Author: christophersoden@sbcglobal.net

The musical Cruel Intentions was adapted from the film, which was conceived as a contemporary version of the film Dangerous Liaisons, which was taken from the French novel (Les Liaisons Dangereuses) by de Laclos, and so on. Briefly, Vicomte Valmont and Isabel Merteuil are kindred, sociopathic spirits. In the original inception, they belong to the French aristocracy. Merteuil has been dumped by Bastide, and seeks revenge by sending Valmont to deflower Bastide’s fiancee, Cecile. In exchange, she will grant Valmont the privilege of making love to her.

In the musical adaptation by Jordan Ross, Lindsey Rosin and Roger Kumble, Valmont and Merteuil are Sebastian Valmont and Kathryn Merteuil: stepbrother and sister, living under he same roof. They both attend the same prestigious, private high school, and so we are submerged in the atmosphere of wealthy, snotty, disaffected teenagers. Like their predecessors, Kathryn and Sebastian are preoccupied with seduction, promiscuousness, and retribution for slights and betrayals. Kathryn wants to punish someone for character assassination, and enlists Sebastian’s help, in exchange for sex with her. Like the Vicomte, Sebastian has craved this intersection for a very long time. Through a succession of conquests, chicanery and manipulations, the two degrade and devastate soul after soul in their quest for gratification.

It’s pretty clear that Valmont and Merteuil deal in and savor degeneracy, because they’re filled with rage and disappointment. Not that there’s much to point us in that direction. We’re not exactly subjected to two-dimensional villains, who’s sole motivation is that they just love being evil. The two seem to be involved in an icy, unsettling contest of ruthlessness and depravity. Their approach to settling the score may be obtuse, but it’s nonetheless effective. Whether we’re exploring them in the context of French privilege or Manhattan socialites, Valmont and Merteuil are trapped in the realm of empty victories.

You can’t blame a musical that merely dabbles in wickedness while making no pretense of substance. Kathryn and Sebastian enjoy spreading misery and dragging others into their “web of sin,” with no compunctions. Cruel Intentions suggests karma (such as it does) by inference. Ross, Rosin and Kumble have crafted this show for pleasure, while weaving seminal rock and pop hits from the 1990’s (including: Bittersweet Symphony, Bye Bye Bye, Sex and Candy and I’m The Only One). Though not always honoring original intent, or delivered with a straight face. What can I say about this delinquent, brash musical with blue-blazered preppy imps? The stone cold anti-protagonists depict Valmont and Merteuil with some cunning, but little of the jadedness that explains who and what they are. How could they? That depth of cynicism only comes with age. It’s a great time and punchy, amusing ride.

Cruel Intentions played at The Wyly from May 22nd-26th, 2019. AT&T Performing Arts Center: Dee and Charles Wyly Theatre. 214-880-0202. 2400 Flora Street, Dallas, TX 75201.

Sonny Malone is a street artist whose latest mural depicts the muses of Ancient Greece. Unbeknownst to Sonny, the nine sisters come magically to life. Despite Sonny’s somewhat disappointing career, he dreams of starting a magnificent roller disco: the zenith of blissed-out softrock and dazzling hedonism. [Can you draw me a map?] Clio, the youngest of The Muses, takes pity and appears to him in the guise of a mortal, named Kira.

Blinded by jealousy and animosity, Clio’s oldest sisters: Calliope and Melpomene, plot her failure by casting a love spell between she and Sonny. Love between gods and mortals is strictly forbidden, and soon, Clio will fall out of favor with Zeus. Meanwhile our intrepid lovers have found the perfect building for Sonny’s roller-tastic project, and come a-knockin on Real Estate Mogul: Danny Maguire’s office door. He may look avuncular, but cynicism has won the wrestling match for Danny’s soul.

An adaptation of the notorious film and collaboration between Douglas Carter Beane (Book) and Jeff Lynne and John Farrar (Music and Lyrics) it’s safe to say that Xanadu is something of an anomaly. A mashup of throwaway wit, tongue-in-cheek farce, broad camp, schlock, lugubrious technopop, and shameless Frankensteining, it positively shouldn’t work. But it does. When Xanadu isn’t winking at you, it nudges you in the ribs. When it isn’t nudging you in the ribs, it draws you a picture. Tipping your hand this way is nearly always the wrong impulse, when you’re doing stage comedy. But maybe because the content is so unabashedly preposterous, this unorthodox approach gives Xanadu that extra jolt. It’s one of those miracles of theatre chemistry that tips the scales from the cerebral to the visceral. We’re not so much amused as mercilessly tickled. The humor just happens. The cast and crew give us permission to be silly and enjoy the excursion.

As anyone who recalls the 1980’s and disco (not me, certainly) could tell you, the genre was certainly a favorite; not to mention the sirens of that era (Donna Summer, Olivia Newton John, Thelma Houston). Two of the Muses are men, though no effort is made to hide the fact, it’s definitely funny. Certain gestures and references are thrown in here and there, but it’s a bit like Spielberg films. There are always a few jokes thrown in for grownups that are invisible to the kids. And why not? Part of the genius of Xanadu is hilarious democracy. Or democratic hilarity? We’re all just laughing for different reasons.

Director Lon Barrera bring his incomparable comedic touch to this tricky material and brash and nimble cast. It must be a challenge to navigate a show that constantly pokes fun at itself, but you couldn’t tell by Barrera’s smooth and confident production. You’ve got to listen carefully, because often the best lines are asides and regressions. Laurel Collins and Samantha Padilla have a blast chewing the scenery during their “Evil Woman” number. Haley Landers White and the Greek Gods et al are spot on when they ask Zeus the musical question: “Have you never been mellow?”

Mainstage Irving-Las Colinas presents Xanadu playing May 10th-25th, 2019.Irving Arts Center. Dupree Theater: 3333 North MacArthur Blvd, Irving, Texas 75062. 972.252.2787 www.tickets.irvingartscenter.com

Back for its fourth year, Down for the Count was a shocking, funny, savvy, fearless one-act play festival featuring six daring women playwrights: Emily Mann, France-Luce Benson, Kat Ramsburg, Kiana Rivera, Gabrielle Denise Pina, and Blue McElroy. From a family of slaves that will be scattered (Under the Liberty Trees) to a young girl despondent over her parents divorce (Cardboard Box) to a Jehova’s Witness navigating life outside the closet (Puzzy) to a grown daughter explaining a vibrator to her very proper mama, Down for the Count was a veritable feast of brash, bright, stunning and deeply human narratives.

Under the Liberty Trees, didn’t address women’s issues, but gave us Emily Mann’s perspective on a dire situation. A family of slaves that has been kept together (thanks to the kindness of their “masters”) is now faced with the very real possibility of separation. The couple they’ve served has died suddenly and they have very little time to plan. The patriarch of the family starts giving his very young son, Nathaniel, instruction on surviving in the world. “Don’t let on how intelligent you are, don’t use any more words than necessary…” As papa continues his litany a spotlight falls on his son, is contrast to advice that is clearly more practical than lofty. Simple but powerful.

Blue McElroy’s Cardboard Box explores the ordeal of Mary, a young girl who cannot find the motivation to pack up her things for moving to another city. She is forced to choose a parent in the midst of a divorce that is wounding and devastating her. The mom and dad are too busy pushing her around, attacking each other and fussing to grasp the depth of their daughter’s pain. There’s a punchy, frenetic beat to this script that holds our attention and captures the jabs and blows at the heart of Mary’s suffering. It’s almost as if they despise each other more than they love her.

Kiki Rivera’s Puzzy shares the journey of Mele, a young woman who has decided to no longer hide the fact that she is a lesbian. Strewn throughout the play are various women extolling, rather extravagantly, the joys of female genitalia, and making love to other women. Rivera’s use of this purposeful excess is understandable. Though it goes on a bit long, it serves as a counterbalance to the stigmatizing, persecution, disparagement and misogyny attached to those who have a problem with lesbianism. As Mele explores the queer culture of woman to woman eroticism, she discovers the politics, pretensions, and limitations of that dating scene. She also agonizes about her family and church’s response to her orientation. Dropping the facade of heterocentrism is a profound decision, but Mele realizes it isn’t answer to all her problems.

France-Luce Benson’s The Talk, involves Manu, a mother who comes to stay with her daughter Claire. The night before she returns home, Manu comes to Claire, asking for advice. Manu and Claire come from a very conservative, traditional family, and Manu doesn’t communicate very well with her husband. Not that Claire’s dad encourages that. Assuming that her daughter is far more emancipated when it comes to Western culture, Manu initiates a woman-to-woman dialogue on the use of a vibrating sex toy. Benson, naturally, makes great theatre from the mutual and intense embarrassment this conversation provokes. Beyond that, Claire begins to comprehend her mother’s predicament. Love making is disappointing for her mother and she’s merely making a good faith effort to change that.

Benson uses her ingenious premise to amuse and create a moment of sublime understanding between the two women.

The First Step by Kat Ramsburg is a brief, if compelling piece. There is nothing like the first steps you take, whether leaving the train or plane or bus, the very first time you visit New York City. Callie is leaving the bus, all starry-eyed and stoked, but the world-weary bus driver is a decided buzzkill. Nick, another passenger, opts to intervene in a playful way, salvaging Callie’s optimism.

Gabrielle Denise Pina’s Uncommon Revelations bears witness to Delilah Green, a woman gathering the courage to leave her husband, Mustard Green, and his toxic masculinity, and subsequently reconciling with her gay son. The name Delilah suggests perhaps a woman who subversively robs the man of his overwhelming strength, while “Mustard Green” evokes the ridiculousness of stiff, soulless one-dimensional machismo.

The Down for the Count festival has always provided an evening of compelling, absorbing entertainment. We are invariably challenged and asked to engage our intellect as well as our emotions.

Ever vigilant to fulfill the need for a play to provide a premise, a triggering event, escalation, and some kind of resolution, the playwrights follow this paradigm with imagination and aplomb. Sometimes the pieces that don’t necessarily address the endemic issues of womanhood, fare better than the ones that explore them faithfully, but perhaps are a bit prolonged. Some felt a bit more like works in progress, making the same points more than once, for the sake of clarity and completion. All this being said, Down for the Count always features poignant, unorthodox stories with intense emotion and memorable performances. The actors are often cast in multiple, demanding roles, and everyone involved is clearly giving 100% + .

The Down for the Count festival played at The Bishop Arts Theatre Center From March 21st-April 7^th, 2019. 215 South Tyler, Dallas, Texas 75208. 214-948-0716. www.bishopartstheatre.com

Brother Sam has convinced his congregation that he knows the exact date and time of the rapture, when the faithful will be miraculously taken up to heaven, leaving their clothes behind them. Unbeknownst to his buddy, Al, he’s been embezzling money from the collection plate for months. When Raptured opens the church members have started the countdown and Sam is preparing to disappear with Al and the money, during all the commotion and confusion. Martha, a boisterous “goodtime gal” if there ever was one (sit on the front row, guys) is desperate for a farewell boinkfest with Sam, before they’re dragged to the great beyond. Ruth, a beloved member of the Third Baptist Church of Uncertain, Texas, is struggling to leave an abusive husband, and (because she’s the church accountant) realizes there’s something sketchy about Brother Sam.

Playwrights Matt Coleman and Matt Lyle have written a slapstick comedy that has the Protestant population of Texas nailed. Speaking as a native myself, the recognizable characters you might find in any Texas church are present and accounted for. The congenial middle-aged ladies who do most of the baking, the troubled teen boys struggling to keep themselves “pure” before marriage. The barely closeted musical directors, whose devotion is nonetheless without question. The “hippie” war veterans. I’m not suggesting that Baptists have more than their share of hypocrisy, but (for comedic purposes alone, I’m sure) Third Baptist seems to have quite a bit. Though apart from Brother Sam, the rest of the characters are in dead earnest. Sinners though they may be, they seem to truly love the Lord.

Coleman and Lyle engage numerous familiar theatrical devices. And sex devices, too. All in all, Raptured is a pretty raucous mashup of madcap, chutzpah, raunch, low comedy, high comedy, and cringeworthy crassness. There’s the three identical bags (one filled with truly impressive “marital aids”) mistaken identity, the sweet but clueless sidekick, the young couple who are fighting like mad to resist their primordial urges and of course, the brawling guys who appear to be sharing pleasure. (Kismet?) What makes Raptured such phenomenal comedy is Lyle and Coleman’s astonishing instincts. Their timing, lingo, imagination, blue streak and sense of absurdity are the stuff of genius. When Gracie finds the hippie, the sidekick and the choir master in the thick of man-on-man tomfoolery, it’s less about the awkward situation, than her deadpan response. As I can attest, and these two brilliant Katzenjammers must know (only too well) it’s not about the ingredients, it’s how you put them together.

Theatre 3 presents Raptured, playing April 25th-May 19^th, 2019. 2800 Routh Street, Suite 168, Dallas, Texas 75201. 214-871-3300. theatre3dallas.com

Equus took the theatre world by storm in 1973, forever changing the paradigm of the possible. With it’s minimal set, primitive horse masks, characters bearing witness like a chorus, primal rhythms of worship and sacramental nudity, it was both shocking and cunning. Playwright Peter Shaffer built upon the premise (disturbed teenage boy blinds six horses) to consider the link between passivity and defiance, the Christian model of maleness, the intensity of pagan adulation, sexuality and manhood, and homoeroticism. Shaffer captured the overwhelming experience of boy adolescence, with all its raw fear and ecstasy. Staging was neither for the faint of heart nor the reckless. It was difficult to fight the fear that we were dancing along the mouth of a volcano.

In January of this year I was privileged to attend Lakewood Community Theatre’s groundbreaking production of Equus, directed by Adam Adolpho. Critiquing theatre as long as I have, you develop a strong appreciation for originality, bold vision and taking chances. Conventional staging can be all right, if it’s consistent with theme and content. But when you bring a fresh slant to shows that have entered the canon, this can be cause for excitement. Adolfo took brave risks, rejecting the tropes of other productions. Adolfo dug deep, bringing it to the surface. His vision was unique (and certainly subversive) pulling us into a nether realm of pain and dominance. LCT’s Equus was powerful, life changing theatre. Adolfo cooked up Shaffer’s tumultuous narrative of Martin Dysart’s (the psychiatrist) and Alan Strang’s (the troubled young man) ordeal, keeping it raw yet articulate. Equus may arguably be one of the most demanding scripts you could choose. It needs meticulous focus, restrained yet seething rage, and a pervasive sense of elemental forces beyond our grasp.

Not long after Equus closed Jake Montgomery, who played Alan Strang, was kind enough to grant me an interview. Montgomery was electrifying and astonishing as the isolated and broken young man, aching to resolve the seachanges that come with manhood. Sometimes an actor trusts his intuition, taking us to that rare moment of grace and gestalt. Mr. Montgomery invited us into this startling turn, and it was unforgettable.

What is your theatre background? Some favorite roles, roles you’d like to play? Would you like to direct in the future?

I began my theatre journey at the tail-end of high school, then continued my education at Brookhaven College and Southern Methodist University. Some of my favorite roles have been Satan in The Last Days of Judas Iscariot and Princeton in Avenue Q. I would love to play Ray in The Beauty Queen of Leenane by Martin McDonagh. He’s just an interesting supporting character in a small play, but so special. Would I like to direct in the future? Yes? Communicating my thoughts has always been a bit of a weak point for me, but I think if I’m passionate about a piece, all of those anxieties will vanish.

What attracted you to acting in the beginning?

Watching films, initially. Later, watching my peers transform on the stage to tell stories. That was grand.

Could you talk a little bit about what Equus means to you, personally? Why you wanted to play Alan Strang?

Alan is a bit of a strange one, and I’ve always felt like a bit of an outsider to most people. Something about his psychology clicked with me on a personal level. My first exposure to Alan was in an acting class when I first began my studies at Brookhaven College and we had to execute a scene from Equus as a tennis match. I later read the play, and I loved Alan. Yes, what he did was abominable, but I love that you can trace each and every action to a root—or a reasoning.

What do you think Peter Shaffer is doing in Equus? What is he exploring?

Everyone has their personal takeaway from a work. Shaffer is exploring many things, and they’re not very subtle whatsoever. Religion, masculinity, sexuality, abuse—just to name a few themes. I think Shaffer’s characters are complex, like any human you meet will be. So I think he expects his actors to delve deep into the character work, so that nothing is brushing the surface. The way he’s written the characters and their story, the audience will witness the tip of the iceberg, and if executed well, the rest of the iceberg will be present without the production company having to put it on display—saying, “Look! Here it is! The entire iceberg! Isn’t it so complex?” Trust in the playwright’s work, and the entire iceberg will be present without having to remove it from the water.

Has being part of this cast been a bonding experience for you?

I love the cast! They’re all very friendly and hard-working. They’re also very focused in rehearsals. At the end of the day, I’m here to work. We all should be. I bond best when everyone involved are in it to put their best work onstage.

How did you prepare for playing the role?

My professors at SMU taught me well. I would like to go in-depth, but I’ll keep it simple. Always know who you are. Invent nothing, deny nothing. You are not the character, but you are also not not the character. I did workouts; actors are athletes. I didn’t memorize my lines word for word, but instead approached each scene, each beat, each moment by asking myself: “What am I trying to do to/get from the other person?… What are they trying to do/get from me?” This makes line memorization come secondhand. Viewpoints! I love viewpoints…. I could go on and on, really. Please don’t make me…

Can you describe, what you feel, Alan is going through?

Which Alan are you talking about? In general, throughout the play, loneliness. Neglect. He’s caught in a middle of a tug-of-war match between his parents. He’s going through sexual awakening—spiritual realization as well.

Why do you think Alan is resistant to treatment?

I never thought Alan was resistant to treatment. I think he’s terrified of it. But he wants it. It’s in the text.

What is the nature of attachment between Alan and Martin Dysart?

This is tough, but for Alan, it could be that someone is finally talking to him and not at him. I think this is difficult for Alan to recognize until a little later in the play. That is why he begins to trust Dysart.

Do you think if the incident/crime took place in America it would have changed anything? Did British culture factor in?

I’m not sure, honestly.

How was the question of using British accents addressed?

“If the actors can’t execute the same dialect, we didn’t want to do it.” That was the primary reason. I would have loved the accents. As an actor in the play, it would have made the language much more accessible. Audiences would have adjusted within three to five minutes.

Who IS the protagonist? You? Dysart? Both?

The protagonist? Dysart. Our production, Alan was. But textually, we follow Dysart’s arc. He’s the one who changes throughout the play.

What is riding in the field of Ha-Ha about?

You’d have to experience it for yourself.

Did the last scene with you and the actress playing Jill require special rehearsal work?

Yes. We treated it like choreography. Of course, I wanted to make sure we weren’t executing it robotically. We had intimacy rehearsals where the stage manager was always present. This scene also always felt the realest to me in the play. I wanted to make sure we never rushed it. The moment I’m rushed, I’m removed from my process, and my performance becomes manufactured. Icky.

Could you describe the rehearsal process in general?

We rehearsed out of sequence. The rehearsals were primarily focused on blocking and filling moments for the ensemble. Not much character work was addressed. We also had a two week hiatus during the before Christmas and into the new year.

Why do you think Alan injures the horses?

Injures? Blinds? Because Equus witnessed his sin. He was overflowing with guilt. Enough is enough.

Are there certain playwrights who resonate with you?

Martin McDonagh. Annie Baker.

Are you mindful of the audience’s presence?

My job is to keep going if the audience isn’t very engaging. I hear actors constantly groaning about an audience’s energy, especially in terms of a comedy. I mean, YES, the audience does feed us some of that energy, and when we are present with an engaged audience, they are fun to play with. But, my job is to deliver—no matter what.

Jake Montgomery earned his degree in theatre from Southern Methodist University. He most recently performed as Alan in Equus and Otto in Spring Awakening. He is currently appearing in Brookhaven’s production of The Shadow Box.

Rudy is a former child star, now middle-aged, who has hit on hard times. His substance abuse began when his sitcom was in its heyday, when he played a precocious kid and ghost hunter. The recent suicide of his grown son Jake, has only made his alcoholism and despondency worse. He has a definite shot at a comeback, but his agent Shirl and he have been squabbling over his lack of reliability. He can’t seem to knock off the sauce. Playwright Carla Parker stirs references to Danny Bonaduce into the mix. Bonaduce suffered comparable hurdles (parental abuse, benders, scandal) but managed to redeem himself when he publicly embraced his “Come to Jesus” moment. Rudy has yet to put his demons behind him.

When Remember Rudy opens, we find him in his study, seated on a sofa, wearing a smoking jacket, quaffing vintage bourbon. Rudolph may inhabit an impressive mansion, but he is clearly ill-at-ease, tormented by the ghouls and ghosts of unfortunate choices and antagonistic relationships. Jake’s soul watches on, trying to get his attention. Rudy has contentious phone conversations, trying to salvage his career. There are flashbacks of his popular television show, and how the stress eventually got to him. Musical interludes examine the realms and depths of his malaise, regrets, the downward turn of his luck, and his struggles with helplessness and despair.

Remember Rudy (consistent with other Ochre House shows) introduces a strong note of irony, black humor, the sardonic. Rudy, who played a boy ghost hunter, cannot evict the malignant entities that hold him prsoner. Pearl, his erstwhile costar and ex-wife, has become a medium. When she comes to visit Rudolph for a heart-to-heart, it almost seems like an exercise in futility. The goofy, ridiculous world of television comedy. The song lyrics that are often deadpan shtick. The hallucinatory satire of Justin Locklear’s puppetry. It all orchestrates to suggest the undeniable absurdity, the insidious way the past can mock present success. Carla Parker has written an insightful, sensitive drama exploring the life of Rudolph Raeburn, a child actor lost in the overwhelming world of mass media entertainment.

The Ochre House Theater presents Remember Rudy, playing April 20th-May 11^th, 2019. 825 Exposition Avenue, Dallas, Texas 75226. 214-826-6273. OchreHouseTheater.org

Wolf at the Door confounds our expectations, reverses them. It begins with traditional ideas and rethinks them. The savior becomes the monster. The predator becomes the savior. You might say it’s feminist revisionism, but it’s so much more. Like most engaging folk tales it’s just believable enough to be relevant, and mystical enough to cast a spell. Just when it seems Isadora must endure a life of grief and despair, help arrives in a strange guise.

Isadora is about to give birth, when Wolf at the Door opens. She has a bruises from Septimo (her abusive husband) and is afraid her injuries will affect the health of her child. Her family will be arriving in a few days, to celebrate the new baby, not realizing she’s trapped in a marriage with a man who bullies and beats her. Before they actually married, he was charming, but now Septimo treats her disgracefully. He is counting on the arrival of the child, knowing his wife would never abandon her own baby. While she is out in the stable, Yolot (Isadora’s helper/housekeeper) discovers a naked woman, lying in the hay. Her name is Rocio and she is actually a wolf in human shape, caught between two worlds. Rocio, too, is pregnant.

Playwright Marisela Tervino Orta has crafted an absorbing narrative. The marriage/birth bed dominates the set. Isadora and Septimo’s home is bright yellow adobe. Isadora’s predicament: being at the mercy of a husband who exploits her role as companion and nurturer, is at the core of the drama. If Isadora were more self-sufficient, physically stronger, she could get the upper hand. But like in most patriarchies, Isadora comes from a culture where women are rarely encouraged in these skills. When Isadora crosses paths with Rocio, she, Yolo and the she-wolf are able to gather cunning and protect themselves.

Wolf at the Door doesn’t deal in broad strokes. Like many wife-batterers, Septimo has his moments of contrition and tenderness. He provides for his wife and gives her a lovely hearth. But lurking beneath this layer of benevolence is his unresolved need to degrade her, or whatever fuels his toxic rage. Orta challenges us to question what it means to be fierce, without being ruthless. She pits archetypal roles and assumptions against each other. When we hear the title, it evokes the idea of jeopardy, peril. It doesn’t cross our minds that the real danger might come from master of the house. Orta takes our preconceived notions and conjures some considerable havoc. But the result is sublime, and astonishing.

Kitchen Dog Theater presents Wolf at the Door, playing April 11th-May 5^th, 2019. 2600 N. Stemmons Freeway, Suite 180, Dallas, Texas 75207. (214) 953-1055. www.kitchendogtheater.org

I think once you’ve had your first quickening experience at live theatre, on some level, you’re always looking for it to happen again. A kind of stirring or exhilaration, that that jolts you to the marrow. You keep going back, and sure, you wouldn’t repeat it, if you didn’t enjoy live performance. You wouldn’t return if you just hated it, but, to reference the phenomenal Pauline Kael, when the lights go down, part of you, anticipates, expects, hopes. To recreate that implacable rush. And from time to time, it sneaks up on you. Your are utterly unprepared for this invasion of authenticity. Even if you don’t act on it afterwards, you’re never the same. Such is the case with Lela & Co.

Lela is so effusive, so exuberant, she’s almost embarrassing. She addresses us directly, as any teenage girl might, chattering, chattering. Describing her entry into the world. How her mother sang. She describes the girlish hilarity of having sisters. Like the school girls from The Mikado. How the one who’s all curvy and zaftig is such a pain. She talks about her girl’s life. Her first menses. Her dad keeps interrupting the story. He’s cheery and robust and all bravado, but he’s an interloper. An idiot. They keep describing an incident with a cake and her birthday. It’s supposed to be funny, but really, it’s how her life isn’t her own. Not even on her special day. The same actor plays her dad, her sister’s husband, the guy he fixes her up with. When Lela goes to visit her sister, he arranges for her to have something like a rendezvous with this guy he knows.

For some reason (without her consent) it’s understood Lela will go and set up house with this stranger. He makes a big deal of the fact that he buys furniture and appliances and clothes as if none of it’s for them both. He makes a ritual of her indebtedness, though not in so many words. So little of what is imposed on Lela is spelled out. When he has sex with her it hurts, but she doesn’t mention it. Gradually her life is reduced to a single act, repeated over and over. It’s during this time she meets the first man who is truly decent to her, and at least tries to to help. By the time their lives intersect, she is all but numb, but their short cycle of encounters has an effect, however subtle.

I’m loathe to use certain terms here, however accurate. Lela & Co is a condemnation of toxic, seemingly benign patriarchy, but intensely visceral, and I don’t want to diminish it, by too much cerebral evaluation. The story is so familiar. You’ve got to watch and listen carefully. Lela’s story overlaps the upper middle-class trap of American wives with the plight of village women whose sole value is measured on the scale of beauty. The more beguiling you are, the more leverage. Such as it is. Imagine subsisting on pastry so sweet it sets your teeth on edge, but it’s laced with vitriol. Playwright Cordelia Lynn explores the tacit, customary contract that puts women in a heterocentrist bind of provision and obligation. By the time Lela’s degradation loses all pretense, we’re shocked we didn’t notice. Lela & Co is a devastating, brilliant narrative, overwhelming and jarring in the best sense. Too rare to miss.

Second Thought Theatre presents Lela & Co, playing April 3rd-27th, 2019. Bryant Hall next to Kalita Humphreys Theater, 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd., Dallas, Texas 75219-5598. 866-811-4111. www.secondthoughttheatre.com

 

Hector and Annie Nations are homesteaders in the Appalachian mountains, where the they farm more than one hundred acres. Annie takes care of the home: cooking, canning, sewing, making candles. Hector takes care of the harvest, and selling their produce. All three of their children are grown, though they might have preferred them to stay. Their son Dillard, a musician, moved out to pursue his career, though we sense some additional friction between he and his dad.

When Foxfire opens Annie is just now opening a delayed letter from Dillard saying he’ll be there today. She’s preparing a pig’s head (not a prop) for cooking. Next a developer named Prince Carpenter appears, offering an impressive sum of cash for Annie and Hector’s property. Land that has been handed down for generations. Soon, in a flashback, we see their doctor visiting to help Annie through a birth. Old Doc has to talk Hector out of some folk customs they use when a new baby is coming. Nothing especially exotic, just ineffective. All the same he’s respectful and reassuring. He gets Annie to sing to take her mind off the labor pains. An old family friend, Holly Burrell comes to visit. She and Dillard have been friends since childhood and now, she’s doing documentary research that includes the Nations family. When Dillard and she cross paths, she offers to take Annie to Dillard’s concert. With some persuading she agrees to go.

Though Foxfire didn’t feel like a musical, the program listed: “Book and Lyrics by: Susan Cooper and Hume Cronyn.” And without a doubt, the pervasive, mournful, stirring Appalachian folk music was a key aspect of this drama’s experience. The salient aspect of Foxfire would seem to quash any quaint notion we might indulge of the lives of mountain folk. When Annie enlists Prince’s help in “dissecting” the pig’s head, the device is both humorous and revealing. Annie is neither Ma Kettle nor is she Olivia Walton. She’s just a normal, intelligent woman, with work to do. She may listen politely to Prince’s pitch, but she’s no pushover. She loves Dillard’s music, but, like many women her age, is not fond of loud concerts. Understandably, Annie is torn between devotion to her cantankerous husband, and Dillard, who’s merely trying to be his own man.

The contrast between the ancient folk wisdom of mountain communities, and the gentrification of urban “progress” is expressed in the unresolved antagonism between Dillard and his dad, Hector. Dillard never crosses the line into disrespect, but as he and his two siblings have learned the hard way, Hector cares more about winning than arriving at mutual truth. Cronyn and Cooper don’t stack the deck, we come to gather that while bucolic values have much to recommend them, science and industry aren’t altogether useless or corrupt. And while “civilization” may boast the appearance of sophistication, it doesn’t have all the answers.

The cast (Elly Lindsay, John S. Davies, Mark Quach, Whitney Coulter, Ian Ferguson, Stan Graner) under the direction of Emily Scott Banks was impeccable. Their performances are relaxed, involved, poignant and intuitive. Although Hector Nations is disagreeable, Davies saves him from being utterly reprehensible. Elly Lindsay’s acting is especially nuanced and touching.

Foxfire played Theatre 3 from March 14th-April 7^th, 2019. 2800 Routh St, Suite 168, Dallas, Texas 75201 (214) 871-3300. www.theatre3dallas.com

While recovering from an accident that has blinded her, Susan crosses paths in the hospital with Sam, a Vietnam vet and photographer coping with emotional troubles. It isn’t long before romance kicks in and the two marry after a few months. Though a gifted photographer in his own right, Sam does portrait and glamour photography to pay the bills, while Susan stays home, still learning how to manage the challenges of sightlessness. Sam pays a neighbor girl, Gloria (a teenage hormone case) to help Susan out, but she’s just another source of stress for Susan.

When Wait Until Dark opens three thugs are trying to locate a doll they’ve used to smuggle contraband. Their female associate ditched the doll in one of Sam’s bags, when they sat next to each other on the train. For reasons as yet unrevealed, said associate wouldn’t disclose the whereabouts of said doll, and now she lies dead in the bedroom offstage, because one of these villains got itchy. To his credit, playwright Frederick Knott has given each one of these characters distinct characteristics. One in particular, feels a bit deranged.

Before Sam leaves for work, it’s pretty clear there’s some strain in their new marriage. Though nothing fatal. Mike, an old war buddy of Sam’s, turns up looking for him. He has a few hours to kill before his connecting train. While exchanging pleasantries with Susan, a police detective arrives asking questions about the discovery of corpse and talk of a missing doll. Understandably, Susan is terrified, but luckily, Mike is there to take things in hand.

If you haven’t guessed by now (or knew already) Wait Until Dark’s most salient quality is suspense. Blind woman still learning the fundamentals of survival is put in danger, when her husband is turned into an unwitting mule. Sam is nowhere close when Susan must pull herself together, and find her resourcefulness, when (naturally) it would be easier to to give in. She doesn’t come by her heroism easily, and the strategy she needs to prevail is hardly obvious or even intuitive. But perhaps the best attribute of Knott’s drama, is a solid, compelling, touching narrative that engages us, apart from the problems at hand. It would have been easy to elicit pity for a blind woman, surrounded by felons. But instead, Knott gives the besieged Susan the opportunity to prove herself to them, to us, and to herself. Not because she’s brave, but because she won’t let herself surrender. And she has skills they never counted on.

Once again, The Core Theatre has come through with a gifted, canny, persevering cast and crew that delivers an absorbing, pleasurable, memorable performance. We feel the authenticity of the dialogue, the emotions are unselfconscious and resonant. As she comes closer and closer to catastrophe, we are right there with Susan, mind racing, fighting panic, searching for answers, counting every step.

The Core Theatre presents Wait Until Dark: playing March 22nd-April 14^th, 2019. 518 West Arapaho Rd, Ste 115, Richardson, Texas 75080. (214) 930-5338. www.thecoretheatre.org