.com

Hercule Poirot (world renowned detective) is just coming off a case, and eager to relax on a trip aboard the legendary Orient Express. As bad luck would have it, an obnoxious, gangster (Samuel Ratchett) tries to force his help. Naturally, Poirot says: “No.” Much to his alarm, he now has no choice, as the gangster is found dead the next morning. I enjoy Agatha Christie, because there’s always lots of shrieking. Poirot sets to work gathering evidence, inspecting the crime scene, processing and considering every angle. One by one each passenger is brought to the dining car, to be interviewed. There are heirs and aristocracy, blue collar and white collar, the frantic and the nonchalant.

If you spend very time with Agatha Christie’s work, you begin to notice particular patterns. In addition to her murder mystery novels, she has written a number of plays. She often makes use of characters who are impostors. (Someone in this room is a murderer.) She created the trope of multiple suspects subjected to a confined location: a hotel, an island, a mansion. For me the most intriguing aspect is her habit of tying stories to actual, notorious events. (a roman a’ clef) In the case of Murder on the Orient Express, it’s the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby. And that’s all I’ll say.

Rachael Lindley’s direction of Murder on the Orient Express is impressive. I’m certain ensemble casts require some navigation, not to mention the elaborate, detailed set (Thank you, Greg Smith!) various dialects, and a few quirky narrative devices. The performers are focused and enthusiastic, making the most of their opportunities to shine. The production, in effect captures the boisterous feeling of adventure and intrigue, that Christie so skillfully depicts. As I’m sure most of you know, at least two fine cinematic versions already exist, but Richardson Theatre Centre’s production proves the point that live, onstage theatre, is a categorically more canny and vivid experience.

Richardson Theatre Centre’s presents Murder on the Orient Express, playing February 2nd-18th, 2024. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, TX 75080. 972-699-1130

Annie and Chris are best friends that belong to a chapter of the Women’s Institute in Yorkshire. They spend their time there with other women, all friends. Annie’s husband John is struck down by a terminal case of cancer. While waiting at a mechanic’s shop, Chris notices a provocative calendar with women posing nude. This gives her the idea that the members can pose in a similar fashion, to raise money for leukemia. The women are skeptical at first, but eventually persuaded. The club’s leader, Cora, strenuously objects, but after pleading their case to the Board of the Women’s Institute, Chris and Annie get the green light. And we’re off to the races.

The premise of Calendar Girls, is time honored. Nothing gets laughs like a matronly lady using blue language, or throwing a haymaker, or engaged in otherwise unseemly behavior. Perhaps it proves that Aunt Velma still has the piss and vinegar. That life hasn’t passed her by. That she has enough gumption to engage in scandalous behavior. Chris is savvy enough to guess that folks will love the idea of the ladies being “naughty”. It will bring a smile, and it’s for a good cause. The members will get the buzz that only comes from flirting with transgression, and charity gives them the excuse. It gives us the excuse, too.

Allen Contemporary Theatre has scored a litany of successful shows, directed with skill and sophistication: Red Rabbit, White Rabbit, God of Carnage, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time…Proof, It’s Only a Play, et al. Directed by Kathleen Vaught, Calendar Girls is no different. Vaught elicits performances (from a poised, gifted cast) that are authentic, focused, and intuitive. The show never drags: a combination of sauciness, sincerity and irony that make the content work. The nudity is playful, not shocking, rather like an elbow to the ribs.

Calendar Girls celebrates the richness of life. What it means to embrace:  allure, wit and intelligence, defiance, i. e. realms not only for  the young and rebellious. It suggests the members of this chapter of the Women’s Institute are iconoclasts. Who knew?

Allen Contemporary Theatre presents Calendar Girls, playing January 26th-February 11th, 2024. 1210 East Main Street # 300, Allen Texas. 844-822-8849. allencontemporary theate.net