Hello, Yellow Brick Road. Firehouse’s remarkable Drowsy Chaperone.

My Sunday afternoon experience with The Drowsy Chaperone was nothing short of stupendous. Flawlessly timed comedy and delightful, wonderfully loopy shenanigans. I love my excursions with Firehouse Theatre and their mastery of musical theatre. Derek Whitener is a whiz-bang genius and (Dear God!) I can’t imagine how he managed the logistics of this show. It would make Rube Goldberg proud. To the cast and crew: How do you DO it???!! Doubled up on the Superfood? Tripled up on the Ovaltine? Red Bull and Jolt Cola? Kudos to you for your superb, brilliant performance, the unmitigated joy you brought me, and the spring you put in my step. Lon Barrera you sly boots! Shame on you. Making me giggle then touching my heart so profoundly at the end! There oughta be a law!

Identified only as Man-in-the Chair, our narrator and host, plays a vinyl recording for us of a (fictitious) 1928 musical called The Drowsy Chaperone. It’s all there. The young, gorgeous, adorable actress. The handsome, guileless, fresh-faced fiance who’s head over heels. Drowsy is set on the day of the wedding, but (naturally) there are complications. The producer is being hounded by thugs (disguised as pastry chefs) sent by a gangster with considerable money invested in the Broadway show. If the actress gets married and leaves the production, the show is kaput. Additional complications include a best man with too much to handle, serving liquor during prohibition, a ditzy blonde with clueless ambitions, and the notorious chaperone. Now, for those more savvy among you, the title itself should be a tip-off. Whatever else a chaperone might be (for Christ’s sake!) the last thing she should be is drowsy. “Drowsy” (so it seems) is code for schnockered, in polite company. This chaperone might be described as everyone’s favorite deranged Auntie, whose only concern might be: Where’s my next drink?

Written by Lisa Lambert and Greg Morrison (Music and Lyrics) Bob Martin and Don McKellar (Book)

The Drowsy Chaperone is that most confounding of all spectacles: a theatre comedy that actually comes off. The gags are almost nonstop, which, unless you’re Bug’s Bunny, is nearly always a recipe for disaster. Honest. It rarely works. It’s like watching those plate-spinners on Ed Sullivan. You think: they couldn’t possible push any further. But they make it happen. Then there’s our host. He interrupts the show, he digresses, he gossips, he confides the backstory of the starring performers. He has no illusions about musical comedy fitting into the workaday world of the 21st century, and summarily robs us of ours. And yet, it only revs up the musical itself.

Drowsy is the quintessential musical comedy, if ever there was one. Now we say “iconic” Ugh! It’s a valentine to the insane, glorious, fizzy, improbable world they create on the stage, to our awe and delight. It might also be a commentary on stardom, glamour, entertainment, and the cultivated illusion of intimacy. In The Threepenny Opera, Brecht consistently pulls us out of the story (to invite comparisons between theatre and actuality) and Drowsy does the same thing. It’s improbable that Man-in-the Chair is straight, but he might be. Martin and McKellar take very deliberate steps to reassure us that he is not creating this delusional, fantasy world, in forfeiture of the world as it is. Yet, the show culminates in his meeting and befriending (what I took to be) the characters? All this being said, with all it’s insistent, subversive hi-jinks, The Drowsy Chaperone is a breakthrough and a gift.

The Firehouse Theatre presents: The Drowsy Chaperone playing January 30th-February 23rd. (Closing weekend!) 2535 Valley View Ln. Farmers Branch, Texas 75234. (972) 620-3747. www.thefirehousetheatre.com

Flights of fancy: Outcry’s remarkable Dreams of Icarus

 

As many of you know, Daedalus was one of the great architects of Greek mythology. He fashioned a disguise for Pasiphae to seduce Zeus (when he turned himself into a white bull) the labyrinth to imprison the Minotaur, and wings that would let he and his son, Icarus soar. Knowing Icarus would be tempted, Daedalus warns him against flying too close to the sun, lest it melt the wax that held the wings together. Enthralled by the experience, Icarus forgets,  plummets into the ocean, and drowns.

Created by Becca Johnson-Spinos, Logan Beutel (Daedalus) and Dylan Weand (Icarus) Dreams of Icarus takes the mythological premise and runs with it, after making Icarus and Daedalus brothers, instead of son and father. Loosely speaking, Daedalus is the practical engineer, while Icarus is the visionary and storyteller. When Dreams of Icarus opens the two brothers have been imprisoned in a steep tower until Daedalus agrees to do the King’s bidding. During their confinement they process many unresolved conflicts from their personal history. They love each other fiercely, and perhaps too often, clobber each other when they disagree. They struggle to work out an escape, the theoretical promise of wings looming just beyond their reach. They need each other, more than they know.

Never in my experience as a theatre critic have I found another company to compare with Outcry, and their brilliance at finding the intersection of the ethereal, the dazzling, the visceral, the terrifying, the enraged and the sublime. Becca Johnson-Spinos has found a way to create a hybrid between choreography and stage movement that is captivating and rich. Dreams of Icarus doesn’t only explore the poignant attachment between Daedalus and Icarus, but all brothers, with all the tumultuous, kinetic, vibrant capaciousness of powerful emotion. The monologues are intuitive, oracular, fanciful, yet (forgive the expression) “grounded” in human experience. You can feel the brothers groping to articulate the nebulous, elusive revelations that we all ache to put into words, but the result here is transformative.

At the outset, I was a bit muddled by some of the liberties taken, but once I gave myself permission to set those aside, I was overcome by the audacity and palpable sense of the metaphysical this astonishing show attained. Somehow Dreams of Icarus weaves together myriad associations with flight: soaring, swooning, ecstasy, defiance, bravado, unfettered joy.

Special note must be taken of Gabrielle Grafrath’s remarkable wings, crucial to the success of this piece. Ms. Grafrath conceived them flawlessly, depicting them as something utilitarian, canny, but also giddy with fluffy feathers, just right to take us second star to the right and straight on till morning.

Of course any play is a group effort, but how did team Outcry come up with this improbable marvel? Years ago a movie was released called My Dinner with Andre and before you drove to the show, you thought: “How? How, how, how, how, how?” Almost two hours of searching conversation? How can it possibly work? And yet, Dreams of Icarus, like My Dinner, trusts its impulses. It not only evinces this dream of flight, but takes us along for the glorious ride.

Outcry Theatre’s Dreams of Icarus played December 20th-29th, 2019. 972-836-9206. outcrytheatre.com

Pilgrim’s regress: Undermain’s Thanksgiving Play

 

Written by Larissa Fasthorse, The Thanksgiving Play is a spoof on political correctness. Political correctness defined as treating the marginalized, vilified, systemically subjugated, or otherwise abused communities, with respect and deference. Such groups might include, Indigenous Americans, Women, Jews, African Americans, Muslims, LGBTQ. Those who cleave to the ideology of political correctness (safe to say) have honorable, conscientious, and vigilant good intentions. They strive to diminish the pain and misery endured by our fellow human beings, throughout the world. Throughout history.

Logan is a very progressive, Junior High School Drama teacher, who is staging the school Thanksgiving play. She was recently reprimanded for her production of The Iceman Cometh; the content apparently too controversial for scholars on the cusp of adolescence. Logan has invited Jaxton, her erstwhile lover and kindred spirit, in the enigmatic realm of conceptual theatre. Jaxton and Logan grasp the benefits of meditation, improvisation and the metaphysical, when building a script. Alicia is an actress hired to be part of this very lofty Thanksgiving narrative. Mistaking a headshot of Alicia for her actual ethnicity, Logan was thrilled to employ an “actual” Native American. Caden is a history teacher. His grisly details of ceremonies concurrent with the first Thanksgiving, are somewhat inappropriate to the occasion.

All four of these collaborator/performers (with the possible exception of Alicia) are gung-ho about the project. Brainstorming, considering various hooks and angles, throwing out ideas. All bearing in mind they must rise above the imperialist, patriarchal arrogance of their forbears. Sadly, they lack practical grounding when it comes to execution. Logan feels it would be wrong to cast someone who isn’t Indian to play one, though it’s not as if they’re turning any away. Her solution of honoring them by their absence is perhaps giving students and parents too much credit. Caden, Alicia, Logan and Jaxton are a sweet bunch, but their idealism ultimately seems too nebulous to drop anchor.

Fasthorse’s strategy for The Thanksgiving Play is fairly sound. While it never feels cynical, and intellectual skills of the teachers never in question, we’re meant to regard them as flakes. Someone’s left the cake out in the rain. The central premise (evolved, cerebral liberals woefully deficient in theatrical articulation) is serviceable, if overworked. Which is not to say she doesn’t have a point. It’s not that political correctness is necessarily an affectation or insipid bourgeois quickfix. We see the characters performing their goofy holiday songs in ridiculous costumes and how easily they’re sidetracked, and of course, it’s amusing. But none of them seems to notice the resulting event is a debacle.

Thanksgiving Play closed December 1st, 2019.

RTC’s rollicking, wry Christmas Story

Adapted by Philip Grecian from Jean Shepherds’s memoir: In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash,  A Christmas Story depicts the life of Ralphie, during one particular, pivotal Christmas. Ralphie lives in Hohman, Indiana, with younger brother Randy, his mom, and his dad, i. e. “The Old Man.” The narrative is provided by an actor designated as “Adult Ralphie” who describes a time before television, when he listened to Little Orphan Annie on the radio, eagerly used his secret decoder ring, and dealt with bully Scut Farkas. Randy never wants to eat anything, mother cooks meat loaf and cabbage every night (except holidays) and The Old Man is always cursing a blue streak when he must fight off the neighbor dogs or fix the antiquated heating system.

A Christmas Story is composed of of anecdotal mishaps that plague poor Ralphie (and others) during the Christmas season. He and his buddies Schwartz and Flick are just trying to make their way to school and back without Scut and his sidekick (Little Toadie) making their lives miserable. The litany of life’s unfairnesses includes: a remarkably crass “leg lamp” that (ironically) dad couldn’t have won without mom’s help, an unrevealed department store Santa that makes every single kid cry, and the time Ralphie blows his first opportunity to help dad by dropping the “F-Bomb.” [Pretty harsh, if you ask me, considering dad’s obscene outbursts.] Naturally, these incidents have their humorous side.

Perhaps A Christmas Story’s wild popularity can be attributed to its solid grounding in reality. Yes, Ralphie indulges in phantasmagorical adventures, but the world outside his private universe is all too ready to intervene. Like A Charlie Brown Christmas and The House Without A Christmas Tree, we don’t feel the content has been sanitized for our protection. There’s irony and flights of fancy but Grecian never confuses warmth with kitsch. We see the flaws in characters, but their good side too. Mama understands when Ralphie finally has a meltdown and wallops Scut. Dad saves Ralphie from wearing a bunny costume sent by his aunt. The humorous incidents feel authentic, but they’re never cruel.

I would be remiss if I neglected to give special recognition to the kids in the cast of A Christmas Story : Thomas Breda (Flick) Bella Chinn (Scut Farkas) Tanner Chinn (Schwartz) Mahder Debela (Helen) Olivia Fowler (Little Toadie) Kendall Kepner (Esther Jane) Caleb Lucas (Randy) and Mark Vasquez (Ralphie). These burgeoning actors were credible, professional, dedicated to their craft, and absolutely hilarious.

Richardson Theatre Centre presents: A Christmas Story, playing December 6th-22nd, 2019. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 113, Richardson, Texas 75080. (972) 699-1130. www.richardsontheatrecentre.net

Don’t miss Core’s capricious, engaging Trial of Ebeneezer Scrooge

Not many know, not long after Scrooge had his sublime epiphany, he backpedaled. He actually brought suit against Jacob Marley, The Ghost of Christmas Past, The Ghost of Christmas Present, and The Ghost of Christmases Yet to Come (among others) for reckless endangerment, emotional distress, attempted murder, et cetera….In The Trial of Ebeneezer Scrooge, these charitable souls are tried for the previously mentioned crimes. They’re defended by Rothschild, a smarmy, excessively solicitous counselor, who tries the patience of presiding Judge Pearson. Like any bench trial, witnesses (both living and deceased) are cross-examined, testimony is given, objections are raised and sustained or quashed. We hear the testimony of Scrooge’s nephew, his sister, the woman who stole his bedclothes and Bob Cratchit.

Of course, we’re going to wonder why Scrooge has this radical relapse. Why has playwright Mark Brown created this quandary? We all know that whatever apparitions visited Ebeneezer on that fateful Christmas Eve, they were motivated by good intentions. Perhaps a couple didn’t mind taking him to task. The appearance of supernatural entities in the courtroom, doesn’t impair their powers. (Some of the special effects are truly spectacular.) I’m thinking Brown probably means the title figuratively. While it’s supposedly others on trial, we seem to be examining Scrooge’s behavior through the lens of their experience with him. Just like in Charles Dickens’ novel. For all the complications and narrative turns, it feels like some questions have already been asked and answered. What’s the catch?

The Trial of Ebeneezer Scrooge is a kind of cockeyed satire. We spend a lot of time being misled, which isn’t necessarily wrong. What we might construe as digressions or asides are establishing tone, once the other shoe drops. It’s not always easy to tell where the show is coming from. All this being said, it’s a goodhearted, mischievous piece, with dedicated, conscientious performances. Any time you can find a fresh take on the traditional Christmas stories, it’s a gift.

The Core Theatre presents: The Trial of Ebeneezer Scrooge, playing December 7th-29th, 2019. 518 West Arapaho Road, Suite 115, Richardson, Texas 75080. 214-930-5338. www.thecoretheatre.org

Last chance to see Cara Mia’s brilliant Swimming While Drowning

Mila and Angelo are roommates in a homeless shelter for LGBT teenagers. Kids who self-identify as queer are often kicked out of their own homes. Mila presents as an angry, alpha male, while Angelo is an effusive gay male, sweet-natured and congenial. Angelo’s no longer welcome in his home and Mila can’t shake the memory of his unborn cousin. Angelo tries to be friendly, but Mila keeps admonishing him to “Stop acting like a bitch.” There’s a touching dreaminess to Angelo’s behavior. We know he can be careful, when he needs to be, but he’s clearly relieved to be in a place where he needn’t pretend. Though Mila is brusque and disparaging towards Angelo, it seems his aggression is motivated by fear. Like other women who identify as and live as men, he can’t risk discovery by most guys who live on the streets. It takes some time, but gradually Angelo captivates him with his fanciful notions, like describing our lives and connection to the stars. Angelo’s Abuela says, “You don’t need wings to be an angel.”

Playwright Emilio Rodriquez has depicted the intense, fierce, dangerous world that LGBTQ folks must endure. While we have come a long way as a culture, not all of us are fortunate enough to live among the enlightened. You never know when you might cross paths with someone who thinks it’s their job to maul and degrade you. Mila and Angelo have been taken from their nests to a life where they must constantly consider every word, every gesture, every article of clothing. Rodriquez, carefully, exquisitely, has found an intersection between the ferocious Mila, and the tender Angelo. Almost like Stanley Kowalski and Blanche DuBois (if you will). Except these two find a way to genuinely care for one another.

While sharing a room, Angelo is worried for Mila’s welfare. When he disappears for hours after curfew, Angelo frets and paces. When its obvious that the cops are chasing Mila, Angelo helps him hide. Even though Mila is often obnoxious, Angelo sees through this. Regardless of how each of us identifies, underneath it all, gender is a puzzle. A conundrum. Sadly many cisgender (straight-identified) won’t admit that none of us has really figured it out. They can’t or won’t be brave enough to own what Mila and Angelo embrace, for the sake of self-actualizing. Rodriquez has pulled us into this realm, where the ultimately nebulous question of how we celebrate and express our genitalia is explored. This production brims with mystery and warmth and the wonder that comes from navigating by the stars. Kudos also to director Jorge B. Merced, J Davis-Jones (Mila) and Dominic Pecikonis (Angelo) for their remarkable, poignant work.

Cara Mía Theatre presents Swimming While Drowning : playing November 30th-December 15th, 2019. 3630 Harry Hines Blvd. Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-516-0706. caramiatheatre.org

 

 

Don’t miss KDT’s savvy, sentient Queen of Basel

Queen of Basel opens in the kitchen of a very posh hotel, where an upscale party is thriving in the adjoining ballroom. Christine (a waitress) has brought Julie here, after drinks get spilled. Julie is heiress to the Basel fortune. The man who owns the hotel (Arthur Basel) is her dad. Christine and Julie are worried that paparazzi will photograph her at an awkward moment. Julie wears a rich, dark blue gown. Christine wears her an outlandish uniform: hot pink wig, halter top, hot pants. She calls her fiance, John, an Uber driver, to rescue Julie from prying media. Julie assures them that she is fine. That none of this is necessary.

What follows is the story of three people of color, struggling to prosper, after centuries of racism and gender bias. Though playwright Hilary Bettis never says that kind of thing outright. The lives of John, Christine and Julie demonstrate their plight. Julie is forthright, practical, not really bossy, but not as deferential and solicitous as Christine. John is defensive, scrappy, but intelligent. All three have survived dangerous circumstances, overcoming countless obstacles, to achieve success proportionate to their considerable skills and talents. They are sentient, strong, smart. Not unrealistic, not unwilling to do the hard work. It’s so obvious the world is unwilling to recognize their value, it’s never said aloud.

Bettis creates an urgent, ironic dynamic between the characters. It’s not only fate, that follows them like a curse. It’s toxic humanity. Desperation tempts them to exploit each other. Under different circumstances, Christine and Julie’s roles might have been reversed. Julie may dress elegantly, but her dad takes her no more seriously than Christine; one of his waitresses in degrading clothes. Julie may be barefoot princess, but broken glass is waiting where she can’t see. For all her striving and advantages of wealth, she winds up hiding in a kitchen. Like every other woman, she’s only the “Queen of Basil.”

Kitchen Dog Theater presents: Queen of Basel, playing November 21st-December 15th, 2019. 2600 N. Stemmons Fwy, Suite 180, Dallas, Texas 75207. (214) 953-1055 Kitchendogtheater.org

Last chance to see Ochre House’s somber, smart Razz.

Mitchell Parrack’s Razz (currently playing at The Ochre House) is a distilled exploration of the life of choreographer Bob Fosse. Of course, that title doesn’t begin to explain Fosse’s astonishing career. He was also an actor, director, filmmaker and screenwriter. Fosse’s visionary approach to dance triggered a watershed that changed The Great White Way forever. Fosse choreographed countless Broadway musicals (including Pal Joey, Little Me, The Pajama Game, Chicago, Pippin and Cabaret) making his wife Gwen Verdon a star in the process. Verdon was absolutely his equal, often trading blow for blow. But sadly, like many geniuses before him, his repugnant behavior was too often indulged and tolerated.

Razz opens with Fosse verbally sparring with Bertolt Brecht. The two never actually knew each other, but Brecht influenced Fosse’s work. Next we see him jabbing and jibing with three women. Joan McCracken (second wife) Gwen Verdon (third wife) and Ann Reinking (paramour). He talks them through a dance number he’s designed, holding them to his notoriously demanding, meticulous style. What we are witnessing is a ritual that was probably repeated hundreds of thousands of times. We also meet Paddy Chayefsky, close friend and (we gather) confidante of Fosse’s. Chayefsky spends much time consoling Fosse and trying to guy him out of his perpetual guilt and despondency.

Parrack examines the downside of Fosse’s brilliance. His compulsive need to exorcise looming failure. We see Fosse’s gravitas, his turmoil, his disappointment in himself. It might have been a profound enhancement, I think, to express the sophisticated, sublime experience of Fosse’s talent, in some way or another. Fosse’s groundbreaking, provocative moves were breathtaking, and a river to gypsies throughout the theatre world. When we grasp how someone like Picasso, Hitchcock, Lennon, Einstein has made this rock we inhabit somehow better, we can maybe forgive their flaws. Forgive them for being a prick. Ochre House has a gift for crisp, minimal narratives. Like exquisite poetry, it captures the essence of this story, takes us to the core of its quandary.

The Ochre House presents Razz, written by Mitchell Parrack. Playing October 26th-November 16th, 2019. 825 Exposition Ave, Dallas, TX 75226. 214-826-6273. ochrehousetheater.org

Last chance to see Ochre House’s somber, smart Razz.

Mitchell Parrack’s Razz (currently playing at The Ochre House) is a distilled exploration of the life of choreographer Bob Fosse. Of course, that title doesn’t begin to explain Fosse’s astonishing career. He was also an actor, director, filmmaker and screenwriter. Fosse’s visionary approach to dance triggered a watershed. The Great White Way would be changed forever. Fosse choreographed countless Broadway musicals (including Pal Joey, Little Me, The Pajama Game, Chicago, Pippin and Cabaret) making his wife Gwen Verdon a star in the process. Verdon was absolutely his equal, often trading blow for blow. But sadly, like many geniuses before him, his repugnant behavior was too often indulged and tolerated.

Razz opens with Fosse verbally sparring with Bertolt Brecht. The two never actually knew each other, but Brecht influenced Fosse’s work. Next we see him talking with three women. Joan McCracken (second wife) Gwen Verdon (third wife) and Ann Reinking (paramour). He talks them through a dance number he’s designed, holding them to his notoriously demanding, meticulous style. What we are witnessing is a ritual that was probably repeated hundreds of thousands of times. We also meet Paddy Chayefsky, close friend and (we gather) confidante of Fosse’s. Chayefsky spends much time consoling Fosse and trying to guy him out of his perpetual guilt and despondency.

Parrack examines the downside of Fosse’s brilliance. His compulsive need to exorcise looming failure. We see Fosse’s gravitas, his turmoil, his disappointment in himself. It might have been a profound enhancement, I think, to express the sophisticated, sublime experience of Fosse’s talent, in some way or another. Fosse’s groundbreaking, provocative moves were breathtaking, and a river to gypsies throughout the theatre world. When we grasp how someone like Picasso, Hitchcock, Lennon, Einstein has made this rock we inhabit somehow better, we can maybe forgive their flaws. Forgive them for being a prick Ochre House has a gift for crisp, minimal narratives. Like exquisite poetry, it captures the essence of this story, takes us to the core of its quandary.

The Ochre House presents Razz, written by Mitchell Parrack. Playing October 26th-November 16th, 2019. 825 Exposition Ave, Dallas, TX 75226. 214-826-6273. ovhrehousetheater.org

IMPRINT’S Lizzie is famished and you’re looking pretty juicy

Who would have guessed that a theatre might claim the notorious Lizzie Borden as an iconoclast of the Fascist patriarchy? Well, IMPRINT has done just that with rock musical Lizzie. Composed by Steven Cheslik-DeMeyer, Tim Maner and Alan Stevens Hewitt, Lizzie is set in the deeply troubled Borden household, and features only four characters: Bridget (the housekeeper) Emma (Lizzie’s older sister) Alice (Lizzie’s lover) and Lizzie herself. In the late 19th Century, the grown Borden sisters share a large house with Bridget, their father Andrew, and new stepmother, Abby. Lizzie makes no bones about the nightmarish situation in which Lizzie finds herself. There’s sexual assault by the father, vindictiveness and abuse by both parents, and an oppressive mixture of subjugation, menace and degeneracy. Smoke suffuses the set and Emma and Lizzie are trapped like sacrifices to the Minotaur in his labyrinth.

When the two women lose their beloved mother Sarah, their dad doesn’t waste time in finding another wife, who’s determined to fleece him. When they discover that Abby’s having them removed from the will, Emma moves out; leaving Lizzie to the enormous house, and her own devices. On a day when Bridget is in town picking up bargains and washing windows and taking a nap, the bodies of Abby and Andrew will be discovered. Hacked and mutilated by an ax. Lizzie will later tell the cops she saw some rough transient, leaving in a hurry. In spite of remarkably sketchy circumstances, the youngest daughter is exonerated.

It would have been easy to justify Lizzie’s vindication. By the time she’s freed to live the life of an heiress, she’s suffered long and miserably. Like Medea or Circe, she’s something of a martyr. She wouldn’t be the first to be further victimized: so often male culture systemically makes women into whipping boys. But these furious, defiant women go from psychologically and metaphysically maimed, to ferocious Maenads, poised to devour. It’s rare and stupefying to see this kind of brazen, reckless audacity. And even more so to see it soar. So many shows (when they run out of ideas) will come up with something outrageous and hope for the best. IMPRINT has taken enormous risks with Lizzie, and the subversive, Bacchanalian rush will send you into orbit.

IMPRINT Theatreworks presents: Lizzie, playing October 31st- november 16th, 2019. Bath House Cultural Center, 521 East Lawther Drive, Dallas, TX 75218. 972-814-1852. www.imprinttheatreworks.org