Author: christophersoden@sbcglobal.net

Mila and Angelo are roommates in a homeless shelter for LGBT teenagers. Kids who self-identify as queer are often kicked out of their own homes. Mila presents as an angry, alpha male, while Angelo is an effusive gay male, sweet-natured and congenial. Angelo’s no longer welcome in his home and Mila can’t shake the memory of his unborn cousin. Angelo tries to be friendly, but Mila keeps admonishing him to “Stop acting like a bitch.” There’s a touching dreaminess to Angelo’s behavior. We know he can be careful, when he needs to be, but he’s clearly relieved to be in a place where he needn’t pretend. Though Mila is brusque and disparaging towards Angelo, it seems his aggression is motivated by fear. Like other women who identify as and live as men, he can’t risk discovery by most guys who live on the streets. It takes some time, but gradually Angelo captivates him with his fanciful notions, like describing our lives and connection to the stars. Angelo’s Abuela says, “You don’t need wings to be an angel.”

Playwright Emilio Rodriquez has depicted the intense, fierce, dangerous world that LGBTQ folks must endure. While we have come a long way as a culture, not all of us are fortunate enough to live among the enlightened. You never know when you might cross paths with someone who thinks it’s their job to maul and degrade you. Mila and Angelo have been taken from their nests to a life where they must constantly consider every word, every gesture, every article of clothing. Rodriquez, carefully, exquisitely, has found an intersection between the ferocious Mila, and the tender Angelo. Almost like Stanley Kowalski and Blanche DuBois (if you will). Except these two find a way to genuinely care for one another.

While sharing a room, Angelo is worried for Mila’s welfare. When he disappears for hours after curfew, Angelo frets and paces. When its obvious that the cops are chasing Mila, Angelo helps him hide. Even though Mila is often obnoxious, Angelo sees through this. Regardless of how each of us identifies, underneath it all, gender is a puzzle. A conundrum. Sadly many cisgender (straight-identified) won’t admit that none of us has really figured it out. They can’t or won’t be brave enough to own what Mila and Angelo embrace, for the sake of self-actualizing. Rodriquez has pulled us into this realm, where the ultimately nebulous question of how we celebrate and express our genitalia is explored. This production brims with mystery and warmth and the wonder that comes from navigating by the stars. Kudos also to director Jorge B. Merced, J Davis-Jones (Mila) and Dominic Pecikonis (Angelo) for their remarkable, poignant work.

Cara Mía Theatre presents Swimming While Drowning : playing November 30th-December 15^th, 2019. 3630 Harry Hines Blvd. Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-516-0706. caramiatheatre.org

 

 

Queen of Basel opens in the kitchen of a very posh hotel, where an upscale party is thriving in the adjoining ballroom. Christine (a waitress) has brought Julie here, after drinks get spilled. Julie is heiress to the Basel fortune. The man who owns the hotel (Arthur Basel) is her dad. Christine and Julie are worried that paparazzi will photograph her at an awkward moment. Julie wears a rich, dark blue gown. Christine wears her an outlandish uniform: hot pink wig, halter top, hot pants. She calls her fiance, John, an Uber driver, to rescue Julie from prying media. Julie assures them that she is fine. That none of this is necessary.

What follows is the story of three people of color, struggling to prosper, after centuries of racism and gender bias. Though playwright Hilary Bettis never says that kind of thing outright. The lives of John, Christine and Julie demonstrate their plight. Julie is forthright, practical, not really bossy, but not as deferential and solicitous as Christine. John is defensive, scrappy, but intelligent. All three have survived dangerous circumstances, overcoming countless obstacles, to achieve success proportionate to their considerable skills and talents. They are sentient, strong, smart. Not unrealistic, not unwilling to do the hard work. It’s so obvious the world is unwilling to recognize their value, it’s never said aloud.

Bettis creates an urgent, ironic dynamic between the characters. It’s not only fate, that follows them like a curse. It’s toxic humanity. Desperation tempts them to exploit each other. Under different circumstances, Christine and Julie’s roles might have been reversed. Julie may dress elegantly, but her dad takes her no more seriously than Christine; one of his waitresses in degrading clothes. Julie may be barefoot princess, but broken glass is waiting where she can’t see. For all her striving and advantages of wealth, she winds up hiding in a kitchen. Like every other woman, she’s only the “Queen of Basil.”

Kitchen Dog Theater presents: Queen of Basel, playing November 21st-December 15^th, 2019. 2600 N. Stemmons Fwy, Suite 180, Dallas, Texas 75207. (214) 953-1055 Kitchendogtheater.org

Mitchell Parrack’s Razz (currently playing at The Ochre House) is a distilled exploration of the life of choreographer Bob Fosse. Of course, that title doesn’t begin to explain Fosse’s astonishing career. He was also an actor, director, filmmaker and screenwriter. Fosse’s visionary approach to dance triggered a watershed that changed The Great White Way forever. Fosse choreographed countless Broadway musicals (including Pal Joey, Little Me, The Pajama Game, Chicago, Pippin and Cabaret) making his wife Gwen Verdon a star in the process. Verdon was absolutely his equal, often trading blow for blow. But sadly, like many geniuses before him, his repugnant behavior was too often indulged and tolerated.

Razz opens with Fosse verbally sparring with Bertolt Brecht. The two never actually knew each other, but Brecht influenced Fosse’s work. Next we see him jabbing and jibing with three women. Joan McCracken (second wife) Gwen Verdon (third wife) and Ann Reinking (paramour). He talks them through a dance number he’s designed, holding them to his notoriously demanding, meticulous style. What we are witnessing is a ritual that was probably repeated hundreds of thousands of times. We also meet Paddy Chayefsky, close friend and (we gather) confidante of Fosse’s. Chayefsky spends much time consoling Fosse and trying to guy him out of his perpetual guilt and despondency.

Parrack examines the downside of Fosse’s brilliance. His compulsive need to exorcise looming failure. We see Fosse’s gravitas, his turmoil, his disappointment in himself. It might have been a profound enhancement, I think, to express the sophisticated, sublime experience of Fosse’s talent, in some way or another. Fosse’s groundbreaking, provocative moves were breathtaking, and a river to gypsies throughout the theatre world. When we grasp how someone like Picasso, Hitchcock, Lennon, Einstein has made this rock we inhabit somehow better, we can maybe forgive their flaws. Forgive them for being a prick. Ochre House has a gift for crisp, minimal narratives. Like exquisite poetry, it captures the essence of this story, takes us to the core of its quandary.

The Ochre House presents Razz, written by Mitchell Parrack. Playing October 26th-November 16^th, 2019. 825 Exposition Ave, Dallas, TX 75226. 214-826-6273. ochrehousetheater.org

Mitchell Parrack’s Razz (currently playing at The Ochre House) is a distilled exploration of the life of choreographer Bob Fosse. Of course, that title doesn’t begin to explain Fosse’s astonishing career. He was also an actor, director, filmmaker and screenwriter. Fosse’s visionary approach to dance triggered a watershed. The Great White Way would be changed forever. Fosse choreographed countless Broadway musicals (including Pal Joey, Little Me, The Pajama Game, Chicago, Pippin and Cabaret) making his wife Gwen Verdon a star in the process. Verdon was absolutely his equal, often trading blow for blow. But sadly, like many geniuses before him, his repugnant behavior was too often indulged and tolerated.

Razz opens with Fosse verbally sparring with Bertolt Brecht. The two never actually knew each other, but Brecht influenced Fosse’s work. Next we see him talking with three women. Joan McCracken (second wife) Gwen Verdon (third wife) and Ann Reinking (paramour). He talks them through a dance number he’s designed, holding them to his notoriously demanding, meticulous style. What we are witnessing is a ritual that was probably repeated hundreds of thousands of times. We also meet Paddy Chayefsky, close friend and (we gather) confidante of Fosse’s. Chayefsky spends much time consoling Fosse and trying to guy him out of his perpetual guilt and despondency.

Parrack examines the downside of Fosse’s brilliance. His compulsive need to exorcise looming failure. We see Fosse’s gravitas, his turmoil, his disappointment in himself. It might have been a profound enhancement, I think, to express the sophisticated, sublime experience of Fosse’s talent, in some way or another. Fosse’s groundbreaking, provocative moves were breathtaking, and a river to gypsies throughout the theatre world. When we grasp how someone like Picasso, Hitchcock, Lennon, Einstein has made this rock we inhabit somehow better, we can maybe forgive their flaws. Forgive them for being a prick Ochre House has a gift for crisp, minimal narratives. Like exquisite poetry, it captures the essence of this story, takes us to the core of its quandary.

The Ochre House presents Razz, written by Mitchell Parrack. Playing October 26th-November 16^th, 2019. 825 Exposition Ave, Dallas, TX 75226. 214-826-6273. ovhrehousetheater.org

Who would have guessed that a theatre might claim the notorious Lizzie Borden as an iconoclast of the Fascist patriarchy? Well, IMPRINT has done just that with rock musical Lizzie. Composed by Steven Cheslik-DeMeyer, Tim Maner and Alan Stevens Hewitt, Lizzie is set in the deeply troubled Borden household, and features only four characters: Bridget (the housekeeper) Emma (Lizzie’s older sister) Alice (Lizzie’s lover) and Lizzie herself. In the late 19^th Century, the grown Borden sisters share a large house with Bridget, their father Andrew, and new stepmother, Abby. Lizzie makes no bones about the nightmarish situation in which Lizzie finds herself. There’s sexual assault by the father, vindictiveness and abuse by both parents, and an oppressive mixture of subjugation, menace and degeneracy. Smoke suffuses the set and Emma and Lizzie are trapped like sacrifices to the Minotaur in his labyrinth.

When the two women lose their beloved mother Sarah, their dad doesn’t waste time in finding another wife, who’s determined to fleece him. When they discover that Abby’s having them removed from the will, Emma moves out; leaving Lizzie to the enormous house, and her own devices. On a day when Bridget is in town picking up bargains and washing windows and taking a nap, the bodies of Abby and Andrew will be discovered. Hacked and mutilated by an ax. Lizzie will later tell the cops she saw some rough transient, leaving in a hurry. In spite of remarkably sketchy circumstances, the youngest daughter is exonerated.

It would have been easy to justify Lizzie’s vindication. By the time she’s freed to live the life of an heiress, she’s suffered long and miserably. Like Medea or Circe, she’s something of a martyr. She wouldn’t be the first to be further victimized: so often male culture systemically makes women into whipping boys. But these furious, defiant women go from psychologically and metaphysically maimed, to ferocious Maenads, poised to devour. It’s rare and stupefying to see this kind of brazen, reckless audacity. And even more so to see it soar. So many shows (when they run out of ideas) will come up with something outrageous and hope for the best. IMPRINT has taken enormous risks with Lizzie, and the subversive, Bacchanalian rush will send you into orbit.

IMPRINT Theatreworks presents: Lizzie, playing October 31st- november 16^th, 2019. Bath House Cultural Center, 521 East Lawther Drive, Dallas, TX 75218. 972-814-1852. www.imprinttheatreworks.org

In the Spring of 1445, Margaret of Anjou (15 years old) married Henry VI and became Queen of England as well as nominal Queen of France. She was the second daughter of Rene, King of Naples (among other countries) and had one son (Edward of Westminster) by Henry. Henry suffered from disabling mental illness, and for that reason, Margaret often ruled in his place. She was a key player in The War of the Roses and a nimble strategist. After the defeat at Tewkesbury in 1475, she found refuge with her French cousin, King Louis XI, living under his protection till she died in 1482.

A collaboration of Stephan Wolfert and Dawn Stern, She-Wolf depicts the strong-tempered, valiant Margaret, thrust into the upheaval of the English court, awash in politics, betrayal and savages scaling the battlements. Stern and Wolfert have gathered details of Margaret’s reign from Shakespeare’s Henry VI and Richard III, adapting it to his style, diction and strategies. There’s a brightness to Shakespeare, a gorgeous, punchy playfulness to his banter. A rough yet comforting texture to his jeremiads. Wolfert and Stern capture this, as well as the chaos, brutality and profound disappointment that Margaret endured.

Needless to say, Amphibian plays on our expectations, encouraging us to look for some harridan, without mercy or moral compass. Gratefully, Margaret may not be especially demure, but neither is she the lurid predator the title suggests. [Were they nudged by the Cult-Schlock favorite: Ilsa: She Wolf of the SS?) She navigated the hazards and catastrophes of managing an empire, without any of the appreciation or credit. Imagine the condescension, the viciousness, the constant leering and salaciousness. If this queen had not been sharp, vigilant and resolute she’d have been lost.

It’s not unusual to see Shakespeare staged with minimal sets, props and costumes, but very rare to see it with such exuberant, forceful comprehension. James Edward Becton, Drew Ledbetter, Stephan Wolfert and Dawn Stern are nothing less than commanding; gripping us with intuitive, intrepid gusto. Their versatility is only exceeded by their locomotion. The capacious set, with its pikes and pennants, its shadowy background, gives us a curiously raw, yet crisp effect. We are drawn flawlessly into this stunning, rapid-fire narrative, with all its exhilarating emotion.

Amphibian Stage Productions presents: She-Wolf (The Story of Margaret of Anjou). Playing October – 18th- November 10^th, 2019. 120 South Main Street, Fort Worth, Texas 76104. 817-923-3012. www.amphibianstage.com

In 2009, Holland Taylor (known for defiant and risque roles) wrote a play called Money, Marbles and Chalk: An Affectionate Portrait of Ann Richards, later changed to Ann. Taylor forged this remarkable, full-length monologue after extensive, considerable research. It premiered at The Grand Opera House in Galveston in 2010, going on to great success in Chicago, Washington, D.C. and New York. It’s currently playing at The Kalita Humphreys, starring Libby Villari.

I have always found terms like “sassy” or “feisty” contemptible. They degrade women, seeking to quash them, when they assert themselves. Apart from Taylor’s undeniable brilliance, I shudder to think how Ann might have turned out, in the wrong hands. The Ann Richards we see in Ann is frank, unashamed and never hesitant to call people out. That is not to say she was cruel, insensitive or vindictive. She was only the second woman governor in Texas (the first was Ma Ferguson). She mastered the demands of being Texas Governor in 1991, communicating without equivocation, yet sentient of other’s feelings. She could be charismatic, but never groveled, flirted or resorted to chicanery.

Ann explores the complexity of Richards, balancing the ordeals of the office with levity, humanity and warmth. Sometimes the humor is blue and the warmth might come from a family gathering that involves mostly tact. Holland Taylor’s anecdotal approach lends the show authenticity and moments that are effective and sublime. It would have been terribly easy to make Richards an Annie Oakley or Calamity Jane. And the governor certainly had a sense of humor about herself. But somehow Taylor captures her raucous joy, while later reflecting on her bouts with alcoholism, and intense plea for a death row inmate. Ann presents a nuanced, absorbing portrait, never stooping to caricature.

Villari rocks the rafters as the fearless and sharp-witted Governor. She sustains a two-hour, one-woman performance, with modulation, dedication and gusto. Her intuitive feel for the mood and mien of Richards; her realization that does justice to Richards without becoming a valentine or painting her as a saint, is a revelation. Don’t miss Villari’s locomotive portrayal of this ring-tailed tooter, this magnificent soul.

The Dallas Theater Center presents Ann, playing October 15^th – November 10^th, 2019. Kalita Humphreys 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75219. www.DallasTheaterCenter.org 214-522-8499.

In 2009, Holland Taylor (known for defiant and risque roles) wrote a play called Money, Marbles and Chalk: An Affectionate Portrait of Ann Richards, later changed to Ann. Taylor forged this remarkable, full-length monologue after extensive, considerable research. It premiered at The Grand Opera House in Galveston in 2010, going on to great success in Chicago, Washington, D.C. and New York. It’s currently playing at The Kalita Humphreys, starring Libby Villari.

I have always found terms like “sassy” or “feisty” contemptible. They degrade women, seeking to quash them, when they assert themselves. Apart from Taylor’s undeniable brilliance, I shudder to think how Ann might have turned out, in the wrong hands. The Ann Richards we see in Ann is frank, unashamed and never hesitant to call people out. That is not to say she was cruel, insensitive or vindictive. She was only the second woman governor in Texas (the first was Ma Ferguson). She mastered the demands of being Texas Governor in 1991, communicating without equivocation, yet sentient of other’s feelings. She could be charismatic, but never groveled, flirted or resorted to chicanery.

Ann explores the complexity of Richards, balancing the ordeals of the office with levity, humanity and warmth. Sometimes the humor is blue and the warmth might come from a family gathering that involves mostly tact. Holland Taylor’s anecdotal approach lends the show authenticity and moments that are effective and sublime. It would have been terribly easy to make Richards an Annie Oakley or Calamity Jane. And the governor certainly had a sense of humor about herself. But somehow Taylor captures her raucous joy, while later reflecting on her bouts with alcoholism, and intense plea for a death row inmate. Ann presents a nuanced, absorbing portrait, never stooping to caricature.

Villari rocks the rafters as the fearless and sharp-witted Governor. She sustains a two-hour, one-woman performance, with modulation, dedication and gusto. Her intuitive feel for the mood and mien of Richards; her realization that does justice to Richards without becoming a valentine or painting her as a saint, is a revelation. Don’t miss Villari’s locomotive portrayal of this ring-tailed tooter, this magnificent soul.

The Dallas Theater Center presents Ann, playing October 15^th – November 10^th, 2019. Kalita Humphreys 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75219. www.DallasTheaterCenter.org. 214-522-8499

Chemical Imbalance opens on the tranquil home of Doctor Henry Jekyll, his sweet mother, and attentive sister. Sister’s trying to get Henry engaged, but he’s too busy working in his laboratory and chilling with their cousin. They’re having guests to tea, including the insanely proper Mrs. Throckmortonshire and her twin daughters: Penelope and Calliope. Penelope could put Medusa to shame, and Calliope, gracious and kind (but people keep confusing them). The servants are alarmed to relate that an elusive madman is roaming the streets, looking for trouble and terrorizing the neighborhood.

Jekyll longs to be free of the restraints that conscience, society, and a sense of decency have imposed on him. He longs to breathe the putrid air of unfettered anger, poor impulse control and free-range, indiscriminate coupling. Apparently, he cannot simply choose to brawl, molest and be mean to puppies. He’s concocted a potion to facilitate this seachange. But it lacks that certain oomph. That rugged kick in the tuchas he needs to transform him into the beast that nature intended.

Based on this sketchy premise (courtesy of Robert Louis Stevenson) whiz-bang playwright Lauren Wilson has scripted a splendidly facetious comedy of the highest order. She turns horror film cliche on its head, spoofing melodrama, ridiculing Victorian pretentiousness and propriety. Chemical Imbalance is composed of such chaotic, mind-boggling absurdity, that we gladly surrender to helpless laughter. Wilson has turned the once debonair, charismatic (though diabolical) Mr. Hyde into a drooling, giggling lunatic, and it’s a stroke of brilliance. By adding a secret ingredient to the potion, bedlam overtakes the once civilized, poised Jekyll household. Chemical Imbalance is loopy genius, the gag synapses move so quickly, we can barely keep up, and the actors: remarkable, intuitive and smart.

Rover Dramawerks presents Chemical Imbalance playing October 10^th – 27^th, 2019. 221 West Parker Road, Suite 580, Plano, Texas 75023. 972-849-0358. roverdramawerks.thundertix.com

It’s easy to enjoy a musical like Chicago, or Guys and Dolls or Anything Goes. Even though they deal in criminal behavior, they find a way to make scoundrels likable. Andrew Lippa’s The Wild Party (based on Joseph Moncure March’s epic poem) strikes an uneasy balance between glitz and degeneracy, tawdriness and ecstasy. When guests indulge in an orgiastic night of cocaine, drunkenness and indiscriminate sex, we forgive them because the soiree is posh, and everyone loves a good time.

Queenie and Burrs are a couple. The playground has closed down (if you know what I mean) with no explanation. Both are rough around the edges, but skilled at rejoinders and self-deprecation. When Burrs first appears, he bemoans his role as vaudeville clown and good-time guy. As each guest explains their trade: thug, hooker, Lesbian, under-aged girl, producer, it’s clear we’re witnessing a jazz age Sodom and Gomorrah. When the mysterious Mr. Black arrives, Queenie is tantalized. She comes on to him, with no discretion whatsoever, goading Burrs to a fit of temper. Queenie and Burrs launch into a tumultuous fight, and things get ugly quickly.

The music, book, and lyrics (all by Lippa) are cynical and exquisite; expressing the pervasive disappointment and malaise that informs the characters’ lives in vivid, dark detail. Bluesy ballads and angry horns. Isaiah Harris’ choreography is inventive and satisfying. Tamara Ballard’s costumes are working class, fancy dress. Dapper or flashy but perhaps a bit weary.

Director Adam Adolfo’s vision for The Wild Party fits the material. It’s set backstage in a vaudeville house, in Manhattan. It’s 1928. Burrs and Queenie are hard-edged and recalcitrant, too disaffected to fix a stuck relationship. The same apathy and ennui infects the guests, up for a good time, but jaded. Perhaps its just a matter of taste, but it might have been better if the trappings were a bit more dazzling. Something that invites us into the narrative. Adofo’s work (as we might expect) is impeccable. The Wild Party ’s a rowdy, often funny, gripping descent.

Bishop Arts Theatre Center presents: The Wild Party, playing October 10-27^th, 2019. 215 South Tyler, Dallas, Texas 75208. (214) 948-0716. info@bishopartstheatre.org