Sharp Critic : Christopher Soden

Who might have guessed that the triumphs and trials of Tracy Turnblad, would culminate into such a successful Broadway Musical? Inspired by John Waters’ essay: “The Nicest Kids In Town,” and the subsequent film, Hairspray (The Musical) with its odd mix of sunshiney progressiveness, casual crassness and disingenuous double entendre’ is strangely effective. It feels facile (almost formulaic) yet the alternating doses of optimism and skepticism strike a harmonic balance. It’s like a deadpan comic whose pitch perfect delivery makes outlandish material work. The good guys in Hairspray are certainly not saints, but they know what matters. (Even Mary Tyler Moore sometimes had a hard time being nice to Ted Baxter.) And the bad guys certainly take their turn in the barrel. Figuratively speaking.

Tracy Turnblad is a teenage girl, attending high school in Baltimore, in 1962. She does all the rebellious things bad kids do, ratting her hair, dancing to “negro music,” raising a ruckus when injustice occurs. But, as we all know, bad also means cool. She and her friend, Penny love Corny Collins (think Shindig or American Bandstand) and no one is more surprised when Tracy cinches the audition and gets a spot on the show. She becomes friends with Link Larkin, the steady boyfriend of Amber Van Tussel, the snotty queen bee of Corny Collins (produced by her mother Velma). Amber and Velma make ugly remarks about Tracy’s girth, and of course, Amber’s jealous of Link and Tracy. When Tracy joins the Teen Committee and suggests integration, it’s not met with enthusiasm. But our hero is too determined (naturally) to capitulate.

The key to Hairspray’s success is tone. It’s cheerful and optimistic, but avoids being superficial or candy-ass. If you know John Water’s oeuvre, he directed numerous bargain basement films (Pink Flamingos, Desperate Living, Female Trouble) that nonetheless had a distinct attitude to them. They gleefully flouted taste, sophistication, rudimentary quality and plausibility. Somewhere between the release of Waters’ film: Hairspray and the premiere of the musical, the content shifted. It retained much of his unapologetically creepy, risque humor, while accentuating idealism. This musical is eccentric, off-kilter and funny, but without Waters’s customary hostility. There’s just enough anarchy to entice us, without scaring off the Muggles. Hairspray (The Musical) is chipper, without feeling ridiculous.

Hairspray (The Musical) played July 7th-15th, 2018, through ATTPAC and The Dallas Theater Center at The Winspear Opera House. 2403 Flora Street, Dallas, Texas 75201. 214-880-0202. www.attpac.org

In 1891 Frank Wedekind’s Spring’s Awakening took society by storm with its fearless exploration of teenage sexuality and the misery that ignorance, trepidation, Puritanism, and outright abuse impart. Who among us cannot remember the frustration, confusion, exhilaration, pain and upheaval that comes with the strange grace of adolescence? (Personally, I was a basket case.) Sadness, upon sadness, outrage upon outrage; Wedekind indicts the cultural and systemic paradigm that repeatedly fails young people desperately in need of a compass. Quaint discomfort and Draconian punishment are met with equal contempt.

Easy to see why Spring’s Awakening has had a resurgence, considering how these grotesque dilemmas persist. Ignorance and petty, judgmental moral values continue to prevail over common sense, and honest, practical sharing of information. Recent memory evokes a Surgeon General who had the audacity to suggest mutual masturbation between lovers as a pragmatic alternative to unprotected sex. She was censured and forced to step down by idiots, who were terrified that some useful information could only lead to havoc. Comparisons to Prometheus, Margaret Sanger and Socrates only begin to suggest the reverberations.

Melchior and Moritz are close friends in the demanding world of high school education, where success and a secure, fulfilling future are too often conflated. Manhood has commenced with a vengeance and Moritz is overwhelmed by sensations and imperatives too intense to manage. Wendla is experiencing her own ordeals, profoundly bewildered by a life devoid of palpable affection and feeling in general. The other kids are struggling with additional problems, punitive abuse, molestation, dozens of emotions too dangerous to discuss with the gatekeepers of knowledge. Attempting to help his buddy, Melchior writes something of an instruction book for Moritz, with illustrations. The book gets passed around, which will mean trouble in the end. Wendla and Melchior begin experimenting, only to expose wrenching personal issues they didn’t know existed. Tangled and terrifying.

Wedekind demonstrates the triumph of the ridiculous over imperative need. Children, essentially, aching for guidance and comfort are meet with stoic indifference. The three protagonists: Wendla, Moritz and Melchior come to excruciation, all which could have been avoided if those they loved, trusted and relied upon had merely come through. Wedekind is quite ambitious as he attempts to weave a contextual universe, bringing in considerations of death, solipsism, social politics, responsibility, a world without compassion, solace, introspection or reflection. The anger and despondency expressed by the young are implacable and heartbreaking.

Rock the Cosmos. It’s no surprise that Outcry Theatre’s production of Spring’s Awakening brings Wedekind’s narrative of teenage chaos with all its ferocious, twisted, and electrifying epiphany to the stage. This feverish, focused, kinetic cast combines director Becca Johnson-Spinos’ melancholy choreography, woundedness and blind rage to reveal the pervasive stain of humanity, and how disappointing parents can be. It’s a bit to process in one sitting, but how often can you experience this astonishing, unsettling, disconsolate journey that will stand your hair on end? Get drenched in this perfect storm. Theatre at its best.

Outcry Theatre’s Spring’s Awakening plays July 6, 2018 – July 15, 2018. Addison Theatre Centre, Studio Theatre, 15650 Addison Road, Addison, TX 75001. 972-836-7206. www.outcrytheatre.com

Once a year Audacity Theatre Lab hosts the Dallas Solo Fest, offering a variety of prolonged monologues and/or performance art. We don’t know where these narratives will take us, but they never seem to lack for intelligence, wit, authenticity and invention. This time around I was able to see Cody Clark’s A Different Way of Thinking, Chris Davis’ Drunk Lion, John S. Davies’ Oh, Jesus! And John Michael’s Meatball Seance. From Audacity’s Manifesto: “Throughout the year, Audacity Theatre Lab hosts Solo Salons for regional performers to workshop works-in-progress and to foster a growing solo performance community in the North Texas Area.”

Cody Clark’s A Different Way of Thinking seeks to convey his worldview, through the lens of his place along the autism spectrum, and his talent for magic tricks. He might change the color of scarves to illustrate his perception is different from others. Mr. Clark is quite convivial, and true to other practitioners of his trade, provides amusing patter, along with sleight-of-hand, card tricks, rope tricks and personal anecdotes. He engages us with his life story: triumphs, disappointments, romance, all the while evincing with the illusionist’s craft, and an ongoing stream of gags. Mr. Clark’s approach is fresh and charismatic. He deepens our understanding of autism, without manipulation or apology.

Chris Davis’ Drunk Lion is jazzy, funny, clever and awash in frantic energy, metaphor and multiple meanings. The narrator: Chris Davis, gets drunk with a Mexican Lion, who calls him “Gringo,” and sobs over a woman who broke his heart. He works in memory, various tropes of machismo, theology and the fanciful. His Spanish sounds fluent and he has a gift for involving us in his absurd, intense universe. We consider eternal questions like: What is the Juanita Apocalypse? Is a hole really just a hole? Who is Pedro? Davis ponders a prolonged, entertaining, intriguing series of events that explore deeper questions without bogging down or being obvious. It’s as if he’s applying haiku mentality to hilarity.

John S. Davies’ Oh, Jesus! casts Jesus the Savior of Mankind as stand up-comic: “Wow! It bites to be me, cause I can get the best table at a restaurant, but how would that look?” (my own joke) Davies uses this paradigm as a method for exploring the practical demands of believing in a Supreme Being. He denounces hypocrisy, gladly acknowledges other Messiahs, such as The Buddah, Mohammad, and pauses from time to time to argue with His “Dad.” Davies has great stamina and panache, and his monologue is certainly peppered with gobs of humor. Much of the comic spark (undeniably) comes from the outrageous, but you can only push that wagon so far. Davies’ reflects on the more troubling demands of relying on God in a life not especially kind to humanity. Oh, Jesus! aims high, but requires a careful balance of black humor, introspection and hoke, that it may not have found quite yet.

John Michael’s Meatball Seance features Michael’s demonstration of his mother’s recipe for meatballs. At the same time (as if concocting a potion) he uses the occasion to summon his beloved, deceased mother. Michael’s strategy here is to unwrap the bicycle, then play with the box. Meatball Seance hangs at the periphery, preferring to focus on scaffolding rather than results. One of Michael’s strengths is creating a Utopia in which queer identity is embraced and celebrated. Who better to summon than his mama, who had no problem with his orientation? In the course of this odyssey, he enlists a lot of audience participation: someone to chop, someone to cook, someone to speak for mom. When we are asked to countenance his quest for that one special boyfriend, we do so without blinking. A lot of Meatball Seance turns on John Michael’s charm (and intuition) but it works nonetheless.

Audacity Theatre Lab’s Dallas Solo Fest 2018 played June 6th-10th, 2018. It starred: Chris Davis, John S. Davies, Cody Clark, John Michael, Jim Loucks and Nkechi Chibueze. It was featured at The Rosewood Center for the Arts, 5938 Skillman Road, Dallas, Texas 75231. 1-214-888-6650. www. DallasSoloFest.com.

 

Once a year the good folks at Uptown Players stage a fundraiser called: Broadway Our Way, in which songs written for women are performed by men, and songs written for men are sung by women. For instance: in West Side Story Tony sings “Something’s Coming” and Maria sings, “I Feel Pretty”. So in Broadway Our Way, a woman would sing “Something’s Coming” and a man would sing “I Feel Pretty”. For two weeks (or less) the actors, musician and crew hastily yet meticulously rehearse, donating their time and talent. Actors are invited to suggest pieces they’d like to do, and the structure is worked out, complete with scenarios, set pieces and choreography. There are ballads, solos, comic, melancholy and group pieces. Transposition is used to reconcile the differences in keys and scales.

This time around some ladies sang “Young Blood” from Smokey Joe’s Cafe, responding to a sweet young thang they see taking the air. The Men covered South Pacific’s “I’m Gonna Wash that Man Right Outta My Hair”, while congregating at a salon. Jodi Wright performed the difficult and demanding “Being Alive” from Company and Grace Neeley, the wistful “Wake Me Up” from American Idiot. Walter Lee was magnificent doing “This is Me” from The Greatest Showman, and Peter DiCesare heartbreaking when he sang, “It’s As If We Never Said Goodbye” from Sunset Boulevard. There were plenty of medleys and pieces including the entire company of twenty-six players. Trevor Wright’s dance numbers were sophisticated and witty, running the gamut from soft shoe to disco (and all points in-between).

Perhaps one day we’ll arrive at a time when evincing same gender romance, sexuality and queer lives in general will no longer be necessary. Just when it seems we’ve reached some reassurance, traction, and tolerance, just when it seems we can exhale, the yahoos raise their ugly heads again. I cannot thank Uptown Players enough for granting the LGBTQ+ Community their moment in the sun. When we can see two women or two men kissing, spooning, snogging; mourning or celebrating the grace of our defiant gender identities. Where else but Uptown can you find a Musical Revue that heals, encourages, validates, joshes, jibes and rejoices. No better “charity” I can think of.

Broadway Our Way 2018 played at Uptown Players from June 14th-17th, 2018. Kalita Humphreys Theater, 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75219. 214-219-2718. uptownplayers.org.

Though we can find the same questions throughout Chekhov’s dramas, each is distinct from the others. Are the lives of servants worse than the privileged who employ them? How do we live with disappointment? Does sophisticated reasoning alleviate suffering? Can we refuse those in love with us, and avoid cruelty? In their inaugural production, The Classics Theatre Project is staging The Cherry Orchard, directed by Joey Folsom, in a new adaptation by local actor and playwright, Ben Schroth. Schroth has forged an impressive script. Lyric but not formal. Clear but not simplistic. Accessible but not superficial. He captures the essence of the script without diminishing it.

Chekhov is a master of tying plot to content, and the narrative here is intriguing. Mrs. Lyubov Ranevsky is returning from a five-year hiatus from Paris, after the drowning death of her son. Finances have become dire, but she doesn’t want to deal with it. The sale of her real estate and beloved cherry orchard seem inevitable. Dunyasha, cheerful and frantic, is in love with Yasha but Yepikodov is in love with her. They are all servants in Mrs. Ranevsky’s home. Lopakin, a businessman, is in love with Miss Barbara, but can’t bring himself to propose. Numerous lives hang in limbo, while Lyubov struggles with an impossible decision. Whether or not she sells will have enormous impact.

Checkhov truly has a gift for expressing the sublime aspect of leisure class living without romanticizing or judging. There is always a wistful quality to his layered stories: an absorbing mixture of reflection, humor, melancholy and warmth. All the characters bear their fractures and follies, but rarely are they vicious. The coldness of the world never quite seems to ruin them. In The Cherry Orchard we are privy to moments where we witness the turns that our lives take, in the midst of forces beyond anyone’s control. Miss Barbara (intensely frustrated and overwhelmed) would gladly accept Lopakin’s offer of marriage, but for reasons unrevealed (he feels inadequate?) he simply can’t. This could plausibly change both their lives for the better, but they are submerged in the realm of not to be.

Folsom, Schroth, the cast and crew, et al, have created a show that is poised, humane, smart and pleasurable. Mr. Folsom has the unenviable task of weaving a story with numerous characters, orchestrating their movements, cues, and chemistry. He has navigated this with precision. The players are relaxed, focused, and thoroughly invested, revealing the interior lives of their broken, yet sympathetic characters. Touch is everything with Chekhov. You don’t want insouciance, or gravitas. It’s a difficult balance, and happily, The Classics Theatre Project has managed it, with grace.

The Classics Theatre Project presents The Cherry Orchard (in a new English adaptation by Ben Schroth) playing June 21st-July 14^th, 2018. The Trinity River Arts Center, 2600 Stemmons Freeway, Suite 180, Dallas, Texas 75207. www.TheClassicsTheatreProject.com. 1-866-499-ARTS

Ochre House’s annual event, a narrative evincing the flamenco experience, is nothing short of electrifying. Reviving last year’s success, Picasso: Matador de Malaga explores the tumultuous journey of Pablo Picasso, as he wrestled with God, wives, sexuality, and his obsessive need to make leaps in his career as an artist. Beginning with a visit from David Duncan, a photographer hand-picked by Picasso to catalog his work, we are privy to a conversation between he and Jacqueline Roque, his last wife and widow. Their discussion is at once enigmatic, avid and flirtatious. A funereal ceremony ensues, with drums, dirges and all participants draped in nearly opaque black veils. After that, we witness intense brawls and painful estrangements between Picasso and his lovers and wives. His rapacious taste for sensual stimulation: eating, love-making, painting, wandering, celebration.

I confess I am a mere neophyte to the world of dance, and certainly the audacity, raw desire, defiance and grief that is Flamenco. Choreographed by Antonio Arrebola and Delilah Buitron Arrebola, Picasso: Matador de Malaga is overwhelming, with images of bullfighting, seduction, hunger, catastrophe, pain and primal delight. No one prepared me for heels hammering like rapid-fire heartbeats, the sweat, the gyrations, the sculpture-like poses, the never-ending mournful songs, extravagant in their wailing, as if beyond consolation. The dancers are fluid, yet poised, consumed, yet detached, reserved, yet implacable. These wordless, narrative performances pull. You may have no desire to participate, but the attraction is undeniable. Like gravity (or fighting it) or tides, or moondrag, or the gorgeous scent of spring flowers, broken open, the tug is intoxicating. The initial strangeness takes over like incantation. You can’t look away.

I cannot imagine how much rehearsal it took to achieve this kind of precision, this frantic, equine pounding so exquisite and spectacular. The rhythm, the imperative invitation, the authenticity take you to a realm beyond this earth. You can just feel the characters aching to snap their mortal chains. Kudos to The 2018 Dallas Flamenco Festival, writer/director Matthew Posey, Antonio and Delilah, the cast (Antonio Arrebola, Delilah Arrebola, Alfonso Cid, Calvin Hazen, Danielle Bondurant, Stephanie Jasso, Frida Espinosa-Müller, Christopher Sykes, & William Acker ) and musicians: Alfonso Cid and Calvin Hazen, for bringing this reckless, remarkable show to the boards.

Ochre House and The 2018 Dallas Flamenco Festival present: Picasso: Matador de Malaga playing June 20th-June 30^th, 2018. Wednesdays through Saturdays. 825 Exposition Avenue, Dallas, Texas 75226. 214-826-6273. www.ochrehousetheater.org

Christopher Hampton’s Les Liaisons Dangereuses is a balance between poison and humor, the humor being tongue-in-cheek and the poison, implacable without camp. The villains: Vicomte de Valmont (Brandon Potter) and the Marquise de Merteuil (Cindee Mayfield) are unconventional. They aren’t obvious or drawn in broad strokes, yet their depravity is undeniable. Their motives are petty, but not to them. Valmont wants to seduce the married Madame de Tourvel because her unwavering virtue is contemptible to him. Merteuil wishes to corrupt Cecile de Volange to punish Cecile’s mother. Valmont and Mertuil’s version of revenge is perverse and vicious. It turns on the extreme exploitation of trust. They are sophisticated grifters who inhabit the French Aristocracy (though costumes tell us we are in the present day.) They are anti-heroes and we need to see if they will succeed, repugnant though they may be.

Liaisons opens on a conversation between Merteuil and Valmont. They are fond of each other, though we detect an intense streak of detached rage. As they discuss methods to humiliate those who have piqued their sense of indignity, a symbiotic relationship of reliance and dominance emerges. Hampton is nuanced and fast and the content needs to be processed rapidly. This pair is pathological but their demeanor is impeccable. They enable the other’s strategy but not without exacting a price. It’s worth noting that revenge in Liaisons virtually demands sexual degradation. Both characters wield charisma skillfully, chilly, but effective. All the better to eat you.

Directed by Tiffany Nichole Greene, Theatre Three’s production features a meticulous, impeccable cast. There are some chilling touches, animal masks, dresses made with dyed lace, shadowy lighting. Darkness within and darkness without. The content here (sorbet laced with strychnine) requires pitch perfect tone and razor sharp pacing. We never quite know whose side Hampton (or we) are on, even though we’re encouraged to view the ingenues as dupes. Liaisons is the blackest of comedies, focusing on pleasure and intrigue while quietly, slowly dragging us into the realm of frissons, regret and rapaciousness. The masterful know how to make this piece look smooth as glass, and this production will blindside you, in the best possible way.

Theatre 3 presents: Les Liaisons Dangereuses , playing 2800 Routh Street, Suite # 168, Dallas, Texas 75201. 214-871-3300.

Catherine and Jamie are a couple in New York. Catherine is an actor and Jamie is a novelist. Jamie is New York Jewish and Catherine is a Gentile from Ohio. As you might guess, The Last Five Years is a look backward on a marriage, a courtship, a relationship that doesn’t feel all that different from others, though it gives us details. Written and composed by Jason Robert Brown, it is a careful, warm, intelligent depiction of two souls connecting, with no explanation, per se, of why it didn’t last. Brown wants us to engage with the substance of Jamie and Catherine’s intersection, without getting caught in the trap of assigning blame or fixing on a crucial mistake.

Brown spins his narrative in the realm of recollection, but it doesn’t follow a straight path backwards. It hops around. An angry song after being abandoned on a birthday might be followed by a phone call from an agent, or nervous stream of thought while dressing for the wedding. Events are clustered to demonstrate joy in the depths of sadness or small disappointments that nonetheless leave their mark. By giving each equal (though distinct) emotional weight, the experience is consistently surprising, it confounds our expectations of linear logic. And certainly love so often suggests a more intuitive kind of reasoning?

Brown is unconventional in his approach to the music as well. With wry, quirky songs featuring “Catherine, the Shiksa Goddess,” or a crazy, goofy singing clock, or an audition that goes terribly wrong, he takes us to a milieu that feels fresh and rich with humanity. There are frustrated, persistently sad pieces that feel like pop arias, and elated, giddy pieces that feel playful. The instruments (cello, piano, guitar, violin, bass) are understated and contemplative, but not submissive or sketchy. Monique Abry and Seth Womack are inspired in this difficult show, with only two characters, and songs that are often long, meandering and introspective. (Considering the nature of this musical, this is, of course, perfectly appropriate.) Brown has written a wide spectrum of often nuanced emotions and Womack and Abry inhabit them with grace and precision. There are moments that bring us to excruciating grief, and others filled with nostalgia and regret. Abry and Womack invite us into this story of palpable warmth, rage and sorrow, without hesitation or facility. The Last Five Years feels so genuine, so on point. So focused.

Water Tower Theatre presents: The Last Five Years. Playing June 8^th – July 1^st, 2018. 15650 Addison Rd, Addison, Texas 75001. 972-450-6232. www.watertowertheatre.org.

Blake Hackler’s Enemies/People is a viscerally satisfying attempt to clarify and bolster Ibsen’s An Enemy of the People, though somewhat extreme. I must state upfront, while I know the premise of this particular drama, I have never read or seen it performed. Thomas Stockman fights to stop the spread of poison through mineral baths. Those in power oppose him, as the baths would salvage their nearly destitute town. They exploit the ignorance of the masses, painting Stockman as elitist and subversive. The result is a polarization between altruism and survival instinct. Or maybe moral relativism and the need to prevent danger?

Hackler has set this parable of virtue and flawed character in present day Texas, in a city in danger of financial ruin. Stockman and his brother are both on the Board of Directors for a spa that could generate considerable revenue. On a hunch, Tom, goes to a scientist friend who discovers the water is tainted, probably due to fracking. Despite the warning to go slow, Tom gives a friend permission to release the information on a blog. The story gets media traction, and the fracas culminates to a heated debate in City Hall.

Hackler takes considerable pains to tie Enemies/People to current issues, including President # 45, blind loyalty, immigrant abuse and cultural permission to be narcissistic, racist and greedy. On the one hand it’s exhilarating and absorbing, on the other it does seem to go a bit overboard. At the outset Tom’s imperative seems obvious, but gradually layers of equivocation are added, his motives, judgment and past failures are tossed into the mix. Complications and/or tangential themes are introduced. Enemies/People never lacks for density and it moves quickly. It’s testy and intense.

Enemies/People begs comparisons between the original text and the show we’re watching. In voiceover reflection, the playwright describes Ibsen’s script as a sausagefest, i.e., no girls. [Can we not gauge relevance when the disenfranchised were denied a seat at the table?] Is Hackler suggesting because Ibsen depicted the actuality of his times, that he lacks insight? It’s not always easy to tell. Perhaps Hackler is embracing diversity to mock it, or suggesting the more we try, the more we resist evolution? Enemies/People raises compelling questions and there are times when Thomas seems fiercely, palpably heroic. I’m not sure though, that this version’s ambitious need to strive for contemporary context, equals the experience. That being said, Hackler’s Enemies/People is well worth your time.

Second Thought Theatre presents: Enemies/People playing June 13th-July 7th, 2018. Bryant Hall. 3636 Turtle Creek Blvd, Dallas, Texas 75219. 1-866) 811-4111. info@secondthoughttheatre.com

Isaac, a dishonorably discharged Marine, returns home to find his dad, Arnold, dressed in some grotesque version of drag, and virtually incoherent. His sister, Max, is in the process of transitioning from female to male. His mother, Paige (perky and menacing) is experiencing one epiphany after another, once she’s no longer constrained by traditional gender paradigms. Considering her supposed declaration of independence for all, she’s incredibly pushy and contentious. After a history of egregious abuse from her husband, she’s keeping him subservient through medication, and primitive female attired. For the purpose of humiliating him. [One of the 12 Labors of Hercules was very similar.] Whether or not you believe retaliation amounts to justice, you have to wonder why she doesn’t just kick him out, or slit his throat.

Hir (prounced “here”) feels like a black comedy of checks and balances. Isaac is the non-toxic version of virility and Max, the more nuanced version of gender transition. Paige seems enlightened, but the further we get, the more she uses cultural sea change as an excuse to torture, dominate and shame. Max might be a bit touchy, but ze’s not a bully. When Isaac arrives home, the house has succumbed to nearly utter chaos. If he tries to impart some order (for the sake of sanity) Paige won’t let him. Nearly all the conflict in Hir emerges from territorial bouts between Isaac and his mother.

Playwright Taylor Mac may be using imitative fallacy. Husband Arnold might very well have used housekeeping as means of subjugation, so it’s not unreasonable that Paige would reject it. That being said, she doesn’t want anyone else to do it, either. The characters struggle with gender identity, though on the face of it, Isaac seems most secure. He has no issues with Domestic Maintenance, and only interferes when Paige degrades his dad. In broader strokes, Arnold, Isaac, Max and Paige all represent different gender views. Arnold wielded the toxic version of manhood, while Isaac, though a marine, drove an ambulance. Paige is the sunshiney, albeit angry mom, while Max has found a way to navigate hir aggression. Isaac, Arnold and Max all fall somewhere along the “male” spectrum. Mac has created a perfect storm, conflicts arise when archetypes collide.

A successful play needn’t answer all the questions it raises, but it does need some kind of takeaway. With Hir, it’s hard to tell. Perhaps it’s: Solutions are impossible without compromise. Or: There is no one answer to conundrum. Perhaps Taylor Mac is stirring the pot. It’s like a recipe for food that doesn’t exist. In my experience, the problem has less to do with gender itself, then trying to define it with attributes. Maybe Mac understands that gender is an infinite mystery, and any attempt to fracture it by opposition is beside the point.

Stage West presents: Hir, playing My 17th-June 17^th, 2018. 821 West Vickery Blvd, Fort Worth, Texas 76104. (817) 784-9378. www.stagewest.org