Category: Critique

Four Latina converge in the basement of a corrupt politician, seeking aid and refuge. They are trying to stay off the grid. One is a battered wife, one a radical Lesbian, one her lover, and one the housekeeper who works there. Near as I can tell, one is the mother of one of the two lovers, and one the grandmother. Safe to say, there are at least two generations present, and the spectrum swings from the traditional to the far left. The extreme progressive has flaming red hair. We see no males, though one is the abusive cop, one a Latino Border Patrol who arrests Latin immigrants, and one the aforementioned owner of the mansion.

He is a hypocritical and despotic, living in a home appropriate to a feudal lord. High tech, pervasive, ruthless robotic security. The door to the basement can be locked from the outside. As the four describe their options, we see that profuse money makes servitude bearable. Especially when destitution is a systemic given. The housekeeper might have chosen to work for a more decent, compassionate man, but desperation breeds equivocation. Man Cave culminates in spellcasting, a call to enraged ancestors, a confrontation with the deep wickedness of the Master, a cleansing of this vile realm?

Playwright John J. Caswell Jr. has carefully constructed a detailed allegory, evoking the misery of the subjugated, and the heartlessness of patriarchy. The ideology is there, the discourse, the frustration, the despair. All effectively dressed in plausible structure. All these women have experienced the actuality of being exploited. (The underground railroad for terrorized wives is no urban legend.) Ridiculous wages for the Latin community are a fact of life. Whether you’ve seen Poltergeist or not, “civilization” built on the backs of the oppressed (even their graves are disrespected) is more than just a metaphor.

Practically every component of Man Cave meets at the intersection of symbol and the world the women inhabit. The cerebral and the visceral. The housekeeper doesn’t seem to work above aground. Her boss wants to use her as a shill for optics. Relics of the desecrated are hidden beneath a deer’s head of the politician’s quarry. There’s the dumbwaiter. The bathroom door ajar that exposes a roll of toilet paper. The darkness that suggests a labyrinth. When the four resort to (Santeria) witchcraft, the steps are what makes this spectacle accessible. They are mindful of each aspect. The goat’s blood, the meticulous attention to language, the rules of invocation. We believe because they do.

Man Cave is propelled by frantic energy. Political rhetoric sneaks out here and there, but like The Threepenny Opera or Pygmalion, it illustrates by demonstration. Ideas like caste, misogyny, racism, imperialism are not just abstractions. They’re not amorphous. But they’re no less affecting. They’re gripping. Canny. We see the diminishment of Lupita, Rosemary, Imaculata and Consuelo. Medea prevailed because she was a high priestess of Hecate. That goddess was the source of her strength. Witchcraft is subversive, ignoring the laws and constraints of male gods and men. She was protected (ironically) by male vanity and refusal to knuckle under to Jason’s supposed superiority. Witchcraft evolved as women’s defiance of a culture stacked against them from birth. So too, must Lupita, Rosemary, Imaculata, and Consuelo. They must summon the fury of their female ancestors.

Kitchen Dog Theater presents Man Cave, playing February 17th-March 5^th, 2023. The Trinity River Arts Center. 2600 N. Stemmons Freeway, Suite 180 Dallas, TX 75207. 214-953-1055. KitchenDogTheater.org

Three faculty members from an American university are vacationing in Greece. Dean Trickett palms Ralph off on Daphne. Daphne is deep into her own pursuits on this (accidentally working) vacation, but Trickett is in no mood to assist Ralph in what might be an historical find. Despite her best efforts, Ralph succeeds in roping Daphne in. What follows next is a sudden incident that nets Daphne some leverage with the Greek Deities. She saves the life of a small boy, belonging to a charming peddler (Aristide) who sells trinkets to tourists. In gratitude he bestows upon her a necklace, he’s imbued with impressive powers.

A few months later, back on campus, Ralph reveals to Daphne not only has he found the scrap from the manuscript by Euripides, it’s the actual text of the play Andromeda, in its entirety. This is, of course, a watershed event, and the two are in thrall. Daphne agrees to keep the manuscript safe, while Ralph arranges a presentation for alumni and/or donors, later in the evening. When Daphne leaves her office for a few minutes, the affable janitor (Aleksi) takes the liberty of disposing what he believes to be rubbish, and (in a playful mood) shreds the first few pages. (I’ll give you a few moments to recover).

Aghast at the disappearance of the sacred text, Daphne in a WTF moment, grasps her miraculous charm, woefully crying out for Divine Intervention. Lo and Behold, Dionysus and his goddess consort, Thalia appear, confident they can resolve Daphne’s calamity. What happens next might perhaps be a lesson in the shenanigans of non-Titanic gods and their skillset. Whether other gods (who dwell higher up the realms of Mount Olympus) might find this task easier, I couldn’t say. Dionysus and Thalia are quite “personable”, but they don’t seem especially well equipped to nail this one. Or not anytime soon.

Playwright Ken Ludwig turns the God From the Machine (Deus ex Machina) on its head. An ancient time-honored theatrical device, God From the Machine is a lofty term for a last minute arrival of salvation, usually by extraordinary means. Say if a fiver went sailing out your car window and Moses appeared with your missing money in hand. When Dionysus and Thalia arrive at Daphne’s behest, her problems should be over. Sweet-natured and convivial though they may be, these two are clearly out of their depth. Though it’s fair to say Dionysus is associated with wine and theatre performance, his is a commanding presence, often terrible and merciless. Comedy might be a reach. Not so with Ludwig’s characters. Imagine your favorite Aunt and Uncle performing parlor tricks. And Ares, the God of War, makes an appearance. Though somewhat intimidating, he’s also a schmuck. You go, Ken Ludwig.

The Gods of Comedy is a pleasurable, affectionate, smart satire, often for reasons not articulated in the script. Of course, Ralph and Daphne are disillusioned when immortals they’ve extolled to starry-eyed scholars wind up as commanding as Carrot Top or Kathy Griffin. Ken Ludwig trusts us to put the pieces together. The comedy has almost nothing to do with higher education, and the dark forces that scoff at despair. It’s tongue and cheek; anti-intellectualism by an unapologetic ally erudite playwright. Vaudeville for intelligentsia.

Allen Community Theatre presents The Gods of Comedy, playing January 27th- February 12^th, 2023. 1210 E Main Street, #300, Allen, Texas. (844) 822-8849. allencontemporarytheatre.net

Three faculty members from an American university are vacationing in Greece. Dean Trickett palms Ralph off on Daphne. Daphne is deep into her own pursuits on this (accidentally working) vacation, but Trickett is in no mood to assist Ralph in what might be an historical find. Despite her best efforts, Ralph succeeds in roping Daphne in. What follows next is a sudden incident that nets Daphne some leverage with the Greek Deities. She saves the life of a small boy, belonging to a charming peddler (Aristide) who sells trinkets to tourists. In gratitude he bestows upon her a necklace, he’s imbued with impressive powers.

A few months later, back on campus, Ralph reveals to Daphne not only has he found the scrap from the manuscript by Euripides, it’s the actual text of the play Andromeda, in its entirety. This is, of course, a watershed event, and the two are in thrall. Daphne agrees to keep the manuscript safe, while Ralph arranges a presentation for alumni and/or donors, later in the evening. When Daphne leaves her office for a few minutes, the affable janitor (Aleksi) takes the liberty of disposing what he believes to be rubbish, and (in a playful mood) shreds the first few pages. (I’ll give you a few moments to recover).

Aghast at the disappearance of the sacred text, Daphne in a WTF moment, grasps her miraculous charm, woefully crying out for Divine Intervention. Lo and Behold, Dionysus and his goddess consort, Thalia appear, confident they can resolve Daphne’s calamity. What happens next might perhaps be a lesson in the shenanigans of non-Titanic gods and their skillset. Whether other gods (who dwell higher up the realms of Mount Olympus) might find this task easier, I couldn’t say. Dionysus and Thalia are quite “personable”, but they don’t seem especially well equipped to nail this one. Or not anytime soon.

Playwright Ken Ludwig turns the God From the Machine (Deus ex Machina) on its head. An ancient time-honored theatrical device, God From the Machine is a lofty term for a last minute arrival of salvation, usually by extraordinary means. Say if a fiver went sailing out your car window and Moses appeared with your missing money in hand. When Dionysus and Thalia arrive at Daphne’s behest, her problems should be over. Sweet-natured and convivial though they may be, these two are clearly out of their depth. Though it’s fair to say Dionysus is associated with wine and theatre performance, his is a commanding presence, often terrible and merciless. Comedy might be a reach. Not so with Ludwig’s characters. Imagine your favorite Aunt and Uncle performing parlor tricks. And Ares, the God of War, makes an appearance. Though somewhat intimidating, he’s also a schmuck. You go, Ken Ludwig.

The Gods of Comedy is a pleasurable, affectionate, smart satire, often for reasons not articulated in the script. Of course, Ralph and Daphne are disillusioned when immortals they’ve extolled to starry-eyed scholars wind up as commanding as Carrot Top or Kathy Griffin. Ken Ludwig trusts us to put the pieces together. The comedy has almost nothing to do with higher education, and the dark forces that scoff at despair. It’s tongue and cheek; anti-intellectualism by an unapologetic ally erudite playwright. Vaudeville for intelligentsia.

Allen Community Theatre presents The Gods of Comedy, playing January 27th- February 12^th, 2023. 1210 E Main Street, #300, Allen, Texas. (844) 822-8849. allencontemporarytheatre.net

In 1977 Bernard Pomerance’s The Elephant Man premiered at the Hampstead Theatre in London, November 7th, 1977. It hit Broadway in 1979, where it took Tonys For Best Play, Best Direction, and Best Performance by a Leading Actress. Not to mention the list of nominations. I’ve become skeptical enough to doubt that every award is proof of quality. But in the case of The Elephant Man, with it’s simple, elegant, poetic script, I’m not surprised that it should enjoy such success.

Merrick’s deformity was phenomenal in the worst sense. It terrified those who encountered him, or elicited visceral repulsion. Not until Dr. Frederick Treves discovered him in a sideshow with other “misfits”, did Merrick find an advocate who would provide for him the rest of his life. As we might imagine, Merrick was so pummeled by abuse and revulsion that his keen, sentient mind, his gentle and capacious heart, his utter lack of self-pity was concealed.

Treves placed him in the hospital (where he practiced) and Merrick was restored to health. There his remarkable qualities as a human being could emerge and flourish. Once Merrick is settled in, he captures the heart of Mrs. Kendall, an actress and friend of Treves. Her friends are the cream of London Society and shower him with affection. A distinction is made between the working class and the genteel, educated, wealthy class that can afford to be moral. A nod perhaps to Pygmalion and The Threepenny Opera.

Bernard Pomerance took the agonizing, intensely sad story of Joseph Merrick, who lived in the Victorian Era, and made it accessible, without manipulating the audience. In the arts such a feat is nearly impossible. Consider Kander and Ebb’s Cabaret, Euripides’ Medea, Spielberg’s Schindler’s List. To explore such content: filicide, anti-semitism, genocide, atrocities, murder; without exploiting our emotions, requires meticulous, masterful attention. Imagine tossing a bomb in the audience without causing havoc.

Merrick’s story is fraught with painful evidence of mankind’s propensity for bestial, unconscionable savagery. Pomerance takes this pathos and plays it down. The way the script is written, we see a photograph of Merrick once, at the beginning of the play. The rest is suggested by the actor playing Merrick, who hobbles, and speaks with deliberation. To do more, is to amplify what already is monstrous and egregious. The trick is to get us past Merrick’s appearance, to the essence of being and humanity. Not to ignore his unimaginable suffering, but grasp that it doesn’t define him.

Theatre 3’s production of The Elephant Man is deeply moving. Director Jeffrey Schmidt’s set is vivid and evocative. The shrink wrap that festoons the sparse, nearly skeletal set, suggests a web and the question of transparency. The actors cultivate the tone so crucial to Pomerance’s canny, cogent, lyrical script. There is something surreal, but tangible and immediate about this show, and the cast is equal to the task. Cindee Mayfield is forceful and pragmatic as Gomm. Taylor Harris expresses the frustration and empathy of Dr. Frederick Treves. Karen Raehpour captures the flamboyant, effusive Mrs. Kendall. Shawn Gann swings between opportunism and piety playing Ross and Bishop How. Rarely do we see such a versatile collection of actors, cast in multiple roles. (Does Equity know about this?)

Drew Wall as John Merrick (aka The Elephant Man) navigates the role of a soul tortured and ostracized, but continues to trust the rationality, tolerance, and altruism, in spite of it all. There have been different interpretations (of course) of Merrick’s body language in different productions. Mr. Wall is called upon to gnarl his back and limbs, twisting his mouth. It’s as if Tiny Tim or Amahl with their waif-like mien, had grown up, shaped by mankind’s contempt. It is apparent that Mr. Wall is utterly dedicated to his craft in what must be an emotionally and physically exhausting performance.

Theatre 3 presents The Elephant Man, playing January 19th-February 19^th, 2023. 2688 Laclede # 120, Dallas, Texas 75201. 214-871-3300. www.theatre3dallas.com. It is emphatically recommended to check with the box office, due to inclement weather.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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