Category: Critique

September 1^st, 2004, School Number One in the town of Beslan (in Russia) was celebrating the first day of school. It was a vivid, exhilarating, annual event, attended by parents, teachers and pupils, with much pageantry and exuberance. The crisis began when a group of armed Islamic Militants occupied the school, demanding the recognition of Chechnya’s independence. The Beslan School Siege lasted three days. It involved taking over 1,100 hostages, ending with the deaths of at least 334 people, including 186 kids.

Us/Them by Carly Wijs, is an inspired account of The Beslan Siege, enacted by two “students”, identified in the program as The Boy and The Girl. They are perhaps eight, with enthusiasm for describing their school, easily distracted, playful and eager to show up the other. Though they seem more or less friends. Piece by piece they give us the narrative. The joyful beginning of the school year, the balloons and new clothes, the beaming parents and band music. They are submerged, mostly, in getting the details right, in the same way they might tell you how an old woman and an ice cream vendor fought at the park. Next comes the appearance of soldiers, the herding and sequestering in the gymnasium, the hunger and heat and exhaustion. Even explosions and gunfire take on the same avid, yet calm tone.

The difficulty in dramatizing any catastrophic event, certainly, is doing it justice without amplification. Without unwittingly exploiting the profoundly disturbing nature of the content. In Us/Them Wijs has found a way to embrace the story, by finding narrators who don’t grasp the gravitas of their predicament. Children of that age are still learning what actions mean; their perception is somewhat cursory. They look to grownups for cues, but don’t realize their parents and teachers may be concealing panic.

When the boy and girl consider alternate scenarios to the reality (action movie or media darlings) it makes perfect sense. It also gives audience necessary detachment without soft pedaling the actual tragedy. We can process the story without the embellishment of politics or extreme emotion, comparable to Lee Blessing’s Two Rooms. Wijs has taken us to a realm fraught with atrocity and devastation, and given us the tools to experience it fully. We embrace our humanity, avoiding the natural impulse to shut down.

Wikipedia was invaluable in writing this review.

Echo Theatre and The Milford and Patricia Hammerbacher Grant presented Us/Them at The Bath House Cultural Center in September 2019.

A fairly nonchalant, congenial musical comedy by Austin Winsberg (Book) and Alan Zachary and Michael Weiner (Music and Lyrics) First Date depicts the encounter between Aaron and Casey, who meet at a casual nightclub. Aaron (Seth Womack) is lanky, soft spoken and insecure, while Casey (Anne Marie Flores) is petulant, confrontational and quick to take offense. He dresses like he’s going to the prom and she, like an extra from Mad Max. Of course, any meal with someone you don’t know is going to be awkward, especially when you’re trying to avoid looking like a fool. As the evening regresses and progresses, First Date goes on off on tangents. When Casey reveals she isn’t Jewish, Aaron has a musical interlude with relatives (distant and close) admonishing him not to marry a shiksha. When Casey doesn’t answer her gay friend’s bail-out call, he has a campy meltdown. And so forth. When we check back on Aaron and Casey, their torture is only occasionally mitigated by moments of mutual appreciation.

On the intensity scale, First Date is too streetwise to be The Fantasticks, but not as tumultuous as Children of a Lesser God. Its skepticism is far more gentle than say, His Girl Friday or The Philadelphia Story. Both formidable proof that a story can have verve and distinction, without necessarily rocking the rafters. We care about Casey and Aaron, and the creators are smart enough to hold off on the verdict. It’s hard, though, not to see the parade coming, even before it turns the corner. The supporting cast is strong and versatile, keeping the balls in the air, as the narrative finds it way to plausible resolution. The songs are smart and pensive, ranging from the wistful to amusing, fitting nicely with the in-house band.

First Date’s most salient strength is the charisma and authenticity of its performers. Womack elicits sympathy from any guy required to find the balance between caring and trying too hard. Flores depicts Casey as a strong woman, with no desire to pander to men’s egos. Though that strategy seems pointless with Aaron. The supporting cast is called upon to play numerous roles, and brings clarity and aplomb to each one. When we reflect on the demands of the script, the work here is phenomenal. Not a single actor phones it in. The warmth and joy informing the script comes shining through.

Stage West and Theatre TCU present First Date, playing September 12th- October 13^th, 2019. 821 West Vickery Blvd, Fort Worth, Texas 76104. 817) 784-9378. boxoffice@stagewest.org

Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical adaptation of T. S. Eliot’s poetry collection, Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats: Cats is a stalwart of late 20^th Century Theatre. As fanciful and whimsical as its source material, Cats premiered in The West End and Broadway, from 1981-82. After a slow start, it realized huge commercial success. Having never before attended a production of Cats, I proceeded nonetheless undaunted to The Firehouse Theatre.

On the empty stage there was a garbage dump. There were massive, oversized components: an abandoned car, dryer, kitchen stove, tire, various sorts of vivid detritus. Despite the sprawling refuse (in blue moonlight) the set had an odd sense of the romantic. The mythical. As the orchestra cues up, cats of astonishing variety pop up, here and there, walking on all fours, some of them sniffing around audience members. They perch all over the mise en scene, each with its own demeanor and personalty. Some are shy, some curious, some assertive, some relaxed. With a cast of 30, we become aware of profusion and (despite distinct identities) a feeling that they often move as one. Not just physical but as if a particular attitude is shared. Make-up (Logan Coley Broker) and Costuming (Sydney Cornelius) were cunning, clever and beguiling, with ingenious attention to detail.

The best parts of Cats are the fresh touches. The Choreography (Christina Kudlicki Hoth) that, at first, seeks to emulate feline movement, that creates the illusion we are submerged in a world, known only to other cats. The idea of the “Jellicle” cat: perhaps the chosen recipient of a new life? Perhaps one that embodies the essence of “catness”? It’s never really explained, but again it contributes to the air of the clandestine. The enigma. Webber doesn’t necessarily avoid the obvious. Rum Tum Tugger, the cocky tomcat that exudes charm and blue collar bravado. (You haven’t lived till you’ve been flirted with by a cat.) The satirical sketches mocking dogs. The hissing and reference to cream. Gradually the dancing becomes less about catlife and more like traditional Broadway hoofing. All this being said, Cats has such playful energy, such authentically sad and solemn moments, we are captivated by pleasure and surprisingly touching moments.

I begin every day with a glass of Superfood and 1 of V8, but the cast of Cats must be downing rocket fuel. Where else could we see such daring, exuberant energy? The climbing and leaping and spinning and somersaults? I never cease to marvel at the precision, discipline, stamina and audacity it takes to orchestrate something as demanding as musical theatre. Kudos to Director Mark Mullino, the cast and crew, et al of Cats. This is a splendid evening of exhilarating theatre.

The Firehouse Theatre presents Cats, running September 5th-22nd, 2019. 2535 Valley View Lane, Farmers Branch, Texas 75234. (972) 620-3747. www.thefirehousetheatre.com

Cora, Ida, Aaronetta and Esther are four senior sisters, living close to one another. Aaronetta is the only unmarried sister, and she lives with Cora and her husband Theodore (Thor). Homer, son of Ida and Carl, is on a trip back home, bringing his fiancee (?!) Myrtle, after a prolonged courtship. Myrtle is sweet as blueberry pie, but Homer’s feelings about marriage are a bit ambivalent (to be kind). All his aunts and uncles are hoping that Homer’s visit, accompanied by Myrtle, signals a decision. Carl is experiencing what we might call a “midlife crisis”. Only worse. He’s questioning decisions he made in hindsight, sometimes manifesting in fits and manic episodes. Esther lives down the street with her brilliant, misanthropic husband, David. He has forbidden Esther to hobnob with her sisters and their husbands, common folk that they are.

Written by Paul Olson, Mornings at Seven belongs to America’s theatre canon. It premiered on Broadway in 1939, and had revivals in 1980, and 2002. Its productions included such accomplished actors as: Maureen O’Sullivan, Estelle Parsons, Nancy Marchand, Dorothy Gish, Frances Sternhagen, Piper Laurie, Christopher Lloyd and Buck Henry. The 1980 production won numerous Tonys and Drama Desk Awards.

There was a time, I believe, when we weren’t quite so obsessed with labeling plays as either comedy or drama. Mornings at Seven would seem to be comedy by way of melodrama. Each character has their own quirks and eccentricities, and even the costumes (to a degree) seem to bear that out. The women are strong, or, at least, more decisive and focused than their spouses. Their dilemmas and painful emotions are genuine, though this isn’t altogether clear at the outset.

I cannot address the changes in attitude that span the 1930’s to the early turn of the 21^st Century. Mr. Olson would seem to linger dangerously close to quaintness, before disabusing us of those assumptions. This isn’t unusual (though it might have been in 1939) but we can find the same strategy in other plays such as: Butterflies are Free, The Fantasticks, and The Skin of Our Teeth. Whether endemic to the content or this particular production, there seemed to be a kind of malaise and confusion informing the piece. I think it was smart to set Mornings at Seven in the past. What might have seemed normal in the 1930’s could seem disingenuous today. There were times I wasn’t sure whether we were supposed to be amused or saddened. All this being said, Mornings at Seven is graced by a diligent cast, and a knack for the nostalgic.

Rover Dramawerks presents: Mornings at Seven, playing August 29th-September 14^th, 2019. 221 W. Parker Rd., Suite 580, Plano 75023. www.roverdramawerks.com. (972) 849-0358

Actor, performance artist, playwright, author: John Leguizamo does an odd mashup of rage and subversiveness, hilarity and hoke, in his most recent show. Latin History for Morons is a litany of atrocities and genocide towards the Latino population throughout history, mixed with Leguizamo’s hijinks and raunchy tangents. His nonchalant anecdotes are interspersed with the vivid and very telling history of the subjugation of his ancestors, as well as an ongoing account of helping his son with a project on heroes for school. Leguizamo’s anarchy blends into his discourse and gets the poor boy in trouble.

At the start, Leguizamo warms up the audience, encouraging raucous enthusiasm and picking a couple of “victims” to pick on. (Nothing resembling the contemptuous chicanery David Letterman was so famous for). His stories of relatives, both distant and near and dear, are engaging and charming. And spot on. His hapless, sweet boy, his reprimanding Jewish wife, his disaffected, snippy daughter. His is an infinitely varied world of creeds, ethnicities and shades of pigmentation. Cynical and savvy. No one is flawless, no one immune. He uses a chalkboard to elaborate on the food chain of white and nonwhite civilizations, conquests and warfare. But, mischief maker that he is, he just can’t resist sneaking in some dirty cartoons.

When you’re deep in the thick of Leguizamo’s loopy, yet grim and confrontational (for lack of a better word) odyssey, you think, “How could this conceivably work?” Digression, dance, song and sketch interlude, commentary on commentary: are his stock-in-trade. One minute he’s describing a grisly episode of annihilation (or some other form of virulent racism) and the next, some manic shtick takes over. It’s exhilarating (and yes, exhausting) and funny and horrific and certainly entertaining. Perhaps humor helps to alleviate the toxic inhumanity he bears witness to. By the time Leguizamo’s taking his final bows, you grasp just how hard it is, to resist his jazzy, savvy, delirious take on this chaos we all must endure.

ATT Performing Arts Center presented John Leguizamo’s Latin History for Morons. It played at the Winspear Opera House for one evening in September. 2403 Flora Street, Dallas, Texas 75201. (214) 880-0202. attpac.com

Della owns a bakery in South Carolina. It’s clear from the onset that making cakes isn’t just a business for her. It’s a joie de vivre. She’s been selected to be a contestant on The Great American Baking Show, and as she describes the sublime experience of creating delectable masterpieces, it’s easy to see why. Her attention to detail, her focus and personal investment in her craft, are a joy to behold. Next we meet Jen and Macy. Jen is returning to South Carolina after moving to New York City. She is engaged to marry Macy, a very sophisticated,

intelligent, African American woman. While Macy is pensive and measured, Jen is impulsive and emotional. She didn’t know she could fall in love with another woman until she met Macy. Jen’s deceased Mother was Della’s best friend, and she’s elated to bake Jen’s wedding cake, until she discovers that Jen is marrying Macy. Then she says she’s too busy at the time of year the wedding is scheduled.

Written by Bekah Brunstetter, The Cake (surely inspired by the Supreme Court dispute) is a surprising drama. It has some outrageously comedic turns, but it’s predominantly serious. Which is not to say grim. It doesn’t have the histrionics or diminishment we might expect from such a struggle. No character is lionized or vilified. The dominance in Della’s relationship goes more to husband Tim, while Macy is way more pushy than Jen. While each character has their quirks and details, The Cake never resorts to stereotyping or caricature. Though it hardly seems coincidental that it happens in the Bible Belt, and Macy is a black activist. Brunstetter though, takes pains to add complications and subtleties. She places the beds of Della and Tim, and Macy and Jen, on the stage at the same time. Comparison by semiotics.

If we had to decide, it it would seem that The Cake is more Della’s story. Her soliloquies are interrupted by the booming voice of the baking show’s celebrity host; denouncing her whenever she considers pleasurable sex. When Macy announces her discrimination on social media, Della is kicked off the baking show. While it’s never suggested that her rejection of Jen’s identity is acceptable, circumstances or “karma” (if you will) certainly punish Della for intolerance. Because the circumstances involve Jen, who she loves like a daughter, Della reconsiders reasoning she previously embraced. Ironically, the fact that she’s been condemned, doesn’t make us feel vindicated. The Cake’s strength is in its humanity. Brunstetter presents a clear dilemma, while preserving respect for the characters, even if they sometimes look ridiculous. What might have easily have become a diatribe was instead, a thoughtful reflection on our similarities as well as our differences.

Uptown Players presented The Cake. It opened August 9^th and closed the 25th, 2019. Kalita Humphreys Theater, 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-219-2718. uptownplayers.org.

It would seem that pedophilia has been the focus of numerous dramas in the recent past. One of the hazards is attempting to deal effectively with this fiercely emotional subject, without coming off as manipulative, lurid or exploitative. You don’t want to tiptoe, but you don’t to stomp through it like Godzilla. Blake Hackler’s What we were avoids these problems. He explores the lives of three sisters, and impact of their father’s sexual abuse. Carlin, Nell and Tessa are close, their chemistry along the lines of natural order. Carlin, the oldest, is bossy and self-absorbed, Nell the middle sister, is the intercessor and Nell, the baby, is vulnerable, naive, less encumbered. When we see them for the first time, Tessa’s only six, and Carlin is beginning adolescence. They are squabbling over who gets to play each particular character from (the nighttime soap) Dynasty.

What we were hopscotches through these sisters lives, which is to say: events do not fall in chronological order. Nell tries desperately to prevent Tessa from joining their father for one of his private “sleepovers” in the barn. Obviously Nell understands the implications, but Tessa is thrilled by her dad’s special attention. Next Nell reports the abuse to the authorities, and Tessa is sent to live with a foster family. Over time, Tessa goes off the radar, requesting that her whereabouts be concealed from her biological family. We gather she’s changing names, to shut off pain, or perhaps her trauma has fomented identity disorder. Meanwhile, Carlin and Nell hire private detectives, trying to track Tessa down. After a number of false alarms and disappointments, Carlin gives up (the personal upheaval too much) but Nell soldiers on.

Hackler’s deep dive into this fragile, explosive material, is cunning and sentient, if somewhat obtuse. The pieces don’t fall together easily. There are carefully wrought omissions. The better to involve us in this not entirely despairing narrative. We see what each sister does to cope with the damage to their souls, the emotional wounds, the inexplicable betrayals and frantic need to preserve the grace of Family. The meticulous order of episodes gives them a nuanced resonance, an unexpected clarity that might be lost in a conventional approach. The details of their father’s monstrous behavior are not disclosed, it isn’t necessary. What we are given is witness to the fractured spirits of the girls. How they bandage excruciation and try to move on.

The cast of What we were (Lydia Mackay, Jenny Ledel, Jessica D. Turner, Benjamin Stegmair) manages to evince this story with understated, precise poignancy. There is an aching urgency suffusing their performances. It’s as if they’ve lived with this tiger so long they’ve pushed it away, but still heed the danger. It would have been easy for a show of this kind to have fall into the abyss, to blow up in our faces. But the mastery of these actors, and Hackler’s conscientious, emotionally intelligent script helps us past the rapacious predators.

Second Thought Theatre presents What we were, playing August 28^th – September 21^st. 2019. Bryant Hall at the Kalita Humphreys Theater. 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75219. 866-811-4111. info@secondthoughttheatre.com

It would seem that pedophilia has been the focus of numerous dramas in the recent past. One of the hazards is attempting to deal effectively with this fiercely emotional subject, without coming off as manipulative, lurid or exploitative. You don’t want to tiptoe, but you don’t to stomp through it like Godzilla. Blake Hackler’s What we were avoids these problems. He explores the lives of three sisters, and impact of their father’s sexual abuse. Carlin, Nell and Tessa are close, their chemistry along the lines of natural order. Carlin, the oldest, is bossy and self-absorbed, Nell the middle sister, is the intercessor and Nell, the baby, is vulnerable, naive, less encumbered. When we see them for the first time, Tessa’s only six, and Carlin is beginning adolescence. They are squabbling over who gets to play each particular character from (the nighttime soap) Dynasty.

What we were hopscotches through these sisters lives, which is to say: events do not fall in chronological order. Nell tries desperately to prevent Tessa from joining their father for one of his private “sleepovers” in the barn. Obviously Nell understands the implications, but Tessa is thrilled by her dad’s special attention. Next Nell reports the abuse to the authorities, and Tessa is sent to live with a foster family. Over time, Tessa goes off the radar, requesting that her whereabouts be concealed from her biological family. We gather she’s changing names, to shut off pain, or perhaps her trauma has fomented identity disorder. Meanwhile, Carlin and Nell hire private detectives, trying to track Tessa down. After a number of false alarms and disappointments, Carlin gives up (the personal upheaval too much) but Nell soldiers on.

Hackler’s deep dive into this fragile, explosive material, is cunning and sentient, if somewhat obtuse. The pieces don’t fall together easily. There are carefully wrought omissions. The better to involve us in this not entirely despairing narrative. We see what each sister does to cope with the damage to their souls, the emotional wounds, the inexplicable betrayals and frantic need to preserve the grace of Family. The meticulous order of episodes gives them a nuanced resonance, an unexpected clarity that might be lost in a conventional approach. The details of their father’s monstrous behavior are not disclosed, it isn’t necessary. What we are given is witness to the fractured spirits of the girls. How they bandage excruciation and try to move on.

The cast of What we were (Lydia Mackay, Jenny Ledel, Jessica D. Turner, Benjamin Stegmair) manages to evince this story with understated, precise poignancy. There is an aching urgency suffusing their performances. It’s as if they’ve lived with this tiger so long they’ve pushed it away, but still heed the danger. It would have been easy for a show of this kind to have fall into the abyss, to blow up in our faces. But the mastery of these actors, and Hackler’s conscientious, emotionally intelligent script helps us past the rapacious predators.

Second Thought Theatre presents What we were, playing August 28^th – September 21^st. 2019. Bryant Hall at the Kalita Humphreys Theater. 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75219. 866-811-4111. info@secondthoughttheatre.com

Hiro is returning to Kentucky for her younger sister Sophie’s wedding, after fleeing to New York City, some time ago. After watching her dad constantly degrade her mother, Hiro decided her only recourse was to find her own way, emancipated from the provincial Christian values of Louisville. Before she boards her plane, she processes the ordeal to come with her therapist. Her plan is to talk Sophie out of getting married, lest she suffer the same fate as their poor, beleaguered mom. As irrational as this seems, it’s difficult to blame Hiro. Even by Toxic Alpha standards her father is insufferable, so it’s not hard to understand why she believes Sophie is making a mistake. Still, the idea that you’d want to dissuade someone from marriage, simply on principal, seems to border on the pathological.

Once Hiro arrives in her old hometown, she crosses paths with old girlfriends, a high school flame, Sophie’s bridesmaids, and her colorful family. She and Sophie seem to be the only ones who are reasonably normal, though their mother seems less obsequious than resigned. While Hiro may be justified in her disgust, it doesn’t explain why she has neglected those who truly care for her. It’s not long before her histrionics echo her dad’s tirades, and we start to wonder if her conflicts are internalized. She seems to be judging everybody but herself.

Written by Leah Nanako Winkler, Kentucky is that best kind of comedy, one that conceives a narrative that naturally generates humor, instead of a plot that’s parenthetical to the gags. Like Neil Simon or Wendy Wasserstein, Winkler finds a premise that engages, that pulls on us, because there are also unsettling moments, clarifying moments, poignant moments, though the overarching thrust is to amuse us. Kentucky is not the sort of show that resolves every question or feels vaguely didactic. Yes, Hiro has her epiphany, but she doesn’t make decisions a lesser playwright would have chosen.

IMPRINT theatreworks has made Kentucky a submersive experience, with tablecloths, an open bar, a buffet and all the accoutrements we’d find at a wedding reception. It really enhances the large, convivial, ensemble cast, and effectively creates the illusion that we are guests, even though we know better. There’s a curious effect of lightness and eccentricity contrasted with a more serious subtext, but just like Brighton Beach Memoirs and The Sisters Rosensweig, the mirth feels organic and earned. IMPRINT doesn’t hesitate to embrace the outre’ or unorthodox, to jettison the traditional for the sake of surprise and delight.

IMPRINT theatreworks presents Kentucky, playing August 2nd-17th, 2019. Arts Mission Oak Cliff: 410 South Windomere, Dallas, Texas 75208. 469-729-9309. www.imprinttheatreworks.org

After 10 years + of writing theatre critique I have assembled, with the indispensable help of my buddy Roland Carson, a collection of my best reviews: Delicate Tiger. Ferocious Snowflake. with an introduction by (that phenomenal director) Lisa Devine. As you know (even though health issues have slowed me down) the DFW Theatre Community has a cherished place in my heart, and I am thrilled to celebrate that in print. Much love and care has gone into this book, and I hope you can join me for this event.

Writer’s Garret: Sunday, August 4th, 2019: 3-5 PM gen@writersgarret.org. 250 Majesty Drive, Dallas, Texas 75247. www.writersgarret.org. (214) 828-1715