Author: christophersoden@sbcglobal.net

 

Scam Likely lives in a well-kept, upbeat apartment. He’s dapper, with a jaunty sense of fashion. He’s fastidiously groomed, certainly gregarious. The only thing that seems peculiar is all the phones he’s got. They’re landlines. There’s quite a collection (all over the place) and they’re all connected. Each time a different one rings, he answers. He hears the voice, he replies, but they can’t hear him. Some of the callers are friends. Such is the premise in our hero’s ordeal in Idle Spirit. Written and performed by Justin Locklear, part four of Ochre House’s Ghosts in the Kitchen series, this piece is a cunning depiction of a man in existential crisis. He has an urgent need for connection, any connection to another human being. Nothing else seems extraordinary in his life, that is to say, nothing to explain why his need to simply talk with another person on the phone is repeatedly thwarted.

Idle Spirit is comical, absurd and often sad. We couldn’t really say that Scam is desperate. His behavior doesn’t seem irrational considering the strange situation he’s subjected to. From time to time we get hints of the concealed engine that propels the story. The cigarette that unrolls to reveal a token or metaphor. A phone conversation from the past, when his callers had his number by mistake. Mr. Locklear would seem to be reflecting on the nature of authentic connection. The attempt to genuinely communicate and intersect with another human being. Another soul. Scam reminisces: When I was a kid, I could make friends with anyone. No doubt this is a useful and appropriate gift in social gatherings, but how many of these exchanges (by the nature of humanity) are cursory? Not to say simpatico is only a theory, but strong relationships usually take time.

The play seems to take a turn, when Scam places a call and winds up calling himself. (I apologize for the spoiler.) This (what might be called) enacted koan, a revelation wrapped in a quandary, points to what Scam may be missing in his interior life. He is so overcome, so confounded, he can think of nothing to say after: Who is this? And hangs up. In Dream Song # 14, John Berryman says: I conclude now I have no / inner resources…. Scam definitely has inner resources, that he’s yet to tap. Why else would he want to fly? It’s hard not to wonder if all the shows in Ochre House’s Ghosts in the Kitchen Series are not inspired by the pandemic and subsequent, prolonged, isolation. Scam’s predicament is easy to understand. We learn to manage the quarantine, because we have no choice. But it’s a skill. Sometimes insipid catchphrases like: “Let’s pull together, apart!”and fist bumps don’t help.

Ochre House presents: Ghosts In The Kitchen Virtual Theatre Series: Idle Spirit, written and performed by Justin Locklear. Location: online at: www.ochrehousetheater.org. Dates: Streaming: May 6-16th, 2021. Time: Thursday – Sunday / 12pm-12pm each day. Admission: Pay Online: www.ochrehousetheater.org /$10 Reservations: Online: www.ochrehousetheater.org or for assistance: (214) 826-6273

As the lights come up on Key to a Dark and Lonely Night we see a haggard fellow taking a slug from a bottle of Jack Daniels. He has a bristly beard, rumpled clothes. He seems highly agitated. He keeps looking out the kitchen window, which is boarded up. The refrigerator is pushed up against the door. Someone bangs on it from time to time. Our hero talks about the past, addressing perhaps a guy named Dave, or himself, or the audience. Perhaps all three. He has fond memories of their halcyon days, going camping at Roaring Springs. Like countless teenage boys, they brought numerous controlled substances so they could kick back and get messed up. He chuckles when he remembers driving off all the campers, when their rowdy celebration got too loud.

There are several black flags to signal us that something’s off. He keeps boxing his head as if his memory (or brain) is malfunctioning. Sometimes he stands in the corner, facing away. He keeps coming back to the same last pill, the same drink, the same empty cigarette pack, over and again. He seems to return repeatedly to one particular night when a third guy, Eric, gets so drunk, he must grab the axe away before Eric mutilates himself. Our narrator seems to be defending himself to someone we can’t see, or perhaps reach a point of clarity.

Kenneth Grammer’s piece is at once deeply troubling, confounding, mysterious and sad. There is something frantic about the narrator. Something that suggests he’s actually trapped by circumstances, not a catastrophe of his own making. Pretty early we realize something terrible’s happened, though his explanation circles back and forth, without naming it. When he repeats the crazy behavior of he and Dave (and sometimes Eric) indeed it seems no different than the kind if mischief teenage boys have gotten into for centuries. Our heart breaks for him. There’s little (if anything) to suggest sociopathy or rage or intense alienation. There’s something almost childlike about his behavior. Scared, ashamed,

lost. When Dark and Lonely Night reaches its shocking conclusion, we are not sure it happened before or after the scene we’ve just witnessed. Suddenly we must rethink the story we’ve just seen. This is cunning drama of the first order.

Ochre House presents: Ghosts In The Kitchen Virtual Theatre Series: Key to a Dark and Lonely Night: written and performed by Kevin Grammer. Online at: www.ochrehousetheater.org. Admission: Pay Online: $10. For assistance: (214) 826-6273.

A one-act, performance length monologue, David Rabe’s Suffocation Theory sneaks up on us. Adapted from his short story, published in The New Yorker, it tells the story of a middle-aged guy who returns to his apartment, only to find that his wife, Amanda, is moving them, roughly 5 blocks away. His protests fall on deaf ears, the moving men are on the way. When they arrive, the new neighborhood is “chaotic and desolate”, but Amanda runs from room to room, shouting: “I love it! I love it!” Reed, their new, contentious roommate, locks horns with him, early on. Reed is a schmuck, wielding a pistol and trailing water from the bathroom. We later discover he is also Amanda’s paramour. At a party he meets the prophetess Cassandra, doomed to forecast true predictions, but never believed. Meanwhile, Amanda and Reed continue to diminish his existence, acting as if he is invisible.

At the outset, our hero gives us a litany of the state of the world. If it feels somewhat prolonged, it is certainly appropriate to our present day tribulations, and the ordeal we have endured since 2016. He describes his addiction to the news, one horrible event after another, bombings, spree killings, destructive weather, seemingly endless catastrophes, commented upon by experts; who try to help him navigate the atrocities that pummel us. Night and day. It doesn’t take long to see Rabe is addressing current, profoundly disturbing events that have besieged us, with little or no relief. They are detailed, but not enough to point to particular items. He meets a group of suits (at the aforementioned party) proclaiming they must help the president. Who knows more about anything than anybody else. Who is in trouble. A president who needs to be understood and liked.

It is fairly astonishing that Rabe has found a way to dramatize and comprehensively interpret an onslaught, that might easily presage the end of days. He has a gift for imbuing violence with of a kind of poetry, but more than that, revealing the forces driving ubiquitous adversity and viral suffering. An inspired metaphor depicts our hero struggling with the dilemma to either embrace or surrender empathy. Suffocation Theory begins grounded in verisimilitude, but gradually takes on the disjointed narrative of a fever dream. Visions hysterical and (gratefully) absurd come one after the other, sadly held together by the glue of the recognizable. Grim though it may be Suffocation Theory offers some clarity during these days of despondency and disappointment, placing them in the context of history, satire, pathos, fable and the surreal.

Undermain Theatre has done a remarkable job, bringing Suffocation Theory to the virtual platform. With direction by Jake Nice, camera work by Marc Rouse, performance by Bruce DuBose, et al, they have created a memorable and poignant experience in a genre still stumbling through its baby steps.

Part of Undermain’s Virtual Whither Thou Goest America Festival, David Rabe’s Suffocation Theory plays April 7th-May 2^nd, 2021. 3200 Main Street, Dallas, TX 75226. 214-747-5515. www.undermain.org

Supernova Leftovers, written and performed by Carla Parker, is part of Ochre House’s Ghosts in the Kitchen Virtual Theatre Series, involving a woman (who may be named Janie) cooking and conversing with herself, as folks who find themselves alone, often do. Even if they cohabitate. There are vegetables on the kitchen table, she pulls more from the refrigerator, she sets a stockpot on the stove, in preparation to make soup or perhaps a stew. The kitchen is brightly colored, pictures on the walls, warm hues, very chipper and encouraging. She opens a pack of smokes and that’s when her internal dialogue becomes clear. Words spoken aloud are relatively few. It seems to be a tug of war or persistent struggle between the self that fails, despite good intentions, and the self that constantly admonishes her. Tragically, there seems to be nothing morally wrong with her, other than resentment for pushing an enormous boulder up a mountain every day, only to watch it roll back down again. Sound familiar?

It’s not unusual to wrestle with our desire to be transcendent, devoted human beings that belong to a community guided by altruistic values. Help the destitute, heal the ailing, love each other, despite our flaws. But Janie’s pathology has dragged her into realms of self-loathing and hysteria. She aches to fulfill her best qualities, but despises herself for falling short. Her self-deprecating side feels more like self-sabotage than ongoing vigilance to confront shortcomings. She is quite beautiful, obviously intelligent and gifted, yet this internal tormentor won’t let her love herself. Disassociative behavior: dancing frenetically in a cloud of pink tulle is profoundly unsettling, negating her calm, if subtly neurotic exterior. When she starts addressing a butternut squash as if it were an infant, it seems amusing at first. Then it seems more plausible she’s trying to bandage early abuse.

Supernova Leftovers explores an otherwise lovely life, marred by the grotesque folly of unabated self- persecution. What might at first appear to be unflinching self- examination, becomes a vehicle for self-torment. Nobody’s expected to coast through life without self-awareness, but Janie’s misery lies (excuse the expression) in letting the perfect be the enemy of the good. A supernova might be an exploding star a billion times brighter than the sun, or a celebrity who abruptly bursts onto the scene. Who among us hasn’t been held in thrall by remarkable joy bestowed by a benevolent deity? Janie’s impossible self-expectations seem too phenomenally overwrought to be of her own making, though the origins are barely detectable. Ms. Parker’s piece is a masterfully realized, complex depiction of a caring soul, destroyed by a culture driven by abstraction and draconian consequences.

Ochre House presents: Ghosts In The Kitchen Virtual Theatre Series: Supernova Leftovers, written and performed by Carla Parker.

Location: online at: www.ochrehousetheater.org.

Dates: Streaming: April 8 – April 18, 2021. Time: Thursday – Sunday / 12pm-12pm each day

Admission: Pay Online: www.ochrehousetheater.org /$10

Reservations: Online: www.ochrehousetheater.org

or for assistance: (214) 826-6273

 

Ghosts in the Kitchen : The Romantic Night encourages ambivalence. Maybe 20 minutes in, you either want to reach for the bottle or you never want to touch another drop. Our unnamed protagonist launches into a monologue, after rooting through the fridge for sliced cheese and luncheon meat and stuffing it into his mouth. He then locates a bottle of Jack Daniels and a shotglass, and takes a seat at the kitchen table. He is (to put it kindly) disheveled. Unshaven, unwashed (I’m thinking) rumpled clothes, drooping eyelids. A mess. He is trying to find his way back to the events of the previous evening. He needs to cut through a blackout. He will take a shot immediately, followed by numerous others, throughout the piece. Very possibly to find the cerebral geography of the night before. He is, surprisingly, fairly focused. You’d expect him to keel over in the twinkling of a bloodshot eye.

He keeps going back to the details of his odyssey from the bar, till he made his intrepid way home, on foot. It might be his social drinking hijinks, or his collapses, or the busy streets, or the cops, or the gaze inside the window of a mansion, where all is posh and urbane. This opulence he will never enjoy, is excruciating, and follows him long after he’s returned to his own humble hearth. Farts and belches. Pain and rumination. Vertigo and dread. A swim through the black river of loss and despondency and a thousand bruises. Alcohol has a way of ramping things up. Everything is in your face or impossible to reach. Possibly both.

I have spoken before about Ochre House Theater: The Palace of Dreams and Nightmares. You would be hard-pressed to find a playwright with the chops and imaginative verve of Matthew Posey. Like Shakespeare, The Romantic Night overflows with dense, exquisite language. One image after another, muscular verbs, phantasmagoria and turpitude and swoony metaphors. In contemporary American English. I do not say this lightly: if this piece isn’t legit poetry, it’s very, very close. We are submerged in the profoundly disturbing world of our hero’s inebriation. We get the feeling he’s never sober. (His bloodtype could be Nazi From Hell.) The language is so gorgeous you don’t want to miss a word, yet we’re held hostage to nerve-wracking content. Posey (and Ochre House) create this grotesquely glorious experience, marrying hedonism, torture and oblivion. Matthew Posey also plays our protagonist and directs. I cannot say strongly enough, you will never find a comparable performance in another theater.

Ochre House Theater presents: Ghosts in the Kitchen : The Romantic Night, written directed and performed by Matthew Posey. www.ochrehousetheater.org

 

T-Bone and Weasel are best buds. They are also car thieves, driving through the backroads of South Carolina, in a stolen Buick. T-Bone (Kenne Earle) is African American and Weasel (Travis Cook) is white. T-Bone is “the brains of the operation”, and Weasel might have been dropped on his head as an infant. During their non-heroic odyssey, they encounter a liquor store owner, a cantankerous car lot proprietor, a redneck sheriff, a corrupt politician, a sex-starved cougar, a crazy guy living under a bridge, all played by Carter Frost. Early in the show, T-Bone decides a liquor store will be easy pickings. The two go inside and between unbelievably bad luck, and a litany of Weasel’s missed opportunities, the heist is a dismal failure. Subsequent eventualities only add to their ordeal. An insatiable dowager. A pathological hobo. A politician media whore. Or was that a pathological politician and a media whore hobo?

T-Bone and Weasel plays like a fusion of Dukes of Hazzard and In the Heat of the Night. Playwright Jon Klein exploits Bible Belt tropes, but resists the temptation to to use them only for cheap laffs. (A second cousin of Flannery O’Connor, if you will.) Each encounter aims a magnifying glass on the darker side Southern Christianity and hospitality. Klein takes the time to set caricatures aside for better realized characters. He injects ethical quandaries into the mix, giving us a deeper understanding of T-Bone and Weasel’s better and less admirable qualities. As we might expect, he explores racism and the choices this demands of the two friends. He doesn’t settle for compromise or derivation or stock routines. He gives us time and space for reflection and appreciation of detail. The exigencies of human frailty.

There is nothing quite like The Pocket Sandwich Theatre experience. The cast and crew go out of their way to make us comfortable and welcome. The minimal sets and curtain speeches only enhance our pleasure and enjoyment. PST gives us triple helpings of merriment and glee, all while maintaining wise precautions. T-Bone and Weasel is a surprising piece of theatre, contemplation in goofy comedy clothes. The cast is dedicated, agile and ready to play. Special nod to Carter Frost for his acrobatic acting skills.

The Pocket Sandwich Theatre presents T-Bone and Weasel playing March 5th-April 17^th, 2021. 5400 East Mockingbird Lane, Suite 119, Dallas, Texas 75206. 214-821-1860. www.pocketsandwich.com

 

T-Bone and Weasel are best buds. They are also car thieves, driving through the backroads of South Carolina, in a stolen Buick. T-Bone (Kenne Earle) is African American and Weasel (Travis Cook) is white. T-Bone is “the brains of the operation”, and Weasel might have been dropped on his head as an infant. During their non-heroic odyssey, they encounter a liquor store owner, a cantankerous car lot proprietor, a redneck sheriff, a corrupt politician, a sex-starved cougar, a crazy guy living under a bridge, all played by Carter Frost. Early in the show, T-Bone decides a liquor store will be easy pickings. The two go inside and between unbelievably bad luck, and a litany of Weasel’s missed opportunities, the heist is a dismal failure. Subsequent eventualities only add to their ordeal. An insatiable dowager. A pathological hobo. A politician media whore. Or was that a pathological politician and a media whore hobo?

T-Bone and Weasel plays like a fusion of Dukes of Hazzard and In the Heat of the Night. Playwright Jon Klein exploits Bible Belt tropes, but resists the temptation to to use them only for cheap laffs. (A second cousin of Flannery O’Connor, if you will.) Each encounter aims a magnifying glass on the darker side Southern Christianity and hospitality. Klein takes the time to set caricatures aside for better realized characters. He injects ethical quandaries into the mix, giving us a deeper understanding of T-Bone and Weasel’s better and less admirable qualities. As we might expect, he explores racism and the choices this demands of the two friends. He doesn’t settle for compromise or derivation or stock routines. He gives us time and space for reflection and appreciation of detail. The exigencies of human frailty.

There is nothing quite like The Pocket Sandwich Theatre experience. The cast and crew go out of their way to make us comfortable and welcome. The minimal sets and curtain speeches only enhance our pleasure and enjoyment. PST gives us triple helpings of merriment and glee, all while maintaining wise precautions. T-Bone and Weasel is a surprising piece of theatre, contemplation in goofy comedy clothes. The cast is dedicated, agile and ready to play. Special nod to Carter Frost for his acrobatic acting skills.

The Pocket Sandwich Theatre presents T-Bone and Weasel playing March 5th-April 17^th, 2021. 5400 East Mockingbird Lane, Suite 119, Dallas, Texas 75206. 214-821-1860. www.pocketsandwich.com

I’m ashamed to tell you that when I woke up Christmas morning, Father Christmas had only left a lump of coal in my stocking. (And a small one at that!) I got on the horn to him right away, and put him on the spot: Is this because I never pick up the check? I return your sled without refilling the tank? Your brother and I never clean before leaving your townhouse? “No, you imbecile!” he yelled! Feleceia Wilson Benton is starring in Ella’s Swinging Christmas, and it closes January 3^rd! Feleceia’s been a good girl all year long, and I won’t have you dropping the ball!” I searched for a witty rejoinder but answer came there none. As usual, Santy was right. So here goes.

Inspired by Ella Fitzgerald’s wildly popular 1960 album: Ella Wishes you A Swinging Christmas, Ella’s Swinging Christmas is available through streaming, courtesy of WaterTower Theatre. Born April 25^th, 1917, Ms. Fitzgerald (aka: First Lady of Song, Queen of Jazz and Lady Ella) rose to distinction and soon became (along with Billie Holliday and Mildred Bailey) one of America’s preeminent Jazz Divas.

In Ella’s Swinging Christmas, Benton covers all the songs from the watershed album, including Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Sleigh Ride, Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, Winter Wonderland and The Christmas Song. In addition, she performs: Good Morning Blues, A-Tisket, A -Tasket and What Are You Doing New Year’s Eve?

Much contemporary stage entertainment appropriates the life and career of numerous performers, musicians and composers (Billie Holliday, Billy Joel, Carole King, The Four Seasons…) with mixed results. Some of them work better than others. Ella’s Swinging Christmas stands out as a tribute that doesn’t aim to depict the “character” for us. Feleceia Wilson Benton informs us early on that WaterTower has recreated her own living room for this special concert, and indeed it has that welcoming, cozy feel. The trio laying down those cool rhythms for Benton’s remarkable pipes includes: Kwinton Gray (piano), KJ Gray (upright bass), and Jackie Whitmill (percussion). These chipper, sometimes moody, often tongue-in-cheek classics move along at brisk clip, without feeling rushed.

As a kid, I was often confused by the appeal that jazz had for adults. It always seemed distracted from any recognizable tune. To be all frosting and no cake. Now, of course, the pensive and playful side of jazz itself, and the genius of a chanteuse like Feleceia Wilson Benton, comfort my mind and spirit by exponentially riffing, counterpointing and resuscitating the familiar and the unfamiliar. Jazz brings a wry, understated panache to the traditional Christmas songs we know so well, blending grown up savvy with a genuine appreciation for the innocence and grace that lend to enchantment. Ms. Benton brings gusto and sophisticated chops to these stories that still tickle, move and delight us.

At the risk of sounding like the Grinch, it’s hard to watch any Christmas special without dreading the usual cringe-worthy, forced sort of patter they were probably using when your Grandpa was a child. Rest assured: Ella’s Swinging Christmas avoids such hazards. It is adult in the best sense of the word, while remaining perfectly appropriate for the young ones. Treat yourself to a giddy, smooth, upbeat evening and don’t miss this.

Ellas’s Swinging Christmas: WaterTower Theatre (Streaming): November 27^th – January 3^rd, 2020. 15650 Addison Road, Addison Texas 75001. 972-450-6232. email: info@watertowertheatre.org Website: www.watertowertheatre.org

Back in the day, Erma Bombeck was one of America’s most celebrated humorists, and continues to be. Going from a contributor in a local newspaper, to widely syndicated columnist, to author of numerous books, Bombeck brought her wry wisdom to the challenges of motherhood. It’s hard to say if American culture has ever been especially enlightened when it comes to the demands of maintaining a household. The chaos of getting the kids ready for school, making their lunches, cooking breakfast for everybody, cleaning house, giving a deceased guppy a proper funeral, staying vigilant with a sick child, making sure your husband’s properly dressed, to name just a few. Bombeck was a prime example of playing to one’s strengths. She was ironic, but never cynical. She was strong, but not brittle or deprecating. She was savvy but always mixed her insights with warmth and humor. She could let you know that new shirt wasn’t working for you, but make you laugh at the same time.

I must confess, I was dubious at the notion of a “one-woman show” on the life of Erma Bombeck. It would be so easy to string together her wisecracks and witticisms, without much substance to support it. Well, I couldn’t have been more wrong. Allison and Margaret Engel have crafted a rich, absorbing, often poignant theatrical piece, tracing Bombeck’s personal history from tap-dancing at the age of four, to the autumnal years of her marriage to Bill. And the Engels never push for those deeply touching moments. Though Bombeck “tempers” even the most painful episodes with sardonic (albeit grounded) observations, they get to us. I was really overcome by Bombeck’s pervasive humanity. Her gift for embracing the best aspects of just living in the world. I don’t want to give too much away, but I found myself continuously astonished by the incredibly varied and emotional experiences that enriched Bombeck’s life.

Under the meticulous, intuitive direction of Michael Serrecchia, Ellen Locy turns in a brilliant performance. She has Bombeck’s vocal inflections, demeanor, and comportment spot on, and manages the task of being the sole performer without a hitch. She’s poised, nuanced, frank and delightful to watch. I believe that if you streamed this show, without knowing a single detail of Erma Bombeck’s life, you’d still be captivated. There’s the merriment and sharp insights, of course. But there’s also the grace, the affection, the bravery, the ethical imperative, concealed by her self-deprecation.

Don’t miss this healing, heartening experience.

Erma Bombeck: At Wit’s End, streams from MainStage Irving- Las Colinas until November 21^st. www.irvingtheatre.org (972) 594-6104 info@irvingtheatre.org

Get tickets at https://bit.ly/MainStageErmaBombeck