La Bête (The SOB Review) – Music Box Theatre, New York, New York
***1/2 (out of ****)
Last week,
I wrote about a new show on Broadway that would be funny if it wasn’t so sad.
Fortunately, today I get to write about just the opposite -- a revived comedy that could easily be sad if it just wasn’t so hysterically funny.
Rarely has the term “laugh riot” been more befitting than for the new Rialto revival of American playwright
David Hirson’s previously underappreciated 1992 comedy,
La Bête -- set in 18th Century France and written to ape the style of
Molière. In fact, as if taking a cue from the title (French for “the beast”), I was howling with delight.
While the play is written in rhyming couplets, Hirson’s prose never sounds the least bit forced or unnatural. Enormous credit for that achievement goes to
Matthew Warchus, who’s mercifully steering this extraordinary revival. Warchus’ ear for the appropriate cadence lifts the entire production to an astonishing loftiness, as in equaling
Mark Thompson's impressive, towering book case, as opposed to being haughty.
Indeed, part of
La Bête’s subversive charm is that it pretends to pander to the lowest common denominator, even as its subliminal moralizing is much more high-minded, intelligent and thought-provoking, and ultimately heartbreaking.
Centering on a troupe of serious French actors, led by Elomire (
David Hyde Pierce),
La Bête appeals to a populist voice as they’re called upon by an unlikely source to join forces with the dubious talents of the beast in question. The beast is actually an ass -- a street performer named Valere (
Mark Rylance). That the insisting voice is none other than their primary patron, the Princess (
Joanna Lumley), illustrates just how low that common denominator can go in a quest for popular entertainment over substance.
The remarkable Rylance is nothing short of an acting genius. Quite effortlessly, he once again demonstrates why he is -- hands-down -- one of our greatest living stage treasures. Rylance seems to chew just about everything except for the scenery, particularly via his hilarious, non-stop 30-plus minute monologue that must be seen to be believed. It’s the kind of singular, virtuoso performance that audiences will be talking about for years to come.
His delusional, American-accented Valere is so incredibly full of himself -- a true legend in his own mind, if you will -- that he serves as a perfect archetype for all the bloviating excess that much of the rest of the world seems to view in the United States. Valere is the type of narcissistic name-dropping dullard who simply remains clueless to the disdain others around him feel.
With great irony, Rylance is practically holding up a mirror to his American audiences, daring us to laugh at what we have collectively become. And the amazing thing is that we do. We’re in on the joke, even if we're doubled over with this kind of laughter can makes us a wee bit uncomfortable.
As Elomire, Hyde Pierce plays the perfect straight man to Rylance. While he rarely gets a word in edgewise, Hyde Pierce remains nothing if not a master in expressionism, reacting to each and every boast from Valere with requisite double-takes of a man thoroughly frustrated. He’s the yin to Rylance’s yang.
Which is what appeals to the Princess in trying to blend their polar-opposite talents together. In her Broadway debut, Lumley imbues her Princess with unpretentious grace. It’s as if there was a people’s princess long before Diana, even if there’s a brooding, petulant child lurking underneath the regal exterior. And after witnessing Lumley's performance, it's hard to even imagine that the role was written as a Prince.
What is most astonishing about
La Bête is that while it easily plays to all audiences, its most deceptive allure is that at its very core is a beating heart, exposing the pandering for what it is and hoping beyond hope for something more stimulating and intelligent. And for those who can see past the play's façade of folly, they’ll find that and more. But laugh too hard, and is just might escape you.
This is
Steve On Broadway.
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Labels: David Hirson, David Hyde Pierce, Joanna Lumley, La Bete, Mark Rylance, Matthew Warchus, Play, The SOB Review
** (out of ****)
It's the end of the world as we know, and Colin Quinn for one most definitely doesn't feel fine.
In fact, in this incredibly brief 75-minute so-called "history of the world," a very somber Quinn effectively uses symmetry to prove that civilization's downfall really is all Greek to him. Seriously. As if channeling philosopher George Santanaya, Quinn seeks to remind his audience that "Those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it."
In Colin Quinn: Long Story Short, the SNL alum offers a PowerPoint dirge on the world's greatest civilations, examining the Achilles' heels contributing to their seemingly inevitable decline. And you'll never guess which super power's turn at the downward swing it ultimately is in this cautionary comic stand.
As if the message weren't enough of a downer, Quinn does himself few favors by failing to connect with his audience. Rather than engage members directly (and the Playbill comes with a warning not to catcall), Quinn keeps his eyes focused somewhere in the middle of the theatre as if there's invisible cue cards to be found. One wonders where Jerry Seinfeld was, since it seems clear he wasn't really providing any meaningful direction.
That's not to say that there isn't smart humor, and sometimes profound at that, to be found in this extended, stand-up comedy routine. Quinn lands many decent laughs. But more often than not, Quinn is much too serious in imploring his audience to wake up with a clarion call all his own.
Long Story Short? Colin Quinn's biting comedy would be outright hilarious if it weren't so sad.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.
Labels: Broadway, Colin Quinn, Comedy, Jerry Seinfeld, Long Story Short, One Man Show, Standup Comedy, The SOB Review
Lombardi (The SOB Review) - Circle in the Square Theatre, New York, New York
**1/2 (out of ****)
Want to see a grown man cry?
I'm talking about the type of guy who religiously spends each and every Sunday afternoon watching pro football, either in person or in the comfort of his own living room. You know the kind. One who likely never had Broadway, let alone live theatre, on his radar screen.
That is, until the NFL-produced
Lombardi entered the field of new shows opening on the Great White Way this fall. The outpouring of emotions all around me in the audience from those very types of grown men was palpable. So choked up was one gentleman seated behind me that he began sobbing near the end of the play as it became clear that -- just as in real life -- there would be no happy ending for
Vince Lombardi. And when the lights came on, there were plenty of other men with red eyes in the house.
If there's one lesson to be gleaned from the sturdy, yet astonishingly vincible
Lombardi, which opened last week on Broadway, it isn't that someone other than Vince Lombardi coined the phrase, "Winning isn't everything -- it's the only thing." No, it's that the revered football coach who turned around the
Green Bay Packers isn't some outlandish hagiographic caricature. Instead, to his credit, playwright
Eric Simonson offers a
Lombardi who is very human and highly fallible.
Fortuanately, director
Thomas Kail has the winning
Dan Lauria on his team tackling the title role. So effective is Lauria that his imposing presence is felt onstage even when he's not on it. Additionally, his uncanny resemblance to
Lombardi is astounding. As the coach's long-suffering wife Marie, the intoxicatingly droll
Judith Light pours wry observations along with wit that's every bit as dry as the martinis she's constantly swilling.
Yet somehow, this likable Lombardi feels incomplete. If Lombardi is not quite the touchdown Simonson and Kail have strived for, it's largely because they haven't provided a level playing field. Much, perhaps too much, attention in this playbook is given to the coach's fierce devotion to teamwork, but it comes at the expense of providing any real nuance to Lombardi himself. The very heart of what made this coach a true champion is fumbled, relying too heavily on exposition from the huddle of Marie and team members, as well as a fictitious journalist, to fill in what few blanks the playwright allows.
But ask the guys around me at Lombardi if all that matters, and I'll bet they'd insist I simply made a bad call on the play.
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: Broadway, Dan Lauria, Eric Simonson, Judith Light, Lombardi, Play, The SOB Review, Thomas Kail, Vince Lombardi
** (out of ****)
In recent years, Atlantic Theatre Artistic Director Neil Pepe has been with his theatre's co-founder David Mamet through thick and through thin. And for that, I'm grateful, given the works Pepe has breathed exciting new life into.
But nothing has been nearly as thin as Mamet's A Life In The Theatre, a mildly amusing, intermittently humorous and even potentially poignant play about two actors at the opposite ends of their careers. If this work was a real life, you'd think it had overdosed on plavix, making its blood so thin that its veins are left as brittle as Mamet's surprisingly stilted dialogue -- an unfortunate coincidence that has rendered this inert revival as surprisingly lifeless.
How thin can this show be? Running at an exasperatingly long 90 minutes, A Life In The Theatre is divided into dozens of short, distinctive vignettes punctuated by what seems like at least 15 minutes worth of changes in scenery. In fact, Santo Loquasto's scenic design and the stage hands who move it essentially become this revival's third character.
All of what little action there is takes place in the same theatre. However, it's drawn out over an endless, if unlikely, series of plays in which both Robert (Patrick Stewart) and John (T.R. Knight) are continually cast opposite one another.
At first, budding thespian John seems eager to accept the sage advice of Robert, an actor in the twilight of his career. The interplay between Stewart and Knight is at its best when the two are backstage, even if most of the play's funniest moments are reserved for the mishaps onstage.
What makes A Life In The Theatre particularly thin is that Mamet never seems interested in going beyond the superficial relationship between the two actors. Beyond painting one actor's ascent and the resulting jealousies of the other, Mamet misses the opportunity to explore who these men beneath the greasepaint are. Leaving them rather one-dimensional, Mamet deprives the audience the chance to become invested in who Robert and John are.
There is A Life In The Theatre lurking somewhere in this revival, but it's pulse is just too faint.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: A Life In The Theatre, Broadway, David Mamet, Neil Pepe, Patrick Stewart, Play, Revival, T.R. Knight, The SOB Review
*1/2 (out of ****)
The emperor -- er, president -- has no clothes and his name is Andrew Jackson.
Sure the mob rule in Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson may be all sexypants. But sexy ain't necessarily pretty, unless you mean pretty dumb.
Proudly wearing its anachronistic satire on its tight pant leg, this emo-rock musical ever so loosely based on the life of the seventh president of the United States at least has two considerable things working in its favor: Michael Friedman's bloody good score and its game cast led by the charismatic Benjamin Walker in the title role. It's understandable how these two aspects of the show alone could provide a groundswell of support.
But then there's Alex Timbers' book. Tempted as I am to say it's clever by half, in truth it's rarely clever. There are flashes of brilliance, but too often it parades as a sophomoric "Schoolhouse Rock" with Looney Tunes sound-effects. Except this is a pottymouth history lesson you'd never want your kids to learn if you cared a wit about the all the facts.
While Timbers' anachronistic direction doesn't bother me, his often disingenous deconstruction of early American history does. Yes, there are many parallels that can be drawn between Jackson's time and today. But Timbers' obtuse book fails to connect the dots satisfactorily. So sloppily written is this show at times that you'd think Jackson's biggest headache was in dealing with a Republican-dominated Congress, even though the GOP as we know it wasn't formed until nine years after his death.
I'm fully aware that mobs of critics practically hoisted this Andrew Jackson on their shoulders, celebrating it after first opening earlier this year at the Public Theater. But populism ain't all it's cracked up to be, and I resist mobs.
So even though this mob at least rocked my world, it's incapable of ruling it. As a result, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson fails to earn my vote. Ironically, since the real Andrew Jackson championed the individual, I think he may have understood.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: Alex Timbers, Andrew Jackson, Benjamin Walker, Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson, Broadway, Michael Friedman, Musical, The SOB Review
Evita (The SOB Review) - Theater Latté Da, McKnight Theatre, Ordway Center for the Perform-ing Arts, St. Paul, Minnesota
***1/2 (out of ****)
Rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin'...
So goes "And The Money Kept Rolling In," from
Evita. It's an appropriate metaphor for the breathtaking, rapid-paced revival currently being mounted by the Twin Cities'
Theater Latté Da.
Helmed with muscular invention by estimable director
Peter Rothstein,
Evita could very well be his most ambitious work yet.
Evita not only steams across the stage like a speeding locomotive, but it also manages to soar to high-flying heights for this highly innovative theatre company.
Never one to rest on his laurels as one of the Minnesota theatre's premier directors, Rothstein doesn't seem content to let his audience rest either. Indeed,
Evita zips by in a quick two hours and twenty minutes (intermission included). Much of the breathtaking propulsion is set by choreographer
Michael Matthew Ferrell's entrancing tango, in which every actor is summoned to partake.
Fortunately, Rothstein has found exceptional talent to keep up with nary a breath.
As
Evita herself,
Zoe Pappas offers a towering if often overpowering performance. But that seems completely justified given Eva Peron's own commanding reach for fortune and fame. Pappas invites them in as a first-rate triple threat. She demonstrates enormous confidence and competence in finding the Argentine First Lady's subtle shadings. Pappas' vibrant singing voice could easily fill an auditorium ten times the size of the McKnight, and her dancing prowess is one rarely seen in leading ladies.
Yet it's the enormously charismatic
Jared Oxborough whose little touch of star quality grabs hold of you long after you leave the theatre. As Che, Oxborough infuses his narration with so much star power that it's a wonder he's not performing on a Broadway stage. Blessed with natural charm and an intoxicating singing voice, Oxborough makes it seem so effortless. It came as a shock for me to learn that this gifted actor recently graduated from college where he was better known for his agility on the ice (as in hockey). He practically skates circles around the rest of the cast.
While not perfect, there is much to adore about this
Evita -- arguably the best and most satisfying of musical collaborations between
Andrew Lloyd Webber and
Tim Rice. Musical director
Denise Prosek manages to make her quartet sound like a full orchestra.
Rick Polenek's monumental scenic design sets a new benchmark in excellence for the company, supplemented handsomely by
Paul Whitaker's wonderfully evocative lighting. And
Rich Hamson's impeccable costume design ensures that this
Evita is dressed to the nines.
As for the tune referenced at the top?
Well, fortunately for Twin Cities audiences, there is no blink or you'll miss it. Excellent advance ticket sales already came rolling in, enabling
Evita to extend its St. Paul engagement by another two weeks through November 14, 2010.
This is
Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post. However, in the interest of full disclosure, please note that I am not only a donor to Theater Latté Da, but I also participate in its community advisory council. Labels: Andrew Lloyd Webber, Denise Prosek, Evita, Jared Oxborough, Minneapolis/St. Paul, Musical, Peter Rothstein, Revival, The SOB Review, Tim Rice, Zoe Pappas
Mrs. Warren's Profession (The SOB Review) - American Airlines Theatre, Roundabout Theatre Company, New York City, New York
**1/2 (out of ****)
Call the cops!
For a play that was raided and shut down by the New York Police when
first mounted on Broadway over 100 years ago,
Mrs. Warren's Profession isn't just the oldest in the world, it may have been among the boldest as drawn by playwright
George Bernard Shaw through
Doug Hughes' revisionist direction.
As delivered in a bravura performance by the impeccable
Cherry Jones, Mrs. Kitty Warren has rationalized her vocation to a degree that it's almost impossible not to give credence to her forceful if flawed logic. For Kitty Warren never seems to doubt that she's vanquished over the drudgery of working class labor, turning the tables on all who've second guessed just who's being exploited.
Indeed, the proud Kitty Warren is supremely confident that hers is a truly noble profession. She is particularly proud of its provision of the very best for her beloved, if rarely seen, daughter Vivie (a hardboiled yet shrill
Sally Hawkins in her Broadway debut).
Kitty has been running a string of bordellos on the European continent. But ironically, Vivie has become accustomed to a proper upper class English lifestyle and has taken on an affected air of arrogance.and moral superiority all while Kitty has been plying her natural-born wares to ensure her daughter's very comfort and education.
However, Vivie's most volatile lesson is yet to come. She is about to learn that everything in her haughty existence has been made possible by her mother's very profession. And just when she's willing to forgive what she perceives as Kitty's past transgressions, she learns that the brothels still feature her mother as the star attraction.
As a harsh critic of capitalism's underbelly, Shaw offers Mrs. Warren's Profession as one of his most potent polemics against the clash of classes in Victorian society. As Hughes' interpretation here makes it appear that Shaw has overlooked the inherent exploitation of selling one's body, if not one's very soul, his reasoning is saved by the extraordinary talents of Cherry Jones.
It's to Jones' enormous credit that she imbues her Mrs. Warren with such warmth, passion, style and grace in making Shaw's arguments, that our hearts break for her as she faces potential rejection from her own daughter. But as Vivie, Hawkins offers a brittle performance as she rethinks her own moral code.
With ladies like these to fill your evenings, Mrs. Warren's Profession may turn tricks with everything you've ever thought about the demimonde.
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post. Labels: Broadway, Cherry Jones, George Bernard Shaw, Mrs. Warren's Profession, Play, Revival, Sally Hawkins, The SOB Review
The Pitmen Painters (The SOB Review) - Samuel J. Friedman Theatre, Manhattan Theatre Club, New York City, New York
**1/2 (out of ****)
The slogan "All for one and one for all" may have originated with the
Three Musketeers. But it could just as easily have been derived from
The Pitmen Painters -- an actual team of English coal miners-cum-artists from Newcastle -- who define the word selfless as they eschew personal gain for the overarching cohesion of their group.
Playwright
Lee Hall mines familiar territory he first broached through his triumph in
Billy Elliot by centering on the democratization of the arts. In
The Pitmen Painters, Lee once again marks a collision of working class coal miners with the revelation that art is not solely the bastion of the affluent. As in
Billy Elliot, the potential empowerment and liberation offered by artistic expression is often at odds with a deeply ingrained and dogmatic Socialistic philosophy espoused among these workers.
While often riveting, humorous and particularly stimulating during the superb and far superior first act, the play becomes increasingly didactic during the more muddled second.
Set in the 1930s,
The Pitmen Painters -- Oliver Kilbourne (an excellent
Christopher Connell), Harry Wilson (
Michael Hodgson), Young Lad (
Brian Lonsdale), George Brown (
Deka Walmsley) and Jimmy Floyd (
David Whitaker) -- are coal miners determined to become better enlightened as a unit. They've selected art appreciation as their collective means of further enriching their lives. Together, they tap the knowledge of teacher Robert Lyon (
Ian Kelly), who quickly dispenses with his birds-eye view of Renaissance art history in favor of challenging these men to put their own paint brushes to canvas.
Much to Robert's surprise and delight, his painters place enormous thought and care into their individual works, demonstrating a real knack for it. As a team, they critique each other's assignments and argue over whether art is in the eye of the beholder or the artist himself. Near the end of act one as the five men are eagerly learning more as they view renowned paintings, they together reach their epiphany that art is meant to be viewed with each other to be fully appreciated. Think "art as a democracy."
As the first act concluded, I was in complete awe of Lee's own work,
Max Roberts' stunning direction and his exceptional ensemble. Even more so, I was struck by the penetrating implication that as an audience member, I was sharing this truly communal experience with a theatre full of strangers of all races, colors, creeds and lots in life as we watched
The Pitmen Painters together.
Such would have been a perfect place for the show to end -- especially given the far less satisfying second act. Lee should have quit while he was ahead.
Inspired with the accumulated potential among his pupils, Robert enlists Helen Sutherland (
Phillippa Wilson), a wealthy patron of the arts, to view the paintings. So impressed is Helen with Oliver's promising talent that she offers to pay him a weekly stipend to further develop his skills as a true artist. Oliver is faced with a dilemma of whether to pursue this opportunity of a lifetime or decline for the the good of the group.
I won't divulge what transpires. But allow me to say that whether intentionally or not, Lee's second act seems to imply that Socialist ideals of worker cooperation can come at the expense of artistic expression and individuality -- or does it?
Given how Lee's
Billy Elliot celebrated the latter, his own conclusion in
The Pitmen Painters is conflicted, if not a bit confounding. Is Lee celebrating Socialism or warning of its perils? It's far from clear.
But like works of art that challenge precepts and convention, this mostly entertaining work certainly makes one think and appreciate, regardless of socio-economic status.
This is
Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: Billy Elliot The Musical, Broadway, Christopher Connell, Ian Kelly, Lee Hall, Max Roberts, Play, The Pitmen Painters, The SOB Review
Brief Encounter (The SOB Review) - Studio 54, Roundabout Theatre Company, New York City, New York
**** (out of ****)
Returning to any show that completely immerses you with one spellbinding ripple after another is often fraught with peril. Will it stand up the second time around or will those earlier memories suffer from a backwash that crashes hard from being far less satisfying?
In revisiting
Emma Rice's excellent
Brief Encounter, which opened last evening at
Studio 54, I realized I need not have worried about whether this play with music would hold up to a repeated viewing or further scrutiny. As much as
I loved the show earlier this year in Minneapolis, I found my heart and soul swimming yet again, this time even deeper in a sea of bliss. In short,
Brief Encounter is better than ever.
Rice's ingenious adaptation of
Noël Coward's screenplay cleverly punctuates live action -- often breaking the fourth wall -- with some of Coward's signature tunes. Before the show even begins, Rice sets the mood as her supporting players are out in the orchestra section of the theatre, serenading the audience as it playfully interacts with them as movie theater ushers from a bygone era. However, what they're really ushering in, quite simultaneously, are two distinct eras.
The first era harkens back to that pre-World War II time when Coward was in his prime.
Brief Encounter is nothing if not a truly cinematic melodrama in which two lovers first meet by complete happenstance in a train depot restaurant. Laura (
Hannah Yelland) gets a speck of dirt caught in her eye. Having already caught the eye of a doctor, Alec (
Tristan Sturrock), she receives immediate attention from him.
But because this is England, circa 1930s, and these are English characters replete with the proverbial "stiff upper lip," the inhabitants of
Brief Encounter are quite proper, if not repressed, in expressing themselves and their feelings. Compounding the matter for Laura is that she's a married mother of two who has settled into a humdrum life. As much as the spark of love from Alec appeals to her, she's reticent in allowing herself to be completely swept away.
Which leads to the second era that those
Brief Encounter ushers have shown our way to -- a new era in theatre that seamlessly blends the live action on (and off) the stage with silver screen images and
Gemma Carrington and
Jon Driscoll's Tony-worthy projection design (if there actually
were such a category). The result is a theatrical experience unlike any other -- theatre of the future. That experience allows unfettered access into the hearts and minds of Laura and Alec as love's crashing waves wash over them, almost quite literally.
Yelland and Sturrock are picture perfect as the two lovers. While Alec may go overboard for Laura in more than the figurative sense, neither Yelland or Sturrock overplay their hands into anything resembling camp -- a decidedly difficult task when doing melodrama.
Rice's supporting cast is equally superb, including
Annette McLaughlin as Myrtle, the restaurant proprietor, and
Joseph Alessi in the dual roles as Myrtle's suitor and Laura's husband.
Gabriel Ebert and
Adam Pleeth will melt your heart with their splendid renditions of some of Coward's most tuneful songs.
The magnificent
Brief Encounter succeeds on so many levels, but particularly because it dares to be different. It'll have you swooning, too.
This is
Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: Annette McLaughlin, Brief Encounter, Broadway, Emma Rice, Gemma Carrington, Hannah Yelland, Jon Driscoll, Joseph Alessi, Noel Coward, Play, The SOB Review, Tristan Sturrock
Wicked (The SOB Review) - Helsingin Kaupungin Teatteri, Helsinki, Finland
***1/2 (out of ****)
For the third time, Stephen Schwartz's musical Wicked is being produced in a language other than English.
Yet the show now playing at the Helsingin Kaupungin Teatteri (Helsinki City Theatre) is the first "non-replicated" production ever of the tuner, meaning that Wicked isn't using the original Broadway staging. Instead, it's been conceived with new creative designs that lends an incredibly fresh perspective to this already classic work, thanks to Hans Berndtsson's inventive direction.
While the Finns -- or for that matter the rest of the world -- may not know "The Wonderful Wizard Of Oz" quite the way Americans do (we've practically been weaned on the movie since birth), almost nothing is lost in translation in Berndtsson's reimagined Wicked.
In fact, his vision hews this incarnation much closer to the 1939 film, complete with a dazzling double for Dorothy (Hanna Mönkäre) -- the first time this character has been seen on stage in Wicked. The girl in the blue gingham dress drops in at appropriate times throughout the performance including the climax, which proves to be eminently more satisfying than the Broadway original. This Wicked better complements the film than the original mounting, which in retrospect left some sizeable gaps between it and its forebear.
Given Finland's close proximity to the fomer Soviet Union (Helsinki is less than 200 miles away from the Russian border), perhaps it's no surprise that the sinister Wizard (Eero Saarinen) is drawn with Soviet-style shadings as he attempts to tamp down the peasants by giving them a new enemy in Elphaba (Maria Ylipää). I couldn't help but think Saarinen's Wizard as a perfect doppelgänger for Alec Baldwin aping Joseph Stalin. Berndttson's choices here, along with further nuance for the once-speaking animals subtly blended in throughout the show, prove chillingly effective.
Less so is the director's conception of Oz, where he seems to have attempted to insert more pages from Gregory Maguire's much more graphic and decidedly more adult book. Oz apparently has a seedy underbelly, complete with what appears to be a leather disco where Elphaba and Glinda (Anna-Maija Tuokko) celebrate their "One Fine Day" ("Päivän Vain") in the Emerald City. More bizarre is a series of bubbles that come alive with scantily clad dancers during "Loistavaa" ("Wonderful") as the Wizard is trying to woo Elphaba back into his fold. Are these the same bubbles that the Wizard has created for Glinda to come and gone by?
However, Wicked is ultimately about "The Wizard Of Oz" backstory of how two very different women find friendship and empowerment. In this regard, Berndttson's vision doesn't disappoint and in fact excels. Tuokko is as giddy and gorgeous as any Glinda I've seen, and her comic timing and agile voice couldn't be better. Ylipää effortlessly wins our hearts as the misunderstood green girl. Both Ylipää's Elphaba and Tuokko's Glinda soar, whether by bubble or broom, to breathtaking heights by putting their own indelible stamps on these roles and making them their own.
Overall, this Wicked is fresh, exciting, absolutely wonderful and full of aahs. For me, it was most definitely worth the trip.
Click here to view the offical program. Currently, this production of Wicked is selling tickets through December 31, 2010.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: Anna-Maija Tuokko, Eero Saarninen, Finland, Gregory Maguire, Hanna Mönkäre, Hans Berndtsson, Maria Ylipää, Non-replicated, Stephen Schwartz, The SOB Review, Wicked
The Princeton Seventh (The SOB Review) - Partizan Theater, Minnesota Fringe Festival, U of M Thrust Stage, Minneapolis, Minnesota
***1/2 out of ****It's one thing to write what you know. But embellishing it? Well, that just might be a whole lot more fun.
In playwright/director
James Vculek's brilliantly funny, metaphysical comedy
The Princeton Seventh,
writers of all stripes grasp that it's never easy putting pen to paper when writing that truly novel novel. It takes inspiration. And license.
Fortunately, Vculek is inspired. And his license kills.
Intelligently and incisively crafted with witty repartee among its four principals,
The Princeton Seventh centers on a nearly empty hotel bar in Toledo where one undistinguished man (
Ari Hoptman, right) chats up the only other patron, famous author Jack Cutler (
Alex Cole, left), who's in town to salute literary giant Max Lonoff (
Richard Ooms).
Still drafting his speech over drinks, Cutler is annoyed that the other man is continually plying him with one too many questions. But after being plied with a couple cocktails, Cutler becomes intrigued when he learns that the man he dismissively referred to as a mere "shoe salesman from Cleveland" turns out to know Lonoff quite well. Turns out this mousy man was one of six -- or was it seven? -- students famously mentored by Lonoff during his only year teaching at Princeton.
The pompous, yet suave Lonoff enters the bar with his trophy wife (
Alayne Hopkins) and it soon becomes apparent just who the mystery man is. Or does it?
Although it's a scant 55 minutes in duration, there are more twists and turns in
The Princeton Seventh than most plays twice as long. And just when you think you have this play figured out, a new act unfolds before your eyes as if from some parallel universe. Playing like the best of
Charlie Kaufman's
works, Vculek's surreal play turns things inside out, making you wish you could push the replay button and watch it unfold again to catch what you may have missed.
The magnificent Hoptman shines as the chameleon who simply can't be penned down. The terrific Cole is reliably cock-sure as the jerk novelist who thinks he's seen it all. As one of Minneapolis' acting treasures, Ooms delivers a solid one-two punch with dual portrayals of the great Lonoff, and the radiant Hopkins goes the distance alongside him with a knock-out Waverly and a Mindel from the opposite end of the spectrum.
Cleverly written and directed,
The Princeton Seventh may very well be the most cerebral comedy you're likely to see at the
Minnesota Fringe Festival (two performances
remain). Entertaining, sharp and winning, Vculek's work deserves a larger audience far beyond the fringe.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: Alayne Hopkins, Alex Cole, Ari Hoptman, Fringe Festival, James Vculek, Minnesota Fringe Festival, Partizan Theater, Play, Richard Ooms, The Princeton Seventh, The SOB Review
The Scottsboro Boys (The SOB Review) - McGuire Proscenium Stage, Guthrie, Minneapolis, Minnesota***1/2 (out of ****)Last evening,
The Scottsboro Boys' pre-
Broadway trial run at Minneapolis'
Guthrie opened, and I was there to witness it.
With no defense necessary, my verdict was easily reached.
The Scottsboro Boys is sensational in virtually every way.
What makes this
Susan Stroman-helmed tuner particularly noteworthy is its very production marks the final yet ultimately sanguine collaboration between one of the most durable duos in musical theatre history:
John Kander and the late
Fred Ebb, who passed away nearly six years ago. Through the culmination of
The Scottsboro Boys, Kander and Ebb's prolific, unmistakable scores now stretch nearly 50 years.
Their magnificent musical is based on an
actual cause célèbre surrounding the outrageous injustices endured by nine African-Americans, who were falsely accused of gang-raping two white women in a deeply prejudiced Alabama during the Great Depression. As guilty verdict after guilty verdict was thrown out by the U.S. Supreme Court, the nine remained behind bars for years continuing to profess their innocence.
Proving once and for all that
fact is far stranger and usually much more compelling than fiction, librettist
David Thompson wisely hews his book quite close to what actually transpired, giving a plausible air of verisimilitude to the story. The liberties he does take serve to move the story along.
Additionally, Thompson -- along with Kander and Ebb's ingeniously sly score -- beats those lingering racist underpinnings left within our society at its own game by cleverly employing
minstrel show devices to frame the story. In the hands of any less skilled director than Stroman, the effect could easily fall flat.
Stroman exceptionally executes this production frequently employing her creative choreography to brilliantly underscore the proceedings. Witness how she's creatively conceived "Electric Chair," using jolting humor to make a point. To say the least, it's one of many electrifying passages in the show's progression.
The thoroughly excellent cast prosecutes their roles with a spine-tingling sense of mischievous daring and danger. Without exception, they are in a word superb.
In an ironic about-face, the equally phenomenal
Colman Domingo and
Forrest McClendon each effectively put on a white face to portray a dizzying array of characters ranging from sheriff and deputy to lawyers and guards. As the lone white actor in the production, a fine
David Anthony Brinkley presides as the Interlocutor, as well as judge and Alabama governor (Brinkley will be replaced on Broadway by
John Collum, who originated those roles earlier this year at New York's
Vineyard Theatre).
Each of the nine Scottsboro Boys is expertly prosecuted by
Sean Bradford as Ozie Powell,
Josh Breckenridge as Olen Montgomery,
Derrick Cobey as Andy Wright,
Jeremy Gumbs as Eugene Williams,
Joshua Henry as Haywood Patterson,
Rodney Hicks as Clarence Norris,
Kendrick Jones as Willie Roberson,
Julius Thomas III as Roy Wright, and
Christian Dante White as Charles Weems. All have individual personality to spare -- and in the case of Bradford and White, quite literally, as they portray accusors Ruby and Victoria with aplomb.
When the nine first bound onto the stage in saltation through the rousing "Minstrel March" (which seamlessly segues into the devilishly deceptive "Hey, Hey, Hey, Hey!"), they're imbuing their characters with all the dashed hopes and dreams they describe shortly after in the gorgeous, Gospel-tinged "Commencing In Chattanooga." But from their crowded cell, when Thompson's libretto astutely gives way to the stark reality inherent in Alabama's rat-infested jails and prisons, each actor comes into his own.
Ultimately it's Joshua Henry's extraordinary turn as the illiterate, truth-telling
Haywood Patterson that thrills. Henry astonishes in the minstrelsy "Nothin'" as he flawlessly maneuvers back and forth between a genuinely-delivered sulking, seething animosity toward being unjustly accused and a crafty caricature of the shameful
blackface personna that's long since been discredited. His soaring, yet heartbreaking "You Can't Do Me" vanquishes over adversity, even if he's left to rot in jail.
Adroitly and satisfyingly concluding with a poignant depiction of a much more prominent historical event, nimbly offered by
Sharon Washington as The Lady, the overall result is spellbinding.
I can testify that as gutwrenching, outrageous and absolutely beautiful as this musical is,
The Scottsboro Boys is nothing short of an ironic triumph over evil. It will surely become a must-see on Broadway, and to that I'll confidently swear.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post. Labels: Colman Domingo, David Thompson, Forrest McClendon, Fred Ebb, Guthrie, John Kander, Joshua Henry, Minneapolis/St. Paul, Musical, Susan Stroman, The Scottsboro Boys, The SOB Review
Harry Connick, Jr. In Concert On Broadway (The SOB Review) - Neil Simon Theatre, New York, New York**1/2 (out of ****)With a rousing finale that had his entire audience leaping to their feet cheering, you'd think
Harry Connick, Jr. had just performed one of the most exciting concerts in history.
Indeed, after New Orleans trombonist
Lucien Barbarin hit the stage midway through the second act with an electrifying confidence and soulful commitment, the entire joint was jumping, including (finally) Connick himself.
There's no denying the appeal of Connick, whose crooning vocals are extraordinarily easy on the ears. Whether he was singing standards or tunes from his two Broadway shows --
The Pajama Game, in which he starred, and
Thou Shalt Not, which he scored -- his exceptional voice was as velvety smooth as ever.
But for having practically grown up on the stage, Connick seems surprisingly stiff and uncomfortable in his own skin, particularly when it's covered by a tuxedo. He began loosening up ever so slightly during the first act as he loosened his bow tie. Yet as he delved into some self-indulgant riffing on the ivories, his guard was never down.
After seeing
Million Dollar Quartet, I
remarked how excellent
Levi Kreis was, comparing him to "Harry Connick, Jr. doing
Jerry Lee Lewis without coming across as stilted." How prescient that line in my review proved to be. In
Harry Connick, Jr. In Concert On Broadway, a very stilted Connick reminded me more of
Perry Como. For you kids at home who have never heard of Como, the singing great was so low key that he was often jokingly accused of being
asleep while performing. I wanted to shout, "Wake up, Harry!"
Fortunately, Connick did just that with a rollicking second act that provided a slice right out of the French Quarter. However, the real star of the act was Barbarin, who embraced the audience in lieu of Connick. He was responsible for delivering and transforming the concert into an event.
As far as giving the audience what they wanted, Connick ultimately struck out by only offering up one encore tune, much to the disappointment of the crowd that began chanting, "Harry! Harry! Harry!" a full five minutes after the final curtain fell.
While this concert gig closed on Saturday, my performance was filmed, presumably for television. So you'll likely have a chance to see exactly what I saw sometime in the near future.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: Broadway, Concert, Harry Connick Jr., Harry Connick Jr. In Concert On Broadway, Levi Kreis, The SOB Review
My Year On Broadway: Most To Least - 2009-2010 Theatrical SeasonDuring Broadway’s 2009-10 Theatrical Season, 38 new and revived musicals and plays opened on the Great White Way. I was fortunate to see every single one of them, which is up from
last year when ultimately I caught 32 out of last year's 44 new shows.
While I'll write soon about the best and worst shows I've seen over the past year -- with some topping my lists from venues other than Broadway -- I'm once again pleased to rank all this past season's Main Stem shows beginning with those I liked the most to the least (you may click on each to see my full SOB Review).
As regular readers know, in addition to my SOB Reviews for each show, I also employ a star system, awarding up to four stars for the best productions all the way down to zero stars for absolute bottom-of-the barrel rubbish (fortunately, in my decades of theatregoing, I've only seen shows that come within a half-star of rock bottom, and none of this year's Broadway shows are ranked any lower than a single star).
While the system is imperfect, it does offer readers seeking a quick reading as to whether I thought the show was excellent, poor or somewhere in between. Even though there were some exceptional offerings this season, I’ve long believed that this has been a rather mediocre year overall, and the star system average of 2.5 seems to bear that out.
So here's my most to least favorite list of the Broadway shows I've seen over the past year:
1.
Red ****
2.
Superior Donuts ****
3.
Brighton Beach Memoirs ****
4.
Fences ***1/2
5.
Enron ***1/2
6.
Time Stands Still ***1/2
7.
Lend Me A Tenor ***1/2
8.
La Cage Aux Folles ***1/2
9.
Fela! ***1/2
10.
Oleanna ***1/2
11.
The Royal Family ***
12.
Memphis ***
13.
A Little Night Music ***
14.
Hamlet ***
15.
Everyday Rapture ***
16.
Ragtime **1/2
17.
Sondheim On Sondheim **1/2
18.
A View From The Bridge **1/2
19.
Finian's Rainbow **1/2
20.
Wishful Drinking **1/2
21.
The Addams Family **1/2
22.
A Steady Rain **1/2
23.
Burn The Floor **1/2
24.
Million Dollar Quartet **
25.
In The Next Room or the vibrator play **
26.
Promises, Promises **
27.
Collected Stories **
28.
A Behanding In Spokane **
29.
All About Me **
30.
American Idiot *1/2
31.
The Miracle Worker *1/2
32.
Present Laughter *1/2
33.
Looped *1/2
34.
Next Fall *1/2
35.
After Miss Julie *1/2
36.
Race *1/2
37.
Bye Bye Birdie *
38.
Come Fly Away *
What were your most and least favorite Broadway shows of the past year?
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: Broadway, Favorite Shows, Musical, Play, Red, Revival, The SOB Review
Sondheim On Sondheim (The SOB Review) - Studio 54, Roundabout Theatre Company, New York City, New York
**1/2 (out of ****)Veritably playing into the hands of the would-be gift-giver in search of the perfect present for the ultimate
Stephen Sondheim fan,
Sondheim On Sondheim works as a mixed blessing for everyone else.
Now, let me be absolutely clear.
I've long since become a Sondheim-phile. I adore Sondheim. I cherish his music. I've actively sought out his works, including many of the lesser performed ones. Shortly before his 80th birthday, I even had an opportunity to meet him and then listen to him answer countless questions to further illuminate his creative process. In short, I revere him as one of the most intelligent, thoughtful and witty composers in the history of musical theatre. This genius we know as Stephen Sondheim is certainly nothing short of a living treasure.
And there's much to love and admire about this often hagiographic tribute revue, which was conceived and directed by one of Sondheim's frequent collaborators,
James Lapine. For starters, compliments of
Peter Flaherty's continuously unfolding projection design, Sondheim himself lords over the festivities with a banquet of anecodotes, along with a plethora of individuals trying to sing "Send In The Clowns" with varying success captured on YouTube. Yet I learned more about Sondheim during that aforementioned live Q&A than I did via the video snippets.
This revue does offer tremendous insights into how some of his songs made it into the final works, and how many -- shared here for the first time on Broadway -- did not. One of my favorite moments came as the precursors to
Company's "Being Alive" demonstrated a captivating progression of creative thought from "Multitude of Amys" to "Happily Ever After" to that ultimate song to perfectly underscore Bobby's journey throughout the show. And to hear "Being Alive" delivered so gloriously by
Norm Lewis was icing on the cake.
All in all,
Sondheim On Sondheim carries eight tunes that never made it into the shows for which they were originally written. While it's lovely to hear anything Sondheim has composed (and I ate it up), it becomes resoundingly evident why many of them weren't used.
Then there are the great -- and, alas, not so great performances -- themselves spanning nineteen of his shows.
In addition to Lewis, it was thrilling to finally see the great
Barbara Cook perform live (even if the teleprompter hanging off the mezzannine turned on each time she took to the stage); she's still in remarkable voice.
Euan Morton and
Leslie Kritzer's vignettes from
Merrily We Roll Along not only made the best case for a full Broadway revival, but their very public audition should also serve to significantly increase their chances to be cast in it. And a ceremoniously frockless Vanessa Williams added radiance and the most sass since she was defrocked unceremoniously a quarter century ago.
Unfortunately, missteps include the usually reliable
Tom Wopat being assigned "Epiphany" from
Sweeney Todd; whether it was the song choice or his performance, it just didn't work. The same goes for
Erin Mackey and
Matthew Scott; they're fine singers, but both seemed out of their element throughout the show and detracted more than they added.
Still,
Sondheim On Sondheim ranks as one of those shows I would not -- make that
could not -- have missed. Overall, it's a nice tribute, but it pales in comparison to actually seeing one of his exceptional works.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: Barbara Cook, Broadway, Euan Morton, James Lapine, Leslie Kritzer, Musical, Norm Lewis, Revue, Sondheim On Sonheim, Stephen Sondheim, The SOB Review, Tom Wopat
The Addams Family (The SOB Review) - Lunt-Fontanne Theatre, New York City, New York
**1/2 (out of ****)So there I was walking down Eighth Avenue.
Much to my delight, I realized I was walking side-by-side with
Jackie Hoffman, who portrays Grandma in the new musical based on
Charles Addams' cheekily macabre
New Yorker cartoons.
Now, Hoffman doesn't know me from
Adam. Heck, for that matter, she doesn't even know me from
The Addams Family. But she was quite receptive to my chatting her up. I couldn't resist informing her I had seen the show during its Chicago tryout. With brutal honesty, I admitted
I hadn't enjoyed it much there.
But I also told her I had just seen
The Addams Family again on Broadway the very evening before our chance meeting. Without being one least bit sycophantic, I shared how much improved I believed the tuner had become since Chicago. Indeed, the show is tighter and fortunately much snappier. Even better is that
Marshall Brickman and
Rick Elice have tipped the balance more toward the eponymous brood's favor than that clan of interlopers who had me scratching my head in Chicago.
The one last thing I told Hoffman before saying goodbye was while I enjoyed her hilarious comic turn, I still wondered why she didn't have a solo number. She took that comment in stride, literally, and then graciously thanked me and asked me to spread the word about the show.
So here goes.
The critical response certainly been less than kind, often bordering on
scathing. But the truth is that the show
isn't all that bad.
The Addams Family offers geniune laughs, particularly during its first act. It also turns out to be quite a bona fide crowd pleaser with many brilliantly eccentric turns, from the king of comic-timing
Nathan Lane -- whose Gomez consistently rises above the book and
Andrew Lippa's lackluster score -- to
Kevin Chamberlin's scene-stealing Uncle Fester. As Morticia,
Bebe Neuwirth at least looks great, but as much as I've admired her acting prowess, her singing voice isn't what it once was. But she sure still has the moves.
As in Chicago, I still admire
Phelim McDermott and
Julian Crouch's evocative scenic design. Rich in dark reds and black and supplemented by
Natasha Katz’s lighting, the stage is resplendent with a creepy vibe.
The show may still not be a
complete scream, but compared with Chicago, there's at least plenty more here for people wanting to come see ‘em.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: Bebe Neuwirth, Cartoon, Jackie Hoffman, Kevin Chamberlin, Marshall Brickman, Musical, Nathan Lane, Rick Elice, The Addams Family, The SOB Review
A Streetcar Named Desire (The SOB Review) - 325 Tudor Court Theatre, Writers' Theatre, Glencoe, Illinois
**** (out of ****)
Genius. Pure, unequivocal genius.
In an absolutely enthralling yet haunting revival of
Tennesee Williams' 63-year old
A Streetcar Named Desire, director
David Cromer has done it again.
Once again, as in his
Our Town and
Brighton Beach Memoirs, Cromer has carefully pulled back the cover on what we know about an enduring stage classic. In doing so, he's expertly pinpointed its deepest emotional core with exacting precision. The revelations, even for someone who's seen the work countless times before, are at once astounding and exhilarating.
As with those two other works, he has shrewdly reassembled this masterpiece to perfection. The result here is
A Streetcar that ingeniously illuminates Blanche duBois' desires and repulsions, often at the very same moment. It is a rare production that sends chills tingling through my body once, let alone in spades the way this exciting revival has done. I had goosebumps from near the top of the second act right through its heartwrenching conclusion.
Cromer's vision in mounting this work is aided tremendously by the incredibly intimate
Writers' Theatre space itself, with audience completely encircling the stage, which
Collette Pollard has marvelously designed to evoke the smallish New Orleans home of Stanley (a magnificent
Matt Hawkins) and Stella Kowalski (a stellar
Stacy Stoltz). While fellow patrons for this theatrical event sit opposite you across the stage, they merely blend into the Kowalskis' invisible wallpaper as it becomes nearly impossible to take your eyes away from the acting brilliance unfolding before your eyes.
In fact, if this
Streetcar were any more accessible, the audience would be sitting in the Kowalskis' two-story home with the cast. Never before has this play seemed more genuine or real. And there's not a weak member to be found among this outstanding ensemble.
Natasha Lowe provides the ultimate incandescent performance as Blanche, whose past hangs more vividly than a specter over her pretense. In Lowe, nuance knows no bounds as her Blanche completely captivates, particularly when disclosing to her potential paramour Mitch (the gentle, affecting
Danny McCarthy) how her last real relationship abruptly came to its end (bravo here to
Heather Gilbert for her subtle and masterful lighting design). It's the first of many harrowing discoveries that took my breath away as no other previous revival I've seen.
Speaking of nuance, Hawkins and Stoltz add significant shades of depth to Stanley and Stella, respectively. Hawkins' electrifying performance humanizes Stanley to the point where you reconsider everything you've ever thought about his boorish behavior. As Stella, Stoltz more than holds her own, becoming more than just a mere pawn in the battle between her husband and sister.
If there's such a thing as
beyond excellent, this
A Streetcar Named Desire is it. Do whatever you can to get to Glencoe, Illinois, prior to July 11 to see this classic as you've never seen it before.
This is Steve On Broadway (SOB).
In keeping with the new Federal Trade Commission (FTC) regulations that unfairly discriminate against bloggers, who are now required by law to disclose when they have received anything of value they might write about, please note that I have received nothing of value in exchange for this post.Labels: A Streetcar Named Desire, Chicago, Danny McCarthy, David Cromer, Matt Hawkins, Natasha Lowe, Play, Revival, Stacy Stoltz, Tennessee Williams, The SOB Review, Writers' Theatre
