In 1929 Christopher Isherwood was sent down from University, and as a result, decided to visit Berlin, to seek his destiny as a writer. This was during the Nazi Occupation. There he discovered The Kit Kat Klub, and became friends with the British chanteuse, Sally Bowles. From this intrepid expedition to the underbelly of Germany came Isherwood’s famous novel: Goodbye To Berlin. Next came the play, I Am A Camera, by John Van Druten, and after that, Masteroff, Kander and Ebb’s Cabaret, in the early 1960’s.

Cabaret was a watershed in the American Theatre Canon. Nothing that came after would ever be the same. No one knew what to make of it. Here was a musical that addressed the creeping, sinister triumph of the Nazi Regime, and subsequently genocide, antisemitism, and the “banality of evil”. The premise: a crumby nightclub where people come to ignore their troubles, is deceptively simple. On its face, Cabaret suggests something harmless. We all have troubles, what problem could there be with escapism? How could otherwise caring souls turn a blind eye to the systematic persecution of the Jews living in Berlin? And Sally Bowles (the mediocre nightclub singer) becomes the metaphor for fatuous hedonism. For all her loopy energy, she’s quite likable. Which is what makes her curiously defiant performance of “Cabaret”, all the more disturbing. It comes off as a rebuke to Clifford, who’s disgusted with her unconscionable choices.

Clifford spends his first night in Berlin at The Kit Kat Club. He rents a room in a boarding house from Fraulein Schneider, a sweet elderly woman, who has experienced much disappointment. The club is a dive, hosted by the Emcee, a caricature of grotesque, salacious degeneracy. There he meets Sally, all frantic charm and hopped up chatter. She shows up at his tiny apartment, more or less inviting herself to move in. She introduces him to the wicked nightlife she knows quite well, much to Clifford’s delight. He neglects his aspirations as an author, spending most of his time kicking up his heels. Then he starts noticing the rise of Fascism and escalating persecution of the Jews. Cabaret culminates when Clifford confronts Sally with her appalling, shallow apathy. Sally refuses to go with him, when he returns to America, as the Nazis begin turning everything upside down.

Outcry Theatre has been producing sharp, intelligent, powerful shows for quite awhile, now. Cabaret is no exception. The cast is dedicated, avid and memorably touching. Their ability to evoke such an absorbing narrative with minimal sets and demanding rehearsal schedule, is truly remarkable. It takes unusual skill and chutzpah to bring a musical like Cabaret to the stage, with its chilling irony. It’s odd mixture of wry humor and dreadful portent. Masteroff, Kander and Ebb fashioned a musical where content has cunning, duplicitous meaning. Where the subtext points a finger at the audience. This is not a show for repertory, impulse or amateurs. Outcry has chosen a show with stunning relevance in our current crisis of mob rule and upheaval. And the cast has come through with astonishing virtuosity.

Outcry Theatre presented Cabaret July-15th-18th, 2021 at Cox Playhouse. Outcry’s address is: 1915 North Central Expressway, Suite 120, Plano, Texas 75075. 972-836-7206. www.outcrytheatre.com

MainStage’s Me & Jezebel

Written by Elizabeth J. Fuller, Me and Jezebel is a comedy inspired by Fuller’s true experience. During a hotel strike, a friend asks if she and her family can can put up Bette Davis, for a day or two. Of course, Elizabeth says yes. Who wouldn’t host a legendary film star, with the inimitable panache of Bette Davis? She makes all the preparations for her special guest, and as we might expect, is a bit awestruck. When Davis arrives, she takes charge, more or less. She is wearing a big hat and goggley sunglasses that conceal most of her face. Bette Davis is nothing if not attitude. She mentions the pothole in the drive way, the terrible mattress, the constant “Yabba-Dabba- Doo” she hears when their son Christopher, watches The Flintstones. “Keeeee-reyst!” she complains. “It makes me want to VOM-it!”

One of the dangers here, is the public’s unending love affair with cantankerous old ladies who have a repertoire of obscenities and curses. At the end of the day, we find such behavior quaint, which is facile and certainly no favor to Ms. Davis. Fuller recounts her behavior as outspoken, if not entirely reasonable. Pushy, but not obnoxious. Bette Davis might not be submissive, but neither is she a harridan. Jezebel and Me is set during the 1980’s when Davis’ daughter released My Mother’s Keeper, right on the heels of Christina Crawford’s memoir: Mommie, Dearest. When she and Elizabeth watch the interview with her daughter, Davis is not thrilled. But she doesn’t have a meltdown, which is surprising. She’s bitter and hurt, but classy. Again and again, we see her considerate side, she’s patient with the noisy Christopher, takes Elizabeth out to lunch and cooks for them. As if she’s trying to balance her outrageousness with grace. A lesser playwright might have copped to caricature or character assassination (which often happens, when a celebrity is played in drag). Fuller lets us see her as dignified, but defiant, when sleighted.

Bailey Maxwell puts in an admirable performance as Elizabeth. She’s bright, intelligent, tactful and gung-ho, without being perky or a door mat. When she talks about the novel she’s writing, we don’t surmise she’s a hobbyist who thinks anyone can do it. Doug Fowler, as the sublime, regal rebel of the silver screen is impressive. Fowler undoubtedly has the knack for the best kind of comedy. The sort that elicits helpless laughter. There’s little resemblance (and I say this as a compliment) but it absolutely doesn’t matter. He delivers the role with such confidence and sentience, he evokes the lady herself. My teenage nephew (with shocking ignorance of Davis’ amazing career) thoroughly loved the play. Laughing right along with me.

Mainstage Irving presents Jezebel and Me: playing July 23rd-August 7^th, 2021. Dupree Theater- Irving-Los Colinas- Arts Center– 3333 North MacArthur Blvd, Irving Texas 75062. 972-252-2787. www.mainstageirving.com

Written by Elizabeth J. Fuller, Me and Jezebel is a comedy inspired by Fuller’s true experience. During a hotel strike, a friend asks if she and her family can can put up Bette Davis, for a day or two. Of course, Elizabeth says yes. Who wouldn’t host a legendary film star, with the inimitable panache of Bette Davis? She makes all the preparations for her special guest, and as we might expect, is a bit awestruck. When Davis arrives, she takes charge, more or less. She is wearing a big hat and goggley sunglasses that conceal most of her face. Bette Davis is nothing if not attitude. She mentions the pothole in the drive way, the terrible mattress, the constant “Yabba-Dabba- Doo” she hears when their son Christopher, watches The Flintstones. “Keeeee-reyst!” she complains. “It makes me want to VOM-it!”

One of the dangers here, is the public’s unending love affair with cantankerous old ladies who have a repertoire of obscenities and curses. At the end of the day, we find such behavior quaint, which is facile and certainly no favor to Ms. Davis. Fuller recounts her behavior as outspoken, if not entirely reasonable. Pushy, but not obnoxious. Bette Davis might not be submissive, but neither is she a harridan. Jezebel and Me is set during the 1980’s when Davis’ daughter released My Mother’s Keeper, right on the heels of Christina Crawford’s memoir: Mommie, Dearest. When she and Elizabeth watch the interview with her daughter, Davis is not thrilled. But she doesn’t have a meltdown, which is surprising. She’s bitter and hurt, but classy. Again and again, we see her considerate side, she’s patient with the noisy Christopher, takes Elizabeth out to lunch and cooks for them. As if she’s trying to balance her outrageousness with grace. A lesser playwright might have copped to caricature or character assassination (which often happens, when a celebrity is played in drag). Fuller lets us see her as dignified, but defiant, when sleighted.

Bailey Maxwell puts in an admirable performance as Elizabeth. She’s bright, intelligent, tactful and gung-ho, without being perky or a door mat. When she talks about the novel she’s writing, we don’t surmise she’s a hobbyist who thinks anyone can do it. Doug Fowler, as the sublime, regal rebel of the silver screen is impressive. Fowler undoubtedly has the knack for the best kind of comedy. The sort that elicits helpless laughter. There’s little resemblance (and I say this as a compliment) but it absolutely doesn’t matter. He delivers the role with such confidence and sentience, he evokes the lady herself. My teenage nephew (with shocking ignorance of Davis’ amazing career) thoroughly loved the play. Laughing right along with me.

Mainstage Irving presents Jezebel and Me: playing July 23rd-August 7^th, 2021. Dupree Theater- Irving-Los Colinas- Arts Center– 3333 North MacArthur Blvd, Irving Texas 75062. 972-252-2787. www.mainstageirving.com

Christopher Boone is 15 and lives in England with his dad. His mother died suddenly of heart problems, so it’s just the two of them. He has a pet rat named Toby, a computer, a Swiss Army Knife. His favorite color is red. Christopher is a math prodigy and falls along the autism scale. One morning he finds Wellington, a big, shaggy dog he’s fond of, dead. In the garden by his home. The poor creature has a pitchfork in his back. The owner (a neighbor woman) immediately assumes Christopher is the culprit, and calls the police. The cop doesn’t understand he can’t be touched, and misinterprets his reaction as hostility. His dad must collect him from the station. Later, when Christopher resolves to find the culprit responsible for Wellington’s murder, his dad tells him flat out, he’s to leave it alone.

Adapted for the stage by Simon Stephens (from the novel by Mark Haddon) The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, tells us Christopher’s story, from his worldview. It’s constructed from numerous, insightful devices. Characters read aloud from Christopher’s journal. They participate in particular passages. They interact with Christopher in ways that reveal something about him, and them too. Solemn episodes are given their due moment. Christopher doesn’t necessarily respond to kindness, but not because he’s hostile. The focus he needs to function, doesn’t go beyond life on its face.

Colloquialisms and metaphors confuse Christopher. When we learn he cannot lie, it’s not because he’s noble. It’s a simple fact. A powerful aspect of Curious Incident is the consideration of truth. How the decision to divulge the hidden, has consequences. No one’s saying that sticking to the truth isn’t crucial. But it often asks for a painful shift in comprehension. After Christopher has an excruciating epiphany, he goes to pieces. In this regard he’s just like the rest of us. We all have moments that drench us in misery: overwhelming and merciless.

One of Curious Incident’s undeniable strengths is the refusal to treat Christopher as if he’s precious, or quaint. When his dad discovers he’s nicked his credit card, he says, “You little shit…” as any dad might. Christopher might be unorthodox, he might not notice the obvious, but he doesn’t miss much. He’s not treated as an outlier. Despite the difficulties that come with his situation, Christopher is never treated with pity.

Director Emily Scott Banks skillfully manages this poetically sentient drama with nuance and canniness. It’s deceptively straightforward. The cast is dedicated, poised and present. Their raw emotions emerge without shame or exaggeration. Somehow along the way, Curious Incident reveals the phenomenal sensations waiting for us. It drops us into life with all its crumminess and radiance. Disappointment and pleasure. Then yields to the occasions when the frantic gives way to unexpected grace.

WaterTower Theatre (Addison Theatre Centre) presents: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. Playing July 14th-25th, 2021. Live and In-Person. 15650 Addison Rd, Addison TX, 75001. 972.450.6230. Boxoffice@watertowertheatre.org

Jean Perkins is just this side of frantic. It’s her husband Henry’s birthday and their best friends (Betty and Vic Johnson) are coming over for the birthday supper. Henry’s running late. When Jean opens the door, he’s inexplicably giddy. Seems he grabbed the wrong briefcase on the train, only to discover 375 (count them) 375,000 pounds. Well, it doesn’t take Einstein (or Alan Turing) to surmise it’s gangster money. Henry plans for them to flee the country, tout de suite, before the bad guys put 2+2 together. Naturally, Jean is trying to talk Henry out of this madcap scheme, when a copper shows up. Not long after that another detective and a cabdriver. Henry Perkins just can’t catch a break.

Playwright Ray Cooney has taken a simple (if not original) premise, and sets it in motion. Just like a 15-car pileup or an avalanche, the catastrophic feels unpredictable yet unavoidable. Of course, any money connected to organized crime is bad news. They’ll punch your ticket for nicking an ounce of smack. Jean refuses to leave, and Henry keeps ignoring her. The opportunities presented by remarkably large sums of money also reveal the uglier side of the characters. Another visitor arrives and chaos, once again, ensues. The trick is to keep the bedlam going without stretching our credulity beyond reason. So Cooney keeps all his dishes in the air. The more he adds, the more we love it. We can’t believe anyone would try to steal Mafia money and yet Henry’s obsession keeps everything going. Despite a parade of obstacles.

Director Janette Oswald orchestrates this trainwreck for hilarity with intuitive cunning and surgical precision. Funny Money is a comedy that keeps the turns and shocks coming, and only a conductor with Oswald’s mastery could make it easy to follow. It would be simpler to handle an uprising at an asylum. Funny Money’s agile, convivial cast (Laura Jennings, Brian Hoffman, Kathleen Vaught, Audie Preston, Anthony Magee, Martin Mussey, Russell Sims, Ted Strahan) fires on all cylinders. Pacing, timing, delivery: they sort these to full effect. One hates to reference the current dystopia that makes the Black Plague look like a day at the beach. But Funny Money is a welcome respite from those naughty blues that just keep rapping at our door.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents: Funny Money, playing from July 9th-25th, 2021. Your last chance! 518 W. Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, TX 75080. 972-699-1130. richardsontheatrecentre.net

Written by Nassim Soleimanpour (before the turn of the 20^th Century) White Rabbit, Red Rabbit is a theatre piece whose reputation proceeds it. The actor who performs the show goes in with no idea of what the script will say, or what demands it will impose. We would be loathe to discuss White Rabbit, Red Rabbit after the piece is completed, as it would ruin the surprise. And the surprise is an aspect of what makes this conceptual show tick. When I say “conceptual” I don’t mean what you might expect, say, in a contemporary version of Macbeth, or a drama performed completely in the dark. During the talkback, it was suggested that each individual actor puts their own spin on the content, which, of course, only stands to reason.

The version I attended felt, initially, like an absurd, comedic improvisation, relying heavily on audience participation. I myself was called upon the stage to play a part. Throughout the show audience members were involved in the “plot”, the actor no wiser than the rest of us. We all occupied the same boat. The whole business felt spontaneous, fanciful, yet something like ritual. One performer and the audience as witnesses, all flying by the seat of our trousers. One surprise after another. Now certainly, it would be the same, for anyone watching a play they’d never seen before. But here, the actor is feeling his way through this narrative, following the script as if it were a map. Leading us from one event to the next. Imagine if the performer reached into a black box, each time extracting something different. A porkpie hat. A jar of buttons. A red Asian fan. A transistor radio from the 60’s.

How much more can I say, without spoiling the journey? Soleimanpour, like any good playwright, has carefully constructed a narrative that pulls us in. White Rabbit, Red Rabbit is cunning. Subversive. It turns on tone shift. A whirligig that changes into a vase of lilies, then a bear trap. Not literally, but I’m groping for metaphors. Every step in this hopscotch has a purpose, though it often feels giddy and whimsical. It lulls us, only to sneak up like a fever chill. Much as it would appear easily dismissed, it gets under our skin.

This was my first visit to Allen’s Community Theatre, and I was more than impressed. To take a show like this, with its seemingly sparse components, and create an enigmatic, beguiling drama. It needs confidence, chutzpah and lack of caution to make this work. Like the chef who takes a few eggs and remarkable skill, only to manage a souffle both rich and sublime, ACT has pulled off a marvelous feat. I only regret I saw it on the last night of the run. I guarantee I will be back for more.

Allen’s Community Theatre: 1210 East Main Street # 300, Allen, Texas, 75002. SW Corner of East Main and Allen Heights Drive. 844-822-8849.

Written by Nassim Soleimanpour (before the turn of the 20^th Century) White Rabbit, Red Rabbit is a theatre piece whose reputation proceeds it. The actor who performs the show goes in with no idea of what the script will say, or what demands it will impose. We would be loathe to discuss White Rabbit, Red Rabbit after the piece is completed, as it would ruin the surprise. And the surprise is an aspect of what makes this conceptual show tick. When I say “conceptual” I don’t mean what you might expect, say, in a contemporary version of Macbeth, or a drama performed completely in the dark. During the talkback, it was suggested that each individual actor puts their own spin on the content, which, of course, only stands to reason.

The version I attended felt, initially, like an absurd, comedic improvisation, relying heavily on audience participation. I myself was called upon the stage to play a part. Throughout the show audience members were involved in the “plot”, the actor no wiser than the rest of us. We all occupied the same boat. The whole business felt spontaneous, fanciful, yet something like ritual. One performer and the audience as witnesses, all flying by the seat of our trousers. One surprise after another. Now certainly, it would be the same, for anyone watching a play they’d never seen before. But here, the actor is feeling his way through this narrative, following the script as if it were a map. Leading us from one event to the next. Imagine if the performer reached into a black box, each time extracting something different. A porkpie hat. A jar of buttons. A red Asian fan. A transistor radio from the 60’s.

How much more can I say, without spoiling the journey? Soleimanpour, like any good playwright, has carefully constructed a narrative that pulls us in. White Rabbit, Red Rabbit is cunning. Subversive. It turns on tone shift. A whirligig that changes into a vase of lilies, then a bear trap. Not literally, but I’m groping for metaphors. Every step in this hopscotch has a purpose, though it often feels giddy and whimsical. It lulls us, only to sneak up like a fever chill. Much as it would appear easily dismissed, it gets under our skin.

This was my first visit to Allen’s Community Theatre, and I was more than impressed. To take a show like this, with its seemingly sparse components, and create an enigmatic, beguiling drama. It needs confidence, chutzpah and lack of caution to make this work. Like the chef who takes a few eggs and remarkable skill, only to manage a souffle both rich and sublime, ACT has pulled off a marvelous feat. I only regret I saw it on the last night of the run. I guarantee I will be back for more.

Allen’s Community Theatre: 1210 East Main Street # 300, Allen, Texas. SW Corner of East Main and Allen Heights Drive. 844-822-8849.

Marcus is a singer/songwriter who’s a streaming a live, one-man concert from his home. Just him and his computer. He is promoting a new album, while receiving adulation from his fans, popping up from the left hand side of the screen. They’re brimming with anticipation. Several ask him to play something from Goat Song, his hit album from back in the day. Unfortunately his contractual agreement forbids him from playing anything but the new songs. Various comments jog particular memories from Marcus, while he’s warming up. Not by design of course, but something beneath his calm, haggard, melancholy exterior inclines him to talk about issues from his past. The rough and rowdy “halcyon” days when he was blowing off steam, touring with the band, killing brain cells and engaging in REM deprivation. The title: Goat Song suggests the abandon of pleasure obsession, just like that flagrant, goat-footed demigod, Pan.

As he reflects on various, self-destructive incidents, the promised performance goes a bit offtrack. He more or less converses with the comments being made. He starts a song and then, trailing off, engages with his ghosts. A nearly fatal crash while driving the band. The dissolute life on the road. An alienated best friend. One of the viewers asks: Did you love him? As Marcus reminisces he goes to a very dark and isolated place. His demeanor, just sitting in front of his computer, changes noticeably. It’s as if we’re watching him get farther and farther away. His fans don’t want to hear his new stuff, only pieces from Goat Song.

Second Thought Theatre: always fearless, never hesitant to explore the shadows, has produced this live-streaming , somber narrative of Marcus, a caring soul who has hit a bad patch. Caught up in a succession of catastrophes, the yammering of his zoom audience only seems to make his pathology worse. Drew Wall is nuanced, poignant and touching as Marcus. Mr. Wall seems to come by his authenticity as if by second nature, whether he’s playing a lobby clerk, soldier or musician. Written by Matt Harmon, this one-act pulls you right in, the pathos so palpable, the hero’s frailty so affecting, it’s hard to believe we’re watching from a remove.

Second Thought Theatre presents Goat Song, streaming July 2nd-17th, 2021. 3400 Blackburn Street, Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-897-3091. Secondthoughttheatre.com Web.ovationtix.com/trs/pr/1060097

 

A satirical, campy musical revue: Howard Crabtree’s When Pigs Fly celebrates Uptown Players’ return from lockdown, by staging the very first show they produced. When Pigs Fly tells the story of a young, exuberant Howard Crabtree, ready to graduate high school. Not interested in traditional choices including plumber, garden supplier, watch repairman and chicken farmer, Howard resolves to pursue a career in dance (and stage entertainment). Such is the premise of the show that follows. The program is periodically brought to a screeching halt when a technical difficulty forces Howard to think smart and think fast. He certainly doesn’t lack for people skills or ingenuity.

Familiar tropes of queer culture, including disparaging colloquialisms and painful memories supply raw material for one musical number after another. Subsequently “Light in the Loafers” features two gentleman doing the soft shoe in twinkling footwear, while “Not all man” reveals a dancing centaur. Like Almost, Maine, When Pigs Fly uses lots of double entendres, in the fine tradition of vaudeville, Busby Berkeley, and Florence Ziegfield. Instead of letting homophobia kick out the mickey, they make daiquiris from black bananas. When Pigs Fly certainly testifies to the adage that: “Nothing Succeeds like Excess”. It’s all about spectacle, it’s all about the fantastic. Everything seems to be off the charts, but they deliver with such ebullience and aplomb, it’s irresistible. As any good queerboy knows, when the abuse commences, you’ve just got to shake it off. Just like Howard Crabtree, when adversity trips him up.

You couldn’t ask for better performances than we get from the cast. Duke Anderson, Micah Green, Jacob Hemsath, Lee Walter and Michael Russell come through with inspired drag numbers and scrumptiously cunning delivery. There comes a point when particular shows cross from the plausible to realms of the blissfully ridiculous. When Pigs Fly tips their hand from the moment we see Russell in Guidance Counselor drag, with enormous, pendulous breasts and a killer beehive. So, five minutes in.

It’s a tribute to B. J. Cleveland’s phenomenal direction (and, of course, the cast and crew) that he balances tricky, demanding elements, without a hitch. A mistake in timing, tone, blocking and it could all blow up in your face. When Pig’s Fly is impeccable. Filled with surprises and chutzpah, it’s a delight from start to finish.

Uptown Players presents: Howard Crabtree’s When Pigs Fly, playing from July 9th-25th, 2021. Kalita Humphreys Theater, 3636 Turtle Creek Boulevard, Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-219-2718. uptownplayers.org