Author: christophersoden@sbcglobal.net

Emilie has been corresponding with a young man who wishes her to come and live with he and his family, in service as a governess. Their letters have taken a distinctly, if subtextually, romantic turn. When she arrives, neither the Lord of the manor, nor her young charge, are anywhere to be found. There are the two sisters, Agatha and Huldey. And a maid named Marjory. Agatha is cold, disingenuous and evasive. Huldey is vain and superficial. Marjory is petulant and terse. Despite very strange circumstances, Emilie’s questions do nothing to enlighten her, or illuminate the actual reasons she’s there. Her reception is by turns hostile and convivial, confounding and reassuring, disorienting and beguiling.

Stage comedy would seem to be a constant source of enigma and the inexplicable. Christopher Durang can manage hi-jinks that could never work for Moliere (or anybody else). Neil Simon and Samuel Beckett might share worldviews, but not the same methodology. Albee and McDonagh may be writing comedy for themselves, but not the rest of us. It’s not always easy to gauge why a comedy takes flight or crashes, even if the verdict itself is undeniable.

Jen Silverman’s The Moors is unquestionably brilliant, taking the considerable gravitas of The Bronte Sister’s milieu, and turning it on its head. Confessing up front a disgraceful lack of exposure to Jane and Emily’s oeuvre, I can freely attest that Silverman’s masterful script makes the absurdity of Emilie’s experience quite salient, while in the context of a novel, we might be lost in the miasma of metaphysical paucity and ennui. The Brontes’ make starvation of the soul palpable, yet absorbing, evinced in the merciless desolation of the moors, and famished discourse to be found in the households they depict. In Silverman’s comedy, the moors have crept into the living room (Thank you, Ian Loveall) though nobody seems to notice. Or care. What might normally pass for verisimilitude arises under Silverman’s skillful hand. The ridiculousness of endless introversion (the animals are more evolved than the humans) the indulgent petulance, pops, and we find ourselves laughing helplessly. Silverman has created a fusion of homage and spoof. We see Agatha’s pretentiousness and Huldey’s narcissism (or is it the other way?) but we’re celebrating, rather than mocking, The Brontes.

Under the sure hand of director Garrett Storms, the cast is deliciously sly and nimble. Emily Scott Banks is the essence of cool detachment, and Mikaela Krantz’s Huldey might sabotage her own dinner party, just for the attention. Jenny Ledel’s angry scullery maid is two steps removed from Lizzie Borden, and Vanessa DeSilvio’s governess is charming without making us cringe. Thomas Ward and Felicia Bertch are engaging as The Mastiff who ponders the imperatives of the cosmos, and The Moor-Hen, who’s content with more banal distractions. Please do make a point of seeing The Moors, a comedy as restorative as a tonic and giddy as a goose.

Theatre 3 presents: The Moors, playing October 25^th – November 18^th, 2018. 2800 Routh St, Suite 168, Dallas, Texas 75201 (214) 871-3300. www.theatre3dallas.com

 

Mrs. Johnstone is a single mother, abandoned by her husband, with too many mouths to feed. She’s a housekeeper for Mrs. Lyons, an ostensibly kind, married woman, who is unable to carry a pregnancy to term. When she learns Mrs. Johnstone is pregnant with twins, and already on the verge of losing welfare, she pleads to “adopt” one as her own. Mrs. Johnstone is leery, but Mrs. Lyons is convincing; assuring her that she’ll be able to see him every day. Mrs. Lyons insists that the two boys must never meet. Not ever. Needless to say, the brothers, Mickey and Eddie, cross paths. They hit it off, but after enduring their mothers’ wrath, continue to meet in secret. Such is the premise of Willy Russell’s Blood Brothers, a bleak, though utterly human, musical set in England from 1950-1975.

Because the two brothers have been raised in two very different households, the theme of England’s caste system arises, repeatedly. Mrs. Johnstone is constantly in debt. Eddie loves to learn dirty words from Mickey, and join in with his mischief. It never crosses their minds that there’s any fundamental difference in their situations. When they are much older, and Mickey explains he’s stuck in a horrible job, Eddie tells him to quit, not realizing this isn’t an option. Without revealing too much, Mickey and Eddie’s great love for each other lasts only as long as privilege doesn’t become an issue.

Blood Brothers is an unorthodox, fresh musical, filled with songs that are convivial, yet wistful. It takes unexpected turns, and certainly doesn’t lack for comic relief. It avoids polished tropes that so often make a show feel phoned-in or hollow. It walks the razor’s edge between drama and melodrama, managing to tell a convincing story without becoming maudlin or manipulative. A central metaphor is expressed by the life of Marilyn Monroe, familiar to Mrs. Johnstone through the movies. This glamorous, yet emotionally raw celebrity, embodies the realm of opulence and despondency. Mrs. Johnstone embraces the idea of Monroe, which is both ethereal and tragic. It mixes longing for a better life with resignation to disappointment. Blood Brothers is a gripping, sagacious show that explores the connection between familial roots and destiny. Russell’s respect for his characters, and for us, comes shining through.

IMPRINT theatreworks presents Blood Brothers, playing November 26^th – November 10^th, 2018. Bath House Cultural Center. 521 E. Lawther Drive, Dallas, TX 75218. www.imprinttheatreworks.org.   (650) 265-1193.

Jill and Ollie are are a sweet, congenial young couple, with a baby. They introduce themselves to the audience, confessing they have done terrible things. They certainly don’t seem nefarious. They have been living in a dangerous part of town, where the crime rate is high, and everything’s in ill repair. They receive a letter offering a free home and cannot believe it’s on the level. Then, Miss Dee, a very purposeful (though convivial) woman appears at their doorstep. She is wielding a contract, and gives them all the details. She seems to know all about Ollie and Jill. Miss Dee explains that Jill has such impeccable taste, they are willing to give them a brand new home, if she will decorate it, for promotional purposes. Jill is over the moon, but Ollie is skeptical. Jill pleads on behalf of their unborn child, saying that they must keep him safe. They both sign.

What follows next is a bizarre, intriguing parable about the nature of altruism, upward mobility and caring for the indigent. Playwright Philip Ridley has conceived a cunning trap, by using a charming, adorable couple like Ollie and Jill. They are eminently likable and guileless. Perhaps they even are us. Set Designer Clare Floyd DeVries has built an entirely white, generic set, with a row of small identical houses. All the better to blur any distinction between the dark heroes and ourselves. We accompany this friendly, struggling couple as they slowly, almost innocuously descend the ladder into atrocity. Whenever Ollie seems to waver, Jill uses the welfare of the baby for leverage. Like the family in D.H. Lawrence’s The Rocking-Horse Winner, no matter how much opulence they attain, it’s never enough. Unlike Jill and Ollie, we can see their souls are in jeopardy, long before they can.

Like the best theatrical narratives, Radiant Vermin, slyly makes its point, but not in so many words. Jill and Ollie appear as angels of light, but even when they beg for understanding, we know that ship has sailed. Like Miss Dee, Philip Ridley can be very persuasive. He may overplay his hand a bit, at the very end, but nothing can diminish this subversive, intense allegory of empty values, the bourgeoisie and the rapacious impetus of acquisition. Like the witch who lives in the forest, Ridley feeds Jill and Ollie loads of candy from his delectable gingerbread house, until they are queasy, but hooked.

Jake Buchanan and Kristen Lazerchick are nothing less than remarkable, in their performances in Radiant Vermin. Ridley has written two demanding roles, in which they must pantomime, quibble, panic, and take on all the other roles, except for Kateri Cale, who plays Miss Dee. The garden party, with its multiple personae, and rhythmic anaphora, is an exercise in poise, chaos and hilarity. Ms. Cale brings an unnerving vivacity to Miss Dee, the deceptive real estate maven. She smiles like a Cheshire Cat, and brings new meaning to disingenuousness.

Kitchen Dog Theater presents: Radiant Vermin, playing October 4th-28th, 1918. 2600 North Stemmons Freeway, Suite 180, Dallas, Texas 75207. (214) 953-1055. admin@kitchendogtheater.org

I should disclose that this was my first opportunity to attend The Fifth Annual Dallas One-Minute Play Festival. Needless to say, my curiosity was piqued. I’d seen 10-15-20 minute play festivals, but this, ironically, was setting the bar pretty low and pretty high. Could the experience of a play be distilled to one-minute? Could we experience the mountains and gutters, the cunning triad of incitement-brawling-breakthrough within the space of 60 seconds? Were they mad?! Was I mad?! Had the world gone turvy-topsy? Had every last shred of human decency gone by the wayside?

The plays were clustered in what I took to be similar themes, each cluster with the same cast and director. “Furniture” was the basic, traditional, painted wooden boxes that could be arranged according to the demands of the piece. I believe there was a bell to separate one play from the next, as a total blackout would have been impractical. The program listed the name of each piece, playwright, actors and director. An ambitious project like this demands meticulous orchestration, to keep things moving and catastrophe free. The topics ranged from current politics, to female oppression, to ideological quandary, to the hazards of sex and romance. Most of it amounted to ironic comedy. The formula seemed to be: situation – curve ball – resolution. Most of it took the form of banter.

WOMAN: I’m pregnant.

MAN: I can’t believe you’re bringing another child into this overpopulated world.

WOMAN: Well, I wouldn’t, if you’d put your penis where it belonged.

MAN: I thought I did.

END

The show moved at a brisk pace, barely enough time to ponder and reflect, before the next play began. Before you knew it, the entire enterprise was done. If vaguely frantic, it didn’t feel rushed. It’s difficult to evaluate, as this is definitely my first time at the rodeo. There were plenty of clever, punchy parting shots. The pace added to the breathless, giddy experience. It wasn’t flawless, but those involved in The Festival knew how to play to its strengths. It wasn’t so much haiku as a vaudevillian slant on more serious content. It wasn’t easy to keep up, but it was undoubtedly entertaining and immediate, intriguing theatre.

The One Minute Play Festival and Kitchen Dog Theater presented The Fifth Annual Dallas One-Minute Play Festival. It played August 11th-13th at The Bob Hope Theatre, Meadows Building on the SMU Campus.

A psychotherapist in Calcutta treats two patients by hypnotic regression. His male patient seems to have issues with suffocation and drowning. The female patient is still processing the passing of her beloved Nana and struggles with a fear abandonment. The good doctor accompanies them on their journeys through past lives and milieus: a vibrant fishing village, a tony British Officer’s Club, intrepid merchant caravans, an exquisite palace and a chilling dungeon. He helps them identify key events that foment trauma, and work through the pain, so they can move forward. Gradually his two patients are able to resolve past catastrophes and heal their broken spirits.

A collaboration between Mainstage Irving and Think India Foundation, The Red Pashmina is an intriguing, beguiling musical, crafted to forge a bridge between the Indian and Theatre Communities here in the metroplex. Strategically written to maximize our experience of exotic climes, radiant and sumptuous costumes, intoxicating, celebratory dances, and a compelling variety of themes such as tragedy, colonialism, romance, terror, frustration and valiance, The Red Pashmina draws us into the thick of its splendid narrative. Our hearts ache for the young man and woman who have hit roadblocks in their lives, as they uncover the details of their personal histories. The story is brimming with adventure and rich emotion, it never drags, or lacks for surprise. Beneath the plot and performance, a celebratory, kinetic energy suffuses the proceedings, stirring our souls and gladdening our hearts.

The Red Pashmina turns primarily, gloriously on spectacle, awash in dazzling colors, meticulous choreography, elaborate, evocative scenery and gorgeous music that transports us to otherworldly, astonishing realms. The allure and enchantment of this show is remarkable and unmistakable. It has such joie de vivre, such warmth, such irresistible charm and panache. The good folks at Main Stage and Think India were gracious enough to let me review this marvelous musical, knowing it would close before I could post my column. What a joyous tribute to the spirit of harmony. I will be forever grateful for the privilege. The Red Pashmina will remain with me for a long time, it was: “…such stuff as dreams are made on.”

Main Stage Irving: 3333 North MacArthur Blvd, Irving, Texas 75062. (972) 594-6104. www.irvingtheatre.org Think India Foundation: 682.463.9201. info@thinkindia.foundation. www.thinkindia.foundation

PRODUCERS

Samir Bhargava • James West • Ramesh Thiagarajan • Asit Kini

SHOW CONCEPT & ARTISTIC DIRECTION

(Script, Music Arrangement, Choreography, Direction)

Anisha Srinivasan • Shatarupa Purohit • Shibani Limaye

Malti Srinivasan • Ravi Srinivasan

SCENIC DESIGN

Joseph Cummings

LIGHTING DESIGN

Kyle Harris

SOUND DESIGN

Isaac Abraham

VIDEO DESIGN

Vijay Gurow

MASTER CARPENTER

Steven Merritt

COSTUME DESIGN

Shatarupa Purohit • Radhika Ganesh • Shanti Ravi • Rhea Kamat

ARTISTIC SUPPORT

Aarthi Ramesh • Prabhu Shankar • Prakash Kagal

Radhika Ganesh • Renuka Kant • Shraddha Dharia • Shravan Gaddam

Shubha Ramakrishnan • Shukra Seshadri

PERFORMERS

Aarav Gaddam • Aarnav Kamat • Aarthi Ramesh • Advait Kshirsagar • Anand Natarajan

Anusha Adinarayanamurthy • Ashwin Kumar • Asit Kini • Chanda Crane

Clayton Cunningham • Darby Blakeman • Dhvani Sharma • Frances Lydia Zavier

Gurleen Kaur • Harish Venkat • Jake Blakeman • James West • Jayesh Thamburaj

Johnny Edgett • Keith Kubal• Ken Crane • Kiran Raut • Mahi Raut • Manoj Balraj

Manoj Pillai • Marie West • Niharika Kamat • Prathama Pathak • Prathima Bhat

Priyanka Potturi • Rajesh Adusumilli • Rajeshwari Prabhune • Rakshak Iyengar

Ranjan Misra • Rashmi Vatsan Renuka Kant Rhea Kamat • Sai Veda Rallabandi

Samanvi Velagapudi • Samhita Kumar • Samir Shah • Sanjana Manikandan

Shamli Asanare • Shanmugapriya Murugakathiresan • Shravan Gaddam

Shukra Seshadri • Simran Misra • Sneha Velayudham • Sruthi Potturi • Sruthi Venkat

Stephan Singleton Swathi Harikumar • Thulasiram Govind Chettiyaar • Vijay Ram • Yasmin Misra

LOBBY

Samir Bhargava • Shraddha Dharia • Chennai Café • Elegant Affair

Saregama Café & Supermarket

MUSICIANS & SINGERS

Advait Kshirsagar • Betson Zachariah • Gurleen Kaur • Kartik Rajagopal

Krithika Karthik • Mahesh Ruikar • Parag Prabhune • Prathama Pathak

Prathima Bhat • Priti Phalak • Prabhu Shankar • Prakash Kagal • Ramki Ramakrishnan

Samhita Kumar • Sanjana Manikandan • Shukra Seshadri . Vijay Ram

PRODUCTION CREW

Aarthi Ramesh, Asit Kini, Arvind Betrabet, Datta Krishnappa, Ganesh Raghu, James West, Kunaal Kini, Neel Betrabet, Nikita Bhagat, Steven Merritt Ram Ramanathan, Ramesh Thiagarajan, Samir Bhargava, Sanjana Manikandan, Sundar Swaminathan, Sudhagar Ramamoorthy, Vish Kamat, Vishwajit Bhave

VOLUNTEERS

Aarthi Ramesh, Aaryaa Moharir, Akruti Pancholi, Bala Rangarajan, George Varughese, Jayashree Manikandan, Kala Ramesh, Manasi Paranjpe, Mrinmayee Jana, Nikita Bhagat, Paramesh Devineni, Priti Phalak, Raji Venkat, Rohini Dalvi, Sandhya Rao-Joshi, Simran Purohit, Sushma Ramachandran, Sushma Ramakrishna, Shankari Velayudham, Shanmugapriya, Shanti Ravi, Shanti Velagapod, Shubha Ramakrishnan Sneha Patwardhan, Surabhi Kshirsagar, Uma Pandare

SPECIAL THANKS

Akshay Joshi, Mina Kini, Nitin Futane, Nishendu Vasavada,

Shreyas Gaonkar, Sumedha Gokhale, Vandita Parikh, Vineeta Bhargav

I saw Spring Awakening for the first time at the Winspear, by a touring company, several years ago. I was bowled over by its frailty and rage, it’s raw, broken, lost eroticism and celebratory explosions, its frank and grim, yet earnest search for the actual in a world drowning in duplicity. Since then I have seen numerous productions throughout the DFW Metroplex, and some (I regret to say) I missed. I was relieved and grateful that none saw fit to succumb to censorship, which, considering the narrative, would have been especially egregious. Essentially, Spring Awakening’s a musical about the calamity we risk, when neglecting sexual guidance in the midst of aimless, urgent adolescence. The parents’ comfort zone is their children’s downfall. Moritz, best friend of anti-hero Melchior, bemoans the intrusive fantasies that make it impossible to focus on his studies. His grievances culminate in “The Bitch of Living,” an angry, funny, paean to the chaos of libido gone haywire and the need to blow off steam. The young men stomp and shout and add their anecdotes from the land of pounding pulse and demanding daydreams.

In the spirit of transparency I asked to review Spring Awakening, and Southern Methodist University was kind enough to comp me, knowing I couldn’t post till after the show closed. The last Sunday matinee was packed and I felt fortunate to be there, though we lost some audience at the interval. It’s that kind of show. Based on Frank Wedekind’s drama written in the 18^th century, it’s not all exaggerating to describe this piece as (among other things) profoundly disturbing, unflinchingly honest and dangerous. Young women who must sort through abuse and molestation in the context of cruel neglect. Young men who cannot discuss even fundamental solutions with their dads. Utter subjugation to the disgusting whims of any adult. In the song, “You’re totally fucked,” Melchior shouts the repugnant truth of the title. “You’re fucked all right, and it’s all for spite, you can kiss your sorry ass goodbye.” What makes adults powerful is their superior skill at lying.

Directed by Blake Hackler, SMU Meadows’ recent production of Spring Awakening was a revelation. When the same show pops up, all over the same community, each theatre (naturally) brings its own unique spin to the proceedings. There was something about Hackler’s interpretation (along with Scenic Designer Sarah Harris and Choreographer Emily Bernet) that felt more defiant, more fanciful, more intuitive, than any I’d seen recently. In Bernet’s dance numbers, we see heterocentrist crossover to same-gender sexuality, an easy intimacy between the characters, a bone-deep frustration that comes off in waves. Harris’ set expounded a controlled chaos, familiar and yet unbalanced. Hackler’s choices were audacious and electrifying, the anger and despondency palpable, the performances intoxicating and poignant. He, and his young volcanic cast, et al, created a powerful, overwhelming experience that rises above the sum of its parts. This brave incarnation of Spring Awakening is one I’ll never forget.

SMU Meadows Division of Theatre presented Spring Awakening, which closed September 30^th, 2018. Greer Garson Theatre, 6101 Bishop Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75205. (214) 768-2787 www.smu.edu/Meadows

Once is an unorthodox musical romance. The first meeting between “Guy” and “Girl” seems almost studiously uneventful. He’s in the park, singing a song about a relationship he can no longer endure. Then ditches the guitar. She appears, demanding he perform another song for her. She’s Czech (at least in this show) her voice is flat and without low. He keeps explaining she’s on the wrong track, but she won’t give in. He plays another song, and she’s right. He has something remarkable. She asks why he has a vacuum cleaner with him and he explains that he and his Da fix “Hoovers.” “Great!” she says. We have a broken vacuum. Not exactly brimming with moonlight.

The guy introduces the girl to his father, who’s charmed. The girl introduces the guy to her mother, and the rest of her family. They’re overjoyed. Whenever characters in a play have names like: BOY, GIRL, MAN, WOMAN, it means they could be any man and any woman. Guy and Girl are perfect for each other, but they have other, unresolved attachments, which is probably a trait they share with many couples. Apart from their undeniable chemistry, Girl is determined to help Guy with his music, which deserves far more attention. She focuses all her energy on getting his talent on track: assembling a band, bartering for studio time, trying to present his music to the right pair of ears. It may seem she’s sending mixed signals, but when she can’t say “yes”, she’s got good reason.

The intriguing, enticing aspect of Once is how pervasively unconventional it is. Plot, content, resolution. Almost nothing is predictable. The soulful and/or rambunctious Irish music doesn’t logically emerge from the dialogue. The girl isn’t emotional and the guy isn’t gallant or seized by passion. The girl’s family isn’t quirky or eccentric, they’re actually kinda nuts. The emotion is palpable but there’s no sturm und drang or tortured declarations. The customary tropes are pretty much out the window.I’m guessing creators Enda Walsh (Book) Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova (Music and Lyrics) were aiming to show how all romances are different, and yet they’re all the same. That you don’t necessarily need amplification to convey intense feeling. We’re more likely to sort out motivations after we’ve left the theater.

Once is surprising in its spontaneous, raucousness, that seems like a crooked, impulsive, meandering walk, but gets us there. Wherever “there” is. It’s fresh, and exhilarating and poignant; it breaks new ground. Despite its strangeness, we come to care for this couple, and understand the lives of others in their orbit. Our hearts pound faster, we are tickled and troubled. Walsh, Hansard, Irglova, director Marianne Galloway and the cast el al, have delivered an original, memorable gift.

Theatre 3  presents: Once, playing September 13th- October 7^th, 2018. 2800 Routh St, Suite 168, Dallas, Texas 75201 (214) 871-3300. www.theatre3dallas.com

Len Jenkin has a special knack for making quirky, prototypical, found poetry from the imagery of everyday life. It might be that one, resonating song floating from an antiquated radio, in a hobo jungle. Or the way a sudden downpour sizzles on a poorly lit street, late, late at night. The narrator: Little Sister speaks with a kind of nonchalant, though unassailable reverie. In their way, Shakey Jake + Alice are the romanticized, quintessential teen delinquent couple. They’re just intrepid and transgressive enough to be charming. Their thrift store finery is cool yet sweet. They know how to loll in the comfort of each other’s company.

How is it That We Live or Shakey Jake + Alice takes careful steps to illustrate and demonstrate the richness of our glorious-catastrophic-melancholy lives, if we just wait and let the enchantment come. Jenkin makes a convincing case for this, interspersing sybaritic episodes with chaos and/or profound disappointment. As teenagers, Jake and Alice are careless, wry, and awash in pleasure. When Alice goes off to college, and Jakey commences his hitchhiker’s odyssey, a supposed estrangement takes place. Like many men before him, Jake seeks truth in prolonged exploration of the world’s (not necessarily exotic) mysteries. Enlightenment in motion? He declines Alice’s invitations to visit her on campus, while she earns her degree. The next time she sees him, many years have passed, along with her devotion to Jakey. It’s not just that Jakey (true to his name) is unreliable, but his assumption that Alice will indefinitely hold a torch.

Other shows like Port Twilight, Time in Kafka, and Jonah also explore the celebration of the quirky, the off-beat, the fanciful, to be found in ordinary experience. It’s as if Jenkin is coining a benign series of urban legends. The contentious relationship between common mythology and the merciless truth. Perhaps intuitive decisions don’t always pan out. Perhaps Jake stays away so long because he believes his path to bliss will ultimately intersect with Alice’s. But maybe it won’t? It’s worth considering that in the previously mentioned shows (Twilight, Kafka, Jonah) Jenkin kept more balls in the air, putting romance in the context of other, concurrent plots or tangents. For some reason, when a single attachment is the main attraction, it doesn’t seem quite as vibrant. That being said, How is it That We Live or Shakey Jake + Alice is touching and lyrical, without feeling precious or didactic.

Undermain Theatre presents : How is it That We Live or Shakey Jake + Alice, playing September 13^th – October 7^th, 2018. 3200 Main Street, Dallas, Texas 75226. 214-747-5515. www.undermain.org

Branden Jacob Jenkins’ satirical drama An Octoroon, is an adaptation of Dion Boucicault’s 1859 melodrama of the same name. Preserving much of the same dialogue, it aims to enlighten by staging the script through a 21st century lens. An Octoroon begins with BJJ the contemporary playwright, conversing with the audience, explaining his trials as an African American writer. If you are an author of color, your work will always be construed as social commentary; other intentions ignored or brushed away. BJJ often illustrates his points by sharing dialectics between himself and his female psychotherapist, a woman he reveals as a construct. This theme of illusion created for the purpose of demonstration will be repeated. BJJ paints himself in clown white, as he and the other actors don their costumes.

Once the show (within the show) commences we are introduced to Minnie and Dido, house slaves on the Plantation Terrebonne who speak in an urban African American dialect. They provide comic relief as well as contrast to the antiquated dialogue spoken by the other black characters. BJJ plays George, the kind white heir to the plantation and M’Closkey, a despicable white overseer who schemes to cheat George out of Zoe, the love of his life, and his inheritance. Dora, the wealthy white woman, sets her cap for George, but he wants to marry only Zoe. Zoe, unfortunately, is an octoroon (1/8th black) and therefore not permitted to marry a white man.

Jenkins populates Octoroon with various characters, stereotypical, ethnically diverse, sometimes blurring the distinction between myth and reduction. Wahnotee the Indian is a drunken savage, Boucicault, a butch Southern aristocrat, Dido, a modern version of Prissy and Br’er Rabbit, Br’er Rabbit. Color-blind and multiple casting is used to great effect, evincing the conflict between honoring ethnic diversity and ignoring it.

Octoroon may be primarily an intellectual, rather than visceral experience. The play (within the play) deals exclusively in caricatures, the punchline being that Boucicault was denouncing slavery and racism, in the best way he knew how. He may have been enlightened for his time, but the diminished depiction of people of color nearly eclipses his best intentions. We get the upshot, but the 1859 melodrama feels like a debacle to us, in the 21^st Century. It’s not easy to grasp the practical application. The cartoony slant on characters makes them ludicrous, but the lack of empathy makes that sad. We can’t laugh, we can’t cry. What’s the take away?

At the risk of speculating I wonder if the possible impetus for the play (rage, frustration, indignation) is too far removed from the result. Jenkins creates a series of baffles, building tension between content and execution. We see the actors in and out of character. We see ridiculously unconvincing costumes, very much in keeping with Octoroon’s milieu. The show we witness takes some trouble to remind us of its artifices and the effect is intriguing, if not altogether emotional.

Stage West presents An Octoroon, playing August – September 30^th, 2018. 821 West Vickery Blvd, Fort Worth, Texas 76104. (817) 784-9378. www.stagewest.org

Though unacquainted with the script, I understood going in that Charley’s Aunt was a perennial of stage farce: British Comedy of Manners, drag humor, Dick Cavett once played the title role, etc. Set in 1892, amongst aristocratic college boys, Charley’s Aunt finds Jack and Charley in a quandary. Charley’s wealthy aunt is delayed and must cancel their engagement, thus depriving them of a chaperon and the company of Kitty and Amy. Their chum “Babs” (Lord Fancourt Babberly) shows up to nick their cache of champagne. Desperate to salvage their opportunity for skirt time, they badger Babs to assume the role of the mysterious heiress. As “luck” would have it, Babs is cast in a local comedy, and his lady’s togs are readily available.

Though their attempt at cross-dressing is crude at best, it’s convincing enough to fool everyone but the millionaire herself. Charley’s substitute Aunt just seems to have that certain something (!?) that others find irresistible. “She” cozies up to Jack and Charley’s girlfriends (leaving the boys stuck and steaming) and manages to cast a spell on Amy’s uncle and Jack’s dad. All of this with no particular effort. Naturally. Babs is thrilled by Amy and Kitty’s attention, and mortified by his amorous suitors.

In some ways, Charley’s Aunt reminded me of British pantos, where cross-dressing is an established tradition. The resulting humor more blatant, and yet more sly. Playwright Brandon Thomas probably owes a debt to Shakespeare, who thoroughly enjoyed gender bending. In the year 2018, when gender boundaries and talismanic attire are the subject of everyday discourse, Charley’s Aunt may feel a bit quaint. That being said, in the context of light comedy, it’s probably as good a strategy as any. Back in the day, innocence drove the punchlines. Of course the women snuggle up to a guy in a sloppy wig. Of course the impostor is a dude magnet. Rover Dramawerks’ Charley’s Aunt may leave a great deal of subtextual territory unexplored, but it undoubtedly makes for splendid, facetious comedy.

Rover Dramawerks presents Charley’s Aunt : playing September 13^th – 29th, 2018. 221 West Parker Road, Suite 580, Plano, Texas 75023. 972-849-0358. www.roverdramawerks.com