Author: christophersoden@sbcglobal.net

Imagine one character, a woman, has been savagely attacked, in front of her children. Imagine everything of human value has been torn away from her. As the play opens, it has been two years since she met with social workers. Two women (one experienced, the other a novice) are there to walk her through an unbelievably difficult, excruciating task. The survivor has nearly nothing to lose, her torture virtually without remedy. The other two women have discovered that their usual protocol has no practical use, in the midst of such catastrophe. The information we get is parsed out slowly, and when we discover why she is there, it’s stupefying.

Playwright Debbie Tucker Green has constructed an enigmatic, overwhelming test of humanity. Under the circumstances, choosing the unspoken is preferable to risking what will make matters worse. And nothing feels as interminable as silence. I should add here that Green lists the characters as: One, Two and Three. This leaves casting to the discretion of the director. It might be women. It might be men. It might be both. It also suggests that these three could be any of us. Number three is the afflicted, this much we know. She is furious. She ignores their insipid guardrails, livid with nothing to draw upon but deep, deep despair. We can’t imagine how these three will navigate this dilemma. When silence hangs like a verdict. When our utter inability to comfort chokes us. 

Shannon McGrann, M. Denise Lee, and Kristen Lazarchick, under the sharp eye of Director Sasha Maya Ada deliver authentic, difficult performances, struggling with this minefield. McGrann, Lee, and Lazarchick are dropped into a tiger pit, the tension they create tighter than a drum. Good actors never give by halves, and they take us with them on this life-changing ordeal. As we might expect, Second Thought Theatre never takes the easy path. We’re expected to be as brave as the actors. STT it seems, thrives on harrowing, rapacious drama and we should expect nothing less.

Second Thought Theatre presented hang from October 16th-November 3^rd, 2024. 3400 Blackburn St, Dallas, TX, United States, Texas. (214) 897-3091. info@secondthoughttheatre.com

 

Two women: Karen Wright and Martha Dobie, have established through sheer determination, a private boarding school for girls. Converted from a barn, the school is nonetheless tasteful, cozy and competently designed. Among the teenage girls we find the swoony, emotional, credulous behavior you might expect. And then there’s Mary. Mary is devious, angry, bullying, given to escalating fits of rage or weeping. She pleads her innocence (everyone is against her) and when cornered, resorts to vague explanations. Like all bullies, she claims persecution. She lies obsessively, stupidly and flagrantly. She skates, mostly because it’s difficult for adults to believe, even a delinquent teenager could actually be amoral. And, in a word, pathological.

Mary decides that Karen and Martha have it in for her. She gathers information from other girls she may find useful. They have overheard Martha’s bout with her Aunt Lily. Lily accuses Martha as being unnatural. She accuses her of jealousy (as if straight people never feel jealousy for friends). Mary makes a run for it, extorting fare from a classmate, seeking refuge with her wealthy grandmother (Amelia) who is related to Karen’s fiance. She begs grandmother to let her move back home, and though she comforts, she sees right through Mary.

This isn’t Grandmother’s first rodeo, and probably not Mary’s. Even Agatha, Amelia’s housekeeper, has her number. Desperate to succeed, Mary uses a spec of gossip to extemporaneously accuse Karen and Martha of kissing, where students could see. The grandmother starts making phone calls and within two hours, the lives of Martha and Karen are ruined. All because a girl hated school.

I think we must consider several structural issues that feel curious. It seems that any extenuating circumstances that playwright Lillian Hellman might have included, she chose to omit. We are shown repeatedly that you couldn’t believe Mary if she said water is wet. Time and again this is obvious to everyone around her, peer and grownup. She is fooling no one. When Evelyn becomes Mary’s unwilling shill, her testimony is so obviously coached, you cannot understand why they succumb to such shaky circumstances. In every conceivable way we are shown that Mary is motivated by vindictiveness. And yet she prevails.

Sadly, I think we are all familiar with the adage: We must protect the children. Which is certainly true. But protect them from what? Whether we’re discussing queer teachers, trans people in public facilities, or high school boys taking Home Ec, the kids are headed for deep trouble. Now some issues are so grotesque, so horribly misunderstood, so unthinkable, that there could be no margin for error. If two women are so depraved, why, who knows what they’ll do?

Panic has spread, parents are having a meltdown; if they must err on the side of caution, so be it. Even before Amelia Tilford has heard from Karen and Martha, she’s on the phone, based on this flimsy logic. If anything, I believe Hellman has granted these two, caring friends, the exceptionally fair “trial’ we actually witness before us. She wants us to see that even after those involved have every reason to exonerate, they crumble (except the fiance) in the face of chaos.

Some issues are supposedly so catastrophic, that reason left the station yesterday. In defense of Hellman’s wisdom, I think this strategy keeps The Children’s Hour from being didactic. A parable. Though it may not seem so at first. I think the absolute and complete ruin that befalls the two (beyond remedy it would seem) only makes it more clear, just how ruthless, vicious and unconscionable is the crime of Mary.

MainStage’s production of The Children’s Hour was nearly impeccable. Consider Lillian Hellman’s script. How demanding and difficult. The content (of course) was wrenching. Infuriating. Deeply, deeply sad. Intensely focused and poignant performances by the entire cast. (A couple of scenes felt a bit rushed). Dave Tenney’s set design was detailed, and sparse enough to set the mood. Michael Robinson’s 1930’s costume design felt sophisticated and apt, without being ostentatious.

Kudos to MainStage Irving-Las Colinas for staging The Children’s Hour, so timely and rarely performed. What a remarkable production.

MainStage Irving-Las Colinas presented The Children’s Hour It played September 20th-October 5th 2024. 3333 North MacArthur Blvd. Irving, Texas 75062. 972-252-2787. www.MainStageIrving.com

The son of a schoolmaster and seamstress, Dylan Thomas was born October 27^th, 1914. Thomas was a well known, and celebrated author during his own lifetime, not always the case with poets. He slipped into a coma and died at 39 (November 9^th, 1953) while on one of his reading tours to America.

Dylan Thomas seemed to follow the somewhat alarming pattern of male poets of the time. Perhaps that hasn’t changed much. Promiscuity, the pitch black results of excessive drinking, raucousness, a keen grasp of mortality, and intuitive cunning. Sidney Michaels wrote the drama: Dylan, based on the writings of John Malcolm Brinnin and his wife, Caitlin Thomas.

Despite his easy manner, and charismatic bearing, he seemed to be in great emotional and psychological pain. His visits to America were a boost to his self-esteem and his bank account. Poets (even the successful ones) are notoriously poor, so the remuneration was a great benefit, such as it was. And who wouldn’t love the adoration and sexual recreation afforded them, as they traveled America? His wife Caitlin was a long-suffering spouse, though not one to suffer in silence. She was well-aware of his infidelities, however brief. I was intrigued that we could always see her lingerie, perhaps a metaphor the intense lovemaking they shared.

As is often the case, those closest to poets have no interest in what they do, but who they are. Unless, say like Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes: a married couple who were both poets. There is a scene towards the end when Dylan is visiting a bar. His doctor has warned him, emphatically, meticulously, and without equivocation, that even the smallest dose of liquor would be his undoing. He has surrounded himself with shot glasses of sparkling, golden, bourbon. The effect is dazzling.

What could we make of this? He left this realm living as boisterously as possible. He was hoping for a spectacular departure. He died indulging his most pleasurable pastime. That he was determined to mock the Grim Reaper? He certainly wasn’t the first artist to practice flagrant intimacy with death, and certainly not the last.

The Classics Theatre Project’s production of Dylan (directed by Jason Craig West) shines for its extraordinary high wire act. His flaws and the brilliance are laid out for everyone to see. You can’t really pity or feel sorry someone who does exactly what he wants. All the time. It seems fairly clear when the show starts that Mr. Thomas has one foot on a roller skate, the other on a banana peel. Even when he’s made commitments, they’ve got to drag him. We incidentally might hear two complete poems. When all you have left is tone, the tone must be impeccable. As near as I can tell, we are not expected to grieve. You might describe Dylan as a prolonged elegy. Strangely enough, that might just work.

The Classics Theatre Project presents Dylan, playing September 13th-October 5^th, 2024. The Core Theatre, 518 W Arapaho Rd, Ste 115, Richardson, TX, United States, Texas (214) 923-3619. theclassicstheatreproject.com

King Lear commences with a ceremony. Lear is growing long in the tooth, and weary of managing his virtually endless territory. Roughly, it is divided into three parcels of land. Subsequently, his three daughters: Goneril, Regan and Cordelia have been summoned to express the extent of their adulation. This will affect his final decision (there and then) as to who gets what. Usually this kind of allotment is declared posthumously. Perhaps Lear could use some recognition and show of affection from his progeny. Goneril and Regan step into the limelight (each in her turn) and delivers her shtick.

Cordelia, however, takes a different approach. I love you as much as any daughter should. No more, no less. She might have said something like: I will always be your daughter, and I cherish that. We ponder which is more egregious. The crassness of a love contest, or Cordelia’s choice of words. Perhaps Cordelia refuses to lay it on thick, wanting no part of this charade. Lear is gobsmacked. Utterly enraged and heartbroken. He splits his kingdom into two parts, for Regan and Goneril, disowns Cordelia and kicks her to the curb.

Next the two elder sisters enact a coup d’etat, with the help of their husbands. They overthrow Lear, leaving him to wander, wounded in despair. Court jesters speak truth to monarchs, disguising their painful observations in the veneer of satire. Lear’s Fool, capering and singing and sneaking in the jabs, does her part to help the other shoe drop. Cordelia raises an army (she, too is married) coming to the rescue of her bedraggled, despondent dad. Throughout his ordeal, Lear’s been stripped of all dignity, humbled beyond imagining, battered by the elements, alone and lonely. When Cordelia appears, overcome by their great love, they embrace and weep and forgive. It’s a deeply touching moment.

At the hub of this broken wheel, waits the question. What was King Lear thinking? Do great men stage tributes to themselves? Treat love like a quantifiable asset? Has vanity eclipsed reason? Or his humanity? Surely pitting his daughters against each other, was grotesque and unthinkable. There’s strong indication that Cordelia is the favorite, but why shame Regan and Goneril?

Throughout King Lear, the familial dangers of implosion, vexation and resentment, come up over and again. The brothers Edgar and Edmund, alienated by Edmund’s illegitimacy.  They might have been great friends, but Edmund can’t see past it. Goneril and Regan annihilating, punishing their father. These aren’t squabbles and feuds. This is humiliation, and torture and vindictiveness. It’s as if Lear’s lapse in judgment has brought out the worst in everyone (With a few noteworthy exceptions). As Solomon said: He that troubleth his own house, shall inherit the wind.

Dennis Raveneau has performed in numerous venues, around the Metroplex. His versatility a grace to the audience. His patrician bearing an undeniably perfect fit for King Lear. He doesn’t just act regal, he is. Never haughty, never arrogant, never pompous. Even as he is authoritative, bellicose, commanding, his vulnerability is unmistakable. In the scenes where Lear is reduced to frailty and indigency. Subjected to the caterwauling elements. His peerage mocked by a crown of wildflowers. We, too are brought to our knees. It’s as if the part were written for Raveneau.

Fair Assembly’s crisp, intelligent production, was somber and wrenching. Their new space at The Latino Cultural Center Black Box, felt capacious yet personal. The cast of fifteen (not including ensemble) was striking in their understated mien. Strong emotion, yet cool to the touch. Intuitive and cunning. Whether cruel or caring, clownish or predatory, sharp or clueless, each actor was poised, with their head in the game.

Fair Assembly presented King Lear from August 8th-17th, 2024. Latino Cultural Center: Blackbox. 2600 Live Oak Street, Dallas, TX 75204. 402-730-2708. www.fairassembly.com

 

Oh, the twisted, mischievous, chilling misadventure that awaits us, at The Ochre House. The narratives vary greatly, you never know what you’re going to see. It might be a satire on a Children’s Show, or Long Day’s Journey into Night. It might be an exploration of the lives of genius artists like William S. Burroughs, Diego Rivera, Frida Kahlo, Allen Ginsberg. You might witness heart-thumping flamenco, or flamboyant costume design. It’s a technicolor soup of lemon drops and marshmallow and tarragon and anisette and chutney and Garam Masala and fig and goat bones….Most everything onstage might be alive. Animate objects. Enormous puppets. Ochre House wants to play. It wants you to chuckle. It wants you to sing loud. It wants to repulse you. It wants to kiss you. It invites you to the enchanted realm of the flagrant mind.

Daddy’s Rabbits opens with two brothers, Boney and Hairy, slapping around Nance, telling her: That didn’t hurt. That didn’t hurt. After each blow. She is pretty, and wears the apparel of an independent, intrepid woman. She manages to escape. After blackout, the story continues with Mommy, Daddy, the two brothers (more like mouth breathers) and Isadorra, tenant of a rented room. In a fairly roomy cage, are three rabbits. Strict instructions apply to our furry friends. Don’t get too close. Don’t feed them. For the love of Christ, don’t open the door! Fu, Pete, and Skip are not like other evocations of “rabbit”. Not like Bugs or Brer or Cottontail, though the names ring a bell. They look like they might break into your house. Hang out on the corner. Tear into your quaint vegetable garden.

Daddy is something of a clothes horse, with goggly, virile shades and velvet corduroy trousers. He keeps rewarding everybody for compliance, with dollar bills. It’s like Pavlov. Mommy wears the recognizable, cheerful shifts, so popular in the 60’s. Everything she says, has this kind of wry, vaguely salacious tone. Isadorra (a tribute to the visionary dancer?) dresses with stylish, exotic clothes. She might be a seductress, or fortune teller, or both. Nance feels a bit like Indiana Jones. Clearheaded, forthright, fearless. Boney and Hairy are clods who walk in sync, say repugnant things and never change their ugly clothes.

Daddy’s Rabbits (writer, Director) Carla Parker’s very, very sharp, enigmatic spoof on the nuclear family (and, I’m thinking, racism) is somber and hilarious. The family Nance (and we) find ourselves thrown into, is insulated, crass, upbeat, and devious. Or clueless? They have rules to guide them, ridiculous though they may be. They worship hearth and home, but no grasp of how that works. Like praying to an acorn squash. The rabbits are docile, but perhaps just inches from anarchy. The brothers are criminal and degenerate. The dad is the father but not a patriarch. Parker has created a family very comfortable with the preposterous. All they need is their Bread and Circuses.

Don’t miss out! It’s closing weekend for Daddy’s Rabbits!

Daddy’s Rabbits plays August 10th-31st, 2024, at The Ochre House. 825 Exposition, Dallas, TX . 214-826-6273 ochrehousetheater.org

 

In 1968, in a small, off-Broadway theater, history was made. Mart Crowley’s The Boys in the Band premiered: a drama exploring the lives of queer men who have gathered to celebrate their friend, Harold’s birthday. Before that, gay characters only appeared on the stage for purposes of derision and cheap laughs. Mart Crowley had penned a watershed. Whatever the ups and downs of the show itself, the American Theatre Canon would be forever changed.

Michael is hosting the festivities from his duplex in the Upper East Side. When The Boys in the Band opens he and Donald (Caddo Lindsey) are catching up. A strange phone call comes from Alan, Michael’s erstwhile college roommate. The poor guy is in tears, and more or less insists on crashing the party. The guests arrive: Emory (Ethan Rodriquez Mullins) Nellie and extravagant. Hank and Larry: a couple with an open “marriage.” Hank (Ian Mead Moore) wears a business suit and Larry (Nick Marchetti) a colorful shirt (barely buttoned) and long, curly mane. Bernard (Quintin Jones, Jr) is the only guest of color. Alan, the surprise guest is the only straight guy, and wears a tuxedo. Cowboy (Noah Randall) is a gift for Harold. He is, of course dressed like a cowboy. Gorgeous, sweet, but maybe not so terribly bright.

Harold (Ryan Maffei) is an entity unto himself. He wears a hat dipped stylishly low, and tinted glasses that were in fashion at the time. His rage is barely concealed, but it is restrained. His rapacious wit, his vitriol, often evinces in truly inspired jabs and jibes. Like the others he’s wounded, but has no discretion, when expressing the result. He has a regal bearing, often pawing at the others, like a distracted cat. He has become The Truth Teller, in a tribe that mostly mentions their abuse in ironic, offhanded ways.

When Alan (Seth Paden) catches a moment to speak to Michael (Clayton Younkin) in private, he still hasn’t quite caught on to the other guests. When he describes Emory as “… a butterfly in heat,” the play takes a powerful turn. Alan doesn’t get it, yet, but in this moment, becomes every straight, white, privileged, Protestant who’s bullied, abused, mocked and degraded these men. Their sublime refuge has been poisoned by an interloper. When he slugs Emory, he doesn’t see how egregious this is. He’s acting out the hateful behavior these friends have been subjected to, probably since childhood.

As events regress, Michael concocts a “party game” where each guest must phone another man he loved deeply, but could never tell. More fearless, more points. As each guest takes his turn (under duress) Michael goads, confronting them with their backstory. He doesn’t necessarily know, but he’s a queer man, gathering with his Queer Tribe. All their stories are different, but there’s a common truth, shared and grieved. We’re appalled how he pushes and pushes, the pain he’s evoking is unmistakable. Perhaps if he can get them to articulate their excruciation, it will lose power?

Crowley’s The Boys in the Band has ignited controversy in the recent past. Critics point out that we’ve moved past this time, where self-loathing and terror of discovery plagued the queer community, and hate crimes were a given. It would be preposterous to ignore the progress we’ve made, sometimes by quantum leaps. That being said: 1. It would be criminal to deny recognition to our forefathers, who persisted in a climate of persecution and a nasty taste for the unconscionable. 2. It verges on the disingenuous and naive to ignore that here, in Amerika, and around the globe, there are still those among us, who are attacked and brutalized. 3. One need only turn on the news to see how rabidly the hoards still howl to drag us back to the Dark Ages.

I was utterly overwhelmed by the performance of this brilliant, ensemble cast. For the unbelievably difficult task they must embrace nightly, bravely. The focus and vulnerability that theatre demands. Never before have I witnessed an audience so shocked, and terribly, terribly quiet. Actors must summon their most raw and genuine core and share it with the strangers on the other side of the footlights. And how exquisite the marvels these Boys in the Band bring. It is phenomenal.

Uptown Players presents The Boys in the Band, playing through August 25th, 2024. Kalita Humphreys Theater. 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-219-2718. uptownplayers.org

Some excellent films and shows (The Philadelphia Story, Move Over Darling, My Favorite Wife) begin with a similar premise. I Close to the wedding day, an erstwhile spouse of the betrothed shows up. Making for a profoundly awkward situation. RTC’s production of Lewis Black’s One Slight Hitch, fits quite nicely,

It’s 11 AM on Courtney Coleman’s wedding day. Her parents, Doc and Delia, are dealing in their own, particular ways. Doc is unflappable, and Delia’s having a slow meltdown. She and Doc were married during wartime (and sadly) Delia was denied the exquisite wedding, so many women dream of. Not unreasonably, perhaps, she hopes to resolve the past by putting everything she has into Courtney’s wedding. Her two sisters, PB and Melanie are there, and the caterers have just started arriving.

Without warning, Ryan, Courtney’s ex-husband, shows up at the front door. He’s been hitchhiking, and decides to drop by. Seeing as he was just in the neighborhood. Ryan is the quintessential surfer boy. Adorable, innocuous, metaphysical. Needless to say, his timing couldn’t be worse. The family all know and like him, but he’s like the spaniel who jumps in bed, when you’re having sex. He throws his rancid clothes in the laundry and takes advantage of the opportunity for a shower. Courtney is enraged to see him, but maybe not too much. Can they send him on his way, before Harper (the groom) arrives?

Playwright Lewis Black has a few tricks in his deck of cards. The primitive and utterly inappropriate fertility idol. A bad omen to be sure. PB, the daughter who skates indoors, submerged in her Walkman. Ryan the unwelcome, welcome guest, walking around in a towel. The future In-Laws they must stall and ultimately chase away. Harper the more sophisticated, articulate groom.

These are not only mishaps, they’re metaphors. The spouse who’s everything the other isn’t. The delicate and flawless vase, that we all know is going to break. TheShrimp BoatsThe daughters who aren’t worried about the event, because it’s not their problem. The miniature bride and groom, besmirched in frosting. It’s as if the cosmos is orchestrating all the elements in conjunction with the “cursed” marriage.

One Slight Hitch felt low-key and subtle. More about situation than dialogue. When the graphic statues arrive, we laugh because they’re something of a shock, not necessarily from character response. When we see poor Delia trying to save the sinking ship, she’s less frantic than perplexed. We know almost from the beginning the wedding is doomed. As one shoe drops after another, the emphasis seems to be the irony. You could make a case for all humor turning on irony, some is simply more resigned than surprised. One Slight Hitch feels more like Dorothy Parker than Fanny Brice.

Special thanks to RTC for letting me attend at the end of the run.

Richardson Theatre Centre presented One Slight Hitch, July 12th-28th, 2024. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, TX 75080. 972-699-1130

 

Some excellent films and shows (The Philadelphia Story, Move Over Darling, My Favorite Wife) begin with a similar premise. I Close to the wedding day, an erstwhile spouse of the betrothed shows up. Making for a profoundly awkward situation. RTC’s production of Lewis Black’s One Slight Hitch, fits quite nicely.

It’s 11 AM on Courtney Coleman’s wedding day. Her parents, Doc and Delia, are dealing in their own, particular ways. Doc is unflappable, and Delia’s having a slow meltdown. She and Doc were married during wartime (and sadly) Delia was denied the exquisite wedding, so many women dream of. Not unreasonably, perhaps, she hopes to resolve the past by putting everything she has into Courtney’s wedding. Her two sisters, PB and Melanie are there, and the caterers have just started arriving.

Without warning, Ryan, Courtney’s ex-husband, shows up at the front door. He’s been hitchhiking, and decides to drop by. Seeing as he was just in the neighborhood. Ryan is the quintessential surfer boy. Adorable, innocuous, metaphysical. Needless to say, his timing couldn’t be worse. The family all know and like him, but he’s like the spaniel who jumps in bed, when you’re having sex. He throws his rancid clothes in the laundry and takes advantage of the opportunity for a shower. Courtney is enraged to see him, but maybe not too much. Can they send him on his way, before Harper (the groom) arrives?

Playwright Lewis Black has a few tricks in his deck of cards. The primitive and utterly inappropriate fertility idol. A bad omen to be sure. PB, the daughter who skates indoors, submerged in her Walkman. Ryan the unwelcome, welcome guest, walking around in a towel. The future In-Laws they must stall and ultimately chase away. Harper the more sophisticated, articulate groom.

These are not only mishaps, they’re metaphors. The spouse who’s everything the other isn’t. The delicate and flawless vase, that we all know is going to break. Shrimp Boats left out in the sun. The daughters who aren’t worried about the event, because it’s not their problem. The miniature bride and groom, besmirched in frosting. It’s as if the cosmos is orchestrating all the elements in conjunction with the “cursed” marriage.

One Slight Hitch felt low-key and subtle. More about situation than dialogue. When the graphic statues arrive, we laugh because they’re something of a shock, not necessarily from character response. When we see poor Delia trying to save the sinking ship, she’s less frantic than perplexed. We know almost from the beginning the wedding is doomed. As one shoe drops after another, the emphasis seems to be the irony. You could make a case for all humor turning on irony, some is simply more resigned than surprised. One Slight Hitch feels more like Dorothy Parker than Fanny Brice.

Special thanks to RTC for letting me attend at the end of the run.

Richardson Theatre Centre presented One Slight Hitch, July 12th-28th, 2024. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, TX 75080. 972-699-1130

Austin is a screenwriter, house-sitting for his mother, on a trip to Alaska. In Southern California, not far from Los Angeles, the house is retro, reminiscent of domiciles from the 40’s and 50’s. The kitchen is bright, cozy and welcoming. Austin (Joey Folsom) is working on a script and conversing (more or less) with his brother Lee (Clay Yocum). Lee is hotheaded, fierce, with a hair-trigger temper. Would you like some breakfast? Shouting: Fuck you! I can do it myself. Lee has been living in the desert and returns to their erstwhile home, discovering mother isn’t there. Austin is hospitable, despite Lee’s bellicose swagger. They are brothers after all. Lee discovers Austin is expecting Saul (Michael Miller) his agent, who’s excited about his current screenplay. Austin asks Lee (politely) to make himself scarce, relinquishing access to his car keys. Somehow Lee manages to insinuate himself into the conversation. Playing golf the next day, Lee dazzles Saul with his informal “pitch”, behind Austin’s back.

You might say that Austin is Ego to Lee’s Id. Austin is cerebral. Lee is visceral. Austin is reasonable and polite, Lee is obnoxious and contentious. You could also compare them to Abel (Austin) and Cain (Lee). Austin has infinite patience for Lee’s endless rage, tirades and scorn.

He endures him but never corrects him. The longer we watch, the more we wonder why Austin wasn’t named Lee, and Lee, Austin. It’s as if each was taken from the other. As the plot unfolds, we see them trade places. When Lee tries to succeed as an author, and Austin tries to prove himself as a thief; neither of them has it solved. Lee needs Austin’s literacy and polish and Austin aches for the raw exhilaration of desperation. They aren’t so much different, as they are split. Polarized.

True West (by Sam Shepard) considers the myth of the cowboy west. The romantic notion that getting by on one’s wits (without pretense of grace or sophistication) is more authentic. Intellectualism is just snobbery, and civility a lie. Shepard exposes the flaws in this misconception. He reveals the fear behind violence. Lee gets Saul’s attention by describing his life in such explosive, primitive terms. He heaves a bomb right through the window of The Ladies Afternoon Bridge Club. The spirit of culture is dull. The spirit of the West is destitute.

I’ve been fortunate to see True West 3-4 times, over the years. Each production had its strengths. Thanks to the masterful, meticulous direction of Terry Martin, The Classics Theatre Project’s True West is one of the most solid, intuitive, jarring, tempestuous dramas I have witnessed. It waits and lurks just offstage. It grabs you by the lapels and shakes you. Hard. This is brilliant theatre.

Accolades to this diligent, dedicated, intrepid cast: Joey Folsom (Austin) Clay Yocum (Lee) Michael Miller (Saul) Allyn Carrell (Mom).

The Classics Theatre Project Presents: True West, playing July 12th –August 24th, 2024. Stone Cottage in Addison. 15650 Addison Rd, Addison, TX 75001. (214) 923-3619. tctpdfw@gmail.com. theclassicstheatreproject.com

Sandy manages a Wedding Chapel, it seems, single-handedly. Wedding Chapels (as we all know) are a staple of Las Vegas culture. Perhaps the freewheeling intoxication and high spirits (as it were) of gambling, encourages impulsive choices. It’s impressive, when you consider all the details. The ceremony fee is not excessive, it’s the amenities that get you. Who knew you could book a helicopter, tape a video, or get Elvis to preside? Throughout her stint as a (thrice divorced) provider of happiness, Sandy has seen a lot, and learned a lot. When she says she can spot the marriages that will tank immediately, she seems completely credible.

First we see Bev and Stan. When Bev’s husband left her for Stan’s wife, and Stan’s wife left him Bev’s husband, they resolved to wed for retribution. Then Stan decides to call their erstwhile spouses, to rub it in their faces. Vanessa and Bryce are television stars whose careers have seen better days. There was a time when the paparazzi followed them day and night. Now (as they say) they couldn’t get arrested. Next are Fiona and Marvin. Fiona is tough, snappy and contentious. She’s always got her dukes in the air. Marvin is a computer whiz. Terribly shy and undeniably cerebral. But somehow, like Nichols and May, they seem the perfect fit.

Playwright Nancy Frick has concocted an ingenious premise. Like Neil Simon she knows how to make the most of the improbable, sparking hilarity while piquing our humanity. Each couple has a blind spot or difficulty. I am a huge fan of Pocket Sandwich’s notorious “popcorn tossers”, but Four Weddings and an Elvis was every bit as entertaining. Just on a different level. It was introspective, eccentric, sagacious, chaotic. It reminded me of Love, American Style, but more intelligent.

Something I’ve always adored about Pocket Sandwich Theatre, is button down, buoyant, enthusiastic playfulness, both on and offstage. Apart from featuring the occasional drama, there’s a fizzy, chipper, careless feeling that just makes you smile with your heart. Waiters, waitresses, band, performers, crew. We’re all here for a great evening. During the interval, Elvis took questions, and sang Happy Birthday to guests. Where else could you find that, besides Pocket Sandwich Theatre?

Don’t miss PST’s current comedy: Herbitts Wizards, and Borks, Oh My! Playing July 5th-August 24^th, 2024.

Pocket Sandwich Theatre presented Four Weddings and an Elvis May 24^th, 2024, and closed June 22^nd, 2024. Downtown Carrollton Square, 1104 S. Elm Street, Carrollton, Texas 75006. pst@dallas.net.  214-821-1860.