Category: Critique

 

We are thrust into a city besieged by military conquest. Explosions, gunfire, the kind of public announcement, propaganda broadcasts you might expect in Communist China. Resistance is pointless. Reject Western Decadence. Submit to the regime. The milieu is deepened and expanded by vistas projected on either side of the performance space. Surroundings are mostly demolished, dystopian, collapsing. We might be in the Ukraine or some Slovakian location. Natasha (Carla Parker) appears, dressed plainly with black face marks to help her hide. Sergei’s (Brian Witkowickz) stealthy approach startles her. She is terrified, before she realizes it’s her husband. Once they recognize each other, they embrace, relieved and elated. Like her, he wears a dark green coat, and bears the signs of exhaustion that come with constantly being on guard. They huddle, seeking something like refuge. Vigilant against possible attack. Not long after Kiki (Quinn Coffman) appears. We presently discover that she is, indeed, their daughter.

Part of their one-act, In the Garden series, Ochre Houses’s Futile Roses creates a lens, a few moments to focus and consider the atrocities happening as we speak. In another part of the world, yet intimate as television. The onslaught of carnage, annihilation, the details of genocide so overwhelming, it seems impossible to process. If nearly too apparent to mention, it’s nonetheless crucial to point out that Ochre House is providing context for events, we never imagined we’d see again. At least, not in our lifetime. The dubious election of a despot. The inexplicable charisma he holds over the uneducated and ambitious. His criminal negligence in the face of misery and rampant disease. His attempt to thwart Democracy by coup. Now ruthless conquest by another tyrant, and his brother under the skin. Comparisons to other times and places seem inescapable. To quote the great philosopher: Shirley Bassey (and The Propellerheads) It’s all just ……history repeating.

Written and directed by Kevin Grammer, Futile Roses captures the experience and mercilessness of war. The sudden, catastrophic and arrogant dehumanization of other cultures, for the sake of acquisition and expediency. The families, children, parents, grandparents. The elderly and disabled, all brushed aside, in a particularly vicious kind of metaphysical cannibalism. Mr. Grammer’s script is meticulous, observant and impressive, kindling warmth and empathy. The mother’s outburst of frustration and utter despair. The cynicism the daughter acquires, lest she go to pieces. The mischievous (if harsh) game that husband and wife play, a side affect of brutal change of circumstances. What we lose. What we clutch. What we accept. What we won’t. It is pretty much the stuff of fledgling writers that profoundly disturbing content must be presented with discretion and understatement. That is to say: a melting snowflake is a tragedy, a flood, commonplace. Mr Grammer has achieved this key distinction to powerful effect. He has explored his subject with clarity and somber wisdom.

Ochre House presented Futile Roses from April 20th-30th. It closed April 30^{th, 2022}. 526 Exposition Avenue, Dallas, Texas 75226. 214-862-2723. www.ochrehousetheatre.org

Macbeth, tantalized by meddling spellcasters who dangle opportunism like a fish before a tomcat, and his Lady wife, who jettisons virtue for expediency, would seem to be engulfed by circumstances. When he grasps for ethical traction (all that’s needed, after all, is patience) Lady Macbeth seems determined to shame him into action. This frantic, almost solemn contrast between masculine heartlessness and feminine nurturing, is at the core of Shakespeare’s tragedy. No intersection existing between compassion and voracity, Macbeth must choose between the milky and the malicious. The theme is consistent throughout: “unsex me here, you spirits”, “milk of human kindness”, who knew that being female was so contemptible? Might be interesting to consider the witches as embodiment of female duplicity?

Once the newly crowned Thane of Cawdor has the taste in his mouth, he sheds any pretense of civility, layer by layer. He follows (what he chooses to believe) is his destiny, to its logical conclusion, ultimately losing his mind. Along the way, he never figures out that none of the witches’ promises come without a catch. Ironically, Lady Macbeth commits suicide, though Shakespeare mercifully reveals her ambivalence in the famous sleepwalking soliloquy. She does, however, escape accountability. When MacDuff closes in, Macbeth isn’t really clutching to life. He’s been shoved (more or less) in a particular direction, but undeniably, it’s no excuse.

Attending Macbeth (or any Shakespeare play) certain questions arise. Will the company in question bring anything new, intriguing, compelling to this familiar classic? Will the language, the sensibility, the sentience, of the script be accessible? Also: will the result, the performance be entertaining? Will it drag or pop?

Fair Assembly’s current staging of Macbeth, for the most part, is a ringing success. Their interpretation of Macbeth’s swift rise to power, is fresh, assured, vivid and absorbing. The tone is pensive, but urgent. Shout out to cunning Costume Designer Steven Smith. Dressing the characters in contemporary clothes was a savvy choice, it mitigates the unfamiliar Scottish realm where we find ourselves. The actors embrace the lyrical, metaphoric dialogue, ignoring the temptation to recite. They lean in to conversation, which is thorough, if a bit heightened. Their focus leads us down the right path. The three women who portray the witches, in their simple black tunics, are obviously dancers. Their movements, both symbiotic and as one, sublime. Their sense of speaking incantation and prophecy was earnest, if not quite there.

Co-Directors Emily Ernst and Morgan Laure’ have composed the cast, I’d say, intuitively, according to their strengths. They know how to set the mood for each scene, whether comic, disturbing, somber or violent. The instances when we witness more of the actual murders (instead of hearing about them) are unsettling and surprising. Macbeth’s (Brandon Walker) moments of self-doubt have that crucial, tentative quality. He’s taciturn yet forceful. Lady Macbeth (Emily Ernst) has that cunning, understated quality. She has the cache’ to carry off those scrumptious gowns. Dennis Raveneau is instinctively, subtly patrician as Duncan and inspired as the porter, unruly roused from drunken slumber. Shawn Gann, as the Thane of Ross, is touching and articulate. His lines express some of the drama’s enlightened, more spiritual observations, and Gann makes them memorable.

Fair Assembly presents Macbeth, playing May 12th-15th, 2022. Arts Mission Oak Cliff, 410 South Windomere, Dallas, Texas 75218. www.artsmissionoc.org. 214-808-0975

Dry Powder opens enigmatically. Jenny stands on the threshold of Rick’s office. As if she’s waiting for permission to cross. She informs Rick that she’s going to give a brief talk at a tony, Ivy League Law School. He interrogates her, demanding the details. No, don’t talk about that. No don’t discuss that. What are you thinking, of course not. Rick is like a bad father, diminishing her, gratuitously. We don’t get the relationship, other than Jenny is in some kind of fealty. Jenny broaches the subject of a recent, opulent wedding Rick threw, and the disastrous optics of such extravagance. Rick bemoans the fact that everyone says there were two elephants, when actually there was only one.

Such is the tongue-in-cheek, cutting humor that informs Dry Powder. It begins with the kind of levity you could only find in a hermetic, restricted context. It gradually sinks to the depths of despondency. Rick is a billionaire tycoon, CEO of a chain of grocery stores, that are in danger of foundering. Jenny and Seth are his top tier assistants. When a predicament arises (or any crucial decision must be made) they must each argue one side of the possible solution. Like a courtroom, it’s an adversarial strategy. The truth of the matter reached by dialectic. Sometimes it feels rational, other times like Jenny is the demon, and Seth the angel, perched on Rick’s shoulders. Seth is the altruist, and Jenny the cold, pragmatic shark. Rick gives them both the opportunity to pitch their reasoning, but he makes no meaningful effort to intervene when their interpersonal sniping gets vindictive and destructive.

Dry Powder evinces two viewpoints when it comes to ridiculously wealthy men like Rick. When desperation enters the equation, all semblance of honor is jettisoned. You could the hear the shouting all the way to Jersey. Seth believes you ignore the misery you inflict jeopardizes your soul, and Jenny believes charity has no place in the world victory by conquest. But the more closely we look, the more clearly we see the cruelty and despair gnawing at Rick, Jenny and Seth.

At the outset, Seth feels like our moral compass, but then we learn he’s not above deception. Even with friends. Jenny is despicable, yet she lacks even the basic skills to form relationships. Whatever her triumphs, her life is joyless. Rick is a bit tougher to gauge. We get he’s the captain of a sinking ship, but is Jenny there to propose options or give him permission to be a prick? Playwright Sarah Burgess inserts an elemental and imperative quandary. Mankind has a special gift for excusing every bad act. What’s the use of success if it turns you into a monster? When you deliberately make a decision that abuses your employees?

Dry Powder is sleek and snappy and scintillating. And yes, funny. It’s entertaining and intelligent. Second Thought Theatre has assembled a powerful, elegant, disturbing production, here. Theatre of the most provocative, imperative kind. Kudos to the impeccable, meticulous cast: Marcus Pinon (Seth) Samantha Potrykus (Jenny) Jackie Cabe (Rick) and Omar Padilla (Jeff).

Second Thought Theatre presents Dry Powder: playing April 13th-30th, 2022. Bryant Hall, next door to Frank Lloyd Wright’s Kalita Humphreys Theater, located at: 3400 Blackburn Street, Dallas, TX 75219. 214-897-3031. secondthoughttheatre.com

Maria is a postulant in a convent in Austria, where she poses something of a quandary. She embodies the spirit of kindness, celebration, wonder and joy i.e. the essential and best qualities of Christianity, or any believer in a ubiquitous, loving divinity. Her sisters and the Mother Abbess recognize this, yet worry her comportment leaves something to be desired. Though dedicated and earnest, perhaps the finer points of piety and reserve elude her. When Mother Abbess sends Maria to be the governess for the Von Trapp family, she is heartbroken. Mother assures her she has done nothing wrong, but this will give her the opportunity to evaluate her choices in a larger world.

When Maria arrives, she is greeted by the housekeeper, the butler, and seven children. Their father, Captain von Trapp, uses his naval experience to maintain an orderly household. All are summoned by an ear piercing whistle. The children are required to line up by age, they cannot play or sing, but they do march every afternoon. Aghast these kids don’t know what a song is, Maria teaches them the basics, then takes the deep dive, sharing goofy, delightful, heart nurturing folk songs. Maria is truly a whirlwind, asserting herself and not afraid to tell the Captain how beleaguered and desperate his children are for his approval and affection. All of this in the context of opulence, privilege and the encroaching threat of the Nazi regime.

Composed by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, written by Howard Lindsay and Russell Crouse, The Sound of Music, is a captivating, swoony, playful, endearing (and sometimes solemn) account of Maria’s odyssey, as she reaches a turning point. I was familiar with the musical, but surprised how profoundly moved I was by this production. Everything felt spontaneous, fresh, intuitive, as if hearing these songs for the first time. It seems this story of Mari, a nun, struggling with her identity, yet presented in more or less secular terms, has the power to convey warmth and genuine elation. The tingles and helpless chuckles and unexpected tears come. I felt some nuanced epiphany, that I hadn’t grasped before.

The Sound of Music finds the miraculous in the everyday (white dresses with blue satin sashes, jam and bread, packages tied up with strings) but it’s also about character. The Captain isn’t a curmudgeon, he’s lost and grieving. Liesl isn’t a delinquent, she’s dealing with her first grown up feelings. Maria isn’t a rebel, she’s discovering her own, unique expression of grace and kindness, in the big, often hostile world.

Director Kevin Moriarty has orchestrated a cast that’s poised, authentic, involved and avid. None of the blocking, or lines, or gestures, feel forced or cringeworthy. Tiffany Solano, as Maria, is never spunky or vapid or (ugh!) sassy. Rather her energy, her belief in the rightness of caring, her effusive, sublime demeanor come from a place of humanity.

This staging is aimed at adults, but utterly there for children,too. In the midst of the show, I looked over and saw a lad, no bigger than a minute, sitting in his dad’s lap, tucked up. He was small, yet his eyes were so big. I think Mr. Moriarty, like the father, has given us this space, gentle and safe, where can witness the palpable yes of what being alive means. And of course, we are that boy, quietly in awe.

The Dallas Theatre Center presents The Sound of Music, playing March -26^th -April 24^th, 2022. Dee and Charles Wyly Theatre, 2400 Flora Street, Dallas, Texas 75201. 214-522-8499.

www.dallastheatercenter.org

 

Evangelist and chanteuse, Reno Sweeney is sweet on Billy Crocker (and while he’s fond of her) he’s got goo-goo eyes for Hope Harcourt. Memories of a midnight rendezvous have him revving on all cylinders. However! Hope is engaged to Lord Evelyn Oakleigh, an extremely charming guy. Hope’s Mother, Evangeline Oakley, is relieved Hope is marrying up. Moonface Martin (Public Enemy Number 13) is a fugitive from justice, accompanied by his kewpie-doll girlfriend, Erma. Billy’s stowed away on an ocean liner (bound for London) with this assortment of lovable kooks.

Anything Goes premiered on Broadway in 1934, with music and lyrics by the preeminent pop composer Cole Porter, and book by Guy Bolton and P.G. Wodehouse. The musical has gone through a few revisions over time, handing off the torch to Howard Lindsay and Russell Crouse. With splendidly ridiculous scenarios and eccentric behavior, you just know that nothing truly bad is going to happen, and several couples will be getting hitched in the end. Porter, Bolton and Wodehouse have fashioned a bang-up plot for this smart, preposterous, thoroughly boisterous comedy.

Bearing in mind the salient cultural quirks of the day, we find Reno, the earthy, savvy lady with a wry smile, and gumption for days. Perhaps a nod to Mae West? From the same time (roughly) as Chicago, there’s much public enthusiasm for gangsters, hoodlums, and sketchy dames. Aboard the S.S. American, daring criminals are celebrities. There are the stock market crash and rough and ready sailors. You’re the Top is a litany of timely topics: Mahatma Gandhi, Mickey Mouse, Mona Lisa, Tower of Pisa, The Louvre Museum…

Then of course, there are the tunes and dance numbers. Porter has this astonishing knack for blending cleverness with cool panache. His romantic songs are suffused with gentle, vivid imagery; wistfulness with longing. The smooth, nuanced tap numbers or extravagant (yet deferential) and the ballroom pieces, seem to spontaneously spark a lightness, a gladness to our step. Anything Goes certainly turns on the antics of flawed human beings, but there’s nothing cynical or deprecating. There’s a definite warmth, a tireless cheer that comes through the nonstop shenanigans and cross purposes. When Reno sees how smitten Billy is with Hope, she doesn’t storm off, she helps him. When Lord Evelyn realizes Hope (who loves him) feels something stronger for Billy, he doesn’t stand in the way.

Doug Miller should win Intrepid Director of the Year for this mind-boggling production of Anything Goes. 20 (count them!) 20 actors coming and going and changing costumes, hitting their spots and remembering their cues and (near as I can tell) never a miss. What a fearless, poised, acrobatic bunch of madcap rib-ticklers. I don’t think it’s a reach to say (in our current situation) it’s not easy to tell despondency to amscray and chase them naughty blues way. Firehouse Theatre is offering a tonic, a giddy, playful path to the salvation of intoxicating romance and shameless lunacy.

Don’t let this one pass you by.

The Firehouse Theatre presents Anything Goes, playing April 9th-17th, 2022. 2535 Valley View Lane, Farmer’s Branch, TX 75234. 972-620-3747. www.thefirehousetheatre.com

Garry Essendine is a preeminent actor in the professional theatre. A leading man and star, Garry is famous throughout England. No longer a young man, he nonetheless hasn’t reached his fill of the dissolute life. Seducing sweet ingenues, benders, weasliness and affairs with wives of friends. He is long-suffering, put upon, persecuted, ill-used and exploited. At least according to him. His staff are on strict instructions to never wake him, so when his latest, starry-eyed conquest begs to say goodbye, they must run interference. Apparently the spare bedroom keeps Garry’s guests from getting underfoot.

At first Garry seems vain, superficial, callous and pompous. But once we get past his salient qualities, there might be more below the surface. He must deal with an ongoing parade of strangers wanting favors. When he crosses paths with a rather manic, though not disagreeable playwright, his practical experience goes a long way towards guidance. The key women in his life are not hesitant to put him on the spot, or deliver a well-deserved blow, when he’s got it coming. Yes, they indulge him, but only to a point. It says a lot (if subtly) that he doesn’t retaliate when they catch him out. Perhaps he’s reached a personal reckoning in his life, but he actually seems to be learning from past transgressions. When we might just as easily expect him to be defensive or stubborn.

Playwright Noel Coward has a gift for weaving substance into crisp, disaffected banter. It would be easy to skate on humor alone, or his fine knack for narrative. But he understands context makes the difference between be good and great humor. Absurdism and non sequitur has its moments, but jokes that emerge from a premise, has such punch that laughter is all but inevitable. We might arrive at the theater primed to laugh. We might not. Is it funnier if we know the reason why the man who came to dinner faked his broken leg, or assume it was on a whim? If Didi and Gogo wait interminably for a mysterious visitor, won’t clues to their predicament stick the day after the show?

Director Janette Oswald kept many dishes in the air, to manage Present Laughter. Numerous characters to cue, quips to time, shticks to consider, twists to navigate. This is not Oswald’s first rodeo, and her confidence and intuition make that clear. Despite surprises, eventualities, blindsides and abrupt turns, she coordinates this nimble, poised gathering of actors with less fear than a toreador wearing red.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents: Present Laughter, playing March 25th-April 10^th, 2022. 518 West Arapaho, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. richardsontheatrecentre.net

It might be fair to surmise Shakespeare’s Titus Andronicus as such: whoever has the stomach for the most vicious, merciless, bloodthirsty revenge, wins. However urgent the need for retaliation might be, where will it end, and who will we be, once it’s over? Shakespeare has written a drama of extremes, featuring one atrocity after another. Without going into a lot of detail, Roman General Titus Andronicus returns from 10 years of war with the Goths. He has taken Tamora, Queen of the Goths, prisoner, along with her three sons. Titus executes her eldest son in expiation for the loss of his own, and we’re off to the races. This is the Shakespeare play famous for the rape of Lavinia, in which her hands and tongue are cut off, and the scene in which Tamora is hoodwinked into eating her own sons.

It’s 400 A. D. Gary, an unsuccessful clown of the same name, is hired to help clear away corpses from the banquet hall of Titus Andronicus, after the recent coup. The room is positively filled with them. The position is definitely a step up for our humble hero, and he arrives for work, all bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Janice, who has been doing this job for quite some time, is understandably, a bit jaded. Nonetheless, she treats each member of the deceased with due respect, showing Gary how to drain off caustic fluids, and relieve the body of excess gas, lest it explode. (I know. I know.)

I should add here, the male bodies sport some impressive penises. My guess is that playwright Taylor Mac is making a statement about rampant machismo and genocide. Being a clown and all, Gary fools around, quite a bit. But overworked Janice has no time for Gary’s hi-jinks and shenanigans. Enter Carole, another servant who was present when Aaron attempted to murder the baby lovechild he’s sired with Tamora.

Of course, “black humor” doesn’t begin to cover Gary: A Sequel to Titus Andronicus, which turns on the fine theatrical tradition of the grotesque. Think Grand Guignol. Titus Andonicus is a commentary on conflating honor with mutilation and retribution. The violence is so excessive, so out-of-control, that nihilism is lost on the perpetrators. Certain characters are actually killed by accident. When despots are lauded as heroes, when they are accountable to no one, havoc is inevitable. Gary, when he stumbles upon the finery of aristocracy, shares it with Janice and Carole. Merely wearing it is intoxicating, and they celebrate their enhanced quality of life.

You might think that the grisly, cynical, anarchy of Gary, might be too dark for enjoyment. But somehow Taylor Mac has found the perfect remedy for the misery and despair of battle that devours the working classes, because it can. Everything in this comedy is so appalling, so dizzy in its audacity and desecration, it becomes the perfect metaphor for self-perpetuating rage and contempt. Gary is remarkable, inspired satire. Loopy prestidigitation. Miss it at your peril. (tee-hee)

Kitchen Dog Theater presents: Gary: A Sequel to Titus Andronicus, playing March 17th-April 3^rd, 2022. Trinity River Arts Center. 2600 North Stemmons Freeway, Suite 180, Dallas, Texas, 75207. KitchenDogTheater.org. 214-953-1055.

Jimmy shares a small, attic apartment with his wife Allison. Cliff, their best friend, is also a tenant. He helps with the sweets stall Jimmy rents to pay the bills. Jimmy (Joey Folsom) is highly educated, but content to make a living this way. He has a habit of disparaging Allison (Devon Rose) sounding as if he’s teasing her. But eventually the jovial tone gives way to barely concealed contempt. It’s almost as if he’s struggling with the impulse to to be verbally abusive. Allison’s friend, Helena, an actress comes to stay with them. She is more assertive than Allison, and there are confrontations between she and Jimmy. She talks Allison into leaving Jimmy, which she does, but curiously, Helena (Rhonda Rose) falls in love with Jimmy, and stays behind.

The question spinning at the hub of Look Back in Anger, is not so much Jimmy’s motivation, but why those around him tolerate his animosity. When Look Back opens, he seems relaxed, congenial and pleasant. He has antics with Cliff, cutting up and tussling. For some reason, Allison is his primary target, and he lays into her parents, who belong to a more privileged class. Allison’s mother seems especially under fire, and while she’s unfriendly towards Jimmy, most would draw the line at hearing her called a “bitch.” There’s no doubt that Cliff and Allison care deeply for Jimmy, but it’s somewhat astonishing how much torment they take. Jimmy has a fire in his belly, a woundedness that seems to emerge from helplessness and pain. He cares too much. Perhaps both Allison and Helena feel sympathy on some visceral level, and attracted to his “rage against the dying of the light”. Despite everything, Jimmy’s anguish tugs at us.

Directed by Jackie Kemp, The Classics Theatre Project’s production of Look Back in Anger is stunning, yet subtle; straightforward, yet complex. Jimmy is not a bellicose bully, his tirades are more nuanced than furious eruptions. Somehow Kemp maintains a powerful, contemplative tone. Avoiding what might have been histrionic, or frenetic. Folsom plays it low key, even when the cyclone is in full force. Devon Rose has a gentle, convivial quality that suggests how she manages to cohabitate with Jimmy. Rhonda Rose is convincing as Helena, the patrician performer who never lets Jimmy intimidate. Socia is endearing and spot on as Cliff, demonstrating that one can be playful and good-natured, and also smart. Francis Henry is enjoyable as Colonel Redfern (Allison’s father) self-assured and paternal.

Look Back in Anger was a watershed, first produced in 1953, and changing every play that came thereafter. John Osborn introduced a genre that came to be known as “kitchen sink theatre” in which the misery and despair of the everyday lives of the working class were depicted.

In the relatively recent history of The Classics Theatre Project, I have stood in awe of their brilliance for staging from the theatre canon, and making them vibrant, accessible and relevant. Their treatments are intelligent and entertaining, with a keen and kinetic spin. Don’t miss your opportunity to catch this rarely seen milestone in the history of contemporary drama.

The Classics Theatre Project presents John Osborn’s Look Back in Anger: playing March 18th-April 9^th, 2022. Margo Jones Theater in Fair Park. 1121 First Avenue, Dallas, Texas 75210. www.theclassicstheatreproject.com  (214) 923-3619

 

It’s the last dress rehearsal before the opening of Drop Dead. Chaz is not doing well, in his role as the longtime Barrington butler. Another keeps stumbling over the name, “Penelope”. The wealthy producer keeps pressuring the director, and deferring to his daughter (Candy) the “ingenue”. The set leaves much to be desired, the guy playing the detective feels uninspired, and Candy has the range of a popgun. Mona, the former star, is temperamental and contentious, and the grand lady of the stage is all but stone deaf. The lofty, eccentric playwright, Alabama Miller, keeps showing up on set, blasted and out of control. The show is imploding, and solutions seem elusive and unreliable.

Sometimes the names of characters can tell a lot. Chaz Looney: the loopy rookie actor. Candy Apples: the insipid, erstwhile porn actress. The vain, pompous director: Victor Le Pew. P.G. “Piggy Banks”: (tehe) the wealthy, bossy producer. Drop Dead is a kind of play within a play. A woebegone production, cursed by mishaps, incompetence, a shoestring budget (for starters) finds itself under attack by an actual murderer. It’s the kind of comedy that makes death the punchline. Playwrights Billy Van Zandt and Jane Milmore exploit the often overlooked absurdity of bodies piling up. A fact often ignored in say, Hamlet and The Lieutenant at Inishmore.

Drop Dead, a spoof of familiar “whodunits”, takes the story of a sinking production, and stitches it to murder mystery, blurring the lines between the fanciful onstage, and grisly backstage events. Director Leigh Wyatt Moore has risen to the occasion, with confidence and aplomb. The gags: physical, verbal, practical and ridiculous comes thick and fast. A corpse under a sheet might be subject to rigor mortis. A “dying” actress can’t keep her knees together. Chaz and Candy are a snogging machine. And Mona is busy preserving her precious ego. Moore keeps the blocking tight, the pace moving and the timing impeccable. She manages this spirited, versatile, adroit cast with the precision of an orchestra conductor.

If ubiquitous chaos and calamity have been kicking your tuchas, why not pay a visit to Richardson Theatre Centre, where punchy, preposterous shenanigans are on the loose? You know you want to.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents Drop Dead, playing February 4th-20th, 2022. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. richardsontheatrecentre.net

Alan and Annette Raleigh and Michael and Veronica Novak have come together to resolve an incident between their two sons: Henry and Ben. It seems Ben hit Henry in the mouth with a stick, when he called Ben “a snitch.” Veronica’s arranged this meeting to settle the particulars, and reach a civilized agreement. Everyone is gracious at the outset, commenting on the calla lilies, the pastry, the regrettable encounter. In a moment of metaphoric stage action, Annette, upset by an eruption of truculence, gets sick on a rare book of art history. Civilization is no match for the chaos of battle.

It doesn’t take a psychic to surmise that four adults, expected to behave like grownups, will go sideways fairly soon. After all, theatrical friction never came from people playing nice. Despite an encouraging start, the Raleighs and Novaks find their plans for an amicable treaty gradually deteriorating. Should the parents be there when Ben and Henry meet? Is Ben the only culpable party? Are boys just naturally prone to brutality? The charitable gathering turns to comic exchange. Then, things take a dark tone. There are recriminations, personal attacks, oversteps.

Playwright Yasmina Reza has (at the end of the day) fashioned an allegory on the ugliness of violence. Altruism versus self-interest. Spirituality versus the visceral. God of Carnage is a cunning drama that masquerades as humor. The characters act out (if you will) the contradictions and perils that come with fixing any loaded issue. Such as protecting our sons. And the compulsive (if unconscious) need to train warriors in a world that would gobble them up. Our need to be the best humans we can is at odds with the impulse to fight or get the hell out. God of Carnage blindsides us with a 180. We drop our guard and get cozy with humor, before we see how vicious conflict can get.

The remarkable cast: Joe Barr (Alan Raleigh) Molly Bower (Veronica Novak) Kevin Moriarty (Michael Novak) Megan Tormey (Annette Raleigh) under the keen eye of director Jennifer Stephens Stubbs, have proven their chops for tumultuous, nuanced, unnerving and wonderfully entertaining performance. One can only imagine the rigorous, challenging and dedicated work behind such a glorious production. This is theatre gone haywire. And it’s amazing.

Allen Contemporary Theatre presents: God of Carnage, playing January 28th-February 13^th, 2022. 1200 East Main Street #300, Allen, Texas 75002. 844-822-8489. www.allencontemporarytheatre.net