Woman Around Town’s Editor Charlene Giannetti and writers for the website talk with the women and men making news in New York, Washington, D.C., and other cities around the world. Thanks to Ian Herman for his wonderful piano introduction.
Sunday afternoon I took a mini-vacation with Eric Comstock and Barbara Fasano- well, me and the rest of the audience at Birdland. Like genial tour guides, the couple lead us out of the oven, into the country, and onto the shore; away from traffic, the news, and personal troubles…Three songs in, with “Gone Fishin” (Nick Kenny/ Charles Kenny), it’s all in a rearview mirror. Cows need milkin’ in the barn/ But you just don’t give a – darn. Too true.
These two love the season in which they had their first date and married. I’m susceptible, Fasano sings, I shouldn’t be allowed out at night…she swivels to face Comstock, with anyone like you…longlined notes arc and sigh. (“Incurably Romantic”-James Van Heusen) Hide your heart from sight/Lock your dreams at night/It could happen to you…Comstock affectionately responds to the rhythm of a measured cha-cha. (“It Could Happen to You”-Sammy Cahn/Johnny Burke.) They play off each other with the illusive ease of a practiced trapeze act.
An unusual pairing of Vivian Ellis’s “Wind in the Willows” and Sting’s “Fields of Gold” create a story as do “Witchcraft” (Carolyn Leigh/Cy Coleman) and “How Little We Know” (Phil Springer.) During the latter, Fasano steps gently side to side. In her hands, this is not just a love song, it’s a life lesson. Sean Smith’s bass acts as backbone, piano notes are clear, singular, yet symbiotic.
“The Shining Sea” arrives with such delicacy, it’s as if we’re watching footprints in the sand gradually disappear. When a seagull lyrically tips its wings, so, sad and pensive, does Fasano. Comstock strokes the keys. Smith leans out as if gaining perspective, then curls around his instrument like a backwards C. (Johnny Mandel/ Peggy Lee’s title song for The Russians Are Coming, The Russians Are Coming)
Fasano’s rendition of Irving Berlin’s “Blue Skies” is one of my favorite Comstock arrangements. Classical piano accompaniment and bowed bass support languid phrases as they melodically hitch rides on a summer breeze. Control is impeccable.
Comstock shares the male point of view of Francesca Blumenthal’s fine “The Lies of Handsome Men” through the author’s less performed “Fireflies:” They shine and shimmer, lead you on/But the light grows dimmer comes the dawn…’A lovely song eloquently rendered. The performer remains urbane, but reflective, cottony tone allows us to hear hurt beneath sophistication. This is a nuanced singer, an untrained natural. His “Come By Sunday” (Murray Grand) arrives spirited and sassy- can you call a man sassy? Part spoken throwaways, part sung, delivery is seriously hip- which can’t be taught.
Jim Lowe’s wry “The Hamptons” There’s an awful lot of here here/But never for the square here… is sultry, flirty, flip.
We’ve experienced the best part of being away without waiting in an airport line or getting stuck in traffic. Eric Comstock and Barbara Fasano exude mutual respect and warmth: a pat on the hip here, a pursed- lips-kiss across the piano there, the shared piano bench. “It’s not as if we’re competitive about breath control,” she quips having counted off the last note of Billy Strayhorn’s sashaying “You’re The One” on her fingers at the end of a duet. Our audience leaves refreshed, awash in infectious good spirits.
Opening photo Jeff Fasano
Second photo by Gianni Valenti
“…Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” (Dylan Thomas.)
Grigor (David Barlow), a battleworn, Hungarian foot soldier in World War I, comes upon a field strewn with bodies. Suddenly one moves. A woman, back to us, struggles to her feet-filthy, whimpering, abused, naked from the waist up. Ecstatic, he kneels- in order to sketch her! (We see the page on a screen.) “Where are you?!” he cries to his comrade Bela (Alex Draper.) “…I’m so sick of drawing men…Look at her breasts, her buttocks!..” Bela has other ideas. Exhausted and salivating, he starts to undress. Grigor prevents the rape, then drapes his friend across a corpse for another drawing. Gotcha.
Front-Jonathan Tinder, Alex Draper. background: Stephen Medina, Alexander Burnett
In short shrift, the men are cornered by Russians, accused of homosexuality and threatened with death. To prove himself an artist, Bela is commanded to create a poem. Literary ‘adjustments’ by the sadistic, foreign officer offend him. Revenge might be irrational, but it’s satisfying. Grigor is horrified. Bela shoots into the sky, returning appalled with himself. We’ve learned a great deal about the two men and the era in which they live as well as experiencing a bait and switch.
It’s not until the second scene at The Institute of Fine Art in Budapest, it dawns that our hero is not Grigor. Bela, the blue-eyed boy of his peers, eschews painting for cartooning. While his friend is a traditionalist who waxes poetic about women’s bodies, Bela declares, “Give me ink which dries fast!” The caption of his first commandeered cartoon reads: We will revive the spirit of Hungary! The government doesn’t approve. Expelled, the two men and Bela’s lover Ilona (Stephanie Janssen), emigrate to Moscow. “I will find you nudes,” he promises his reticent friend.
David Barlow, Alex Draper
A committee at the Writers’ and Artists’ Institute in Moscow (1925) objects to Bela’s political leanings while praising his work in honeyed terms. They’re collectively sure he’ll bow in the service of the people. Rationalization is universal, timeless, insidious. The beautifully executed scene finds its bureaucrats-in-denial with their backs to us, facing a screen on which we see the objectionable cartoons. (Excellent drawings by Gerald Scarfe, resemble those of Ralph Steadman. They’re minimal, active, angry, and telling.)
Front-Alexander Burnett, Valerie Leonard, Christopher Marshall, Christo Grabowski; Back-Alex Draper & Jonathan Tindle
Bela flees Russia for England, while Grigor and Ilona stay behind, taking to the woods in hope of a peaceful family life. The artist enters his new home with an empty suitcase kissing the ground at Dover. Fortunately, his reputation appears to have preceded him. Work is secured. Bela is appreciated. He has no personal life. Years pass. Glimpses of character are like haikus.
In a speech offering cultural respite to a group of World War II RAF pilots, our hero states that he believes the cartoon to be the lowest and more important kind of art. “Important art is about us. Great art is about me (the artist.)” The so-called lecture is brief but perfect; its staging effectively immersive. (Alas, the overacting of younger company members limits impact.) History repeats itself when Churchill objects to Bela’s art. Grigor shows up in London. Both men suffer in extreme the results of repression. We end in 1975.
Loosely based on the celebrated German political cartoonist, Victor Weisz (1913-1966), No End of Blame is a story of ever present censorship, a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Its protagonist, Bela Veracek is in perpetual search of artistic freedom. In three countries, he maintains democratic independence until political environment no longer permits.
Christopher Marshall, Alex Draper , background- David Barlow, Jonathan Tindle
The anti-Nazi Weisz fled Germany for England where he astonishingly managed to express himself without being impeded at Liberal, Labour and Conservative newspapers. Depressive and volatile, he eventually committed suicide. This ends without that tragedy, but not for lack of trying. That scene is again, splendidly staged, though the succeeding one in an asylum is confusing.
A play by Howard Barker, like a gourmet meal, is challenging, eloquent, original, sometimes raw, occasionally over rich, and always worth the experience. The darkest subjects are approached not only with wide-reaching intelligence, but also pithy sexuality and intermittent humor-both unerringly effective.
Symposia on his work have been mounted at prestigious universities. Actors from The Royal Shakespeare Company and The Royal Court formed The Wrestling School- its name indicating that that the audience must wrestle with the authors ideas, a company devoted solely to producing his extensive oeuvre. The Potomac Theatre has had a long and fruitful relationship with Barker. Through their presentations I learned about and became an avid follower of the playwright.
Once again, Associate Artistic Director, Alex Draper (Bela) is terrific in an unremittingly complex role. He commands the stage with gusto, focus, and nuance. Accent is impeccable. The actor is as physically riveting as he is emotionally palpable- here arrogant, shy, seething, passionate, lost.
David Barlow admirably embodies Grigor, showing sensitivity and tenderness Bela will never experience. A scene where the shredded character is approached by Bela in a London park, is deftly portrayed.
Stephanie Janssen is sympathetic and credible as Ilona. Jonathan Tindle has some fine, officious, blindered moments
Of the company, the stand-out is Christopher Marshall who inhabits every one of his numerous roles with naturalness, presence, and adroit characterization.
Director and company Co-Artistic Director, Richard Romagnoli, has done a superb job. Some staging highlights are mentioned above. Official confrontations do not, as they might, emerge formulaic. The production is all but without set, yet characters always seem to ‘be’ where described. Use of projection is impactful. Pacing is excellent. One only wishes younger company members could be restrained and that accents were more consistent.
Sound Design by Seth Clayton is top tier whether music, voice, or effect.
Danielle Nieves’s Costume Design is exactly right from rags to Klimt robes to uniforms.
Photos by Stan Barough
Opening: Alex Draper ; Illustration by Gerald Scarfe
Festivals like this give aspiring playwrights and actors a chance to use their muscles and get a piece on its feet. The audience, except for friends and relatives, takes a risk in the name of supporting theater. This afternoon I saw four short one-acts, only one of which was, to my mind, successful.
The Early Bird Special by John J. Ronan Directed by Dennis W. Gleason
Jennie (Ree Davis) and Frank (Paul J. Caliendo) have been happily married 42 years. She’s a doctor, he’s a writer- on marriage. “I couldn’t make it as a poet, so I turned to love.” They wave goodbye to family after a blow-out anniversary dinner. Conversation is sweet, easy. Jennie has Cancer, Frank suffers early Alzheimer’s. They care for one another with tenderness and humor.
In one car (side by side chairs), driving home, we meet their son Dennis (Kalen Hall), also a writer, and his wife, Laura (Ashley Victoria Harris), a divorce lawyer. They talk about the gathering. Dennis is concerned his folks will need help. His spouse envies Jennie and Frank. “Not yet,” she responds. Dennis has had multiple affairs. They bicker.
In a second car, we watch younger daughter Gale (Katherine Paulsen) and her coke-snorting, long-haired husband Jack (Zachary Tuckness). Gale works with troubled teens. Her salary appears to be their only income. (What does he do or want to do?) She disapproves of the drugs. Jack wants to ask the old folks for money.
We move from couple to couple gradually learning a smattering about each of the sibling’s relationships, and that- spoiler alert- Jennie and Frank have just said goodbye to their kids. Before the black-out, both cars turn around.
The piece is original and tightly written. I could imagine it turning into something longer with character development, but it works fine as it is. Each generation sounds like itself; each character is, if sketchily, defined and credible. Frank’s malaprops and hesitation are well written. There are some delicious lines. Pacing is good. Revelations appear like peeling an onion.
Direction is deft. Use of the song “Save the Last Dance For Me” is inspired.
Paul Caliendo and Ree Davis are palpably genteel and warm, both actors showing their experience as well as the couple’s history. Ashley Victoria Harris is appropriately terse, yet not one dimensional. Katherine Paulsen feels appealingly grounded.
Blackberry Winter– Written and Directed by Kai Elijah Hamilton
Mr. Hamilton must have the rest of this story in his head, because what’s on the stage is inexplicable. Carolina (Nickengie A. Sampson, unintelligible half the time) appears to have lost her 4 year-old son 5 years ago, an unexplained disappearance for which she blames herself. Angry and agonized, she continues to look for him. We’re now in an abandoned house where she’s sure he was held and tortured. Her sister Yvonne (Gaysha Snipes), the voice of reason, is visiting and attempts to calm her. Carolina insists they call the police. (Kai Elijah Hamilton) The room looks just like one she dreamed. The women think they’ve found her son’s cap.
Suddenly we’re in an asylum. Carolina is unhinged. Her son is alive and living with Yvonne. What?! While the idea is fine, the play is top heavy without explaining under what circumstances its heroine is incarcerated.
Direction is sloppy and as poorly illuminated as narrative. Why does the leading lady spend so much time with her eyes closed? Why is there no blood on the set if Carolina sees blood-even in her imagination? Why do Yvonne and the doctor circle Carolina again and again? Why does medical staff put on surgical masks? What’s the truth?
Of the cast, Gaysha Snipes appears to deserve better.
Reality Sucks by Sonia Cordoves Directed by Stephanie Sandoval
Except for the reveal, this entire play has been done a dozen times and better. Roxy (Vanessa Elise) meets her Match.com date Rob (Charles Sothers) in a restaurant. Neither is anything like either their pictures (cleverly shown to the audience on cell phones) or their flamboyant profiles. Both are pissed off.
Roxy’s ex-boyfriend Frank (Daniel Gil) wanders in (wearing one of the worst wigs I’ve ever seen) and is briefly obnoxious as well as totally unbelievable. He kisses Rob on the forehead before exiting?! Peter (Daniel Gil) meets his Match.com date Sacha (Sonia Cordoves). They don’t look disappointed. Then, the punchline.
Direction is yeoman-like, best when the couple are alone. Vanessa Elise emerges viable, though Charles Sothers might have a shot without that awful cartoon voice.
Family Googling by Mark D. Tjarks Directed by Dennis W. Gleason
Here, instead of only a punchline, we have only a premise: that disconcerting personal information and images can be found online with ease and alacrity. Jacqueline’s (Danielle Adams) gay, teenage daughter Becca (Ashley R. Brown) will not take her nose out of her smart phone. Jacqueline’s partner, Frank (Preston Fritz Smith), tolerates it, but it drives mom crazy. This evening, they’ve invited friend Maddie (Geraldine Dulex) to dinner , perhaps, it’s suggested, because she’s also gay. In the course of meal preparation, Becca manages to find an ex-love, a first love, and a missing father. Conversation, however is pedestrian.
This could have been executed with drama or humor and has neither.
Direction is realistic, if unimaginative. The most natural actor onstage is Geraldine Dulex.
“Nicknamed “The American Idol for playwrights,” the Strawberry One-Act Festival has been presenting New York premieres and world premieres of short theatrical works submitted for competition from across the country. Since 1995, it has produced over 1,500 one-act plays. Reflecting the diversity written into the mission of its presenter, the Strawberry One-Act and Theater Festival features plays that vary in length (from 15 to 90 minutes) and deal with wide array of topics…”
Photos: The Earlybird Special: Paul Caliendo and Ree Davis photo by Dennis Gleason Blackberry Winter: Gaysha Snipes, Kai Elijah Hamilton, and Nickengie A. Sampson by Van Dirk Fisher Reality Sucks: Charles Sothers, Vanessa Elise by Van Dirk Fisher Family Googling: Geraldine Dulex, Preston Fritz Smith, Danielle Adams, front- Ashley R. Brown by Van Dirk Fisher
A Night at the Troubadour: Presenting Elton John and David Ackles brings together vocalist Stacy Sullivan, Director/Arranger Mark Nadler and MD/Pianist Yasuhiko Fukuoka whose collective talent, passion, and creativity are flat out extraordinary.
August 25, 1970: a young, British, writer/performer named Elton John was scheduled to make his American debut opening for established writer/performer David Ackles at the Troubadour rock club in West Los Angeles. Ackles, Stacy Sullivan tells us, turned to his wife and said, “I hope this kid’s good.” At the last minute, record executives switched the order. John listened from offstage. Like Elvis Costello and Phil Collins, he was an ardent admirer and champion of Ackles. Who?!
David Ackles was a child actor, literature and film major before he pursued his dream of songwriting. As the dark, literate material he wrote for others never seemed to fit, it was suggested that like popular singer/songwriters of the time, he perform his own work. The artist was never comfortable touring. With only four albums issued in an abbreviated life (he died of cancer at 62), Ackles nonetheless made a lasting impression on other musicians.
Twenty-four years after that night at the Troubadour, Stacy Sullivan was cast in a musical written by David Ackles. They became close friends. She sang at his funeral. A heartfelt note from Bernie Taupin (John’s lyricist) read aloud suddenly alerted her to a musical past the deceased had never mentioned.
This show, clearly a labor of love, may have been gestating ever since. Sullivan introduces, illuminates and appreciates Ackles; establishes dominion over iconoclastic, often musically difficult material, and excavates personal emotions. Selected numbers by Elton John/Bernie Taupin are included to fine effect.
The piece is bookended by “Your Song” (John/Taupin). When initially paired with Ackles’ “Be My Friend,” the entire room leans in to Sullivan’s entreaty. Next, is “Everybody Has a Story” which illustrates the humanity and perception of its writer: Everybody has a story/Everybody has a tale to tell/Lies spoken, hearts broken, Lost in Hell…All you have to do is listen …It’s a one act play musically influenced by Brecht and Weill. The vocalist, an actress, is at one point down on her haunches earnestly addressing a woman up front.
“American Gothic” tells the tale of a poor farmer’s wife who craves more than her narrow existence. The story-song also evinces Weimar roots. A moment of wry directorial humor is delicious. As she begins “Down River,” Sullivan puts her hands in her pockets, cowed, serious, awkward, proud. She’s a man just released from prison meeting the girlfriend who never wrote. Piano chords support a battleworn vocal, rich with unspoken forbearing. Eyes look ahead seeing nothing. Sullivan inhabits the character’s ache.
“I’ve Been Loved,” a gentle, hurdy-gurdy melody evoking old people whose memories sustain them and “House Above The Strand,” (boardwalk along the California Ocean), a tender lyric including humming and a proposal, offer the illusion of lighter fare. The latter, it seems, could have been written for Sullivan’s first year of marriage. We watch her see it again with a heart that appears to visibly expand.
Three tandem numbers show particular musical acuity. “Laissez-Faire” (Ackles) and “Levon” (John/Taupin) are spat out in resigned outrage, then become a prayer against ugly odds. Entwined renditions are powerful, moving. Sullivan’s husky contralto is enveloped by darkness even when backed by up-tempo rhythm. Piano is insidious, inescapable, haunting. The singer is palpably shaken, her last line exhaled.
Ackles’ “Your Face, Your Smile,” initially heard by Sullivan at his memorial, became the first song she ever recorded. It’s a necessary goodbye wrenched from the depths of despair and lands with visceral effect. Barely pausing, “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me” (John/ Taupin) begins with spoken lyric : “I can’t light no more of your darkness/All my pictures seem to fade to black and white…” Delicate piano tiptoes. This version is measured, transfixing, it’s howl withheld. You can hear a pin drop.
In order to experience as close to firsthand experience as possible, we hear a recorded excerpt from “Love’s Enough” with Ackles singing. Slightly sandy, deep and expressive, it’s the kind of voice in which one wants to wrap oneself. Sullivan then comes in fervent but quiet with “Your Song.” The moment shimmers.
To my mind only “Rocket Man”, paired with Ackles “Road to Cairo” (Cairo, Indiana), emerges excessive – as if evangelical testimony.
Yasuhiko Fukuoka, Stacy Sullivan, Mark Nadler
MD/Pianist Yasuhiko Fukuoka is equally adept at controlled detonation, enthralling pathos, and deft sensitivity. His symbiotic attention to the needs of an actress in thrall is expert.
Director/Arranger Mark Nadler has the cultural acumen to mine every bit of subtext. His extensive musical vocabulary offers nuanced underpinning even when emphatic. Nadler channels Sullivan’s focus into theatrical performance without gratuitous gestures. We believe every gutsy embodiment. The show is well paced and thoroughly engaging.
Dialogue is revealing, beautifully integrated, and often intimate. The artist’s signature warmth overflows. This is a brave piece, an achievement. Stacy Sullivan’s unconditional investment and muscular performance is one for the books. She excels as a keeper of the flame. Brava!
(With any luck, they’ll do this again)
Photos by Steve Friedman
July 14, 2016 The Metropolitan Room 34 West 22 Street Venue Calendar
The show’s title refers, of course, to the ladies having been conjoined at the hip as twins Violet and Daisy Hilton in Broadway’s Sideshow, a state which this evening exploits. Separate careers include Ripley’s appearance in Next to Normal, which garnered her a Tony Award, and Skinner’s most recent starring role in Big Fish. The club is packed for this return engagement – on a Tuesday night- at 9:30. In fact, our table is shared by two devoted women fans here on vacation from Sweden who have tickets for consecutive shows and own all three duet CDs.
Alice Ripley
Clearly written and directed by its performers, the piece could be tighter and funnier. Gushing about one another goes on too long, pseudo jealousy jokes are mugged. There’s no question these women are talented singers, however. Performance and range are similar making duets balanced. Both project with power and confidence.
An anthem-like “I Will Never Leave You” (Bill Russell/Henry Krieger- Sideshow) is aborted several bars in when the ladies realize they’re “on the wrong side,” i.e. not in the accustomed configuration formerly shared eight shows a week. The four song Friendship Medley that follows has Ripley and Skinner executing dance steps locked at the hip. Awkwardness makes this fun, even recalling the terrific choreography of Sideshow.
Emily Skinner
“Best Friends” (theme from The Courtship of Eddie’s Father) and “She Needs Me” (both Harry Nilsson) seem as if they can’t work in tandem, but do. Randy Landau’s bass takes very cool rhythmic lead, Jeff Potter’s brushes are smooth and sandy. Vocals veer to pop. Another highlight, “Tonight You Belong To Me” (Billy Rose/Lee David), emerges partly in harmonized a capella buoyed by lilting bass. Back to back and side by side the seated ladies sway until joined by John Fischer, whereupon the three play kazoos.
Skinner imbues “I Don’t Need a Roof” (Andrew Lippa from Big Fish) with history and heart. One can palpably feel the pain of facing her husband’s mortality. Her rendition of “When It Ends” (Michael John La Chuisa) is sheer noir; biting and royally pissed off. Though understated, the artist is an actress at all times. We buy her sentiments.
On the other hand, Ripley’s excerpt from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s “Memory,” ostensibly proving she should have gotten the role of Grizabella in the upcoming revival of Cats, evidences no history, no despair. This was unfortunately also the case in the vocalist’s rendition of “As If We Never Said Goodbye” (Andrew Lloyd Webber/Christopher Hampton/ Don Black-Sunset Boulevard) which, though it ricocheted off the walls, additionally lacked desperation.
Alice Ripley, Emily Skinner (back-Randy Landau)
The usually delightful “Bosom Buddies” (Jerry Herman from Mame) also lands with a thunk. Every emotion is telegraphed rather than wryly indicated with deadpan brio that should serve the wicked froth.
Shaina Taub’s “Reminder Song” is interesting and effective: Three cheers for agony /A toast to the pain/ Hats off to everything that leaves a scar /For reminding me who my friends are… The artists seem serious and grateful. Carly Simon’s rarely heard “Two Little Sisters”: Two little sisters gazing at the sea,/Imagining what their futures will be….is a sweet way to close.
This is an extremely mixed bag that would benefit by a director.
Photos by Maryann Lopinto Opening: Emily Skinner, Alice Ripley
Alice Ripley and Emily Skinner: Unattached John Fischer-piano, Randy Landau-bass, Jeff Potter-drums Feinstein’s/54 Below 254 West 54th Street Through July 25, 2016 Venue Calendar
Just ran away. I had to run away./My parents can hear, but I can’t,/and they blame me for that…(signed by a deaf actor )
Author Elizabeth Swados was in her mid twenties when, following on the heels of Hair and A Chorus Line, Runaways moved from The Public Theater to Broadway. Hair is affectionately (?) ridiculed in the piece as symptomatic of self indulgent baby boomers. Like A Chorus Line, Runaways was midwifed out of extensive confessional interviews – in this case, with homeless kids. It was an era of wildly innovative, experimental theater.
Kylie McNeill
Eeny Meeny Gipsaleeny/Ooh Aah Combaleeny/Ooh, Mamacha cucaracha/COD… From up aisles and out of the wings, 25 young actors between the ages of 12 and 19 commandeer the stage as if they were squatters gathering, not unsuspiciously, for group warmth. Some performers carry books, those who do remain fluent. Most, wisely, look their ages. All but two sing up a storm and everyone moves well. Choreography by Ani Taj is vigorous and cool.
This is very serious/It looks like this child has been severely beaten/We’ll have to perform an appendectomy…is sung to a troll doll with neon pink hair. We meet abused children, junkies, prostitutes, and grifters. Everyone has a personal story, yet characters are unidentified and without through line. Nor is there resolution or a happy ending. Instead of distancing the audience, this rivets us to collective emotion.
Cele Pahucki
Salsa, reggae, pop-rock tunes, chanting, and accompanied monologues fill the theater without hurting one’s ears. This is some of the best Sound Design ever – resonant, yet pristine and beautifully balanced (Leon Rothenberg). Chris Fenwick’s Music Direction is top notch. Arrangements are multi-layered and appealing. There is, however, and this is my single objection – untranslated Spanish.
I am the undiscovered son of Judy Garland/And I can dance and sing and wear fancy clothes./And whereas my sister Liza has to really work for applause/All you have to do is look at me/And you weep with standing ovations… comes from a powerful number about search for identity. No one treats me like Mico do./He buys me halter tops and Corkies/And he got me a water bed up on our flat/On Avenue C between Fifth and Sixth… is the song of a 13 year-old streetwalker.
Kenneth Cabral
There are unheard messages for parents and authorities, tips on scoring necessities …enterprise, you got to enterprise…warnings, dreams, prayers, and descriptions of enraged violence. The limbo of adolescence is difficult enough without what these kids face at home and now must cope with on the street, yet, this is not a depressing show and I’m damned if I know why. The kids are fierce even when pleading to be allowed to experience childhood. Are we under the illusion they’ll get through?
Donayale Werle’s terrific Set is raw stage filled with theatrical equipment, the excellent band, a bunch of worse-for-wear couches, and an upturned mattress. It shouts irreverence. Microphones are on stands and handheld as if we were watching the show in 1978. Mark Barton’s fine Lighting Design emerges crisply up front and variegated shadow in the back. Costumes (Clint Ramos) are a riot of color (as is hair) mixing then and now with aesthetic appeal and mash-up sensibility.
The Company
Elizabeth Swados, who died this year, pushed envelopes of all kinds. Her body of work is as impressive as it is illuminating. In an effort to be as specific as possible, she reached the universal. Next to nothing about this piece feels dated.
Director Sam Pinkleton manages a stage swarming with actors who sit, stand, lie, dance, sing, fight and sign in small groups well as company numbers without, miraculously, ever getting messy. Relationships are pointedly fleeting. Use of street garbage=cardboard, as a graffiti wall and projection screen is organic and imaginative. Aisles and balconies are effectively employed. The wonderful cast is almost all without stage-kid consciousness. Dramatization is dynamic and credible. We’ll undoubtedly see many of these young people again and again in years to come.
Every now and then a choice gets made,/And some debt in your heart won’t be paid./Who gets left behind no one knows./Don’t always condemn/ The one who goes…
During tests of children on brain activity, professor Williston (Brian Murray) discovered striking psychic abilities in James (Anthony J. Goes) who’d been abandoned by his mother to the state. Excited by future research i.e. prospects, he became the orphan’s guardian and has raised him, studying, honing, and perhaps exploiting the young man’s talent to “channel” the other side. Simon is James’s spiritual alter ego, the soul that enters his body when in a trance. Private clients have supported them. Williston is working on a book and has pie-in-the-sky fantasies about Simon’s leading historical/archeological tours.
Anthony J. Goes, Vanessa Britting, Brian Murray
We first meet James returning from (playing in) a baseball game. He’s solicitous about the older man’s medications and ignores being warned off a beer before that evening’s session. The relationship is one of affection and habit.
Accidentally discovering a letter from the local college stating the old man stopped payment on a tuition check that would allow James to finish school (The actor is too old to make this feasible), his ward is furious. The two had a deal. He’d go to school during the day and channel evenings. James is tired of being “nothing but a science experiment.” This is the last straw. He’s leaving. Willitson justifies his action with the significance of what they’re doing.
Enter Annie (Vanessa Britting), a pretty young widow, skeptical of what’s being offered, but desperate to contact her husband. The two were soul mates. Annie was driving when, through no fault of her own, a fatal accident occurred. James and she find one another sympathetically familiar, but he has to be talked into giving her the promised session. Changing his mind takes way too long.
Brian Murray, Anthony J. Goes, Vanessa Britting
The rest of the play is dense exposition. Simon enters/inhabits James (cue spastic gyration attributed to “vibrational influences” and soft enunciated voice) in various incarnations, ostensibly proving the existence of the soul. It seems Willitson, James, and Annie knew one another in a past life. Everything changes with acknowledgement.
Unfortunately, you might just as well read a tract on the subject (by a believer) for all the dramatic impact of this piece. Explanations replace dialogue, clichés take over for character illumination, and the whole package is too neatly tied with a bow.
Poor Anthony J. Goes has the unrewarding task of being occupied by spirits whose transition looks ridiculous and whose monologues mostly sink. Until he goes into a trance, the actor is fine.
Vanessa Britting, Brian Murray, Anthony J. Goes
Brian Murray is not always intelligible and sometimes off rhythm. A few obstreperous, paternal speeches remind us of more successful appearances. Vanessa Britting does a yeoman-like job and deserves better.
Director Myriam Cyr uses the staging area well. Interaction outside of Simon’s appearances lands credibly.
Janie Howland’s Set Design comprised of eclectic furniture that’s seen better days, dusty curtains, archaic collectibles, overlapping oriental carpets, and endless, piled up books sets the perfect scene. Cat Stramer’s Costume Design is eminently appropriate.
I actually have no issue with the premise of Simon Says, just with its script. A course on Mysticism (indicated in the program) doth not a playwright make.
Photos by Maria Baranova Opening: Brian Murray and Anthony J. Goes
Simon Says by Mat Shaffer Directed by Myriam Cyr Lynn Redgrave Theater Culture Project 45 Bleecker Street Through July 30, 2016
When vocalist Stacey Kent and husband, musician/writer/arranger Jim Tomlinson, samba into Birdland, the faithful gather with sure knowledge of respite from the world outside. Pulses slow, audiences sway. Kent’s sighing, slightly nasal voice, back of the throat vibrato, and slip/slide octaves pair with Tomlinson’s soulful, as-if-muted alto saxophone and winged flute to deliver a dreamlike evening far from the madding crowd. Tonight joined by Tom Hubbard-bass, Josh Morris-drums, and the extraordinary Art Hirahara on piano, they don’t disappoint.
Tomlinson’s contemporary “Make It Up” (with Cliff Goldmacher) is mid-tempo, upbeat and utterly charming. …If we knew what we were doing/We’d be doing it all wrong/So let’s just make it up as we go along…Hirahara’s piano sounds dappled with sunlight. Kent is infectiously flirty. This and the composer’s quirky, vocally ethereal “Ice Hotel” (with Kazuro Ishiguro), with which I’m familiar, are two of tonight’s highlights. More original material would be appreciated.
Stacey Kent and Jim Tomlinson
Beautifully rendered, non-Brazilian standards include Ray Noble’s “The Very Thought of You,” sentimentally evoking a lantern-lit country club or USO dance from the 1940s and a palpably savored “That’s All” (Alan Brandt/ Bob Haymes) with pauses between verses that never feel empty. Circling brushes, stroked bass, and delicate piano support Tomlinson’s eloquent sax soliloquy on the second number. The musician effortlessly bends notes and emotions. Kent steps offstage to listen and admire.
“If I’m Lucky” (Josef Myrow/Eddie DeLange) is a tribute to Perry Como of whom Kent is “a huge fan.” If I’m lucky/This will be no light affair/It’s forever/From the start…The ballad floats in sloooow and easy. Kent’s eyes close, one hand holding the microphone stand. Bass shadows, sax is as mellow as it gets, every piano note is pristine whether tripling or barely touched. It’s a hope, a request, a vision, tinged by sad history.
Rodgers and Hammerstein are affectionately represented by “People Will Say We’re In Love” and “Happy Talk,” (Kent on guitar) both with Brazilian arrangements. The vocalist often comes in off the beat, waiting for and sensing currents on which she might hitch, and sometimes from above a note, giving lyrics organic lilt. “Happy Talk” is effervescent- a sky filled with kites at play, circling, darting, tails like airborne doodles.
Jim Tomlinson and Stacey Kent
Among Brazilian numbers, untranslated but for its title (Kent sings in perfect Portuguese and French), “Estrada de Sol” -Street of the Sun (Tom Jobim/Dolores Duran) is lush, grateful, playful. The lovers have made it through a “stormy” night. Marcos Valle’s “The Face I Love” …Just think of things Like a daffodils /And peaceful sheep/ On clover hills/ And morning sun/ On whippoorwills/ And you’ll see the face that I love…emerges in deep melodic, hammock-like scallops. Hubbard’s bass is rhythmic thrum, notes overlapping as if woven. Hirahara’s piano takes off with an untraceable flight plan.
I admit to having heard “So Nice” aka Summer Samba (Marcus Valle/Paulo Sergio Valle/Norman Gimbel), “One Note Samba” (Tom Jobim/Newton Mendonça), and Jobim’s “Aquas de Marco” aka Waters of March perhaps once too often and can only imagine how Kent and Tomlinson feel after hundreds of performances. Time to replace these?
An evocative, romantic evening reminding us something exists besides bad news.
