Author: christophersoden@sbcglobal.net

Once a year, Pegasus Theatre stages a new “black and white” show. It is a long standing tradition. Each new show, written by Kurt Kleinman, is an homage to the heyday (1940’s -50’s) of film noir detective dramas. The brusque banter, understated alpha camp, cynicism that stands as a beguiling genre in the American Cinema Canon. These performances feature actors wearing a special gray makeup, special costumes and sets, designed to evoke the days before technicolor came to the silver screen.

The year is 1955. There’s a Top Secret Air Force Base (aka Paradise Ranch) where the highest level of National Security has been compromised. Our intrepid trio (Captain Foster, Nigel Grouse, and Harry Hunsacker) is summoned to the base, ready to set things right. It’s not long before homicide runs amok, with no apparent suspects. The Three Detectives are on the case. They bicker and squabble and Hunsacker makes his usual gaffes, whether it’s pretzel logic or unwittingly insulting someone. Grouse is nearby, most of time, to salvage the moment. It’s as if he’s channeling Gracie Allen, his guileless observations somehow endearing.

In the course of investigation, certain quandaries arise. The scientists involved are evasive and arrogant. Interlopers are casually coming and going to this fortress of solitude. Sam Phillips, a dashing, forceful G-Man arrives with his peppy, if somewhat stern assistant, Johnson. Two murders have occurred but all are baffled. Colonel Jean Hudson has been pondering using parallel universes to confront a past paramour. So many of these characters have secrets, and it won’t be easy.

Needless to say, most detectives aren’t called upon to solve murders in the realms of speculative fiction. Playwright Kleinman has fused two genres that often used black and white cinematography to its optimal effect. They may not have had any choice, but the true masters of film could make us swoon. The absurd, tongue-in-cheek antics of The Three are amusing and reassuring. The unmistakable tropes from classics like Forbidden Planet and The Maltese Falcon, the musical prompts when a jarring discovery comes, the slap happy gunplay, the painful memories of relationships that tanked. They are all here in this sublime, nostalgic, goofy celebration of dark, fanciful, deadpan ordeals.

Pegasus Theatre presented The Dimension of Death! From December 29th-January 22^nd, 2023. Charles W. Eisemann Center, 2351 Performance Drive, Richardson, Texas 75082. 972-744-4650. www.eisemanncenter.com

After years of reviewing theatre (much to my delight!) I have concluded how difficult it must be to stage a Christmas production production that is fresh, intriguing, uncorny and actually kindles that elusive spark we all yearn for. Christmas evokes so much for us that it’s hard to meet everyone’s understandably high expectations. Speaking as a grown adult (?!) I ache for the Christmases of my youth. There are times when I think we adults need Christmas more than children. Relatively speaking.

Richardson Theatre Centre’s  Hometown Holiday Radio Show manages this Herculean feat and more. The premise of experiencing Christmas lore (A Christmas Carol, It’s A Wonderful Life) through the lens of the glorious radio shows of the 1950’s, seems to put just the right spin on familiar narratives. Radio shows seem to be all the rage lately, with their ingenuity and zip and sly humor and warmth. Hometown Holiday opens on a small radio station as the actors, singers, foleys, director, writer, director, Master of Ceremonies and Mary the cleaning lady, et al, arrive. A calamity has hit Mary hard, but she doesn’t show it. It’s Christmas Eve and everyone’s dressed in their holiday finery, from dapper suits to opulent dresses to goofy, vivid costumes. Even if it’s only a Santa cap, everyone wears something special. All are light, buoyant and jazzed for the show to start, performing for the studio audience and the one at home.

There are Christmas carols, certainly, and comic sketches, daffy bits, an episode of Fibber McGee and Molly, commercials, spot-on news breaks, interventions by the writer. There’s a spoof on Twelve Days of Christmas that’s silly and marvelous. It’s clear Mary has always wanted to be a part of the show, and her opportunity arises. It may be a mostly secular celebration but the spirit of the birth comes through. We see delight as the men and women step up to do their piece; get glimpses of their lives outside the station. The nuance of radiance in their faces. I don’t always get the point of show-within-a- show shows, but here it makes perfect sense. Molly and Collin and Mary and Jeanette are human beings sharing the earth (with the rest of us). Tonight they are not only actors, they are friends celebrating Christmas with us.

There is something mystical, when we consider why some shows come together, and others not quite. If it’s a Christmas show, the risk increases exponentially. You’ve really got to avoid the temptation to push our buttons. There are many so deeply invested in Christmas. I’m thinking it’s the balance of nostalgia and celebration and graciousness, tempered by the relaxed demeanor of the characters. Enthusiastic but modulated and therefore, perhaps more palpable as real. And we all have permission to play. Hometown Holiday Radio Show isn’t a pageant. It’s not an extravaganza or a spectacle. It’s folks involved in their everyday lives, engaged in the simple act of welcoming the special, promised visitor. Yes?

Richardson Theatre Centre staged Hometown Holiday Radio Show December 2-18th, 2022. 518 W Arapaho Rd, Ste 113, Richardson, TX, 75080. (972) 699-1130. richardsontheatre@gmail.com

My heartfelt gratitude to RTC for letting me attend the last night of the run.

 

Belle is a young woman living in a provincial French Village with her father (Maurice) an ingenious, eccentric inventor. Belle herself isn’t interested in typical expectations. She may be the only villager who uses the library, and no particular interest in finding a husband. It doesn’t take much to spook these simple folk, though she’s not especially ostracized. One guy in particular: Gaston (an insufferable, self-absorbed, alpha male) has chosen Belle to be his future bride. He puts the schmuck in bravado. Apparently, in a town of the blind, a one-eyed man is king.

Maurice has loaded up his coach for a convention of like-minded artisans. Assuring his daughter he’ll be fine, he sets off, cutting a shortcut through the woods. A hurly-burly ensues, toppling his wagon and scaring his horse. Keen to escape the wolves that encircle him, he comes knocking at a palace, far removed from the rest of the world. There he discovers an opulent dwelling, occupied by servants that have been transformed into objects. A teakettle. A wardrobe. A candlestick. A grandfather clock. They cautiously offer him food and shelter, but when the Beast discovers the interloper, he throws him in the dungeon. Can Belle rescue him?

By now I think most of us are familiar with the Disney brand, adapting their animated films to stage musicals. Aladdin, The Lion King, Frozen, to name but a few, have been transformed to profitable, theatrical ventures. Disney’s sense of spectacle translates smoothly, and (near as I can tell) no major narrative changes. Watching Firehouse’s production of Beauty and the Beast, I was intrigued by the process. Much to my surprise, Dylan Elza appeared to have Gaston’s facial expressions down to a fine art. Practically identical. The effect was impressive and somewhat alarming. Was the idea to replicate, complicate or stimulate? Perhaps all three? You’ve got to wrestle unique expectations of the fanbase and the demands of a piece that must stand on its own.

Firehouse’s production of Beauty and the Beast is formidable. Captivating, touching and sublime. Issues of gender subjugation, vilification of the other, isolation of the misunderstood, in some ways are more salient on the stage. The cast brings warmth that somehow seems more palpable, coming from living human beings. They are avid and dedicated to their craft. It can’t be easy transcending the cool polish of Disney cartoons. I felt a bit foolish (when Belle returns to the Beast) snuffling loudly, like so many others in the audience. But there you go.

I am grateful to Firehouse Theatre for allowing me to review closing weekend.

Beauty and the Beast played The Firehouse Theatre December 2nd-18th. 2535 Valley View Ln, Farmers Branch, TX, Farmer’s Branch 75234. (972) 620-3747. thefirehousetheatre.com

A Christmas Carol opens with Ebenezer Scrooge lambasting anything associated with the Birth of the Messiah. He’s not just cantankerous, he’s vindictive. He turns down his nephew’s annual Christmas soiree, and visitors collecting for charity. He disparages the impoverished, as if they were trying to rob him. That very Christmas Eve, he settles in to his glacial, dreadful lodgings, after tea and soup provided by Mrs. Dilber. As usual his manners are impeccable. He climbs into bed, only to be greeted by his deceased partner, Bob Marley.

Marley bewails his wasted existence, forfeiting his humanity for coin and acquisition. He wears the chains he forged in life, oblivious to the marvels of we poor, flawed mortals caring for each other. Scrooge dismisses Marley’s mission to warn him from the same fate. As far as he’s concerned, the ghoulish apparition could be a piece of undigested beef. Ebenezer Scrooge is spiritually wounded. One Christmas he loses Fan (his beloved sister) and years later, Belle (his fiancee) breaks up with him. It’s perfectly understandable that Scrooge has conflated trauma with yuletide merriment, subsequently feeling nothing but resentment and cynicism.

Three more ghosts appear, beckoned by the mournful toll of Big Ben. The Ghost of Christmas Past, The Ghost of Christmas Present, and The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. First he sees Mama, in an exquisite gown of periwinkle blue. She shimmers with a radiant, golden nimbus, voice more delicate than the breath of mercy. She takes him to witness past exuberance and disappointment. Regret and grace. He is in the midst, the others but shadows, unaware of his presence. Time and again he sees missed opportunities to salve the misery of others. The remaining ghosts evoke and evince levity and warmth. They force him to confront the pain and despair that he’s spread.

As many of you know, The Dallas Theater Center’s production of Christmas Carol is an annual event. It’s a difficult, demanding project, with many plates spinning at the same time. Director Alex Organ manages to keep the melodrama without pushing our buttons. Any narrative set during Christmas is already flirting with purple content and mawkish manipulation. It seems the most emotionally charged episodes benefit from a bit of detachment, as we certainly do not need any prompting.

The gloomy, menacing set forged from a nightmare of The Industrial Age suggests the lack of compassion, the abysmal eclipse of humans, overshadowed by machine. The contrast between the bliss of convivial celebration, and unforgiving imperative is thrown into high relief. The grimy, black iron of the failure of conscience only makes the dazzling colors stand out. The dances and flirting and giggling and embracing and kisses and delightful songs and food prepared gladness and quintessential light are positively overwhelming. They pop. They defy rapacious self-interest.

Ebenezer Scrooge is balanced with kindness and understanding. We see his worst moments, but along the way, the scintillating memories that transport him. The moments when glee grabs hold, and he capers and bounces in that white nightshirt and funnel cap, in sheer, forgotten delight. We are spontaneously giddy. We marvel at the gift of redemption.

The Dallas Theater Center presents A Christmas Carol, playing November 25th-December 24^th, 2022. Dee & Charles Wyly Theatre, 2400 Flora Street, Dallas, TX 75201. (214) 522-8499. dallastheatercenter.org

Clay, a handsome, well-dressed, intelligent African American man is riding the subway (alive with chaotic jumble of graffiti) when Lula makes brief eye contact with him, through a window. At the next stop, she enters the train, and starts talking to Clay. They are alone. She squats like a child on the passenger seat. She is at once startling and erotic and poisonous. She immediately starts in, accusing him of ogling and flirtation. She’s confrontational, but she craves his advances, or insults him. It’s obvious he’s been nothing but a gentleman. There’s a vague, disparaging hubris to her affect, yet also primal in her spare, dishy, emerald dress. She’s seducing him, while throwing out all kinds of mixed signals. She goads him without mercy, spilling racist invective, accusing him of pretentiousness and cowardice.

They spar for awhile, as Lula drags him by the necktie then shoves him away. During a blackout, some guys board the train and settle in. This near-brawl between Clay and Lula only gets louder and more disturbing. The men (scattered throughout the train) ignore what’s going on right beneath their noses, like watching TV on the sofa while your house burns. She keeps coming on to Clay, climbing on him. He keeps cursing her to get the hell off. Eventually Clay and Lula are locked in sexual contact, managing while staying mostly clothed. Then something catastrophic happens.

From the moment Lula boards the train and finds Clay, she has one goal. She wants him to engage. To catch him off-guard. She degrades and confuses him, whether by temptation or verbal abuse, or chattering monologues that are nonsensical, grim, or both. Like Jerry in The Zoo Story her dialogue is frantic, sometimes but dominant. One difference is that Lula makes a point of bullying Clay from square one. Her behavior is egregious. It’s obvious she’s neither Clay’s spiritual nor intellectual equal. And she flaunts it, confident she can defy the social order without reprisal. The bout was fixed before the first bell.

Joey Folsom and the brave artists who throw in their caps with The Classics Theatre Project, have proved, once again, that old or new, American Theatre still has the power to astonish. To grip and overwhelm. Amiri Baraka, a preeminent poet of the American Literary Canon, released the notorious Dutchman in 1964. Many playwrights began as poets, but the brilliant Mr. Baraka has crafted a script that fuses dialogue and verse seamlessly. The sensibility is apparent, not overshadowed by music of language. Brentom (Chuck) Jackson and Rhonda Sue Rose bring biting audacity and fearless rage to Clay and Lula. Dutchman is an allegory of broken, desolate racism, to be sure, but as it unfolds, you will be swallowed in the moment.

The Classics Theatre Project presents Dutchman, directed by Dennis Raveneau. Playing November 11th-26th, 2022. 1121 1^st Avenue, Dallas Texas 75210. 214- 923-3619. theclassics theatreproject.com

Bella Baird is an introspective, sentient English Professor at Yale. Like many intellectuals, she finds reassurance in irony and a sense of proportion. A freshman named Christopher shows up at her office, without an appointment. He proclaims his disappointment with people, and the diminishment of interpersonal discourse. He has no desire to participate in insipid platforms such as Twitter, Facebook, texting, and so forth. He has strong opinions but he’s not wrong. We sense that Bella and he become closer because (whether or not they disagree) they respect each other. Christopher is a prodigy, though this may or may not explain their intergenerational attachment. They would seem to be cut from the same cloth, but we don’t know if sex is in the mix. One evening it feels as if they’re ready for “the next level”. It doesn’t happen, and a prolonged absence by Christopher follows.

The Sound Inside considers the intimacy between Christopher and Bella. At first she’s annoyed by his petulance and lack of manners. The rebellion of youth is certainly not front page news, but it’s more than that. She’s intrigued by Christopher, because his motives aren’t obvious. He’s not interested in being understood, or fixing anything. When he hesitates to complete the kiss, he seems crippled by indecision. When they meet for coffee, or he visits her apartment, there’s a comforting, shared erudition that nurtures their spirits. The revelation there’s another human being who empathizes. We see how each values themselves enough to live on their own terms. But it’s not about hubris. They’re quirky, and not especially angry. Christopher’s trying to be content in the world without resorting to compromise. A lesser play might have invited us to judge Bella and Christopher or dismiss them for their refusal to pander.

Playwright Adam Rapp has woven a delicate, wistful show that ushers us into a realm of velvet, nearly opaque nightfall. I confess to a feeling of dread, that was never fulfilled. His choices are inspired and not at all predictable. His two characters ingenious and original. Obviously there are dramas that wade into despair, unblinking and without apology. Birdbath, The Iceman Cometh, Sticks and Bones, Martyr. There’s an unspoken tenderness between them, an evasive grace that washes over us, without pounding upside the head. The events that follow Christopher’s unexplained departure elaborate and detail the narrative. Neither of them are apathetic or nihilistic. They engage in the random blows the world imposes, but struggles are intuitive and measured. Rapp presents this wounding, somber, whispery story as if laying out stones and amulets and herbs. Information is withheld, but we grasp in a way that foregoes linear logic.

Karen Parrish (Bella) and Parker Hill (Christopher) bring a curious, exquisite balance of gravitas and insouciance to this explication of sorrow and the sublime. Parrish gives us a nuanced portrayal of Bella, and her keen, abject affair with literature. She’s quiet but she doesn’t brood. She’s somewhat guarded, but warm. Hill conveys that sense of wonder that comes so easily in Freshman year. Undeniably brilliant, but open to the irresistible quandaries that keep things interesting. Vaguely eccentric, but defiant. The Sound Inside, spare and vivid and enigmatic as haiku, turns on the performances of Parker Hill and Karen Parrish. Their every step weightless, balletic, firm, and astonishing.

Kitchen Dog presents The Sound Inside (by Adam Rapp) playing November 3rd-20th, 2022. The Trinity Arts Center, 2600 N Stemmons Fwy Suite 180 Dallas, TX 75207. 214-953-1055. www.kitchendogtheater.org

Seeking refuge from the 17^th century bubonic Plague of London, a 12 year old girl named Morse and a sailor named Bunce, sneak into the opulent home of William and Darcy Snelgrave, a well-heeled married couple of the aristocracy. The Snelgraves take pity. Considering the rampant, excruciating, degrading loss of life, respite seems little enough to ask. The Snelgraves clean them up, setting Bunce to wiping floors with vinegar, and giving Morse free reign. More or less. The only other human being they see is Kabe, a scavenger who runs a kind of black market, pilfering from the dead. He knows raunchy songs and barters with Morse for the privilege of kissing her leg.

Darcy and William have been married for awhile. They no longer make love since she was burned horribly in a fire. Despite her emotional and physical misery, William subjugates and degrades her. Bunce is a gentle soul, who’s had his fill of the navy. Morse is one of those kids who takes ghoulish pleasure in describing grisly, lurid details of the cadavers, and ubiquitous, dissolution of the doomed and infirm. Perhaps this is her way of processing, but she does go on a bit. Kabe is well aware of his place on the food chain, and not at all shy about how he subsists. An opportunist who’s happy to exploit the catastrophic. Like Mother Courage without scruples.

William explains, repeatedly, how distasteful his guests are, but his Christian noblesse oblige requires charity and compassion. His effete arrogance seems harmless enough, until we see him tormenting and harassing Bunce. He insists that Bunce puts on his shoes. Then, once he’s comfortable, demands that Bunce proclaim he’ll never be worthy of wearing them. In another incident, he salaciously asks the erstwhile sailor about supposed homoerotic adventures. Clearly William wishes to stoke his solitary, nocturnal recreation, but only fails to sully Bunce’s tender memories.

Playwright Naomi Wallace has taken intense, grueling content to explore atrocity, brutality, and amorality. It’s harrowing and draining to witness. In his essay: The Theatre and the Plague, Antonin Artaud posits the desperation of extreme circumstances, as an ideal paradigm for revealing humanity at its worst. If we find ourselves in dystopia, when society’s restrictions have essentially vanished, nothing is off limits. Ms. Wallace goes for the light touch, avoiding amplification. The circumstances are horrific enough. Anything else would be crass and manipulative. Wallace makes it clear that the Snelgraves are only as “Christian” as they need appear. They presume the indigent are decadent by divine design.

The humanity of Drew Wall’s Bunce is a marvel. Christie Vela carries quiet dignity and persistent disappointment, with frailty and resignation. Gregory Lush’s William is an intriguing blend of barely concealed pettiness and insipid rectitude. Carson Wright’s Kabe is incorrigible and savvy. He may be mercenary, but his unapologetic turpitude seems to work. Montserrat Rodriguez’s Morse has an enchanted, subversive feel. Her narratives are bleak, repugnant, yet fanciful.

Second Thought Theater’s production of One Flea Spare is meticulous, canny, disturbing. There’s an offhand, familial feel, that seems innocuous enough. But gradually, indirectly, the actual impact and despair comes through. It’s an odd mix of the tawdry and the brave. Hypocrisy and the sanctity of the unashamed.

Second Thought Theater presents One Flea Spare, playing October 26th-November 12^th, 2022. 3400 Blackburn St, Dallas, TX, 75219. Bryant Hall, Kalita Humphreys Campus. (214) 897-3091. secondthoughttheatre.com

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein travels to the castle where his grandfather, Victor Frankenstein created his notorious, jeery-rigged “monster”. Much to the dismay of the villagers, the creature ran amok, terrorizing the populace and raising havoc. The experiment was (pretty much) an all-around fiasco. Frederick meets Igor, and Frau Blucher, who knew and assisted Victor, back in the day. Already a successful doctor, he insists (loudly) that he’s no interest in continuing his grandfather’s work. But somehow, Igor and Blucher convince him his true destiny is inescapable. No ordinary mortal, he climbs the shoulders of ancestors, continuing the megalomaniacal need to create life.

As many of you know, the film, Young Frankenstein, was released by Mel Brooks in 1974. Shot in black and white, using sets evoking the original, Universal Studio’s Frankenstein (1931). It was an unapologetic spoof of the horror classic. You might say Brooks built a career on peerless (or at least, inspired) audacity. There’s a kind of brilliance in his subversive, adolescent need to undercut a romantic goodbye between Frederick and his fiancee, when she admonishes: “No tongues.” Young Frankenstein was all about vaudevillian, throwaway shtick. You had to pay attention. An anachronistic reference to Ovaltine, a monologue channeling the quintessential, doting Jewish Mother. Even if some of the content was lost in the Bible Belt, by and large, it worked.

By now, film transliterated into Broadway Musical qualifies as a reliable, bankable venture. 9 ½, Hairspray, The Producers, are all successful versions of this relatively recent genre, first cousin perhaps to musicals made from familiar plays. Hello Dolly from The Matchmaker, My Fair Lady from Pygmalion, Chicago from the comedy of the same name, written in the 1920’s. The trick to conversion, is to compose a different incarnation from the source material. Hairspray the Musical is very different in tone and execution from John Waters’ low-key paean to the disenfranchised and underdog. It’s true to the spirit, but in some ways transcends the film. The Producers (ironically) also by Mel Brooks, expands on the classic film, going off on tangents and celebrating the familiar narrative, but making for a notably different experience.

Which brings us to Young Frankenstein (The Mel Brooks Musical). The stage production is virtually the same as the film, which got an 80% boost by mocking the parent film. The musical was probably designed to entice those who love the Brooks film, and those who don’t know it. It’s the same clever, saucy material, with songs that will tickle and amuse. Brooks, of course, is no stranger to blue humor, and never tires of sneaking a whoopee cushion onto the throne of the posh and pretentious. If he showed up on the set of Cries and Whispers he and Bergman might come to blows. This being said, we know from The Producers that with a push, something more phenomenal was possible.

Theatre 3’s excellent production of Young Frankentein is campy and shameless and hilarious. The cast (Aaron Mateo, Arroyo, Annie Olive Cahill, Leslie Marie Collins, Edward Michael, Escamilla, Sarah Gay, Parker Gray, Luke Longacre, Paulette Cocke, Samantha Padilla, Alejandro Saucedo) is bravura, sharp, and silly as hell. Parker Gray savors the loopy, delirious energy of the good doctor. (What’s up with that hair?) It has a great sense of showmanship, and Joel Ferrell keeps things humming, while not ignoring the juicy bits.

Theatre 3 presents Young Frankenstein (The Mel Brooks Musical) playing October 13th-November 13^th, 2022. 214-871-3300. 2688 Laclede Street, Suite 120, Dallas, Texas 75201. www.Theatre3Dallas.com.

PFC William Santiago was murdered by Lance Corporal Harold Dawson, and PFC Louden Downey. L.T.’s Kaffee and Weinberg have been assigned to defend Dawson and Louden, who refuse to elaborate on the incident, or speak up on their behalf. Lt. Commander Joanne Galloway has been dispatched to observe the trial, and (by design or not) is something of an interloper. She’s the only female, asking questions that men on their own, would simply understand. As the story unwinds, we realize that Dawson and Louden probably didn’t intend to kill Santiago, but only enact punitive orders. Orders that came from on high. We also learn that refusing commands on a Marine Base would be an anomaly.

Is it safe to assume that some of the guys who signed up to be Marines, were doing so as part of maleculture? As far as we’ve come, since the time when boys were obliged to defend their manhood, decades of indoctrination still linger. The unspoken message that your most valuable asset was at risk. Always. The attraction of becoming a U.S. Marine was an infallible path to manhood. Nothing to figure out, just listen and obey. The result is soldiers who are automatons. Virility at the cost of humanity.

Aaron Sorkin’s (a playwright known for meticulous scripts ) A Few Good Men imagines an event that calls all this into question. Santiago is unable to fulfill the physical demands of his commitment. Though he’s made a good faith effort. He tries to respect the chain of command, only to find his legitimate pleas ignored. Therein lies the hypocrisy of the code. He’s punished for finally, desperately going over his superiors’ heads, when their judgment is colored by contempt. They throw him to the deep end, not caring if he drowns. A Few Good Men explores the Draconian, poisonous demands men impose on each other, for the sake of defending an abstraction. An archetype.

Janette Oswald has managed a cast of 17 (count them) 17 actors. How the hell did she do it? Sorkin’s dialogue requires cunning and sophisticated timing. Breakneck pace. And Oswald makes it happen. The officers who have some discretion when it comes to expressing identity and character, and the poor underlings, who must live to serve, and serve to live. Oswald does justice to Sorkin’s venture into the fierce realm of malehood, with all its implications. The cast members are sharp, smart and measured. Not afraid to take risks, or appear mean spirited. Their grim, oppressed demeanor is heartbreaking. Come and see this powerful production, that will pull you and not let go.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents A Few Good Men, playing October 14th-30th, 2022. 518 West Arapaho Road, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130.richardsontheatrecentre.net

I don’t think I’ve been so surprised by a musical since Grey Gardens. Violet is the story of a young woman, making a pilgrimage to Tulsa, Oklahoma, to be healed by a televangelist. When Violet was a girl, a freak accident scarred part of her face. Since then, she’s persevered as best she could, with a dad smart enough to treat her like any other daughter. Other kids at school aren’t so considerate, but she does okay. Most of Violet is set on her long, arduous bus ride, with its strange, funny collection of characters, young and old. She spends time listening to an Old Lady, who has Violet’s interests in mind. She befriends a couple of soldiers, Flick and Monty, and they hang out together, playing cards and drinking beer. The guys are headed back to base, where there’s a strong possibility they’ll be sent to Vietnam.

Like Arlie in Marsha Norman’s Getting Out, Violet is accompanied by herself as a girl, a character free to express the intense feeling her adult self cannot. We find song and musical opportunities in unexpected times and places, and a fresh and moving script by Brian Crawley that surprises us again and again. The music by Jeanine Tesori includes, Gospel, Soul and Blues, with vibrant energy and a confident swing from ballad, to celebration to grief. Tesori and Crawley seem to take mischievous pleasure in challenging our preconceived notions of musical theatre. There are no glamorous roles or admirable characters. But neither are there the repugnant or depraved. It reminded me of Flannery O’Connor or Eudora Welty. That unspoken, funny, skeptical wisdom.

Considering the subject matter: faith, catastrophe, surviving without cynicism, I was wondering if Violet might suggest God is the answer. That the miraculous is just around the corner. And it doesn’t say “No” to these. Instead it ponders the possibility that Violet (like the rest of us) might be looking outside herself. That grace might be something more palpable, less ethereal, less abstract. I don’t want to give too much away, but Violet offers comfort in careful consideration of the actual, rather than the vague and lofty. It seeks salvation in glorifying the strength in our shared humanity.

The large cast, under the wise and thoughtful eye of director Ashley Puckett Gonzalez, moved and performed with confidence, focus, and dedication. Some actors played numerous roles and their versatility was a thing of beauty. There were so many, sharp, touching moments and painful episodes captured with precision and presence. Consider the logistics, so many ways Violet could have gone sideways, but didn’t. So much splendid work, so much warmth and compassion. It was entertaining and brilliant.

I wish to thank Firehouse Theatre, who permitted me to attend the last performance of the run. I have never attended a show at Firehouse, that wasn’t impeccable. Honest.

Firehouse Theatre Company, 2535 Valley View Ln, Farmers Branch, TX 75234. (972) 620-3747. thefirehousetheatre.com