Bindlestiff Family Cirkus

Saw a strange little show at Club Hairspray last week: The Bindlestiff Family Cirkus. These guys are on a tour, and have some sort of sponsorship relationship with Magic Hat brewery, but, thankfully, the Magic Hat people don’t seem too interested in censoring the show or even in keeping the quality up, which is actually refreshing. It was billed as part vaudeville, part burlesque, and honestly I don’t know enough about either term to know how closely that matched what they did, but at any rate it was pretty neat stuff.

The show started out with “Mr. Pennygaff” as a silent “hobo” clown, complete with funny nose, big shoes, and balloon animals. And his routine was very good, actually; a charming mix of innocence and innuendo. I kept thinking, “so this is why people go to clown college…cool.” From there, “Philomena,” (a fire-eater in a yellow tutu) took the stage as the MC, walking us through a variety of magic tricks, clown routines, sword swallowing, tightrope walking, and various gimmicks ranging from inspired to inane, all underscored by nifty live organ music by the talented Mr. Frederik Iversen.

For me, the straight up sideshow stuff was sort of cool, but not that enthralling. I mean, the sword swallowing (for example) was good, but not that theatrical, the only story or drama being “gee, this guy could really hurt himself.” It just didn’t hold my attention, generally speaking. The lame jokes and audience participation gimmicks (drink this beer without using your hands, etc.) worked in the context of the show, but the best stuff was all wordless. Neither of the co-MCs (Pennygaff dropped the clown duds in favor of a direct-audience-address huckster suit for Act II) quite had the flair to really tie the show together, and the sort of medicine-show aspects were only serviceably clever, but some of the silent, one-man routines backed by organ were totally spectacular.

This is, of course how the show got started, and although he seemed a little nervous and awkward as an MC, Mr. Pennygaff’s clown routine was an exciting opener, and a pleasant reminder that “clown” does not necessarily equal “boring” or “kid-stuff.” Luckily, I did not have to wait too long for more, courtesy of Joel Baker, who had less stage time over all, but made the most of even his occasional forays onstage to help clean up after an act. He really had both the shtick and the look down pat, in his black ballet slippers, wide-legged gray trousers, white suspenders, and ruffled dark pink shirt. He even powdered on just the right amount of white make up—not so much that he looked like a “Circus Clown,” but enough to draw out the anarchistic and delightful peculiarities of centuries–old camp; he achieved a silent film black-and-white look, only in color. Very neat. His silent wide eyed character was exiting and enthusiastic, always a step or two behind the audience, but never aware of it. He is also something of an acrobat, seeming to specialize in balancing upside-down (and/or sideways!) on a variety of chairs and even a lampshade. His best sequence (and possibly my favorite of the evening) was a simple, classic gag of a person being outsmarted by an inanimate object. In this case, Mr. Baker (accompanied by organ, don’t forget! Makes everything better!) drags over a lamp, sits in a chair next to it, and proceeds to open a book, clearly intending to read. He looks at the audience—perhaps he is going to read aloud to us? As soon as he actually looks at the open pages, of course, the light goes out. Surprised, he looks at the light, which comes back on. He settles in again, looks at the book, and the light goes out, but when he looks back at the light, it… well, ok, so it’s not exactly a surprising routine. But it doesn’t have to be . Baker is such an engaging performer, that his simple, if seemingly supernatural, struggle is riveting and strangely moving.

The other highlight of the show is A.J Silver, the smoldering olive-skinned hunk of the show. He is just as underused as Baker, but he makes such a impression in his two routines that he pretty much steals the show. The first sequence involves him in black leather and rhinestone cowboy getup doing rope tricks. And he’s incredible. He starts a lasso swinging, and never slows down. He swings it around, makes it bigger and smaller, jumps back and fourth though it, jumps up and down through it, I can’t even begin to tell you what all he does, it all happens so quickly and flashily. And he never stops looking at the audience and grinning like, “yeah, it’s cool, right?” With some performers, that could be annoying, but with him, it’s just fun. He ends the number with a delightful and surprisingly PG lower body striptease that finishes up with (attn: No Shamers) a hat trick that beats mine by a mile. Or, well, by 6 to 8 inches, anyway...

His second act, near the end of the evening, is a rhythm trick: he has on high heeled boots and starts two small, dense balls twirling rapidly on the end of long strings, one in each hand. He manages to swing them in circles at his sides so fast and so deftly that they create a reliable and wonderfully versatile pattern of loud clacking when he lets them brush the floor. He fills in around the clacking with the tapping of his boots, so that he is doing this graceful and wild stomping dance that is making more noise than should be possible, even with tap shoes (which he does not have). It’s a wonderfully exciting and unbelievable feat of deceptive simplicity and grace. Yeah, it’s just a side show trick, but it’s a loud, fast, and exciting side show trick! And he even manages syncopation! Woo-hoo!

One thing, though, is that the women got a bit shafted. Sure Philomena got to do fire tricks, but like sword swallowing, it’s got limited appeal, at least for me. And she’s a good MC, but maybe doesn’t find quite the right line between modern and vintage. As for Ariele, the last of the performers, she mainly serves as the cheery assistant in a leotard (which looks modernly out of place) except for a trip out to the courtyard to see her perform on a tightrope. And she’s excellent, doing a variety of jumps and stunts, and even managing an incredible split on the rope before the routine ends, but as talented as she is, it’s just not as showy as lasso tricks and loud noises, nor as theatrical as trying to read by an uncooperative light. Plus, she had to make do with canned music.

But it left me wondering if maybe the cannon of vaudeville performers is so skewed towards the men, that the women have trouble fitting in and building their own routines that do not rely as heavily on male stereotypes. I mean, when I think of great silent clowns, I think of men: Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, right? Were vaudeville women exclusively either in need of rescue or bearded? I have no idea, honestly. I’ve never seen them, but from what I’ve heard, The Rebelles have certainly found a feminine way to take the stage in a vaudeville-esqe sort of way. So I’m not sure why the Bindlestiff Family seemed so male-centric, but it did. At least to me. Well, I guess it was because the guys got all the best material! Whether by choice, or by accident, I don’t know, and would be interested to find out.

All in all, though, I was very glad someone talked me into giving this show a try. It had charm, some wit, great music, and most of all, reminded me how simple and pure great comedy can be.

But next time, how about a little more of the quiet fellow and the dude in the cowboy hat, eh…?

--Willie Repoley

Chesapeake

Hi-- here's another C-T review. You can find the original at http://www.citizen-times.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=200770510094
thanks.
--editor


Provocative play ‘Chesapeake’ wins with outrageous humor
by Tony Kiss, Tkiss@CITIZEN-TIMES.com
published May 11, 2007 12:15 am

ASHEVILE — North Carolina Stage Company finishes its fifth season with the biting political comedy “Chesapeake,” the story of a conservative Southern senator, a wild performance artist, and the lawmaker’s dog, which comes between them.

Except for the pooch, the show recalls the 1993 clash between controversial performance artist Karen Finley and the former U.S. Senator Jesse Helms of North Carolina.

But wild as Finley is, “Chesapeake” playwright Lee Blessing goes way beyond reality in this witty piece. It’s a one-man show, delivered with exceptional skill by Charlie McIver, directed by his wife Angie Flynn-McIver, both co-founders of N.C. Stage. The language and subject matter can be adult in nature, but it’s performed with outrageous humor — humor that clicked on opening night, with McIver rightly earning a standing ovation and a couple of curtain calls.

He plays the role of Kerr, an artful eccentric who has received a National Endowment for the Arts grant for his “show,” which consists of having audience members come on stage, and remove pieces of his clothing, one at a time until he stands naked before them. None of this is actually performed at N.C. Stage, but is part of Kerr’s dialogue.

Kerr’s performance, and the grant, earns him the wrath of fictional U.S. Rep. Therm Pooley, whose condemnation of the piece basically gets him elected to the Senate. Kerr then vows revenge against Pooley, and turns his wrath against the man’s dog, a Chesapeake Bay retriever.

That’s as far as we’ll go with the story line, except to say that Kerr’s plot goes horribly out of control, and leads to a transformation of everyone involved.

With no one to share the dialogue, and little in the way of props or staging (except for a rear projection screen), McIver caries the load alone, reeling off this monologue, mostly in the role of Kerr, but sometimes as Pooley or the dog. It’s a masterful bit of acting, showing again that he is among the top players on the local scene.

Take Me Out

Once again, of course, this review is taken from the Mountain Xpress, without their knowledge or consent, and we hope they don't mind.
--BG

Scapegoat hits a home run

Take Me Out parks local theater collective in the majors

by Cecil Bothwell in Vol. 13 / Iss. 40 on 05/02/2007

Going into the 2007 season, Director Taryn Strauss had loaded the bases, having previously coached the Scapegoat Theatre Collective productions of Everything in the Garden, The Most Fabulous Story Ever Told and The Exonerated. Now, like any pinch hitter worth the name, she has blasted one over the fence. The company’s current production of Richard Greenberg’s Take Me Out is superb.

The play scooped up a Tony Award for Greenberg—a good starter for any acting team, but the scale of the drama had to pose a directorial challenge. Eleven male actors on the bench, cast in 14 roles and scenes that ran from bar-room intimacy to group nudity in a locker-room shower offered plenty of opportunities to drop the ball. At the end of the action, the players, the 18-member crew, producer Lauren Alleman and Strauss deserved the roar of the crowd and the extended standing ovation accorded them on opening night.

OK. Enough with the baseball metaphors. For all the fun—and the play is oft-times hilarious—Take Me Out is also a deadly serious examination of homophobia, racism and personal responsibility. The story is that of a major-league star who comes out of the closet in the middle of a winning season. More importantly, it’s an exploration of the reaction of his teammates and coach, his business manager and friends. The casual, even slightly homoerotic behavior of sports players in jock straps is cast in a new light. The fact that the gay player is black adds another layer of tension, with racism tossed into the uneasy mix.

As the producers have accurately explained, “This show explores what happens when America’s favorite pastime becomes a true reflection of our country’s diversity, and how this affects the boys who are faced with that all important question, ‘Which team do you bat for?’”

Jason Williams shines as business manager Mason—adroitly funny, and sweetly gay. Liam Smith brings a quiet, goofy charm to his portrayal of Jason, lifting a supporting role to the heights. And Darren Marshall, perhaps type-cast as team coach, delivers in three roles with a stunning dynamic emotional range. The casting is excellent throughout, and Anna Tillman deserves high marks for her imaginative and convincing set design.

Scapegoat’s mission is to create “exceptional, transformative theatre,” and they are rapidly establishing a reputation as Asheville’s cutting-edge troupe. It’s easy enough to be political and artsy, and to expect that the choice of hot-topic plays would suffice to make a mark. The troupe far exceeds expectations, again. Extending its reach from proselytizing to practicality, Scapegoat also uses its productions as fund-raisers. Take Me Out is a benefit for I-RISE, a GLBTQ nonprofit that aims to be a forum for communication and education and provide a safe venue for socialization and entertainment for the other-than-straight community.

A hint for I-RISE: You don’t need to worry about the entertainment. A hint for everyone: You don’t need to be other-than-straight to love this play, but there is some strong language and one pair of naked buttocks.

Applause. Applause. Applause.

A Midsummer Night's Dream at NCSC

Shakespeare came alive for me at North Carolina Stage Company. I have often doubted my ability to understand his dialogue, and I have often questioned the wisdom of making his plays "relevant" to modern times. Not any more.
How did this cast capture my attention and win me over? After being delightfully entertained for 2 hours I'm still not sure. Walking into the empty theatre, I could see the stage was set with simple props, yet I was drawn to them, knowing they would soon be part of a story.
The ensemble of eight actors entered and went to work, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say they came to play. With each taking on multiple roles, they worked together so well that they made it look easy and fun. The performance, in spite of much complicated movement and dialogue, was polished and smooth from start to finish.
I was intrigued that the actors made almost all costume changes on stage as well as doing all the set changes themselves. I felt that there was a message there for me. I believe the message said, "We are the actors. We are about to do our part. You are the audience. Your job is to follow our lead and allow your imagination to take you on an adventure."
What an adventure it was! We laughed our way through comedy, poetry, drama, and slapstick. This powerful group of professional actors was sharp, quick, and on target all night long.
It is true that I missed some of the words. But the play was so creatively directed and the actors so engaging in their art, that it did not matter. If Shakespeare could see his play and the modern use of scooters, a skateboard, and cell phones, he might raise an eyebrow or two. His work though, is alive and well at North Carolina Stage Company.

--Robert Arthur

Raindrop Waltz

In the rather hit or miss world of Asheville theater, I find it impressive that 35 Below manages to consistently produce what I think is really good theater. I believe it's a testament to the vision of the ACT staff, and to Jenny Bunn in particular, who pick out these often unheard of, and sometimes risky plays, and produces them with the same amount of, or sometimes more, professionalism as any show ACT does. Perhaps I'm a little biased because I work on so many shows at 35 Below, but I think their shows are some of the best theater in town.
One show I did not work on in any capacity was their recent production of The Raindrop Waltz, and so I think I can say this with little prejudice, it is another truly great show.
The script is well written and very moving. It also struck a chord with me because it's about the area around WNC, where I grew up, and I love seeing places and characters that seem familiar to me. It gives me a sense of pride to be able to identify in some way with these people. It's also not about Southern stereotypes, but about real people who live in a specific culture.
It is filled with many authentic and nuanced performances from the entire cast, but especially notable are the performances by Cory Boughton, Sally Cheney, and Mike Vaniman. Broughton is the narrator and the glue of the story. His character, Jody Lee, is more a storyteller than anything else, and his job is to assemble the poignant pieces of his family's story together for us. Broughton speaks to the audience with such comfort that it almost seems as it is truly his story. The great thing about Broughton's performance is that it's big enough to convey his inner feelings, but subtle enough to seem authentic.
Sally Cheney plays the slowly deteriorating matriarch of this broken family. She endues her performance with such a familiarity and sweetness, that even when she talks bad about her own family, we still can't get upset with her. Sally gives herself over so completely to her character, Agnes Tester, that it's like watching one's own parents or grandparents out there. In fact I saw a lot of things in her that I also recognized in my own grandmother.
Finally Mike Vaniman gives a compact but powerful performance as Manard Potts, a town derelict who reveals to Jody Lee, and us, the events of one tragic day that finally broke this already fragile family. It is a captivating part, and Vaniman plays it with a nice mixture of wild abandon, and sage wisdom.
Don't however let this disparage the merits of the rest of the cast. This is a very talented ensemble. Every actor seemed in the moment, and they made every character believable.
The set is probably one of the most ambitious sets I've seen in 35 Below. It consists of a very authentic looking front porch flanked by two pieces of scrim on either side which are painted to represent to nearby mountains. There is a nice stump on one side of the playing area, and a small bench on the other. The space was used very efficiently and the lighting helped to differentiate areas and time well.
I feel though that it was a bit cramped in 35 Below however. The space felt like it limited the actors movements a bit, and didn't allow them to be as free in their characterizations as they could have been. Also the seating arrangement chosen for this show is not my favorite. When things are set "Proscenium" style at 35 Below sight lines become a big problem, as was the case in some parts of this show. Many of the seated moments and things of the floor were blocked. It's hard to say what space would have been right for this show. While things felt a bit cramped in 35 Below, it gave the show a good intimacy. On the other hand I fear the mainstage would have been too big for this production and much of the actors very nuanced performances would have been lost. Probably a stage about the size of NCStage's would have fit the play well.
The only other critique I have is the use of the scrim. It is used rather effectively for several flashback scenes in the second half, but I wish the effect would have been introduced sooner in the first act. The first use of the scrim didn't come until the second act and when it first happened it was a bit jarring. I think there were several moments in the first act that might have been appropriate places to employ the scrim effect, and would have allowed us to get accustomed to the effect, keeping us in the scene more. Maybe it's just the designer coming out in me, but I knew it was going to be used sometime and was sitting there waiting for it to happen.
This however doesn't take away from the fact that 35 Below's production of The Raindrop Waltz is very well done, with many great performances, and a real engaging script. I think it's definitely theater worth seeing.

--Jason Williams

Wish I Had A Sylvia Plath

Elisabeth Gray is a wonderful actor. She is an engaging and even magnetic performer, and when she is actually allowed to perform, Edward Anthony’s Wish I Had A Sylvia Plath is a very compelling and moving play. Unfortunately, Ms Gray is almost constantly upstaged by the technical elements of the production, and thus is unable to salvage through her acting alone a very interesting play that is bogged down in technical trickery.

The play explores the suicide of Sylvia Plath through the eyes of Esther Greenwood, named after the protagonist of Plath’s The Bell Jar, thus allowing both a personal connection and a certain amount of “colorful revisionism” in regards to the poet herself, and this is a good thing. The play begins and ends with her head in the oven, and through conversations with the oven (voiced in delightful “wa-wa” noises by Ms. Gray, and accompanying flashes of light by the oven), a cooking show performed for the audience called “Better Tomes and Gardens” (which title quickly became more confusing than funny, as it was continually reintroduced), and periodic lapses into memory provided by a projector screen, the audience is allowed to see the final hazy reflections of Esther Greenwood on what has driven her to this oven, especially focusing on her adulterous husband Ned Pewes.

As a concept, this works very well, but the structure relied too heavily on technical tricks, and not enough on theatrical imagination.

Although quite strong overall, part of the blame lies in the writing: the production script has evolved significantly from the playwright’s first editions, and although the script remains smart, witty, funny, and at times mildly provocative, at least one fundamental change was made that greatly lessens the impact of the play over all. In earlier versions, the play was imaginatively and evocatively structured after the four phases of Hypoxia, the condition that develops as one dies of gas inhalation. This allowed the gradual devolution from Stage one (little effect except on eyesight; a gradual dimming of the world) to an increase in circulation, respiration, and blood pressure, to the third stage which includes major disturbances including hallucinations, and finally to the fourth, fatal stage. While the new script is probably tighter overall and certainly flows better in places, the abandoning of this structure leaves the audience with less to discover, less to see unfold. Rather, we seem to start in phase three and simply exist there for an hour and a half, while Esther Greenwood explains over and over that her parents, but mostly her adulterous husband have driven her to suicide.

Of the two major conceits she uses to make that point (the cooking show and the projected video) the former is most effective. There is something delightfully mid-century Americana about the over the top cooking show featuring Seven Liar Lasagna and Black Tar Brain Soufflé. It accents the desperate struggle for some kind of “normalcy” in a life that is falling apart at the seams, and helps provide a through-line for the audience. I did find myself growing slightly tired of the same two recipes, but overall the concept works.

The video projection, however, is probably the key to the ultimate collapse of what could have been a great play. Really almost nothing about it worked, theatrically speaking. Certainly, it turned on when it was supposed to, you could see it from all of the audience, etc, but despite these marginal technical successes, it stifled the creativity of the production and distracted from the really interesting thing about the piece—the performer. For one thing, the film was shot in a jerky, flat, and somewhat washed out style that made it look amateurish and dull. It may have been meant to evoke the feel of an early silent film, with its jerky cuts and sometimes unsteady camera, but even if so, it raised another question: why evoke an early 20^th century period, if the play was presumably taking place at mid-century? Of course, I’m only guessing that because of the time-line of Sylvia Plath’s life, and the tenor of Ms Gray’s performance, but the costumes on the video looked only vaguely evocative of some earlier time—perhaps the 60’s—the music seemed mostly drawn form the 40’s (and, oddly, did not include the Ryan Adams song after which the play is named), and the houses featured look decidedly 70’s. (Ms Gray’s electric red dress was evocative of the 50’s in that peculiar way only certain 80’s fashions can be, an issue not wholly related to the video, but distracting nonetheless.) Ms Gray was also unable to quite sync her voices (she provided the voices for the mouthing actors on the screen) with those being projected, which may have also been intentional, but I could not see what purpose it served, aside from being distracting, an making me wonder why these sequences were not more rehearsed. Overall, I was surprised that a video that featured so prominently in the play would not be more polished and professionally produced.

The real failure of the video, however, is that is was simply not interesting theatrically. The strength of any one-person play is always the performer, as much as the material, and Elisabeth Gray seems quite up to the challenge, but she was never quite allowed the opportunity to show it. Her connection with the audience kept being interrupted by the intrusion of the video, which physically dwarfed her and forced her to upstage herself terribly whenever she talked to the screen. Her natural public affinity was thus continually compromised by her reliance on the screen to tell the story for her, and by her physical disconnect from the audience whenever the device was employed. I recognize that the playwright was very concerned that none of the characters in the story be neglected or left out, especially Ned Pewes, and I’m sure the producers were interested in finding new and clever ways of doing that, but I believe that the most effective tool at their disposal was their actor. My point was proved by about 20 seconds of the play in which Esther spoke in her mother’s voice but did not do so while looking at the screen (which was not on), and replied in her own voice. This dialogue was brief, Esther’s only word being a repeated “no,” but the moment was possibly the most moving of the play, and largely because of the human struggle that was suddenly seen in this actor finally being given the chance to expose herself to the theatrical magic of her own strengths, and her character’s deep needs, worries, and flaws. It was a lovely, but frustratingly singular moment.

Not everything about the video was awful, and a few moments were quite nice and even theatrical, such as seeing Esther on-screen going through the same physical motions as Esther on-stage, and seeing only in the video that she is placing towels under the doors so as not to accidentally gas her children. The final moment of the play, with Esther on-stage placing her head in the oven while behind her Esther on-screen is placing her head on her pillow was a brief and beautiful glimpse into the possibilities of the projection screen, if had had been used more theatrically and less literally all along.

Instead, however, the final moments in the theatre, when the play is clearly over, are dominated again by the video, which intrudes dully: In lieu of a curtain call, the credits (the same credits that we have in our programs, mind you) are scrolled across the screen movie style, while Esther and her daughter wave at the camera and traipse through a meadow. It’s not that the idea is all bad—I think there can be great value in curtain calls that challenge audience perceptions in some way- but in this case, it was distracting and annoying. Perhaps if the video usage had been more creative and integral all along, this ending would have seemed appropriate, but I suspect that many in the audience felt as I did: that we did not come to see a video, and did not want to applaud to a video. Rather, we came to see a performer, who created a world with her words and made us joyful at the magical possibilities of human interaction to create much more than what we see in front of us, and we wanted to applaud the person, the actor, who in that moment had created this world for us. Ms Gray never appeared, which was certainly a choice to make the audience feel something, but probably not what this audience member felt: cheated—cheated out of the chance to thank the performer. The notion that a video could stand in for real human connection seemed rather rude and presumptuous.

It that way, though, it was the perfect conclusion to a play in which it had, sadly, been allowed to do just that.

--Willie Repoley

itp's Oleanna

Editor's note: this review is www.mountainx.com, the Mountian Xpress website. You can read original posting at http://www.mountainx.com/ae/2007/play_review_oleanna_at_nc_stage

~

Play Review: Oleanna at NC Stage

—Alli Marshall, A&E reporter

by Alli Marshall on 03/22/2007

It’s telling that title of this two-person David Mamet play is completely obscure. It’s taken from a 19th century folk song that references the ideal of utopian societies. Got that?

The play, performed by immediate theatre project (itp) at NC Stage Company, is not an easy one to watch—though certainly not due to the dramatic talents of stars Katie Fuller and Peter Tamm. The show revolves around the interactions between a pompous, self-absorbed (though likely harmless) university professor and his disturbed female student in jeopardy of failing a course. Following these characters over three acts, Oleanna deconstructs the source and use of power—both real and imagined—between these two people.

Interestingly, Mamet wrote the play 15 years ago (a year after the Clarence Thomas-Anita Hill hearings, notes Wikipedia.org). My initial reaction as a viewer, with no previous knowledge of the show, was that seeing an older man paired with a college-aged woman screamed “taboo,” especially with the collegiate setting thrown in to the mix. Is it just that recent events involving alleged teacher abuses of students makes any teacher-student interaction suspect? Has too much political correctness poisoned our collective perception? These are some of the questions around which Oleanna dances.

ITP’s staging of the play has the two characters both facing the audience, the stage split by white electrical tape. Professor John sits behind his desk regarding two chalk-drawn squares representing two chairs, while student Carol sits in one of the chairs facing a large chalked rectangle representing John’s desk. They both deliver their lines in halting, awkward, oft-interrupted phrasing that builds tension and confusion. The trick is, they interact with each other without actually looking at each other, the entire time addressing their speech to the audience. It’s a clever approach that doesn’t fully reveal its effectiveness until the first eruptive moment of physical contact.

As far as the characters go, Tamm offers up a deliberately contrived intellectual, bolstered by self-importance and pretension. “I asked myself if I engaged in heterodoxy,” he says at one point. And, “You find me pedantic.” He seems to be teaching a course based on his own life experience and self-examination.

Fuller, meanwhile, plays Carol as a creepier version of Ally Sheedy’s “Alison the Basketcase” in The Breakfast Club. Think class misfit-meets-recently converted femi-nazi with the lingo to boot. Words like “hypocrisy,” “elitism” and “exploitive” pepper her speech. As the scenes progress, Carol’s appearance shifts from disheveled and dumpy to pulled together and militant while John evolves from button-downed to unglued. It’s worth noting that William H. Macy starred in the debut.

As I said, Oleanna isn’t a fun show, and it doesn’t offer much in the way of answers. In fact, I found myself rushing from the theater with the rest of the audience after the final terse moments, no more clear on the point than when the play began. That said, it’s completely worth seeing—especially for theater-goers who like their drama on the dark side. The play moves briskly along without a single dull moment and the outcome—obtuse as it may be—will have viewers questioning many commonly held conceptions.

Oleanna runs through Sunday, Apr. 1, Wednesday-Saturdays at 7:30 p.m., Sundays at 2 p.m. Tickets are $10 Wednesdays and Sundays, $15 other nights. 350-9090.

Arcadia at Warren Wilson

Tom Stoppard is known for his erudite, word-heavy plays that sometimes seem designed to obfuscate as much as to edify or amuse, although they certainly do that, too. His current Broadway play cycle, The Coast of Utopia is cut across such a wide swath of obscure Russian academia of a hundred years ago, that the program includes helpful suggestions for further (heavy) reading, at least one of which quickly became one of the most coveted and hard to find books in New York, and only partly because so few of them were on the shelves to begin with. Warren Wilson College’s recent production of Stoppard’s Arcadia, directed by Ron Bashford, also included several pages of definitions and explanations of words and phrases in the program, which were helpful, but even without this lexicon, the show was understandable and enjoyable, despite—and of course because of—Mr Stoppard’s strong style.

The play opens with an evocative and surprisingly exciting moment in which a character we will later know as the nearly silent child Gus walks to center stage, sits upon an elaborately upholstered chair, and bites into an apple, savoring every bite. What this has to do with the play itself only starts to become clear much later, but the moment is a brilliant way of arousing the imagination and the senses in anticipation of whatever may follow this unusual and surprising beginning.

What follows, of course, is a romp through poetry, journalism, dahlias, thermodynamics, dueling, love, education, adultery, turtles, dancing, chaos theory, and time. For starters. That all of this is actually interesting and relatively easy to follow is a testament to the skill and hard work of the students and their director.

Mr Bashford has a way of working with actors that both encourages creativity and demands a high level of commitment to the text and to one’s fellow actors, and this approach pays off from the first spoken words. The play starts with a lead actor in conversation with a servant, a minor role, but it is immediately clear that both actors have been asked to put a lot of effort into both the outward aspects of their roles, including consistently good English accents, but also into establishing real connections with each other. Without that human connection shared between all of the cast, the play could easily devolve into a bunch of over privileged academics going on about obscure theories for two hours. Instead, we get a glimpse into the lives of people who sometimes let their academic aspiration get the better of themselves, but who struggle with love and work, who try to exist as strangers, as lovers, and as family, and who care deeply about themselves, their fellows, and their sometimes eccentric pastimes.

Stoppard’s plot, a story set in both 1809 and the present, can take a long time to unfold, but it is fascinating stuff, and these young performers are able to make it consistently interesting, funny, and even exciting, in a subtle sort of way. Come to this play prepared to listen. But don’t think too much—just listen to the words, and trust that the actors have quite a good idea how to get where they are going.

--Willie Repoley

Asheville Puppetry Alliance’s Rapunzel

I have not seen much children’s theatre, and my knowledge of puppetry is pretty much limited to having read Pinocchio and seen Being John Malkovich. Also, I am not a child, nor do I have any. I am certainly not the target audience for Rapunzel, presented by Pamella O’Conner.

Which is all to say that I didn’t like the show all that much. It is certainly not that the show was simply bad; I do think that most of the children were interested, as were their parents, I’m sure, and I am glad that they had the opportunity to experience live theatre and the specific magic of puppets. I just thought that the show was ultimately rather soulless.

Let’s start with the script. What do you do with a fairy tale, in our modern age? Does it have to be modernized or moralized or scrutinized to death? Or should it just be told simply, assuming that whatever out-dated moral lessons of the story will not harm the child hearing the story? I don’t know. It’s a complicated question. I do know that I found it uncomfortable to be presented with the stereotypes of Rapunzel without any thought (that I could see) into how these myths could be viewed more expansively, more creatively. Instead, we are presented with the wife whose unreasonable demands land her husband in trouble, the prince whose offer of marriage leads to the happy ending, et cetera. I’m not saying that every fairy tale has to be updated or made politically correct or whatever, I’m just saying that in this case, the issue seemed unexamined, and I noticed it. A few things were indeed brought out—the old lady, here called Mother Gothel, is called an old fairy, and has a strong connection to the earth and to plants and to the air. But this connection is not explored and her need for a child to love and protect and to raise as her own is likewise ignored. I wanted the play to ask why! The character was really interesting, but frustratingly unexamined. Maybe kids just want the story they know, I’m no expert, but if we can also give them something more, isn’t a shame not to?

At any rate, it seems to me that there are three things to hope for in a children’s show, and none of them were espesially well represented at the performance I saw. One is lots of giggling. This show had a little, but not much. Second is children getting involved and talking to the performers. Now, clearly this is not the best model for all children’s shows, but I think it would have been appropriate for this show, and in my opinion, would have strengthened it considerably. Near the end of the show, O’Conner did ask the children to echo Mother Gothel’s sing-song chant, which they did enthusiastically, but I wonder why this device was not employed from the old woman’s first entrance! The last thing I look for in a great kid’s show is that awed gasp from all the children at some effect that simply cannot be achieved through television or other mediums they may have experienced. There were a few moments that seemed designed to do this, but they did not really work. (Actually, some of those moments were transitions to shadow puppets, but the shadow puppets were actually a little confusing; my companion was not very familiar with shadow puppets and did not recognize them as such, and I am sure that many of the children saw nothing but a movie screen on which the colorless figures moved very jerkily for some unknown reason. At the end of the performance, O’Conner showed the kids how some of the puppets—including the shadow puppets— worked, and I found myself wondering if the show would have been more effective if that demonstration had taken place before performance rather that after. I think being “in” on the magic can actually enhance the experience in a show like this, rather than detract from it.) Rapunzel is a familiar story, and although it has many variations, we all basically know what is going to happen, so it seems to me that the opportunity in making it a great show—rather than just a story-book on stage—is in reexamining the themes and characters of the myth itself. I say either take this dark and disturbing story and really explore that direction (although the resulting show may not be for children!) or take this dark and disturbing story and push against it to create something that finds real humor and magic through the darkness. I’ll never forget a production I saw of Cinderella, another dark story, that featured a lot of slapstick, including some darkly funny stuff like toes being chopped off and tossed into the audience (which the kids absolutely loved) as well as silly antics that had the audience in stitches, with many children yelling at the performers (“Look behind you! The other way! No, the other way!”), and also had some of the quietest, most magical and creative moments I had ever seen on stage. And those moments worked in large part because they had been earned: The show had already drawn the audience in with laughter and therefore allowed us to be open to the possibility that a few bunches of newspaper could take on a shape and a life of their own…

I guess that’s what I’m driving at, really. O’Conner’s Rapunzel is not a bad show; it has some interesting puppets and O’Connor is clearly a talented artist, as is Lauren Fortuna, her assistant on this show. They both interacted with the puppets and the audience in interesting ways, and integrated direct presentation to the audience with interaction through the puppets. The show is perfectly fine, and certainly many people got a lot out of it. But it did not offer much in the way of ideas, and as a result did not grasp my attention. I thought the show simply lacked the kind of creativity that leads to surprising choices and delightful insights. Without that creativity, it is not much more than a mildly amusing and distracting way to introduce children to puppets; the real leaps of the imagination will have to happen somewhere else. Hopefully some of the children will have left having found enough inspiration to do that themselves.

~Willie Repoley

editor's note: this is another review from the Asheville Citizen-Times. APAR is not authorized to re-print it, but here it is anyway. You can read the original post at http://www.take5online.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=200770222078

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Review: Actors craft short gems in ‘All in the Timing’

by Jim Cavener, Take5 Correspondent

published February 23, 2007 12:15 am

The cast and crew of North Carolina Stage Company’s “All in the Timing” take the show’s title to heart. This is one of the most deftly directed and best-timed comedies seen in a long time. “All in The Timing” is an unconventional evening of theater. Not just edgy and in your face, this is truly fascinating theater, in concept and structure, exquisitely executed.

Director Ron Bashford has assembled the ensemble of the year: Neela Munoz, Rebecca Morris, Chris Allison and the astonishingly versatile Charlie Flynn McIver. They take on author David Ives’ intriguing work with a vengeance. The show features six short pieces, each totally separate from the others, each riveting in its construct.

The opening piece is called “Sure Thing” and well uses the talents of Chris Allison and Rebecca Morris. It’s a word game with some of the most rapid repartee heard in these parts in a long while.

“Words, Words, Words” is set in a science lab where three chimpanzees work on three typewriters, to prove that given enough time, they will eventually write “Hamlet.” McIver and Munoz dazzle with their inspired mock-monkey movement and facial expressions.

“Universal Language” is a take-off from Esperanto, but with a twist. The old language, English, is called “John Cleese,” named for the “Monty Python” star, to give you a clue of the loony twists. There’s a message here, and each viewer may come out with a different one.

“Philip Glass Buys a Loaf of Bread” is as surrealistic as the other bits, and it helps to know the repetitive musical tones of the 20th century composer mentioned in the title. The vocal tones and the cleverly choreographed movement show the stunning skills of this ensemble cast.

“The Philadelphia” is about as obscure and intellectually challenging as any of this lot. You have to see it to attempt to understand it. The restaurant menu starts off with cream of kidney soup, and goes downhill from there. But Morris and Allison shine, and McIver is awesome. As always.

“Variations on the Death of Trotsky” closes this series of romps. It happens in the suburbs of Mexico City in 1940, on the day Leon Trotsky dies. McIver does Trotsky with Munoz as his wife. The Russian accents are a hoot and the frequent death scenes can be taken many ways. Munoz’ twisted face almost stops the show.

Jim Cavener reviews theater for Take5. E-mail JimCavener@aya.Yale.edu.

LYLAS: Humorgasm

Three words: Black. Tran.

Actually, you’ll have to ask LYLAS about the third word, if you missed their latest show.

I love LYLAS. They are totally unpretentious in their quest to make themselves laugh and have a good time. And they are actually funny, so we the audience laugh and have a good time, as well. But they never pretend to be anything other than a group of women who are not afraid to try out new ideas in front of an audience and hope they work. If they don’t work, it’s no big deal, and they just try again. It’s refreshing.

Their newest play, Humorgasm, now playing at Windows on the Park, is a mix of old and new sketches all centered around the theme of love. As always, some of the material works better than others, and sometimes the set ups are funnier than the punch lines. This was especially true of the sketch centered around the “Awkward Eliminator,” which was a great concept with really good set ups but less exciting follow through. But I didn’t really care that the punch lines were not as funny; I don’t come to a LYLAS show to feel like I have just seen some sterile, polished comics going through their routines. I go to laugh along with some other regular folks at these regular women who just might have more gumption, guts, and comic timing that the rest of us and are willing to go out on a limb to find those things.

That said, there are a few things that I felt kept Humorgasm from being quite as good a show as their prior offerings. For one thing, Windows on the Park is a great venue for parties dinners or the like, but it does not really lend itself to keeping focus on the performers in a play; that is left to the creativity of the performing group, and in this case, it didn't quite come together. The lights LYLAS brought in helped with focus, but without the structure of 35 Below or NC Stage, the piece felt a bit more disjointed. Also, the material focused less on Asheville than WASH-TV or West Asheville Side Story did, and I missed the local skewering. There was nothing here quite as funny as, say, “Who is Laura Lynn?” It was not just a coincidence that one of the best lines of the play had to do with the Bele Chere selection committee; it was a pointed and funny dig at a local institution and process, and one that made everyone cringe just a little bit, because it really hit the nail right on the head. I, for one, would like to see more of that sort of thing, that has worked for well for the group in the past.

But here’s a question: does it matter what’s funny? If a sketch about a woman in an pilates class explaining her complicated romantic point system of measuring who’s done what with whom is amusing, but Besty Puckett’s largely lineless role as her new friend (who’s more interested in not falling off her exercise ball than trying to figure out the system) is really funny, is that bad? I don’t think so. The point is, they made me laugh, so who cares if I was laughing at he script or the actors? Is Jenny Bunn’s character Lurleene funnier than the things she says? Sometimes. But usually (especially in Lurleene’s last two appearances) you are laughing hard enough that it doesn’t matter where the humor comes from: it’s there (although those two cases show off some of the funniest writing, as well).

At any rate, I enjoyed the show, imperfections and all, and the packed house was only one indicator that I was not alone. I don’t know when their next show will be, and I don’t think they do either, but I know that I will make every effort to find out.

--Willie Repoley

Royal Shakespeare Company at Davidson

editor's note: Davidson is a bit outside of the "Asheville Area," but this seemed like too good an opportunity to pass up. For more information about the RSC's visit, check out http://www3.davidson.edu/cms/x20205.xml

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No one wants to admit that they went all the way to Stratford-Upon-Avon, saw a show by the Royal Shakespeare Company, and didn’t like it. But sometimes that’s how it goes. Some years ago I saw Richard III at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, and what I remember most is the imposing set, how far away from the stage my balcony seat was, and how disconnected and disappointed I felt. Was the play any good? Maybe, but what I remember is the feeling of being distant from it. It is no surprise to me that the hordes of schoolchildren that are dutifully shuffled into the theatre every year spend much of their time in the balconies text-messaging each other. No matter how good the play may or may not be, they are left distant –literally, physically—from the action on stage. Now, however, it seems the RSC has initiated a shift towards a more audience-serving approach to Shakespeare. Partly this is being done by building a new, much more intimate mainstage theatre, but if their current productions of Pericles and The Winter’s Tale, running very briefly at Davidson College in Davidson, are any indication, it is also being done by simply reestablishing the importance of the language of the plays, so that the technical elements of a production (while still reflecting a large budget) are rooted in the text, and where the audience becomes a vital part of the experience.

The Frazier Stage in the Duke Family Performance Hall at Davidson College is typically an elegant, intimate house that seats about 500 and was designed to accommodate a fairly wide range of performing arts with comfort, ease and style. But two weeks ago, they brought in thousands of pounds of steel, and in a Herculean display of skill, teamwork, and hard work, transformed the room into a modern metal wasteland with only a relatively few number of seats—those in the balconies— remaining uncovered (the new features had to be installed on top of the existing seating). The reason for the makeover was the impending arrival of Pericles and The Winter’s Tale (as well as a modern play, Days of Significance, a response to Much Ado About Nothing, that is only playing for two performances). The shows were created for the RSC’s relatively small Swan Theatre in Stratford as part of the RSC’s Complete Works series, and were not originally intended to tour. Nevertheless, the design team working in conjunction with the folks at Davidson have done a marvelous job at adapting the set to the somewhat larger space at the college, and the result is not to be missed.

Ordinarily, I would be wary of a review that felt compelled to mention the set in the opening sentences. Ordinarily, I would assume that meant the technical elements of the show were so overpowering as to distract from the acting, and even the story. But this is the new, leaner, more focused Royal Shakespeare Company, and these shows are not ordinary in any way. Most interestingly perhaps, they are performed in what is being described as promenade style, meaning that the audience, aside from those in the balcony seats, are sharing the stage with the actors. There are no chairs, and they are free to move around to get a better view, or just to see what it looks like from another position. The actors have no trouble clearing a path through the audience to move about the stage, and when necessary, they do not shy away from physically and vocally herding the audience around, as to clear room for a dance or a fight. The set also incorporates a long sweeping ramp from the deck to the balcony which serves as playing area, and, opposite the ramp, is a large rectangular box (set at a slight rake) that keeps the actors separate from the audience when appropriate. The box is accessed stage right by a metal staircase to the deck and by a bulky metal bridge to the balcony, which is matched by a similar bridge stage left. The harshness of the steel set, treated to give it an uneven sheen of rust, is very effective for the hot desert locals of Pericles, if less so for the sophisticated court and lush pasture of Winters’ Tale, but both plays use the set, as well as the lighting and costumes designs, to create an almost unending series of stage pictures so beautiful and haunting that I almost wanted to be able to stop the play every few minutes while I soaked in the power of the visual. And while it would still have been beautiful in a more traditional staging, the fact that you, the audience member, are physically present with all of this makes the experience of the play alive and exciting in a surprisingly personal way.

But lest I imply that the show is all about the visual, let me reinforce that I am only able to talk about the design elements this way because they exist not in a vacuum, but in a powerful and serious relation to the actors and, most especially, the text. It is the overall effect that is so moving, the cumulative effect of the actors, directors, designers, technicians, and always the words of the play, that provide the sturdy and unflinching base upon which the productions are firmly based.

I did worry momentarily that this was not going to be the case: upon walking into the theatre –and therefore, literally, onto the stage—before Winter’s Tale, the amount of spectacle seemed excessive at first. A live band was playing sophisticated 1950’s era instrumental music from the elevated box, and elegantly costumed actors were dancing all around the stage, some in couples, and some dancing with the other “guests” at this party, the audience. At some point, someone started a countdown in which we all joined, a clock was lowered, and white confetti showered down as everyone yelled “Happy New Year!” before grasping hands and singing Auld Lang Syne (I was holding the gloved hand of Paulina). From there, the dialogue of the play started, and we were underway. But what kept it from being just another waste of money, just a chance to show off, was how it served the play: most importantly, by inviting the audience to be a part of the experience of making the play happen, and introducing us to the new concept of sharing the stage, of being both part of the play and separate: participants, but also observers.

This almost Brechtian sense of duality was constantly at work to varying degrees, but the conflicted feeling seemed wholly appropriate for a play that deals in similar juxtapositions: Anton Lesser, as Leontes, committed fully and immediately to each of his emotional extremes, not needing to question “why” each time he took a turn, but simply taking them and letting the play speak. The transpositions from courtly Sicilia to pastoral Bohemia were likewise thorough, helped in no small part by the Old Shepard (Richard Moore), who was the picture perfect rustic English farmer, and Autolycus (Richard Katz), a bizarre and inspired mix of Bob Dylan, Abe Lincoln, and Jarvis Cocker. The famous stage direction, “Exit, pursued by a bear,” was both somewhat silly—a man in a realistic bear suit that lumbered around and stood on its hind legs—and moving, thanks to the choice to have Antigonus (the eloquent Ben Onwukwe) bravely if timidly confront the bear to distract it from the baby Perdita, and thereby sacrifice his life for the child.

In addition to the favorite stage direction, there is much in the play that can be troublesome, at least for modern audiences. But in this production, they are played simply, not ironically or with a wink to the audience, and it made a huge difference. Take the betrothal of Paulina (Linda Bassett in a wonderfully strong yet loving portrayal) and Camillo (Joseph Mydell, who wisely treated the character not as a waffler, but simply a practiced politician who knows when to abandon particular loyalties) at the end of the play: the marriage seems not only forced upon them, but also terribly cruel for proud, widowed Paulina. This can be viewed as a final failing of Leontes, demonstrating that no matter what he has learned during the sixteen years of the play, he has not fundamentally changed. But the RSC has chosen to let Leontes be the changed man he seems to be. The difference is subtle but hugely important, and I believe it is utterly justified in the text. Consider that Leontes introduced the idea of the marriage in the first place by revealing that Camillo has long loved Paulina. And after sixteen years of her close counsel, Leontes surely must know Paulina very well. True, his public “outing” of them both as potential mates is awkward, but Bassett and Mydell took that awkwardness and made it fresh and lovely, at first holding hands very tentatively and hardly looking at each other, like young lovers (an image they discovered the first time they tried the scene in rehearsal; it worked so well they kept it unchanged from day one). I thought the moment was so interesting that I continued to watch this pair, even as Leontes resumed speaking, and I saw the two of them gradually, silently, admit their hidden passions, so that by the time the play ended, they were looking into each others eyes, oblivious to the rest of the action, Paulina even being caught off guard by the end of the play, as the pair of new love-birds join the joyous procession up the ramp and off stage. Paulina the widow, always passionate, but resigned to a solitary existence, and Camillo the politician, loyal but not stupid, are guided into a match that they never would have discovered without Leontes’ help, and are both the better for it.

Two other potential hang-ups of the play are the sudden introduction of Time, as a chorus (who explains that sixteen years have suddenly passed, and then disappears again), and the introduction of three new characters near the end of the play who tell Autolycus all the major plot points that have just occurred off stage, so that we can skip right to the statue scene without ever seeing the reconciliation of the rest of the court. But instead of having three “gentlemen,” or even Camillo, speak these lines, they are delivered somewhat tongue in cheek as a newscast, one reporter even carrying his microphone and tape box around his neck and narrating as if he were at a sporting event. The device is a bit silly, but it solves the problem of introducing characters we have not seen before (newscasters are hardly “new”; everyone is familiar with them, after all), and it gives a small wink at the modern audience, who may have been expecting to get to see what Shakespeare has decided we only get to hear about. As for Time the chorus, the character is usually utilized only in that one scene, and it works just fine, but here Time (which was subtly introduced at the top of the play with the dropping of the clock for New Year’s, and is personified by Robin Lawrence) is presented as a quiet gardener who maintains a presence at the edge of the playing area all through the play. When he finally speaks, he is discovered pruning a small tree, listing to the gentle and amusing strains of “Catch a Falling Star” on his portable radio. He turns it off, and in a totally relaxed yet fully invested soliloquy, he knowingly guides us through the years, and takes pains to make really take us on the journey, so that when he presents the change of time and local (cued by turning his radio back on and discovering “California Dreaming” now playing) we are excited and ready to make the complete and utter shift to this new, freer world.

Time, in this way, also readies us for the arrival of the peddler Autolycus, who could only exist away from the pomp and formality of the Sicilian court. His first appearance severs any ties we had to that world so completely, that we will be ready for almost any sort of reversal (handy, since there are still many more to come) As played by Richard Katz, he is sharp eyed but lackadaisical, pulling laughs out of the audience as easily and as innocently as he pulls money from the purses of the Bohemian farmers; he holds the same curious mixture of contempt and appreciation for us as he does them. But it is perhaps his first appearance that is the most memorable, and does such a good job of setting up both the character and the whole Bohemian mind-set: He half stumbles out of a trap door part-way up the ramp, with a battered silk top hat perched on long gray curls reminiscent of Arlo Guthrie, and a long joint in his mouth, while playing haltingly on a cheap guitar and Dylan-style harmonica. As he emerges, it becomes clear that this man is serenading us (with a song it sounds like he is still in the process of writing) while wearing only a tattered tail coat and a pair of bright purple underwear. There is no doubt whatsoever that we are now in full “Summer of Love” Bohemia, and we are delighted to be there, especially if we are to be guided there by him.

Not all of Bohemia works as well; the dance performed at the sheep shearing, for example, seemed to be a bit over the top, even in this world, with nearly naked men sporting phalli stomping tribally around. It wasn’t really a bad choice, necessarily, but I remained unconvinced that the earthy nature of Bohemia really needed to be underscored so visually, since the characters and the words they speak do that so well for themselves.

At any rate, I was perfectly willing to forgive a few moments that didn’t quite work for me, given how many really interesting and exciting choices were made in other places. Perhaps the most effective moment was the stature scene. Of course, being part of the scene, only feet away from the statue and able to see the faces of everyone present so clearly, made a huge difference. And Lesser’s Leontes was so moved at the sight, it was palpable. Kate Fleetwood as Hermione (who’s courtroom scene was similarly moving and personal) played the whole thing so that we were free to believe both that she had lived all these years, or that the statue sprang to life. Either way, it is a moment of magic, and the way Leontes embraced the queen he effectively killed sixteen years before --as if he was simultaneously overcome with joy and utter fear that he might somehow break whatever spell this was-- filled the room with a willingness to believe in miracles, and in the power of change, of Time.

Time ends the play with a gesture reminiscent of Puck, who comes “with broom before/ To sweep the dust behind the door.” Or, in the case of The Winter’s Tale, to push his broom in cathartic sort of circular dance, ending the play with a burst of energy that seems not only to wipe the slate clean, but to do so in such a way that the pieces will fall in some new, surprising, and delightful configuration tomorrow night.

And they did, for the next night the company performed Pericles, which is a perfect companion to Winter’s Tale in many ways, especially the themes of suffering and redemption. I was utterly unfamiliar with the play, and sat in the balcony for the show, both of which probably contributed to my feeling a bit more distant from this play, but it was really of comparable quality to Winter’s Tale. The play was set in East Africa, also the childhood home of the lead actor, Lucian Msamati, whose rich voice and natural affability helped create a man who has real depth. He is competitive, proud, practical, ready to love and laugh, someone who is smart enough to know when to run and when to fight. Like Leontes, he is a leader who loses his wife and daughter, but unlike his counterpart, Pericles does nothing to deserve this punishments. The play seems much more concerned with the changing tides of fortune, a theme reinforced by the importance of the sea. The sea causes two important shipwrecks, Pericles’ daughter is born at sea, his wife is buried at sea (and revived on the beach), and both the sea and the playwright toss the characters about pretty severely before allowing truth and redemption to conclude the tale.

The first two acts of the play were probably written by George Wilkins, and I cannot help but wonder if Wilkins wanted to write a capital “T” Tragedy. I suppose not; although I am not very familiar with the play, I have read nothing to indicate that either Wilkins’ novel of the same name or any of the source material did not include the redemption and resurrection of Pericles and his family. But, still, I have to wonder; it just seems fun to think that perhaps the man who gave us the magic that concluded The Winter’s Tale also decided to breathe some hope into this other play that, apparently, he took over and finished.

One interesting feature of this production was that no white actors appeared until well into the play. The RSC’s cast for both plays was unusually multiracial, which was a welcome and exciting beak from “tradition,” but the decision to place the land of Tyre in eastern Africa, created the unusual opportunity to hear the words in a different accent, the actors wearing beautiful loose fitting robes, the rust colored set standing in very convincingly for the hot desert. Clarence Smith as King Antiochus of Antioch has some of the best-looking moments in the transposed setting. In gold rimmed aviator style glasses and loose black button-up shirt, he is the very picture of a despot: a modern-day smiling damned villain, so confidant that his secrets will never be discovered that he crafts a riddle around them, with the prize being his daughter’s hand in marriage. Pericles, of course, cracks the riddle and discovers the secret, at which point Antiochus retreats to his hot, bare office to assign one of his men the task of assassinating Pericles, thus setting the play in motion.

Adding subtly to the complexities is the fact that Antiochus and Pericles are standing on almost exactly the same spots as Leontes and Hermione the night before in the trial scene, as one stood in judgment of the other. I don’t know if that was intentional or not, but it was a nice touch regardless.

Once the action moves to the kingdom of Pentapolis, where Pericles is washed up after a storm and rescued by fisherman, things start to turn. Pericles enters a tournament with five other youths, all competing for the hand of the princess Thaisa. The actors themselves worked out reality TV style competitions whereby each athletic event resulted in one competitor being booted, until only one emerged victorious. The events and the competing knights were exciting and funny, and it was clear that the actors were enjoying themselves (partly because they had such ownership of the sequence), as were we in the audience. But the best moments came after Pericles emerged the victor, when King Simonides (the superb Richard Moore, again) toyed with Pericles as to whether or not he was pleased with the man who was destined to marry his daughter. His asides and winks to the audience kept us one step ahead of poor Pericles, and by the time he and Thaisa were hitched and the wedding feast began, we were all having a rollicking good time.

And here Gower, the chorus (Joseph Mydell) performs his most magical feat, conjuring up another storm, from the tables now filled with sleeping forms. And instead of some giant, expensive transition to another shipwreck, Gower simply planted his long staff and began to sway from side to side as he described the scene, Soon the sleepers joined the pattern, until it became more violent, and started to rock and upended the very tables. The running back and forth effect was actually very early Star Trek, but it was not comical at all; it was a simple, effective, and even scary storm.

Other scenes that worked especially nicely were the birth of Pericles’ daughter Marina in the belly of the ship (behind a sheet strung up in the elevated box, which now also sported port holes and a ladder leading to the upper deck), and the scene where the fourteen year old Marina maintains her virginity despite being sold into prostitution. Her handlers, played by the very fun team of Richard Moore, Linda Basset, and Richard Katz, were recognizable English bawds, who were funny but sinister, buffoons with a deadly serious side. Marina, played with an actually emboldening naiveté by Ony Uhiara, is able to fend off not only the advances of Katz’s servant Boult, but also those of the lecherous Governor, Lysimachus (Nigel Cooke, who also presented a very fine Polixenes in Winter’s Tale). Both men not only leave her untouched, but seem to have gained sudden insight into their own wicked ways. Lysimachus in particular takes a great interest in Marina’s virtue and well-being, and as a result is able to usher in the possibility of a happy ending.

The RSC rehearsed The Winters' Tale and Pericles in rep for a total of 12 weeks before opening in Stratford, running a short while, and then moving to Davidson for an additional two weeks of performance. Economic considerations are forcing a end to the tour after this brief stop, partly because it is more expensive to book a theatre willing and able to accommodate the promenade style of the productions. This is a real shame, because the shows are refreshing and exciting at every level, and it is clear that a lot of thought and effort went in to each aspect of production. The director, Dominic Cooke has done a brilliant job at connecting every element of the production to the text and working with the designers and actors to make that text come alive in a very palpable way for the audience. I think the RSC has something really special on its hands, and I get the feeling that the cast is somewhat sorry to see it go. I don’t blame them. It is not every day that we get to see Shakespeare –or anyone—performed with such clarity, passion, and joy.

--Willie Repoley

ACT's Cat on a Hot Tin Roof

I been thinking of something like this for a long time. I feel if we want to grow as artists within our community we must hear some (hopefully) constructive criticism. I even posted about it in my last MySpace journal. I'm glad you've made it happen. I just hope we can use it to grow and not bicker about one another. Hopefully I'll have a lot to say. With that said here is my journal I wrote about Cat On A Hot Tin Roof:

Cat On A Hot Tin Roof
Asheville Community Theatre
Jan. 17 2006

Let me preface this by saying that I saw this show on "Friends and Family" night, which basically translates to the second dress rehearsal, so I must say that what I saw wasn't a finalized production, which might account for the fact that what I did see was rather underwhelming.
The first act, which was probably at least 30 min shorter than the second, really dragged. It didn't help that the two people onstage the whole time seemed to be in different plays. Maggie (The Cat) played by Melissa Menard seemed to be stuck in some neo-Victorian melodrama, where her character felt compelled to direct her monstrous monologues not towards her unsympathetic husband Brick, but towards the larger, more uncaring audience. Brick on the other hand, played by Dan Clancy, seemed stuck in some early Pinter Absurdist play where the character only speaks in mumbled grunts, and short sentences embellished with some kind of hybrid Deep South meets Brooklyn accent.(Something most of the cast seemed to struggle with) These are both fine actors whom I've see put on notable performances in other shows, but here I felt they just never connected on any level. They never engaged one another. I never saw any clear intentions. If Maggie wanted to get Brick in bed, or make him jealous I never saw her follow through with those motivations. Similarly if Brick wanted Maggie to leave, I never saw anything that would provoke her to do so. I would have liked to have seen more danger from both actors. Maggie needed to be more seductive, and I think Brick needed to be more volatile. The blocking never really helped much either. How many times in real life do people just stand in the middle of their rooms and soliloquize. The shame is that there was so much beautiful furniture in the room, and it seemed like the actors weren’t allowed to sit on it, like it was in some museum or something.
The only actor that really seemed to take a chance was Charles Bell who played Big Daddy. He brought an energy to the stage that no other actor could match or even seem to keep up with. This was the only character living on the edge, the only one who you weren't sure what he was going to do next, and honestly the only interesting one in this whole production. His characterization never faltered, his mannerisms were suited to the character, and he was the only character that made me feel something. At one moment I wanted to pat him on the back the next I wanted to punch him in the gut. The others I never really cared about. Most of them were regulated to set decoration and furthering plot points. Gregory Dickens who played Gooper did manage to come alive a little when he was giving his betrayed speech to Big Mama, but most of the time he just seemed to blend into the background. Cary Nichols, who has a commanding stage presence, never seemed to be able to embody Big Mama with any bigger emotion than a nasally whine. I would have liked to have seen something from her other than a subjugated matriarch.
Lysa Kennedy did an adequate job as Mae mother to five chronically upstaging children, but many of her big moments seemed to have an overly presentational quality about them. Many never seemed to come from a real emotional place or stem from real intentions, they just came out because they had to. I felt as if she was a bit too confined in her character. I felt she wanted to break loose but wasn't allowed to. Although I must say after Charles Bell, she was the only actor that seemed to inhabit the world of the play when not delivering lines, often finding good natural buisness.
Kent Smith did a fine job as Reverend Tooker and probably got the biggest laugh of the night for his hastily exit, but I do wish I'd see more vocal range from him. He tends to often get stuck in the same delivery.
Bob Baldridge also did a fine job with Dr. Braugh, but his onstage time was limited, and other times he was kind of regulated to the outskirts.
Aside from the great language, probably some of the best since Shakespeare, and the wonderful performance by Charles Bell, the only other redeeming thing about this play was the amazing set design by Jack Lindsay and always remarkable technical direction by Adam Cohen. It was a really wonderful set, and the false proscenium really added a lot to the over all stage picture. Unfortunately the lighting, while appropriately warm and moody, was a bit spotty in places, but knowing the limitations of ACT I can look past this deficiency in the production.
Unless this production gets significantly better over the course of its run, I really couldn't say it’s the best thing I’ve seen at ACT. Go see this play to hear Williams's beautiful wordplay, watch Mr. Bell's grand performance, or see a truly beautiful set, but I wouldn't expect anything to be much more striking than those.

~Jason Williams

TRTCT's Number 1 (With A Bullet)

editor's note-- this review was written for the Asheville Citizen-Times, and has no affiliation with Asheville Performing Arts Reviews. APAR did not recieve permission to reprint this review; it was obtained from the Asheville Citizen-Times website, which we encourage you to visit at the following link:

http://www.citizen-times.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=200770127044

(if that did not work, here is the text of the review)

THEATER REVIEW: Love theme unifies pieces of Redundant's 'Number 1'
by Jim Cavener, CITIZEN-TIMES CORRESPONDENT
published January 28, 2007 12:15 am

ASHEVILLE — The Redundant Theatre Company Theatre has hit its stride and finally achieved the form its founders envisioned when they started working together some years ago. With "Number 1 (With a Bullet)," Redundant has come into its own.

"Number 1" features three new plays and three "repeats," with variations of audience or players' favorites from the past.

Redundant operates more like a musical ensemble than a typical theater. The group stages short plays, several in an evening, much as a musical concert of different songs.

The glue that holds together the six pieces of "Number 1" is a love theme, anticipating the arrival of Valentine's Day. A clever transition between the various vignettes is the reading of actual love letters.

The opening episode, "A Bowl of Soup," is a show Redundant had considered for some time but couldn't find the right context. But here, it guides the audience pretty specifically into the group's version of a love show. It's a good opener.

This is often provocative material and intellectually demanding. The company provides a talented and precocious cast. Willie Repoley, Rain Newcomb, Rebecca Morris and Todd Weakley are each a master of dialect and nuanced acting. While some of the material is obscure, other pieces are quite intellectually demanding, everyone seeing this production will marvel at the mastery of technique and delivery of vast amounts of material.

Jim Cavener writes on theater for the Citizen-Times. Email at: JimCavener@aya.Yale.edu

Private Lives

I went to the Diana Wortham a few weeks ago to see what was marketed as a big touring live radio version of Noel Coward's Private Lives, produced by a big, fancy L.A. theatre. What I got for my $30 ticket was was possibly the most disappointing and un-thought out piece of theatre I have ever suffered through.
The main problem was simply that they did not commit to any choices: Was it a period show? The script indicated yes, but the costumes and props (including microphones) did not, at least not consistently. Was it a radio show, or a traditional theatre show? Well, it was neither. It had neither the blocking of a traditional show, nor the affectations of a radio show.
It was clearly under-rehearsed, the delivery of the lines was consistently heavy-handed and embarrassingly hammy, and the smart, witty script was left limp and unbelievably boring in the hands of this travesty of a company.
Clearly these people were interested only in cashing their paychecks, and they had no concern for the damage they were doing to the reputation of serious theatre nationwide.
A disaster.

--Willie Repoley