Author: christophersoden@sbcglobal.net

 

In 1976 child psychologist Bruno Bettelheim released The Uses of Enchantment, interpreting the symbolism behind fairy tales. In the context of Freudian theory. In 1987, Stephen Sondheim (music and lyrics) and James Lapine (Book) premiered Into the Woods, a musical they acknowledged was heavily influenced by Bettelheims’s book. Into the Woods is a masterful weaving of several stories: Rapunzel, Little Red Riding Hood, Cinderella, Jack and the Beanstalk, in which different characters, from separate narratives, interact with each other. The Narrator, the Witch, and the childless Baker and His Wife are the connective tissue. Sondheim and Lapine create a piece illuminated by explication, mockery, pathos, invention, and the improbable. All this while still entertaining and poignant. It’s nuanced and elaborate, but it doesn’t seem so.

In the first act, each fable, each quandary, is resolved. (A spell is broken. A danger avoided. A fortune attained.) In the second act, they are dismantled to suggest that life is more complicated. Deeper wisdom is pitted against conventional, simplistic answers. Maybe the Giant’s Wife has legitimate grievance. Perhaps the Prince and Cinderella didn’t consider their genuine motives. Perhaps the takeaway in the world of adults isn’t obvious. Sometimes it’s heartbreaking. Lapine and Sondheim have posited a contradiction in the title. “Out of the woods” means you’re no longer at risk. These two demented souls suggest you can’t learn to survive in the actual world, without putting yourself in jeopardy. Headlong into danger. But maybe they’re not wrong.

Pity poor Joel Ferrell, who in the process of directing this logistical nightmare, must have felt like he was juggling dishes, hoops and oranges at the same time. If the experience of Into the Woods is overwhelming in the best sense, imagine what it was like for him. The ridiculously demanding script couldn’t be easy to navigate for this tireless, fearless, animated ensemble cast. They bring the pleasure and grace of performance to Into the Woods without breaking a sweat.

Standouts include Christina Austin Lopez, as the persistent if somewhat unbalanced Cinderella, Bob Hess, avuncular and insanely versatile as The Narrator, Tiffany Solano, bold and vulnerable as The Baker’s Wife, Alex Organ, cunning and stately as Wolf and Prince, Sally Nystuen Vahle, patient and long-suffering as Jack’s Mother, Zachary J. Willis, endlessly cheery and guileless as Jack, Blake Hackler, as the perseverant and protective Baker, Cherish Love Robinson, wounded and vindictive as The Witch, and Christopher Llewyn Ramirez, pompous, but sensitive as Rapunzel’s Rescuer.

This remarkable musical mixes so many disparate, contrasting elements (the chaotic and the sublime, the absurd and the woeful, the cunning and the brave, the ironic and naive) and this phenomenal cast lights the fuse. The Dallas Theater Center’s production of Into the Woods is a vibrant, provocative, deeply affecting theatrical experience.

The Dallas Theater Center presents: Into the Woods, playing April 7th-30th, 2023. The Dee and Charles Wyly Theatre. 2400 Flora Street, Dallas, TX 75201. 214-522-8499. DallasTheateCenter.Org.

 

Boolie Wertham must find a driver for his mother, Daisy. She has wrecked her car, and continues to do damage to other people’s property. She blames the car, unable to admit she’s incapable of driving herself. Furthermore (wealthy though she may be) she is loath to hire a driver and be accused of putting on airs. Her reasons for needing a driver are perfectly legit, and we can’t imagine her caring what anybody thinks.

Boolie makes inquiries among his African American employees, and calls Hoke Colburn in for an interview. Hoke tells him about a white woman he worked for, who tried to get rid of some lousy clothes, by selling them to him. He politely turned her down. Hoke has learned how to be honest but still discreet. The interview tells as much about Boolie as it does Hoke. Boolie doesn’t expect Hoke to be subservient, and Hoke only asks for respect and a fair wage.

Written by playwright Alfred Uhry, Driving Miss Daisy is as much about race relations, as it is about dealing with cantankerous old ladies. It falls closer on the spectrum to To Kill A Mockingbird, than Uncle Tom’s Cabin. None of the characters would be described as noble, yet they care enough to be tactful. They don’t apologize for who they are, or pretend that differences don’t exist.  No one has any delusions that Miss Daisy is merely cranky or difficult.

Hoke isn’t reluctant to point out that sometimes Daisy makes impossible demands. When Miss Daisy teaches Hoke to read, he thanks her. When she replies (with her usually unpleasant demeanor) Don't be ridiculous! She explains he has the ability, but just doesn’t know it.  She is crusty, but refuses to condescend. This is the strength of Uhry’s narrative. Driving Miss Daisy is brave enough to raise the uncomfortable issues. It won't blow sunshine up our ass.

I must give props to Karen Jordan (Daisy Wertham) Toney Smith (Hoke Colburn) and Brian Hoffman (Boolie Wertham). Under the guiding, experienced hand of Director Rachael Lindley, they gift us with truly remarkable performances. Jordan is convincing, amusing, and exasperating as Daisy. Toney Smith is inspired and marvelously comic as Hoke. Brian Hoffman brings his impressive skills, as the relaxed, ironic, forbearing son, Boolie. I cannot recommend Richardson Theatre Centre’s production of Driving Miss Daisy enough. It is nuanced, understated, meticulous. They have hit a home run.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents: Driving Miss Daisy, playing March 31st-April 16th, 2023. 518 W Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, TX, United States, Texas. (972) 699-1130. richardsontheatre@gmail.com

 

 

April and Mimi are close, dear friends, who cherish one another. They brim with that effusive, frantic “girl energy” that’s so infectious. They proactively connect with members of the audience, asking so sweetly you just can’t say: “No”. They cheer, stand up, and look out for each other, no matter what. They adore each other’s company, and never run out of topics to discuss. Mimi babysits a little girl who wears Mousketeer ears, and she works in a coffee bar. There’s no doubt their friendship is authentic, though the enthusiasm comes dangerously close to the fatuous.

At the same time she’s started dating, Mimi discovers Edward Snowden, the notorious (if idealistic) whistleblower who facilitated access to the U.S. Government’s most sensitive secrets. Mimi immediately develops an atomic crush on Mr. Snowden, an antihero who sacrificed his home in America, and safety, and reputation to do what he felt was right. In short, he became a pariah. Mimi is then also faced with a moral quandary. She catches the badboy barista (that she likes) pilfering from the till. She loves the couple who own the cafe like family, as they love her. Should she report the guy, or pretend she didn’t see him?

When Mimi leaves the stage, April takes the audience into her confidence. Mimi has a serious pathology, that she’s managed to keep secret. Now, Edward Snowden takes a serious shift in tone. No more lemonade and lollipops. Throughout all of this, April supports, protects and does everything she can to spare Mimi any pain. She pays the restaurant bill behind Mimi’s back, to spare her embarrassment. April’s ignored it as best she can, but now, the question arises. If you genuinely care for someone, do you (however delicately) confront them with the truth? Even if you try to face this ordeal together, will you lose them?

Playwright Kate Cortesi presents us with a series of contradictions, that may be provocative. May be illuminating. Some playwrights create a puzzle with just enough information to set the spokes in motion. April and Mimi (like Gilbert and Sullivan’s “little maids from school”) are so giddy and gleeful it’s not always easy to take them seriously. As mentioned above our sunshine ride turns into a grim trip through a thunderstorm. Edward Snowden, a somewhat romanticized rebel, becomes a metaphor for the downside of mythology. Being an iconoclast is one thing, living the consequences is another. Perhaps, sooner or later, every devoted friendship is tested? Perhaps we must risk security, for the sake of doing right by someone who deserves our respect.

Second Thought Theatre presents Is Edward Snowden Single? playing April 4^th (today) through April 8^th. 3400 Blackburn St, Dallas, TX, United States, Texas 75219. (214) 897-3091. secondthoughttheatre.com

 

 

Christopher Boone is 15 and lives in Swindon, England, with his dad. His mother died of a heart attack while in hospital. Christopher is on the autism spectrum. If someone touches him, he goes to pieces. For him, the sentient world is overwhelming. It comes amplified and faster than he can process. He has coping mechanisms, but they only take him so far. Needless to say, the world doesn’t always choose to deal positively with Christopher, or even adequately. He’s intelligent and sharp. He’s especially keen at maths. He goes to school, sharing his notebook with Siobhan, his school teacher. It’s she that narrates our play.

One morning Christopher finds the neighbor’s dog has been killed. By someone with a gardening fork. Christopher is quite fond of his now deceased friend, and resolves to find the culprit, ignoring the orders of his dad. In this way, he’s no different than any other teenager. He visits the neighbors, meeting with various degrees of warmth, cynicism and hostility. When he lets slip that he’s been doing detective work, his dad (not necessarily a bad chap) becomes increasingly irate. Gradually his dad, in a fit of anger, confiscates Christopher’s notebook and hides it. In the process of getting it back, Christopher finds dozens of letters, addressed to him. He opens one and another. The penny drops, and he discovers his mother is still alive. Badly wounded by his father’s dishonesty, Christopher sets out to find his mother in London, counting on his reasoning skills, and the cooperation of others. If he’s thought that far.

Adapted by Simon Stephens from Mark Haddon’s novel of the same name, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time invites us into Christopher’s grasp of a life and world that (I think we can all agree) isn’t always welcoming or humane. But more than that. We see that strangers aren’t always untrustworthy. We see he can’t always rely on those that any of us might. We see the exquisite, phenomenal perception that thrives in the gentlest part of his brain. The access we seek within ourselves, when we’re in need of bandage. Haddon and Stephens achieve empathy for Christopher, without condescension or playing the audience. They want respect for their hero, who is neither cuddly nor helpless. And yet how deeply we care for him.

In a post-performance conversation with one of the actors, he mentioned how utterly production particulars of Curious are wed to content. Truer words. It’s some kind of dazzling to witness how the blocking and set pieces, and projections, and sound, and sympathetic response from the players all converge to reflect the interface between Christopher and what happens outside of him. When he must navigate a train station, or subway, or stairway. When he’s taking in the landscape from a train, rocket ship, or his bedroom window. We’re right there with him.

How does director Chris Berthelot bring his keen eye and sense of harmony to a drama with so many moving parts? Part painter, part conductor, part composer. Performance, music, movement, images, noise. They must all line up. I don’t want to go into too much detail here, but the way this story is conceived requires the participants to rethink theatrical tropes. Another realm is summoned. A different compass is needed. Berthelot has assembled a determined, confident, dedicated cast of focused and completely involved players, to change the way we see. If you love vibrant, kinetic, surprising theatre, don’t miss ACT’S The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time.

Allen Contemporary Theare presents: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, playing March 17th-April 2^nd, 2023. 1210 E Main Street, #300, Allen, TX, United States, Texas. (844) 822-8849. allencontemporarytheatre.net

 

Arlene and Mitchell plan to kill Arlene’s husband. The two have found their soulmate, and Paul has become a burden. Mitchell has arranged for Paul to meet him in a room at Howard Johnson’s, where the two will ambush, and drown him in the tub. When Paul arrives, he’s not the insensitive schmuck that we’ve been lead to believe. Even though the murder’s carefully planned, there’s some discrepancy between concept and execution. Mitchell and Arlene bungle it. The next time we visit HoJo’s, Paul and Arlene are scheming to kill Mitchell. Once again, there are miscalculations and unforeseen problems. You would think two people who sleep together would make at better team. Next act, Paul and Mitchell are ready to kill Arlene.

Written by Ron Clark and Sam Brobrick, Murder at the Howard Johnson’s is set in the 1970’s with its flashy, tastelessly loud colors and plaids, and it’s clarion call to women to declare their freedom. The fact that Mitchell, a dentist, is only slightly higher up the food chain than used car salesman Paul, speaks volumes. There’s some glamour and romance in the idea of murdering for the sake of passion (I suppose) but these three can’t commit. As Paul (clearly the wisest of the three) points out, they’re too middle class to make the deed happen. They’re not poor enough to feel trapped, or wealthy enough to ignore the law. Their ideas of gifts, the debonair, the intrepid may be practical, but also, lame. Murder at the Howard Johnson’s stands firmly in the tradition of banter, quips and shtick. Paul: That bridge you put in still hurts. Mitchell: So don’t pay me. Paul: I didn’t. There’s also an element of the absurd to these shenanigans. Mitchell checks with Paul to make sure his binding’s not too tight. Paul let’s him use his necktie.

Pocket Sandwich Theatre (now in Carrollton) back and better than ever, is in fine form with Murder at the Howard Johnson’s. Not their customary popcorn tosser this time around, but a most enjoyable evening of comedy, nonetheless. Manuel C. Cruz (Paul) Mozhgan Haghi (Arlene) and Jake Shanahan (Mitchell) bring their A-Game to this amusing farce, optimizing tone to content, timing to text. Cruz is the cranky voice of pragmatism, Haghi the ditzy voice of emancipation, Shanahan the dentist dandy. Under the keen, experienced direction of Becki McDonald, the marvelously preposterous (or is it the preposterously marvelous?) comes gleaming through.

Pocket Sandwich Theatre presents: Murder at the Howard Johnson’s, playing February 24th- March 24th, 2023. 1104 Elm Street, Carrollton, TX, United States, Texas. (214) 821-1860. pst@dallas.net

Florence Unger has been wandering the streets of New York, after finding out her husband wants a divorce. She shows up at Olive Madison’s apartment, where she, Sylvie, Mickey, Renee and Vera are playing Trivial Pursuit. Olive has a comprehensive knowledge of sports, though she’s not great at providing a decent nosh. Florence is beside herself, after so many years of marriage she feels abandoned. They try to help her as best they can, and insist she spend the night at Olive’s. When they’re alone, in a moment of revelation, Olive realizes she wants a roommate and invites Florence to move in.

Not long after, Florence and Olive are getting on each other’s nerves. Florence isn’t just fastidious, she’s compulsive. Though living with someone who keeps things clean, and prepares delicious food, doesn’t exactly sound like torment. Both Olive and Florence seem incapable of tolerating the others shortcomings or finding common ground. Olive arranges a double date with brothers who are neighbors. Despite some hurdles, things seem to be going fine. The guys suggest the four go up to their place where they will cook for the ladies. Florence, intentionally or not, sabotages what might have been a sublime evening. Though it was Olive who invited her, she also throws Florence out.

I was surprised to find that Neil Simon adapted his original version of The Odd Couple to focus the premise on two women friends. If memory serves, the dynamic between Oscar and Felix was a comedy of chemistry. Two buddies, one a slob and the other a neat- freak, living under the same roof. It’s a quirk of humanity that any two adults, sharing a home (regardless of the nature of their connection) will assume the roles of “husband” and “wife”, if you will. Or nest builder and alpha. Relatively speaking. This makes for considerable friction between the two. Perhaps no one ever told Felix and Oscar that the key to a successful relationship is compromise.

There’s a strange moment that closes the first act, when Olive and Florence are alone. Olive confesses her loneliness and drops to one knee, proposing marriage to Florence. Now certainly, we don’t take this literally, and we’re not meant to. Perhaps this is Simon’s way of silencing the proverbial elephant in the room. By addressing it head on? I suppose my hesitation with the logic of The Odd Couple (Female Version) emerges when Florence proclaims her gratitude for Olive evicting her. After inviting her to move in, in the first place. Presumably this motivated her to seek male companionship. This may have passed in the 1980’s, but in 2023, it doesn’t add up. Platonic may be no substitute for Romance, but sexual is no substitute for sisterhood. Of course, Mr. Simon is entitled to his own worldview. But you’ve got to be a little skeptical, when the “answer” to Florence’s unhappiness could only be a male. When she discovers the right kind of males, her need to live with a woman is solved.

Under the direction of Rachael Lindley, this convivial and versatile cast works Neil Simon’s legendary gift for banter and shtick, with confidence and purpose. Their timing is impeccable, their punchlines, sublime. There’s lots of hi-jinks and physical humor, and the first date with the Constanzuela Brothers is definitely a high point. It’s always grand to catch a show at Richardson Theatre Centre, where everyone cares so devotedly about the success of the show, they all give 200 %, they all make you feel welcome.

My sincere thanks to RTC for their invitation on closing weekend.

Richardson Theatre Centre presented The Odd Couple (Female Version) February 10-26^th, 2023. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. richardsontheatrecentre.net

Four Latina converge in the basement of a corrupt politician, seeking aid and refuge. They are trying to stay off the grid. One is a battered wife, one a radical Lesbian, one her lover, and one the housekeeper who works there. Near as I can tell, one is the mother of one of the two lovers, and one the grandmother. Safe to say, there are at least two generations present, and the spectrum swings from the traditional to the far left. The extreme progressive has flaming red hair. We see no males, though one is the abusive cop, one a Latino Border Patrol who arrests Latin immigrants, and one the aforementioned owner of the mansion.

He is a hypocritical and despotic, living in a home appropriate to a feudal lord. High tech, pervasive, ruthless robotic security. The door to the basement can be locked from the outside. As the four describe their options, we see that profuse money makes servitude bearable. Especially when destitution is a systemic given. The housekeeper might have chosen to work for a more decent, compassionate man, but desperation breeds equivocation. Man Cave culminates in spellcasting, a call to enraged ancestors, a confrontation with the deep wickedness of the Master, a cleansing of this vile realm?

Playwright John J. Caswell Jr. has carefully constructed a detailed allegory, evoking the misery of the subjugated, and the heartlessness of patriarchy. The ideology is there, the discourse, the frustration, the despair. All effectively dressed in plausible structure. All these women have experienced the actuality of being exploited. (The underground railroad for terrorized wives is no urban legend.) Ridiculous wages for the Latin community are a fact of life. Whether you’ve seen Poltergeist or not, “civilization” built on the backs of the oppressed (even their graves are disrespected) is more than just a metaphor.

Practically every component of Man Cave meets at the intersection of symbol and the world the women inhabit. The cerebral and the visceral. The housekeeper doesn’t seem to work above aground. Her boss wants to use her as a shill for optics. Relics of the desecrated are hidden beneath a deer’s head of the politician’s quarry. There’s the dumbwaiter. The bathroom door ajar that exposes a roll of toilet paper. The darkness that suggests a labyrinth. When the four resort to (Santeria) witchcraft, the steps are what makes this spectacle accessible. They are mindful of each aspect. The goat’s blood, the meticulous attention to language, the rules of invocation. We believe because they do.

Man Cave is propelled by frantic energy. Political rhetoric sneaks out here and there, but like The Threepenny Opera or Pygmalion, it illustrates by demonstration. Ideas like caste, misogyny, racism, imperialism are not just abstractions. They’re not amorphous. But they’re no less affecting. They’re gripping. Canny. We see the diminishment of Lupita, Rosemary, Imaculata and Consuelo. Medea prevailed because she was a high priestess of Hecate. That goddess was the source of her strength. Witchcraft is subversive, ignoring the laws and constraints of male gods and men. She was protected (ironically) by male vanity and refusal to knuckle under to Jason’s supposed superiority. Witchcraft evolved as women’s defiance of a culture stacked against them from birth. So too, must Lupita, Rosemary, Imaculata, and Consuelo. They must summon the fury of their female ancestors.

Kitchen Dog Theater presents Man Cave, playing February 17th-March 5^th, 2023. The Trinity River Arts Center. 2600 N. Stemmons Freeway, Suite 180 Dallas, TX 75207. 214-953-1055. KitchenDogTheater.org

Three faculty members from an American university are vacationing in Greece. Dean Trickett palms Ralph off on Daphne. Daphne is deep into her own pursuits on this (accidentally working) vacation, but Trickett is in no mood to assist Ralph in what might be an historical find. Despite her best efforts, Ralph succeeds in roping Daphne in. What follows next is a sudden incident that nets Daphne some leverage with the Greek Deities. She saves the life of a small boy, belonging to a charming peddler (Aristide) who sells trinkets to tourists. In gratitude he bestows upon her a necklace, he’s imbued with impressive powers.

A few months later, back on campus, Ralph reveals to Daphne not only has he found the scrap from the manuscript by Euripides, it’s the actual text of the play Andromeda, in its entirety. This is, of course, a watershed event, and the two are in thrall. Daphne agrees to keep the manuscript safe, while Ralph arranges a presentation for alumni and/or donors, later in the evening. When Daphne leaves her office for a few minutes, the affable janitor (Aleksi) takes the liberty of disposing what he believes to be rubbish, and (in a playful mood) shreds the first few pages. (I’ll give you a few moments to recover).

Aghast at the disappearance of the sacred text, Daphne in a WTF moment, grasps her miraculous charm, woefully crying out for Divine Intervention. Lo and Behold, Dionysus and his goddess consort, Thalia appear, confident they can resolve Daphne’s calamity. What happens next might perhaps be a lesson in the shenanigans of non-Titanic gods and their skillset. Whether other gods (who dwell higher up the realms of Mount Olympus) might find this task easier, I couldn’t say. Dionysus and Thalia are quite “personable”, but they don’t seem especially well equipped to nail this one. Or not anytime soon.

Playwright Ken Ludwig turns the God From the Machine (Deus ex Machina) on its head. An ancient time-honored theatrical device, God From the Machine is a lofty term for a last minute arrival of salvation, usually by extraordinary means. Say if a fiver went sailing out your car window and Moses appeared with your missing money in hand. When Dionysus and Thalia arrive at Daphne’s behest, her problems should be over. Sweet-natured and convivial though they may be, these two are clearly out of their depth. Though it’s fair to say Dionysus is associated with wine and theatre performance, his is a commanding presence, often terrible and merciless. Comedy might be a reach. Not so with Ludwig’s characters. Imagine your favorite Aunt and Uncle performing parlor tricks. And Ares, the God of War, makes an appearance. Though somewhat intimidating, he’s also a schmuck. You go, Ken Ludwig.

The Gods of Comedy is a pleasurable, affectionate, smart satire, often for reasons not articulated in the script. Of course, Ralph and Daphne are disillusioned when immortals they’ve extolled to starry-eyed scholars wind up as commanding as Carrot Top or Kathy Griffin. Ken Ludwig trusts us to put the pieces together. The comedy has almost nothing to do with higher education, and the dark forces that scoff at despair. It’s tongue and cheek; anti-intellectualism by an unapologetic ally erudite playwright. Vaudeville for intelligentsia.

Allen Community Theatre presents The Gods of Comedy, playing January 27th- February 12^th, 2023. 1210 E Main Street, #300, Allen, Texas. (844) 822-8849. allencontemporarytheatre.net

Three faculty members from an American university are vacationing in Greece. Dean Trickett palms Ralph off on Daphne. Daphne is deep into her own pursuits on this (accidentally working) vacation, but Trickett is in no mood to assist Ralph in what might be an historical find. Despite her best efforts, Ralph succeeds in roping Daphne in. What follows next is a sudden incident that nets Daphne some leverage with the Greek Deities. She saves the life of a small boy, belonging to a charming peddler (Aristide) who sells trinkets to tourists. In gratitude he bestows upon her a necklace, he’s imbued with impressive powers.

A few months later, back on campus, Ralph reveals to Daphne not only has he found the scrap from the manuscript by Euripides, it’s the actual text of the play Andromeda, in its entirety. This is, of course, a watershed event, and the two are in thrall. Daphne agrees to keep the manuscript safe, while Ralph arranges a presentation for alumni and/or donors, later in the evening. When Daphne leaves her office for a few minutes, the affable janitor (Aleksi) takes the liberty of disposing what he believes to be rubbish, and (in a playful mood) shreds the first few pages. (I’ll give you a few moments to recover).

Aghast at the disappearance of the sacred text, Daphne in a WTF moment, grasps her miraculous charm, woefully crying out for Divine Intervention. Lo and Behold, Dionysus and his goddess consort, Thalia appear, confident they can resolve Daphne’s calamity. What happens next might perhaps be a lesson in the shenanigans of non-Titanic gods and their skillset. Whether other gods (who dwell higher up the realms of Mount Olympus) might find this task easier, I couldn’t say. Dionysus and Thalia are quite “personable”, but they don’t seem especially well equipped to nail this one. Or not anytime soon.

Playwright Ken Ludwig turns the God From the Machine (Deus ex Machina) on its head. An ancient time-honored theatrical device, God From the Machine is a lofty term for a last minute arrival of salvation, usually by extraordinary means. Say if a fiver went sailing out your car window and Moses appeared with your missing money in hand. When Dionysus and Thalia arrive at Daphne’s behest, her problems should be over. Sweet-natured and convivial though they may be, these two are clearly out of their depth. Though it’s fair to say Dionysus is associated with wine and theatre performance, his is a commanding presence, often terrible and merciless. Comedy might be a reach. Not so with Ludwig’s characters. Imagine your favorite Aunt and Uncle performing parlor tricks. And Ares, the God of War, makes an appearance. Though somewhat intimidating, he’s also a schmuck. You go, Ken Ludwig.

The Gods of Comedy is a pleasurable, affectionate, smart satire, often for reasons not articulated in the script. Of course, Ralph and Daphne are disillusioned when immortals they’ve extolled to starry-eyed scholars wind up as commanding as Carrot Top or Kathy Griffin. Ken Ludwig trusts us to put the pieces together. The comedy has almost nothing to do with higher education, and the dark forces that scoff at despair. It’s tongue and cheek; anti-intellectualism by an unapologetic ally erudite playwright. Vaudeville for intelligentsia.

Allen Community Theatre presents The Gods of Comedy, playing January 27th- February 12^th, 2023. 1210 E Main Street, #300, Allen, Texas. (844) 822-8849. allencontemporarytheatre.net

In 1977 Bernard Pomerance’s The Elephant Man premiered at the Hampstead Theatre in London, November 7th, 1977. It hit Broadway in 1979, where it took Tonys For Best Play, Best Direction, and Best Performance by a Leading Actress. Not to mention the list of nominations. I’ve become skeptical enough to doubt that every award is proof of quality. But in the case of The Elephant Man, with it’s simple, elegant, poetic script, I’m not surprised that it should enjoy such success.

Merrick’s deformity was phenomenal in the worst sense. It terrified those who encountered him, or elicited visceral repulsion. Not until Dr. Frederick Treves discovered him in a sideshow with other “misfits”, did Merrick find an advocate who would provide for him the rest of his life. As we might imagine, Merrick was so pummeled by abuse and revulsion that his keen, sentient mind, his gentle and capacious heart, his utter lack of self-pity was concealed.

Treves placed him in the hospital (where he practiced) and Merrick was restored to health. There his remarkable qualities as a human being could emerge and flourish. Once Merrick is settled in, he captures the heart of Mrs. Kendall, an actress and friend of Treves. Her friends are the cream of London Society and shower him with affection. A distinction is made between the working class and the genteel, educated, wealthy class that can afford to be moral. A nod perhaps to Pygmalion and The Threepenny Opera.

Bernard Pomerance took the agonizing, intensely sad story of Joseph Merrick, who lived in the Victorian Era, and made it accessible, without manipulating the audience. In the arts such a feat is nearly impossible. Consider Kander and Ebb’s Cabaret, Euripides’ Medea, Spielberg’s Schindler’s List. To explore such content: filicide, anti-semitism, genocide, atrocities, murder; without exploiting our emotions, requires meticulous, masterful attention. Imagine tossing a bomb in the audience without causing havoc.

Merrick’s story is fraught with painful evidence of mankind’s propensity for bestial, unconscionable savagery. Pomerance takes this pathos and plays it down. The way the script is written, we see a photograph of Merrick once, at the beginning of the play. The rest is suggested by the actor playing Merrick, who hobbles, and speaks with deliberation. To do more, is to amplify what already is monstrous and egregious. The trick is to get us past Merrick’s appearance, to the essence of being and humanity. Not to ignore his unimaginable suffering, but grasp that it doesn’t define him.

Theatre 3’s production of The Elephant Man is deeply moving. Director Jeffrey Schmidt’s set is vivid and evocative. The shrink wrap that festoons the sparse, nearly skeletal set, suggests a web and the question of transparency. The actors cultivate the tone so crucial to Pomerance’s canny, cogent, lyrical script. There is something surreal, but tangible and immediate about this show, and the cast is equal to the task. Cindee Mayfield is forceful and pragmatic as Gomm. Taylor Harris expresses the frustration and empathy of Dr. Frederick Treves. Karen Raehpour captures the flamboyant, effusive Mrs. Kendall. Shawn Gann swings between opportunism and piety playing Ross and Bishop How. Rarely do we see such a versatile collection of actors, cast in multiple roles. (Does Equity know about this?)

Drew Wall as John Merrick (aka The Elephant Man) navigates the role of a soul tortured and ostracized, but continues to trust the rationality, tolerance, and altruism, in spite of it all. There have been different interpretations (of course) of Merrick’s body language in different productions. Mr. Wall is called upon to gnarl his back and limbs, twisting his mouth. It’s as if Tiny Tim or Amahl with their waif-like mien, had grown up, shaped by mankind’s contempt. It is apparent that Mr. Wall is utterly dedicated to his craft in what must be an emotionally and physically exhausting performance.

Theatre 3 presents The Elephant Man, playing January 19th-February 19^th, 2023. 2688 Laclede # 120, Dallas, Texas 75201. 214-871-3300. www.theatre3dallas.com. It is emphatically recommended to check with the box office, due to inclement weather.