Category: Critique

 

Maggie is playing hostess to an influential columnist, an art critic and a tycoon who wants to buy a collection of paintings by her deceased husband, Payne Showers. His sudden demise increased the value of his work exponentially. Maggie is on the brink of destitution, but if she can nail this, she’ll be out of the woods. Only she and her colleague Richard know how desperate she is, and they plan to keep it that way, till the documents are signed.

The first obstacle is the arrival of Graciela, who is pinch hitting for the bartender they hired. She’s wearing a strangely inappropriate uniform that might be for a French maid fantasy, Sophistication isn’t her strong suit. Maggie’s boyfriend Trent shows up, an insipid soap opera actor and an accident waiting to happen. The three guests arrive and the snowstorm they’ve all been navigating has trapped them at Maggie’s house together, until the next morning.

Written by Anne Flanagan, Artifice is a comedy which, clobbers Maggie for being deceptive. Hence the title. Not that anything terrible happens, other than a few heart-stopping catastrophes that turn the evening into a debacle. If something can go sideways, it will. The plot feels feasible, and the urgency appropriate. It’s not all about the jokes, Flanagan has great character development, and the script is intelligent, with some surprises along the way.

The premise is familiar, a succession of tribulations that end with contented results. Finding just right balance of upheaval, say like, The Man Who Came to Dinner or The Philadelphia Story can be difficult. Artifice seems to manage this, though it comes from a place of sheer chaos. Pleasure may not exactly prevail. Comedy as we learn time and again, requires meticulous orchestration, from casting till opening night. Even remarkable actors need great chemistry between them. Events often come fast and thick. What’s a mother to do? More than once even less than ideal material has been salvaged by reformers with exceptional comedic skills.

Rover Dramawerks has assembled a strong, dedicated cast for Artifice. Heather Walker Shin is formidable as the long-suffering Maggie. Jordan Poladnik amusing as the frantic gallery owner, Richard. Samantha Potrykus is spot-on as the colorful, worldly, Graciela, and Bennett Frohock a stitch as the vain actor, Trent. Sue Goodner “rules” as the eccentric, pompous journalist Judith, Kenneth Fulenwilder imposing as the personable mogul, Mick, and Laura Jennings inspired as the tortured critic, Emma. Christian R. Black is impressive as the painter, Payne Showers. Like Heather Shin, his role calls for more nuance and versatility. He is congenial, intelligent and demonstrative.

Rover Dramawerks presents Artifice, playing June 9th-25th, 2022. Cox Playhouse. 1517 H. Avenue, Plano, Texas, 75074. 972-849-0358. roverdramawerks.com

A whimsical, yet provocative, yet secular yet prophetic yet cavalier yet dead serious theatre piece inspired by the Greil Marcus book of the same name: Lipstick Traces (A Secret History of the 20^th Century) presents events from roughly 1534 (the naked, anti-capitalist anarchy of John of Leydon) to April 2010 and the death of Malcolm McLaren. McLaren, an impresario who produced The Sex Pistols (a band that rejected capitalism) ironically made them his cash cow. Put another way, he enabled an artistic, philosophical, musical anarchy that characterized culture and conversation in 1975. Greil Marcus tracked parallel incidents and eccentric, albeit earnest movements and ideologies, ignored in the mainstream of popular belief. These were pervasively influential, yet barely noticed ideas, in the grand scheme of humanity. That nonetheless had their impact. Their moment.

Created by Rude Mechanicals in Austin, Texas, conceived and directed by Shawn Sides, adapted from the book by Kirk Lynn, Lipstick Traces premiered in 2000. Featuring Dr. Narrator, Johnny Rotten of The Sex Pistols and Malcolm McLaren, Lipstick Traces, bravely, kinetically, cynically AND sincerely plows a plenitude of content, without breaking a sweat. Greil Marcus explores the synchronicity of declarations, protests, spontaneous artistic assertions, musical violations, the transcendence of attitude and casual observations, both enormous and minuscule. Roughly, the common thread might be questioning: religion, authority, money, acquisition, reliable truth, law and propriety.

Lipstick Traces is never boring. It pitches (as lecture) subversive elements throughout Western Civilization. There’s tension between Dr. Narrator, Malcolm McLaren and Johnny Rotten. Wrestling for the microphone, if you will. Lipstick Traces is chock full of rebellion in various manifestations; the 1950 Easter Mass at Notre Dame, disrupted to declare God was dead, the prophetic graffiti and blank screen films of Guy Debord, the Student and Workers riots of 1968, the Cabaret Voltaire, the nightclub and launchpad for the DaDa movement. Writers, social critics, artists, philosophers, heretics. It’s a cosmic montage told with rants, gestures, sneers, projections, slides, reenactments, declarations, dances that are: jaunty and frantic, slow, comic, romantic. There’s a good faith effort to be as inclusive as possible, from scrap to manifesto to heckling to taunt to fury to jeremiad to wholesale dismissal.

I’m never disappointed to see an Outcry Theatre performance. They push, they strive, they dig to engage the intellectual, imaginative, intuitive, fanciful. The shadow. We guffaw, we wail, we gasp, we swoon, we pinch ourselves. Evincing a piece like Lipstick Traces could have been a nightmare, but you’d never know from this sublime, chaotic, defiant performance. I know I’m tripping on adjectives, but need to do justice to this remarkable theatre troupe, and this cyclonic piece in particular. Outcry captures the dream of a crucial, fearless, surreal, intoxicating theatre that longs to seduce our senses. To crack the universe like an egg.

Outcry Theatre presented Lipstick Traces: A Secret History of the Twentieth Century: based on the book of the same name by Greil Marcus. It played from May 26-29th, 2022. Studio Theatre of Addison Conference and Theatre Centre. 15650 Addison Road, Addison, Texas 75001. (972) 836-7206. outcrytheare.com

 

Lipstick Traces closed May 26th, 2022.

The first time we see Louie Blunt he is learning martial arts at a Dojo. The formality of their practice is evident. The bowing and mutual respect demonstrated before the bout. Contained rage. Measured ferocity. Blows and hitting the floor and finding the will to stand up.

Next we see Jamie, talking with the court ordered therapist, Andrea, regarding his husband Louie’s progress. He is isolating, hostile, rejecting help. Jamie is hurt and frustrated. Andrea tries to walk him through Louie’s predicament, but it’s difficult for him to comprehend his husband’s negative behavior.

Jamie returns home. Louie is gruff and unpleasant. He wants no assistance, though he’s covered with bandages and bruises. The idea that Andrea and Jamie might have been discussing him, enrages Louie. He’s not looking forward to the consultation with their lawyer, and sadly, he has good reason. The court appointed attorney is forthright, and pragmatic, but his insensitivity, impossible to ignore.

Bruce Coleman’s POPT, is a lesson in cunning, intelligent playwriting. There are several red flags from the outset. No one talks about the incident directly, they tiptoe. The hate crime is acted out in the last (or nearly last) scene. Louie seems barraged by the suggestion that fighting back casts him in a bad light. He must be careful of the message he sends to the jury. Each person involved seems baffled that Louie seems combative and defensive. They care, but empathy seems to elude them.

POPT is meticulous. Even the title seems evasive, trivializing. (He was messing with me, so I popped him.) There are aspects of the incident, that feel mitigating, confusing. The attacker’s mother begs Louie to pray with her. Nothing else will resolve this clusterfuck. Her supplications pack a lot of pathos. And punch. All his friends appeal to Louie’s sense of the rational. But what does that mean?

He belongs to a group that will always be at the mercy of toxic alphas. Louie has taken charge of his life. His training has enabled him with strategy, and confidence. (Coleman considers the cultural, solemn dynamic of bout between men.) For the first time, he can vent his intense anger. He can choose not to be helpless. But even those on Louie’s side, miss he’s held to a different standard. He’s exhilarated this motherfucker has paid for his viciousness. His arrogance. But no one gets it.

Please note: POPT has closed.

POPT played From May12th-May 22^nd, 2022. MainStage 222, Black Box Theatre, 222 East Irving Boulevard, Irving, Texas 75062. 972-252-2787. mainstageirving.com

For those of you unfamiliar, the title of this musical comedy classic (A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum) probably started in the heyday of vaudeville. It was the on-ramp to countless gags that started with: “A funny thing happened on the way to….the deli, the movies, the grocery, the cleaners…” you name it. It was the set up. Early in his career, Stephen Sondheim wrote the music and lyrics to A Funny Thing….collaborating with Bert Shrevelove and Larry Gelbart, who wrote the book. Inspired by the farces of Ancient Roman playwright, Plautus, A Funny Thing premiered in 1962, winning several Tonys.

Funny’s the story of Pseudolus, a cunning slave who longs to buy his freedom. Hysterium is the other House Slave, and he’s got no use for his hi-jinks. When his master and mistress leave town for some R & R, Pseudolus grabs the chance to help their son, Hero, wed the girl he pines for, Philia. Hesitant at first, Hero promises Pseudolus his emancipation, if he can make the romance happen. Pseudolus begins by taking Hero to the brothel of Marcus Lycus, where the proprietor trots out his “wares” for perusal. It’s there that the (more or less) exquisite Philia is discovered, but Lycus says she’s been promised to Gloriosus, a renowned and victorious officer of the Roman Army. Gloriosus in out of town (though enroute to claim his mistress) so Pseudolus hastily sets the wheels in motion. There are Carmelite nuns who know more about sex than poor, sheltered Hero, so Pseudolus has his work cut out for him. Eventualities, shenanigans and breakneck brainstorms ensues.

Comic Roman playwrights were notorious for their crass, risque’, irreverent comedies, and Plautus was no exception. Funny Thing brims with preposterous, hokey, bawdy capers and silly puns too ridiculous to be offensive. What was considered blue in 1962 is quite innocuous in light of the television comedies of 2022. Which doesn’t make it any less tickling. Apart from the histrionic, exhausting, logic-defying plot, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum thumbs its nose at the conventional tropes of Romantic Comedy. The courtship of Hero and Philia is insipid and laughable. Much funnier than lofty ardor by far. Philia sings the inane (though pretty) “Lovely”:  I’m lovely. Positively lovely. Gloriosus is a pompous, narcissistic buffoon. Hero’s dad tries to have sex with Philia. Funny Thing delights in dismissing the admirable, the pure, the honorable and the brave. Don’t miss this high-octane, fast-talking, shamelessly skeptical, daffy romp.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents: A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, playing May 20th-June 5^th, 2022. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113. Richardson, Texas 75080. 972-699-1130. richardsontheatrecentre.net

A Wizard (The Lazarus) Ednocah, a captured Angel (Ednocah) and the Cuckoo Bird (Null Nath Ani) converge to assist Lazarus. He is the man they call “father”, and he aches to marry the Moon. Ednocah is blindfolded and plays the cello. She does his bidding, but is never abused or degraded in servitude. Same for Null, a wildly kinetic guy, like Peter Pan, barely dressed. He first appears wearing a Kellogg’s Cornflakes Box, like a mask. Like the Frog Prince, he pines for his days as a creature, rather than mortal. Wizard found Cuckoo in the jaws of a wolf, and rescued him from being devoured. Eventually Lazarus compels Null to assist in the spell (by which he will woo the moon) translating from the designated text, providing instruction to his Lunar Smitten Papa.

In some ways we might perceive this performance as living tableau, the Angel singing and bowing her cello, sweetly, solemnly. Lazarus the raving, visionary sorcerer, rushing through primordial digs, nattering, bumping, spilling scalding tea. Null, leaping and hopping, making shrill bird noises. Resentful and despondent. There are flasks and vials for elixirs and mickeys. A table that’s probably an altar as well. The room is half parlor, half chamber for eliciting charm and enchantment. Upstage is a “window” revealing the enormous, phenomenal, moon. As we might expect, presented as female. As we settle in, we notice her eyelids fluttering. This depiction evokes the moon from early days of film when the Melies Brothers shot their story of dizzy wizards taking a rocketship to the moon.

Ochre House has so many unique, otherworldly, frenetic gifts when it comes to theatre as strangeness. Theatre as evocation. Theatre as ritual. As the narrative of Under the Moon unwinds we feel we have stumbled into the wrong place. This milieu with its stone and bubble and talisman and relaxed mixture of benign and defiant ids. We are transported. We are welcome intruders. We are gobsmacked voyeurs. Who but the tremulous nymphs and goblins at Ochre House would have such deadpan, palpable audacity? Who among us has not been intoxicated by the enigmatic, seductive moon? What guy doesn’t shudder at the thought of circumcision? From time to time, haven’t we been homesick for swooping from tree to tree, crying out in unbridled, sprawling sentience? Under the Moon takes the elemental, the mystical, the heartsick, and sweet madness that mortality whispers to us, and bestows it without fear.

Go. Go. Go.

Ochre House presents: In The Garden: Under the Moon (written and directed by Matthew Posey) playing June 1st-4th, 2022. 825 Exposition Ave, Dallas, TX, United States, Texas 75206. (214) 826-6273. www.ochrehousetheater.org

An untitled, early play by Anton Chekhov (adapted and directed by Joey Folsom) Sex, Guns and Vodka is set at a Christmas party, hosted by the Vonitsevas, a wealthy, convivial married couple. They are blowing balloons and sipping drinks, before the guests arrive.  They are the sort you see at a crowded bash. The quiet, beautiful woman under her husband’s thumb. The effusive, elated guy, kissing everybody. Drunk and happy to be alive. The older guy in the bad toupee, sharing “back-in-the-day” wisdom. The zaftig, Earth Mother. The squeaky, emotional woman. The exquisite, ethereal lass, almost too glorious to touch. The introspective intellectuals. The mischievous aristocrats. The awkward and loquacious.

Of particular note is Platonov, an obnoxious, appalling, insulting prick. He truly is a buzzkill, ignoring boundaries, shamelessly molesting the ladies, creepy and spoiling everyone’s enjoyment. Rasputin without the charisma. He seems to take pleasure in messing with people’s heads. As time passes, Platonov puts the moves on each of the female guests, and (much to my chagrin) succeeds! Perhaps it’s the intersection of privacy and opportunity. Perhaps some women (and yes, men) get a tingle from shtupping a guy with no warmth or propriety.

There are several phenomena that make for marvelous satire, and drama. The best parties have a profusion of guests, endless liquor, and proceed (or digress) till the last dog is hung. They wind down on their own clock. Alcohol is the playwright’s friend. It brings out frankness, and preposterous, reckless behavior. What more could you ask for? On a loftier note, in life and on the stage, these kinds of affairs create a quirky, rich, freewheeling cosmos. Guests take chances. They confide, they get philosophical. It’s a pensive, frothy pageant of humanity.

Director Joey Folsom manages Sex, Gun and Vodka with a keen, instinctive sense of pace, timing and tone. They are numerous moving parts, stories within stories, pathos juggled with insanity juggled with profundity juggled with the ridiculous. Folsom has brought us a nuanced, surprising, pleasurable view of what it means to be human, what it means to be seduced, what it means to be livid, what it means to be enraptured, what it means to intoxicated by the company of others. Guns are fired, mouths kissed, liquor gulped, egos stroked and rendezvous missed. Folsom hits the notes meticulously and brings out Chekhov’s playfulness without ignoring his affection for we pathetic, flawed, remarkable, broken mortals.

The Classics Theatre Project Presents Sex, Guns and Vodka (the untitled first play by Anton Chekhov) playing May 20th-June 11^th, 2022. The Margo Jones Theater at Fair Park, 1121 First Avenue, Dallas, Texas 75210. 214-923-1619. www.theclassicstheatreproject.com

 

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