1. Bridezilla Strikes Back!
This Page Was Most Recently Updated: Sunday, July 22nd 2007
Copyright © 2005, 2007 Hy Bender
Email: hy@hyreviews.com
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It was that time of year again...when the summer was taken over by the amazing New York International Fringe Festival. The largest multi-arts festival in North America, this ninth annual FringeNYC offered more than 180 lively productions running from August 12th through August 28th. The festival's shows played simultaneously in 20 Manhattan venues, totaling nearly 1,300 performances.
Why get excited about the Fringe? Because unlike so many commercial productions tailored to inoffensively appeal to mass audiences, Fringe shows tend to be quirky, individual, and passionate. Thanks to the efforts of Producing Artistic Director Elena K. Holy, Administrative Director Shelley Burch, and the other wonderful Fringe staffers and volunteers, the festival virtually shimmers with fresh artistic approaches, a wide range of voices and styles, high energy, and delightful surprises.
While Fringe productions are both low-budget and inexpensive to see ($15 per ticket—and even less if you buy in bulk), the best of them are as fine and memorable as the priciest play. And they're likely to take you to places that no show in midtown ever will. (This was epitomized by a teen visiting the Fringe a few years ago who told wealthy parents trying to lure her uptown, "But I don't want to see a show on Broadway. I want to see something cool.")
There's also more to the Fringe experience than what's being offered on stage. The festival gives you the opportunity to enjoy the people it attracts—which includes some of the most enthusiastic theatre-goers in New York. Talk to people standing in line, chat with the venue directors and volunteers, engage with the hundreds of artists handing out cards to plug their shows—and try to be open to everyone. You may well make some lifelong friends.
Of course, the untamed nature of Fringe shows means they're not for every taste...and in some cases, not for any taste. One of the most exciting aspects of the Fringe is that it positively encourages productions to take huge risks—which inevitably results in some jaw-dropping failures.
A memorable example is a late-night Fringe play I attended with a composer and an actress a couple of years ago. Although the show lasted only an hour, it felt like days...and as soon as we left the theatre, the actress muttered her opinion dazedly in one succinct phrase: "I wanted to kill myself." She repeated this assessment—"I wanted to kill myself"—over and over for the next two blocks, until we finally managed to calm her down. And this production wasn't even the worst at that year's festival...I personally witnessed three others even more mind-wrecking.
On some level, there's a perverse thrill in seeing a show so bad that you can't believe your eyes. But more to the point, falling prey to one of these dark beasts makes you more fully appreciate the productions that are truly great—that accept the Fringe's challenge to take huge risks with brilliance and actually succeed beyond all expectations.
It's the latter that make the festival most worthwhile. And there's a real joy to hunting for these treasures, finding them...and thoroughly enjoying them.
Starting August 12th, the hunt was on.
To take in the fullness of what FringeNYC offers, I've developed a habit of catching lots of its shows—75 in 2002, 77 in 2003, and 66 in 2004. This year, I spent a fair amount of time maintaining this Web site and writing reviews (including three for The New York Times), so managed to get to only 58 shows. However, I saw most of the productions that are generally agreed to be the best of the festival.
Of course, there are a number of other sources of reviews besides this Web site. Most notably, you can find coverage of many of the top FringeNYC shows via The New York Times, which can be read online at www.nytimes.com.
In addition, there's a comprehensive collection of Fringe reviews available via nytheatre.com. Spearheaded by the site's founder, Martin Denton, this is an invaluable resource for learning about every single Fringe production. The only downside is that nytheatre.com employed a squad of 70 people to cover all the shows, which can make it hard to get a fix on the tastes of any one reviewer and figure out whether they jibe with your own.
If you read what follows, though, you'll quickly get a sense of my tastes, which is likely to help you in judging my comments about any particular show. (For example, if you discover that you love everything I dislike and can't stand everything I recommend, that still means I'll be providing you with helpful guidance—simply believe the opposite of everything I say...)
Hope you find this site useful; and hope to see you at next year's Fringe.
Best,
Hy
Email: hy@hyreviews.com
Personal Web: www.hybender.com
FringeNYC 2005 Reviews: www.HyReviews.com
The following are the 58 FringeNYC shows I caught this year, rated on a 4-star scale and listed in rough order of personal preference.
To read the review of any show below, simply click its title:
The Miss Education of Jenna Bush ***½
The Lightning Field ***½ (caught post-Fringe on 9/12/05)
The Irish Curse ***½
Elements of Style ***½
Jesus in Montana ***
Fluffy Bunnies in a Field of Daisies ***
Feud: Fire on the Mountain ***
Confessions of a Dope Dealer ***
Extra Virgin
***
Hit. ***
Unholy Secrets of the Theremin ***
Rock Out ***
The Monster Under My Bed Drank My Vodka ***
The Eisteddfod ***
Go-Go Kitty, GO! ***
Uncle Sam's Satiric Spectacular ***
Little House on the Parody ***
It's Phuc Tap! **½
The Dirty Talk **½
Good Fences Make Good Neighbors **½
Dark Deceptions: The Seance Experience **½
Surviving David **½
Gift **½
Movie Geek **½
The Lizards **½
Half Life **½
Weight **½
Unspeakable: Richard Pryor Live & Uncensored, a Dramatic Fantasia **½
Channel Rat **½
Pipe Dreams **½
The Last Two Minutes of The Complete Works of Henrik Ibsen **½
Sex with Jake Gyllenhaal and Other Fables of the Northeast Corridor **
ScrewBall **
Finger Love **
Cemetery of Lips ** (caught post-Fringe on 10/2/05)
Faker **
The Metaphysics of Breakfast *½
Not Dead Yet *½
Dance With Me, Harker (stayed for first 45 minutes only)
Travis Tanner (stayed for first 15 minutes only)
Reviews of 56 of these productions, and anecdotal write-ups of the two shows only partially watched, appear below.
Note:
If I didn't catch a show, that doesn't mean it wasn't worth seeing; I
had time to attend only about a third of the 180+ productions at this
year's Fringe. If a show enjoys another run and I see it post-festival,
I'll add it to the list (with an annotation) and review it then.
I've assigned all reviewed shows one to four stars, using the following rating system:
**** = Transcendently Great
*** = Solid & Worth Seeing
** = Unless Your Relatives Are in the Cast, Think Twice
* = "I Wanted to Kill Myself"
Please keep in mind that these reviews were written in a hurry. If you spot any factual errors, please don't hesitate to let me know by emailing hy@hyreviews.com. I'm always happy to make corrections and updates.
Rating: ***½
One of the most compelling stories ever told is that of Faust and his deal with the Devil.
Bridezilla Strikes Back! has the same appeal. Only in this true story, Faust is a struggling theatre actress, and the Devil is reality TV.
The saga begins when Cynthia Silver's wedding planner informs her that some UK documentarians want to film every significant moment of select New York brides preparing for their nuptials. For the talented but relatively unknown Silver, it could be great exposure, capturing her personality for an international audience. She's told the documentary could even be picked up by the BBC. But it would mean allowing strangers to invade her life, and ceding any creative control over the process or the finished product.
The difficulty of the choice is exacerbated by there effectively being two Cynthia Silvers. One is a serious, dedicated actress who has devoted years to performing in small-budget theatre productions and honing her craft.
But the other is an aspiring starlet who craves attention, glamor, wealth, and, most especially, fame.
The struggle between these two aspects of her nature is evident when Silver talks about her fiance. An attractive and fashionable woman, Silver admits that the man who proposed to her wasn't really her type. She normally dated guys who were smooth-talking, high-powered, and dangerous.
In other words, assholes.
But the part of Silver that's wise and sensible gave this man a chance; and when he proposed, she said yes.
When the documentary offer appears, though, the other side of Silver can't resist. And who can blame her? It's an opportunity to marry a real man and yet continue to be courted by assholes.
Silver's fiance grudgingly plays along, although he consistently comments, "I don't trust those bastards."
And, of course, he's right. The sweet documentary about brides in New York is sold to FOX; and it's turned into Bridezilla, a reality series about the monstrous egos of women trying to create their perfect day.
As the title implies, Bridezilla Strikes Back! is, on its most basic level, born from a desire for revenge. But this one-woman show is much more than a screed. Silver takes us step by step through her whole journey, including the temptations to which she willingly succumbed, and the rapacious nature of those who feed a medium always hungry for fresh melodrama.
The script, by Silver and collaborator Kenny Finkle, is exceptionally well-written: thoughtful, witty, and rich with entertaining anecdotes. (The details of Silver's wedding travails made the women in my audience gasp with empathy...) And its underlying tale of vanity and temptation couldn't be more universal.
But what makes the show extra special is its star. On the one hand, Silver is an accomplished actress, so she can deliver a very polished performance. At the same time, though, she was genuinely hurt by her experience; and there are times, especially during the initial 15 minutes, when you can sense that she's still wary of exposing herself to strangers. The struggle between the slick performer and the real woman isn't a planned part of the show; but it's riveting.
Silver may have a tough time maintaining that balance as she grows more comfortable telling her story to audience after audience; but if she can somehow remain vulnerable and honest for each performance, this is a production that richly deserves a commercial run.
Meanwhile, the show has garnered a huge amount of attention and press (including a rave from The New York Times). So Silver has already achieved the fame she was seeking—and on her own terms, by practicing her craft.
2.
The Miss
Education of Jenna Bush
Rating: ***½
No star shined as brightly at this year's Fringe as Melissa Rauch. Charisma, artistry, wit, timing, intelligence, compassion, looks—Rauch has it all. She's already a regular on VH1's Best Week Ever; but based on her performance in the festival, Rauch has a much more impressive career ahead of her.
And, oh yes, her one-woman show is fun too.
Set in a messy living room with a "Good luck, Jenna" banner across the wall, the production focuses on the day before President George W. Bush's reportedly hard-partying daughter takes on the job of a Washington, D.C. grade school teacher. Perpetually hyper, Jenna wears a white sweats top (as if she's ready to race out for a jog at any moment) and red underwear with the words "Tex Ass" across it. The surface joke is that neither Jenna nor her dad seem very smart or responsible, and that they both still have a lot to learn before taking on a job that involves leading others.
In lesser hands, this could have easily become a flat, dull rant against the Bush administration. But Rauch and cowriter Winston Beigel instead opt to treat their Jenna with great affection, making her a vibrant character who transcends mere politics and—unlike her polarizing dad—ultimately speaks for everyone in her generation.
Maintaining a delightful Texas twang, Rauch paints Jenna as a mischievous, ebullient gal who can get into trouble and occasionally feel down...but never for very long. As Jenna explains, "You're mad when you're angry. I'm pissed off, like, 90% of the time. But not mad."
Here are some other snatches of her 90-minute routine:
Complaining to a takeout place about a soda delivery: Yes, I ordered a Diet Coke. But this is caffeine free. I ain't Mormon.
Admitting that people at parties don't take her seriously because of too many false alarms: They call me "The girl who cried puke."
Upset about those who put her father down: I don't want Daddy in the White House, either. But it's different when somebody else says it.
Contemplating Vice President Cheney: If you're named Richard, why would you call yourself Dick? Dick. It still makes Daddy laugh. It would be like calling myself Vagina. Vagina Bush!! (falls to her coach, waving her arms and legs in hilarity)
On gay rights: Now, I love Clay Aiken...
On her intellect: I know I'm no Leonardo Picasso...
Yelling at someone on the phone, and simultaneously making us adore her: I hate you. I hate you. Okay, I love you. Bah.
Rauch is a whirlwind as she paints Jenna with one layer of detail after another, ranging from demonstrating cheerleader moves to singing "Ah'm lahk a birrrd...." to inadvertently inventing new words such as "metaphorism."
That said, there isn't much of a narrative, so those who demand a traditional structure may find the piling on of details wearing. Rauch trained at New York's famed Upright Citizens Brigade, and UCB's improv comic sensibility is very much in evidence as Rauch looks for the truth in moments and scattered short scenes rather than a conventional step-ladder story. In that sense, the show is virtually an art piece. The fact that it succeeds so well in entertaining large and diverse crowds—Miss Education ended up winning the Fringe's Audience Favorite award, as well as an award for Outstanding Solo Show—is a testament to the energy and skill of Rauch's performance. It's also quite exciting, because Rauch is demonstrating an alternative approach for the New York stage that could end up attracting MTV-generation audiences who normally don't go to the theatre.
But the true greatness of Rauch is that she's more than merely cool. For example, on the opening page of her Web site, she includes this celebrity testimonial:
"Melissa Rauch is a very special young lady."
—Melissa's Mother
As long as Rauch continues to stay in touch with this down-to-earth quality, while at the same time maintaining her top-level comedic acting skills, there's no limit to how far she can go.
If you have an opportunity to see Rauch on stage before she's grabbed up by Hollywood, don't miss it.
Rating: ***½
They say lightning never strikes twice in the same place.
When it comes to family, though, lightning hits the mark again and again—by way of patterns of destructive behavior passed along to each new generation. Such dysfunctional cycles wreak as much havoc as any force of nature.
That's evident in this thoughtful, fierce play written by David Ozanich. The drama is set at a (real life) art installation by sculptor Walter De Maria consisting of 400 metal poles, set at intervals spanning a mile across the New Mexico desert, that are designed to attract lightning. When they do, the sight is supposed to be spectacular.
On the trip are two gay lovers, Sam (H Ryan Clark) and Andy (Cory Grant), who are contemplating making their long-term relationship official. Along with them is Sam's divorced father Gerrit (Ron McClary) and Andy's divorced mother Lori (Bekka Lindström). As we get to know them, it becomes clear that Sam and dad Gerrit have much in common, as do Andy and mom Lori—even to the point of Gerrit and Lori becoming increasingly interested in each other. But each character is a human lightning pole, both attracting and being attracted to some of the darker elements that reside within all of us. As these aspects of their nature are slowly revealed, we see flashes of dependence, infidelity, physical violence, and emotional violence. And when the lightning strikes, it is indeed spectacular.
Enormously enhancing the play is superb direction by Jared Coseglia. The cast is also fine; particularly McClary, whose acting serves to anchor the story in reality, and Grant, whose expressive face and body language guide us through the emotional upheavals (not to mention, he can do an impressive cartwheel...).
The play starts out quite slowly, and the first 20 minutes could arguably be punched up with humor to make the exposition more entertaining. The foundations laid by those initial scenes definitely pay off, though, ultimately providing unforgettable shocks and jolts.
It's also worth noting that while two of the characters are gay, this isn't a production tailored for any particular type of audience. All you have to be to appreciate the themes of this drama is human.
In fact, after you see the play, a rather dark game is to imagine in what ways the story would and wouldn't change if Sam were straight and Andy a woman...
And another game to try—especially edgy if you're with a date—is to discuss whether the ending is a tragic one or a hopeful one. The answer might end up being the equivalent of a Rorschach test on how you and your companion view relationships.
The Lightning Field deserves a life beyond the Fringe. The show enjoyed a successful extension at The Flea during September 2005. Here's hoping it now gets picked up for a longer-term commercial run.
Rating: ***½
The short, surface description: This is a play about men with small penises.
The longer, and possibly more satisfying, description: This is a play about the ways body image can twist our lives. While "small penises" makes for a great high-concept hook, the dynamics this comedic drama address are just as pertinent to, say, flat-chested women, prematurely balding men, the perpetually overweight, or anyone else whose physical appearance deviates from the norm in a way that's likely to make them self-conscious around the opposite sex.
The marvelous script by Martin Casella centers around a support group for men who are lacking "down there." Just how serious is their problem? The group members variously describe their attributes as:
Bottle
cap.
Baby
corn.
Stick
dick.
Little
Willikin.
A
pop gun, not a pistol.
A
bush, with a stubby little head poking out like a troll doll.
A grower, not a shower. (And then, as it turns out, not even a grower...)
The different ways this shortcoming has altered the life of each man is fascinating. And they may well lead you to think about the subtle, and not so subtle, ways in which your own behavior has been formed by perceived physical imperfections.
This is one of the (pardon the pun) meatiest shows in the festival. The story is about something both down-to-earth and important; Casella's script is uniformly wise, genuine, and entertaining; the direction by Matt Lenz is on-target; and the actors—Brian Leahy (Rick), Eddie Korbich (Joseph), Howard Kaye (Stephen), William McCauley (Father Kevin), and Roderick Hill (Keiran)—are all excellent.
In my opinion, this wonderful play could move to off-off-Broadway tomorrow, as is. And, if it was marketed right, it could do very well.
Rating: ***½
The first 20 minutes of this show are as funny as anything playing in New York.
We first see performers with woolly bits affixed to various parts of their bodies prance about, and then start dramatically singing, "This is the silence of the lambs!!!" Some sample lyrics (by Jon & Al Kaplan):
She must confront two evil men.
Which one is worse it's up to you.
One likes to cook and eat his patients.
One wears his victims like a suit.
This is the silence of the lambs.
You may have nightmares when it's through.
And if it leaves you feeling hollow
It scared the shit right out of you.
While this goes on, a jogging Clarice Starling—played to hilarious near-perfection by Jenn Harris—gives us the perpetual wooden expression, stiff tosses of the head, and odd lisp that Jodie Foster made so famous in the original film.
The scenes just get more silly and side-splitting from there, culminating in Clarice's delicious first encounter with Hannibal Lecter (played by Paul Kandel). Lecter is so moved that he privately bursts into song with the instant classic "If I Could Smell Her C*nt." Some sample lyrics (again, by Jon & Al Kaplan):
If I could smell her c*nt
She'd help me taste humanity again.
And if I promise not to eat her
Then perhaps she'd even be my friend.
If I could do it all again
I wouldn't harm a fly.
Erase the gruesome things I've done
And smell her cherry pie.
If I could undo who I am
I'd snap my fingers: brand new man!
I want to smell her bearded clam.
I almost can!
As Lecter croons, two expert ballet dancers suddenly appear; and they perform
maneuvers that place the woman's thighs by the man's nose during appropriate
lyrical moments.
Friends, musical comedy just doesn't get any better than this.
As you might imagine, it's difficult to sustain this level of insanity. And, unfortunately, as soon as Clarice leaves Lecter, both the humor and energy level of the play take a huge dip.
There are still numerous fun moments throughout the remaining 70 minutes; but it becomes an awful long stretch for what's effectively a one-joke show.
The key problem is that the parody is faithful to a fault. What the writers need to do is go beyond the surface details, hook into the spirit of Silence, and then use that as a springboard for a comedic tale with an organic life of its own. In other words, the show should be thoroughly enjoyable even to those who have never seen the original movie; and have so much aesthetic weight that, in time, others might be tempted to parody it.
Given that the bulk of the show often drags, and at times feels like it has no heart beyond surface parody, you might wonder why I'm ranking it so highly. The reasons are that this production demonstrates more professional attention to comedic detail than any other in the festival (with the possible exception of The Miss Education of Jenna Bush); and its first 20 minutes are worth more than five typical Fringe musicals put together.
If the producers are wise enough to rework this into something that transcends mere parody—for example, the way the classic film Airplane! does much more than just mimic disaster movies—Silence!: The Musical could become an off-Broadway smash.
Rating: ***½
The producers of Fleet Week: The Musical describe their show as follows:
Four blissfully unenlightened sailors and their queeny Chaplain hit the New York City streets for Fleet Week looking for romance and adventure. They stumble into a bathhouse (don't ask) where they overhear a dastardly plot (don't tell), but how can they stop it when nobody believes their story? (don't know) Come see the Statue of Liberty find love, the Coast Guard finally get some respect, and gay marriage save New York from a Martiniquean terrorist attack.
Unfortunately, that's almost all there is to the paper-thin book. If you're looking for clever plotting, strong story structure, or resonant themes, this ain't the show for you.
What makes Fleet Week special is its cast. Typically, a production has to settle for terrific singers who can sort-of act or fine actors who can more-or-less sing. This musical is blessed with numerous performers who manage both tasks with skill and style.
Topping the list of talents is Micah Bucey, who at last year's Fringe won a Best Performance award for portraying a madman crooning love songs in a straightjacket. This year, playing hero "Seaman Stayne," he's even better.
Bucey has a powerful, expressive singing voice that's a pleasure to hear. But beyond those pipes, Bucey is a formidable comedic actor, with a great feel for wording and timing, and never-ending energy. For example, during periods when all the other actors are just standing around waiting for a song to end, Bucey is doing subtle things with his pliable face and body language to keep you laughing. In addition, he has a natural charisma and edginess that effortlessly draws your attention to him whenever he's on stage. Bucey's abilities would transfer readily to TV or film; and there's no male performer at this year's festival who more deserves to be a breakout star.
Also superb is Bruce Sabbath, who plays the ship's captain and, most notably, a villainous redneck named Tex who says things like "I really, really hate them fags" in such an outrageously over-the-top way that you can't help but smile. (Happily, Tex's soul is saved when, with his last breath and for no discernable reason, he abruptly declares, "I regret my intolerant ways" before keeling over...)
Other fine performers include Rob Maitner as the sarcastic gay Chaplain, the one character you suspect realizes he's living in a musical; Laura Perloe as Seaman Swallows, a woman so determined to sail the world that she pretends to be a man (causing Seaman Stayne much sexual identity confusion when he falls in love with her); and Broadway veteran & Tony nominee Melissa Hart, who isn't given much to do as the Statue of Liberty, but belts out a number towards the end that's a showstopper.
Which brings us to the other notable element of the production: the songs. There are 20 of them (utilizing a variety of musical styles) crammed into the 2-hour show, and many are quite good. Sean Williams (music) and Jordana Williams (lyrics) did a fine job on that aspect of the production.
If the producers now hire someone with a strong understanding of story to craft an entirely new book; ruthlessly cut any songs that no longer fit; and commission new songs that integrate smoothly with the reworked tale, then this show might have a chance at a commercial life.
Even as is, though, the cast and music make Fleet Week a whole lot of fun, and a highlight of the festival.
Rating: ***½
Anna Marie Agniel begins this one-woman show by instructing the audience, "SLOW DOWN. Slow. Down. Slow d-o-w-n." Agniel then has everyone hold hands with the people next to them, and requests audience members to "Feel your neighbor's pulse. Feel the blood flowing. Feel their life."
In other words, open up; pay close attention; and be ready to connect with someone else—even someone very different—on a basic human level.
With this prep work done, Agniel effectively disappears for the rest of the 50-minute show—by transforming herself into her 22-year-old sister Mary Kate, who is mentally retarded.
If you're typical, "retarded" immediately elicits a series of stereotypical images and assumptions. But slow down; because this show simply won't allow for cliches.
What Agniel does goes beyond mere mimicry; she virtually lets her sister inhabit her skin. This is accomplished via intense attention to detail—creating distinct rhythms of stilted speech, holding her head and limbs at particular angles for particular types of activities, and dozens of other nuances.
The monologues are distinct as well, ranging from Mary Kate introducing us to a menagerie of stuffed animals as "my babies;" to her stating with unflinching honesty to a grief counselor about a dead classmate, "he was a pain in the ass;" to her outlining such career aspirations as, "I want to be a doctor. For monkeys and for dolphins. Not for sharks."
But the main thing that makes this show so special is the enormous love Agniel conveys for Mary Kate. By simply letting us get to know her sister intimately as a specific human being—someone who's direct; deeply feeling; perpetually frustrated with her dog; and who balances her frequent confusion with a pure joy for being alive—Agniel forces us to see past labels and love Mary Kate too.
About midway through the performance, when Mary Kate is struggling with illness, she slowly approaches the front row, bends down, and—without saying a word—persuades an audience member to lay a healing hand on her head.
It's an especially tender moment; and one in which it feels like everyone in the room is mentally linking hands to lend strength to that caress.
Rating: ***½
Wearing a T-shirt that proclaims, "New Jersey: Only the Strong Survive," Eileen Kelly actually has a lovely quiet strength about her. She projects both the inner peace and wry humor of someone who's lived through a great deal.
Many of those adventures are chronicled in this one-woman show, organized into mini-essays: a blackout, a title card, and then a story of childhood. And in the tradition of such giants as Jean Shepherd and Dave Sedaris, Kelly has some hilarious memories to share.
Apparently, when your parents have six children, any one kid is pretty much expendable. This laissez faire attitude was demonstrated by the time Kelly's dad first gave her a tablet of St. Joseph's Aspirin. She decided it was "delicious," so later found the bottle and consumed the rest of its contents. When Kelly began feeling poorly, she told her mom what she'd done. Her mother took a drag from a cigarette and replied, "Well, that wasn't very smart." End of anecdote!
Another time, Kelly decided to pry loose an extension cord...using a penny. She managed to knock out all the electricity in the house—and to propel herself into the next room. She also discovered the fascinating fact that you get the chills after being electrocuted. When she admitted what had happened, her mom wisely observed, "Who in God's name sticks a penny in an extension cord?" Kelly recalls, "You know what? I didn't do it again."
Kelly's family owned a candy store, but a Willy Wonka life wasn't as fabulous as you might think. Her parents used to give her massive supplies of Slush, "which was like a Slurpee, only sweeter." Says Kelly, "It was like mainlining sugar, but with a brain-freeze chaser. I'd take a hit of it and think, I want broccoli!"
In a home short of both money and time, says Kelly, 'things weren't fixed, just rigged. So you could use them at your own risk." This included the doorbell, which didn't generate a sound but would give visitors a mild shock. And when the door to the garage—which housed the kids' toys and bikes—got stuck, access to all those wonderful items was shut off for years. Kelly and her siblings used to go on for hours about what they could be doing with the stuff in the garage, eventually adding to its inventory things they've never owned...including a pony. When that garage door is opened, says Kelly, "me and my pony are going to ride like the wind;" at which point we hear the opening bars to the song "Wildfire."
Another problem was her mom's incessant chain-smoking. One day a concerned principal called Kelly into his office, pointed to the cigarette holes in her clothing, and gently inquired about child abuse. "Oh, all of my clothes have holes in them," Kelly cheerfully replied. "My mom smokes while she does the laundry." The principal was noticeably let down by the lack of a more dramatic explanation.
His instincts weren't entirely wrong, though; our young heroine soon developed a serious asthma condition, for which she had to be hospitalized several times. In those days, asthma patients were kept in a room under plastic bubbles that supplied them with untainted oxygen. Eileen still clearly remembers her mother coming in and demanding, "What's wrong with you people?! Why can't you do something to stop these attacks?!" At which point the doctor calmly looked up and said, "Mrs. Kelly, you can't smoke that in here."
The bad habit eventually caught up with her mom, who got cancer. During the final moments, her mother told Kelly she loved her. Kelly recalls, "She was like a maple tree in Autumn; a big beautiful burst of color before losing her leaves." Later, when no one else was looking, Kelly's dad sneaked a couple of packs of red Pal Mals into the coffin.
Kelly's childhood was both tough and funny; but "in the end," she says," there was a lot of love. That's what was left after the smoke cleared."
This is one of the best-written and best-performed shows in the festival. If you ever get a chance to see Eileen Kelly on stage, grab it; she's a thoroughly class act.
www.geocities.com/elementsofstylefringenyc
Rating: ***½
This enormously entertaining one-woman show by Wendy Weiner—who in real life is a freelance magazine copy editor—focuses on Winifred White, a stern woman who runs the copy editing department of a fictional women's magazine at Conde Nast. The production begins with Winifred speaking to audience members as if they were job applicants (and somewhat echoing Debbie Allen in Fame):
So, you want to copy edit.
You think you have what it takes to perfect punctuation, clarify language, correct errant thinking. I can tell you now that very few of you, perhaps none of you, have what it takes. A great copy editor can make incomprehensible drafts good, and can make the good writing great. It takes talent. It takes education. It takes constant vigilance. And today, today!, is where you'll start to pay—in sweat.
This is what's going to happen over the course of the next hour. In the next seven and a half minutes, I will explain the job to you, as well as what it's like to work at Conde Nast. In the following 12 minutes, I will look over your applications, at which point most of you will leave. And then, to those remaining, I will administer the copy test.
Pretty intimidating—and, thanks to Weiner's superb comedic timing and delivery, hilarious.
Why devote such passion to copy editing? Because, Winifred explains, when people become sloppy we get such horrors as the June 1996 cover of Ms. Magazine:
Take a gander at the large-type words in yellow. See a problem?
If not, look closer at the iconic word that Ms. Magazine is all about. It's not supposed to be spelled Feminisim.
Winifred sincerely hopes that you're appalled. But just in case, she clarifies why you should be:
I'll let you in on a
little secret: God doesn't create order in the universe. Look at our world!
Kosovo and tribal genocides, poverty and Paris Hilton, Survivor
and Adam Sandler—no,
He's not doing it. We are. We must.
When we don't follow
the rules, chaos reigns. We find ourselves confused. We find ourselves
miscommunicating
vital information. We find ourselves pregnant at 23 by the first man we
ever had sex with and subsequently raising a daughter alone in a culture
that does not support women raising children alone! (gathers herself together)
A semi-colon is not just a semi-colon. It is a symbol of the time our species first transformed oral language into the written word, the soul incarnated on paper, immortal, so that the thoughts and passions of one person could be saved, passed down, and understood by another person living thousands of years later. Although it may be the editors who get the fancy lunches at W and Balthazar, the free "swag" and lavish salaries, being a part of immortality, that—that!—is good enough for me.
Here we're in the trenches. Twelve million women a month read our publication; and for millions of them, this (holds up magazine) is all they read. Ever. Let me repeat that:: This is the only thing they read. And as their only example of the written word, it is vital that it be correct...I care about language, not just as it's preserved in an ivory tower, but as it's used in everyday life. And so I am here.
And we are right there with her. Winifred wins us over quickly, and garners huge and nonstop laughs. If the joyous wit of the opening 15 minutes were maintained throughout, this production would be unstoppable.
However, while Winifred appears in the bulk of the show, she isn't the only character. We also meet a fact checker, a senior features editor, an aspiring writer, a male freelance copy editor, and Winifred's daughter. And every time the focus shifts from Winifred, the energy level and laughs take a substantial dip. Although they're also given funny things to say, these characters simply aren't as well-developed and compelling.
For example, the senior features editor is depicted as an egomaniacal monster with no regard for others and a self-destructive obsession with her appearance. But, unlike the handling of Winifred, we're provided no positive aspects of the features editor's personality, or insider insights about the nuances and high level of skill required for her job.
The same goes for the other characters, who seem to be in the show to provide a rounded picture of what goes on at a magazine but—unlike Winifred—come off as stereotypes rather than real people.
That said, even these supporting characters provide some memorable moments. The best of them is the fact checker, who spends all day having phone conversations like this:
So, would it be accurate to say that one of the ways you keep your hubby happy is sucking on an Altoid before oral sex so that he gets a contact tingle from your mouth? Great. And that, once, you drove him crazy by placing a doughnut on his genitals and slowly eating it off? Oh, it was a bagel. Not a doughnut. OK. What kind of bagel? Everything. Great.
Winifred's daughter Celia is also intriguing. Engaging in slam poetry (an activity her mother abhors), she performs a piece titled "I Am Not Your Hyphen:"
Sometimes I am an
Em-dash, sleek and long
Beckoning
To another idea
The excitement of the unknown.
Sometimes I am an en-dash
Questioning my own relevance
Holding things together
That might be better left apart.
But I am not your hyphen.
The mistake you made
Long ago
Like the mistake
Of a secretary
Long ago
Ripping a hole in our family
No punctuation could replace.
I learned on my own
(And with the help of a highly trained professional)
That life is messy
So unlike the world of Strunk and White
Or the retouched
Pages of the magazine which
Paid for my therapy
And our small but lovely
West Side apartment.
That lays the foundation for some explosive mother-daughter dynamics. However, Celia and her relationship to her mom are never really explored beyond the poem.
Even as is, this show is well worth seeing, and a highlight of the festival. But if Weiner works at crafting all the characters we encounter with the same loving attention she gives to Winifred, and at maintaining a high level of energy and laughter from beginning to end—for example, bringing in other performers so that Winifred can remain on stage for the whole show—Elements of Style could develop into a post-Fringe smash.
Rating: ***
My review for this show was published in The New York Times on August 16th. To read the piece, please click here.
11. Fluffy Bunnies
in a Field of Daisies
Rating: ***
An infamous Fringe trick for luring audiences to a weak show is to give it a cute title. I was therefore quite leery of Fluffy Bunnies in a Field of Daisies. However, two very different friends—one with decades of professional theatre experience, the other a skilled stand-up comic—independently recommended it.
After caving in and seeing the production, I had to agree with my pals; the show is lots of fun. And I also understood why it was able to appeal to both of their diverse tastes: It's a high-energy sitcom that thoughtfully incorporates the traditions of the stage.
For example, the show kicks off with a first date that quickly leads to cunnilingus (strongly implied but never explicitly shown).
Following that is a lot of beer drinking and raucous conversation with buddies...and then more sexy situations.
In other words, it's a twenty-something version of Friends, only skirting close to (but not quite crossing) the line leading to an "R" rating.
As for the Fluffy Bunnies title, it's ultimately meaningless. However, combined with a cartoonish illustration of rabbits humping (see above), it lets potential audiences know the show is targeted at a college-age crowd; and also that no one should expect much of a narrative. In other words, a la Seinfeld, it's a show pretty much about nothing other than the mating habits and neuroses of single people who hang out.
For a series of character-driven vignettes, though, Fluffy Bunnies is surprisingly effective. This is largely due to Matt Chaffee's very witty writing and tight direction.
In addition, credit goes to the show's exceptionally strong group of young comedic actors—as far as I know, the best non-musical cast of the festival. (And, in fact, Fluffy Bunnies won a FringeNYC Award for Best Ensemble.)
Even within that excellent cast, though, two actresses stand out. One is Sangini Majmudar, whose character Yvonne regularly swings from scarily aggressive to tenderly vulnerable in a heartbeat. In lesser hands, Yvonne could easily come off as a psycho; but Majmudar is so brilliant in the role (and a terrific dancer, to boot) that we can't help but adore her.
The other actress deserving of special mention is Jenna Mattison, who as the perpetually smiling Jennifer must pull off the difficult task of fitting in easily as "one of the guys" while at the same time maintaining her sexy femininity. She manages this feat with the aplomb of a drummer who, without flash or special accolades, holds everything together for a really fine rock band.
With the right marketing—which Fluffy Bunnies' sharp producer, Drew Brody, is quite capable of generating—this show could definitely enjoy an off-off theatre life post-Fringe.
If this were my property, though, I'd shoot a few performances on HD, create a DVD with about six minutes of the most hilarious highlights—possibly followed by a 22-minute pilot version—and try to get it seen by executives at NBC, CBS, ABC, FOX, MTV, HBO, Showtime, and any other network that might opt for a sexy young sitcom. Last I heard, TV programmers were looking pretty hard for the next Friends. With a change of title, this breezy comedy's got a shot.
12. Feud: Fire in
the Mountain
www.newyorktheatreexperiment.org/feud.htm
Rating: ***
Following the end of the U.S. Civil War, a private war erupted in Appalachia between the Hatfields and the McCoys that became the most famous family grudge-match in American history. Writer/director Creighton James turns that iconic feud into a parable about the effects of violence.
The play first introduces us to the McCoys, whose family life is rendered so sweetly—complete with an adorable little girl (portrayed with grace by 6-year-old Jaclyn Tommer), two teenage girls (acted memorably by Angelique Gray and Laura Gale), three earnest sons, and a mom and dad out of The Waltons—that we could almost imagine heaven is like this. The father (Will Brunson) is a strong believer in turning the other cheek. He stands firm even when he learns that his brother, who fought for the Union, was lynched on his way back home by the Hatfields for taking the "wrong" side in the war...and, not incidentally, for owning some property desired by the head of the Hatfield clan.
As you might guess, family life at the Hatfields is a very different story. The dad (portrayed with gusto by Arthur Lazalde) is a sadist who regularly beats his boys and encourages them to commit random acts of violence.
The first half of this 2-hour play involves a series of provocations by the Hatfields, but the head of the McCoys refuses to take the bait. In Act 2, however, the McCoy sons reach their breaking point—and all hell breaks loose.
Everyone in the 18-member cast—among the largest in the festival—is fine. The three bluegrass musicians do an excellent job as well, led by Jon Rowan...who composed all-original music for this production.
The play's key problem is its muddled message. The tale ends with most of the characters dead, and the others grieving, effectively telling us that reacting with violence is always wrong. On the other hand, this same play clearly shows that there's evil in the world and people who'll mow down anyone who fails to stand up to them. Even for those who take a radical stance against all violence, there's a huge difference between the proactive protest of a Gandhi and the head-in-the-sand behavior of Father McCoy. At minimum, the show would've benefited from an additional 5-10 minutes following the carnage in which the surviving characters try to make sense of it all.
Nonetheless, Feud provides many memorable characters and some emotional scenes worthy of Greek drama. If you can get past the lack of a coherent point or proper ending, you'll find a great deal that's worthwhile here.
13. Confessions of a Dope Dealer
Rating: ***
My review for this show was published in The New York Times on August 16th. To read the piece, please click here.
Rating: ***
Michael Wrynn Doyle is an actor's actor. And no show in the festival better demonstrates a love for theatre than his.
Wearing a fake cast and holding a crutch, Doyle hops around the stage with the fierceness of a tiger as he spins a tale inspired by his experiences in Poland. Doyle went there to research the legacy of acting pioneer Jerzy Grotowski, who "created a completely different vocabulary of dramatic language," preaching that "our first obligation in art is to express ourselves through our own most personal motives."
Doyle's research hits a snag when he slips on the ice his first day in Lublin and breaks his ankle. This forces him to stay with a group of missionary nuns until he can get around again; and in return for their hospitality, they ask Doyle to teach them how to perform in a play. Doyle suggests Lysistratra, but the nuns aren't keen on a tale of Greeks and sex. He then puts forward Hamlet, but is asked for something from the gospels. They eventually settle on The Good Samaritan.
Of course, Doyle tries to apply his theories to the task: "I want to approach this piece primarily Grotowskian, and secondarily Stanislavski-Strasberg-quasi-Meisner with just a peppering of Le Coq."
He also tries to modernize the Samaritan tale: "Why don't we take a break and then we'll talk about my idea for Act Two: a dramatic discourse between Albert Camus and Jean Paul Sartre. It'll be like My Dinner With Andre, but their plates will be empty."
Doyle gives some memorable advice along the way, such as "The only way you can offend God is by indicating. Jesus loves a true moment."
The stakes are soon upped when Doyle's grant money is on the verge of being pulled unless he can demonstrate some progress in his research. Thinking fast, he tells the foundation "I am unable to meet with my contacts now because of my leg, however, I am working here at the hostel with a grassroots collective that is not represented in my thesis but is nonetheless a vital gem of contemporary Polish theatre. We are currently developing a major work based on a classical text. And this piece is intended to be seen by dispossessed audiences."
Actually, finding an audience proves to be a challenge, as the play is turned down by most—even the village orphans. Only one nursing home is willing to open its doors. Afterwards, Doyle analyzes the performance: "I don't think I can consider today a success. Yes, I take it personally; my directorial debut and a woman dies. Well, she was old; but still, theatre is not supposed to take lives. And we never got the audience back once they wheeled her out."
Doyle is despondent, believing his funding is sure to be cut off; and that he's accomplished nothing during his stay. And then he discovers a letter from the nuns to the foundation that turns his perspective upside-down: "Now we go to Kenya and show story of Samaritan. We show peoples our story of nice stranger so they trust us and take food and medicine and they hear us when we say take careful not to have AIDS. Our theatre save people lifes. You remember to hear what say Grotowski: There is no hero, no character alone. There is only community."
Considering this is Doyle's first one-man show, it's remarkably well-written; and, needless to say, his acting is superb. There's an energy and joy to his performance that stays with you for days afterwards.
Keep an eye out for Michael Wrynn Doyle. He's probably going to be a star.
www.hometown.aol.com/extravirginplay
Rating: ***
When a play starts out with two naked men having hot, sweaty sex, it's difficult to keep the energy level from rapidly descending once they're done.
Kudos to playwright Howard Walters for managing to do just that. In Extra Virgin, Walters employs taut dialogue, numerous twists, and a feeling of emotional danger to keep us in suspense and on the edge of our seats throughout.
At the same time, the drama includes generous portions of wit. Some sample lines:
Elias, after Noah asks which aspect of the evening he liked best: F*cking you. That was my favorite part.
Noah: You should write for Hallmark.
Elias: I stroked your cock. Do I have to stroke your ego as well?
Elias, on his dating preferences: I like skinny guys. They're usually well-endowed.
Noah: Well, the meat has to go somewhere.
Noah, on how he finally knew he was gay in college: I wanted to sleep with all the guys and be friends with all the girls.
Enhancing the play are superb performances from both actors: Kevin Creamer as Elias, the unsuspecting stud out for a one-night stand to get over a recent breakup; and Jimmy King as Noah, the schemer who knows a lot more than he initially lets on.
Director Michael Melamedoff also does a terrific job, crafting intense emotional and physical scenes to be credible and powerful, and making excellent use of the entire stage.
The play isn't perfect. After a while, the barrage of revelations feels somewhat strained; and the emotional build-up doesn't pay off to a really satisfying conclusion.
But until those final moments, Extra Virgin provides one hell of a ride.
Rating: ***
Virtually every year, amidst all the musicals, comedies, and one-person shows, the Fringe includes one taut crime drama; and it's typically among the highlights of the festival.
This year is no exception. For almost all the way through, Hit. hits the mark.
To include details about this tale of three hitmen would spoil surprises. However, I'll note that the writing, by costar Shanon Weaver (who plays young Asher), is smart and tight; the dialogue in several scenes is so much fun that it garners applause.
The acting—by Weaver, Ken Bradley, and Joel Citty—is also fine, with Citty a standout. But what's even more of a pleasure is how seamlessly the three actors interact with each other.
Director Melissa Livingston shines as well, creating a great deal of suspense with a very spare set.
The only significant problem is the conclusion. Part of the "reveal" can be seen a mile away; and the parts that are unexpected come off as illogical...and so unsatisfying. (The hardest element to get right for almost any story is the ending...)
Nonetheless, this is a terrific and memorable production.
17. Unholy Secrets
of the Theremin
www.performancekr.com/unholy.html
Rating: ***
The theremin may be the most bizarre musical device ever invented.
Unlike stringed or wind instruments, the theremin is never touched; instead, you stand before it and make motions with your hands. And the music that results often sounds like weird spectral voices from another dimension.
It's this latter effect that led the theremin to become widely used in Hollywood for a slew of science fiction films, such as The Day The Earth Stood Still and It Came From Outer Space; and for Hollywood psychological thrillers, such as Alfred Hitchcock's Spellbound and Billy Wilder's The Lost Weekend.
Invented back in 1919 by Russian scientist Lev Sergeyevich Termen, a theremin is basically a circuit board, housed within a box, that has a looped antenna sticking out of one side and an L-shaped antenna sticking out of the other. Each antenna emits a weak electromagnetic field that's disrupted by objects passing through it—such as a hand.
The loop antenna controls volume; moving your right hand near it makes the theremin's music go from soft to loud, and vice versa.
The L-shaped antenna controls pitch; when your left hand goes through its magnetic field, the variable frequency changes. The circuit board then detects the mathematic difference between the device's fixed frequency and the variable frequency, and calculates a third frequency; and when that's sent through an amplifier, you hear the theremin's unique sounds.
As you might imagine, it's almost as strange to watch a theremin played as it is to listen to it. To push this effect even further, the two "odd bird" performers of the show look something like this:
Kip Rosser (on the right) portrays an eccentric Russian—wearing a white fez with long yellow tassel—who plays the theremin like some mad priest of an otherworldly Ether. In real life, Rosser is a Pennsylvania-based playwright and director; and a highly talented actor.
Jef Anderson (the guy with the mustache) portrays an equally strange character, clad in a black outfit a ship's captain might have worn several centuries ago. Also a fine actor, Anderson provides expert keyboard accompaniment to Rosser's theremin playing.
But it's Rosser who commands the most attention. While jiggling his right hand back and forth to adjust volume, he continually makes conductor-like movements with his left hand, alternately slapping, stroking, and tapping the air in front of him and the L-shaped antenna. This activity coaxes tunes from his theremin ranging from classical music compositions to the Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby" to the theme for Star Trek.
In between this musical magic, the duo tell some outrageous yet apparently true tales of the device's inventor. These include Lev Termen entering the U.S. and changing his Russian name to Leon Theremin; trying to market his invention—during the Great Depression, no less—as the easiest musical instrument in the world (when it's actually among the most difficult to master); accumulating enormous debt when his business crashed and burned; and fleeing back to Russia...where he was promptly sent to Siberia and forced to invent sound-based devices that could be used to spy on U.S. embassies.
Rosser and Anderson also give us philosophy to match the theremin's unearthly sounds, such as theories about the perceiver and the perceived being inseparable ("if there is no one to see the room, the room does not exist").
The script could use some tightening and revising; there are periods when the 100-minute production drags. But Rosser's and Anderson's characters are consistently fun; and the show provides a rare opportunity to see a theremin being played with equal measures of skill and humor.
The
Tickly Cheeks Group
Rating: ***
Have you ever sat bored in your office, turned on some music, and just started dancing, slowly letting all of your inhibitions go—only to suddenly turn and realize someone's entered the room and seen you?
That true-life incident is the foundation of this wordless 30-minute show. Using cartoonish backdrops to indicate an office, two living rooms, and a subway car, we're shown the tale of a man and a woman who catch each "rocking out" to their favorite tunes. At first lonely and shy, they ultimately let each other enter their respective worlds—and end up dancing to the same beat.
The two leads, Gregory Jones (who's also the writer) and Tiffany Hodges (who's also the choreographer), are delightful as both energetic dancers, and actors who manage to convey pages of emotion with only facial expressions. Melissa Maxwell's thoughtful direction caps this utterly charming love story.
Rock Out is among the shortest and simplest shows of the festival; but it's a small gem.
19. The Monster Under
My Bed Drank My Vodka
(to access two video clips from the show, click here)
Rating: ***
Lisa David Dean is a sharp writer who's adept at both acting and stand-up comedy. She makes fine use of these skills in her one-woman show consisting of autobiographical anecdotes, observational humor, and a variety of characters Dean brings to life with her distinct and versatile voice.
The main themes of Dean's story are addiction and compulsion. These began at an early age, when Dean discovered that her father's cough medicine gave her a warm, tingly feeling. No Robitussin girl, though, Dean insisted on the high-grade prescription variety...which, years later, she realized contained codeine.
When she was a bit older, Dean found that brandy had a similar effect. From that point on, she says, "brandy and cough syrup became my protective big brothers."
Dean also obtained comfort from routines and rituals, such as moving her head to the left and to the right before going to sleep, which she believed would ensure her family's safety—and keep at bay the monster under her bed. "It's a control thing," she explains.
A less benign habit was calling her grandmother every day at 3:30 (after getting home from school) in the guise of a kook named Bob, a pretense that gave Dean an adrenaline rush. When her clueless grandmother shared frustration about the harassing calls, young Dean suggested she change her phone number. Her grandmother did—ultimately, five times. But somehow, the omniscient "Bob" always got hold of the new number...
Dean soon developed more serious problems, such as food binging & purging. "Music is an important part of the throwing up ritual," says Dean. "To get in the mood, I'd put on Billy Joel's 'She's Always a Woman.' I'd wait for the part where he sings, 'Oh, she takes care of herself' and then let it rip."
But this was merely a phase on the way to Dean's true calling: alcohol binging. At one point, after downing a number of whiskey sours, a bartender suggested she eat something. "I don't want to waste my calories," she replied.
In the show, Dean periodically seeks advice from her delightful 8-year-old cousin Jeffrey, who serves as her guardian of common sense, with a lisp. "I was at a party and drank too many whiskey sours, and I kind of peed on myself," Dean confides to her cousin. "Wow," responds Jeffrey, "I haven't peed on myself since I was four." "Well," continues Dean, "I was throwing up at the toilet and had to pee at the same time. At least I was wearing underwear." Observes Jeffrey, "That's really bad."
It actually was really bad. Dean's alcoholism ended up causing blackouts and ruining friendships. Finally, after a near-fatal car accident, Dean's therapist convinced her to join AA.
What Dean hadn't expected is that when a bunch of people get together who have given up on their addiction of choice, "they're going to start screwing each other." This led to a series of unfortunate experiences with men—or, as Dean refers to it, 12-Step Dating.
Dean's first AA date was with a guy who took her to a diner, emptied Equal packets onto the table, cut the Equal into lines, and snorted them.
Another fellow "with a really small head" was rumored to fantasize about smothering women with a pillow. While sleeping together for the first time, Dean discovered the rumors were true, abruptly waking to find feathers in her face. To add insult to injury, shortly afterwards he broke up with her.
Looking back, Dean observes, "It's so much saner at the bars. When you take alcohol away from people, you see what they're really like. Crazy."
Dean says she eventually got off "the dating merry-go-round" by hooking up with a guy she ordinarily wouldn't have considered—in other words, who "wasn't an asshole." At the same time, she came to admit that she wasn't in control, but that her addictions were controlling her.
Dean is a brave and highly engaging storyteller who, despite her grueling life experiences, gets huge laughs throughout her hour-long act. The show's most significant problem is that it doesn't end so much as stop—because Dean's last-minute proclamations of finding a decent guy and seeing the light don't flow organically from everything else she's told us, and so come across as an artificial bow on the narrative rather than a genuine conclusion.
That's not entirely a bad thing, though. It indicates her journey through life's hard knocks is a continuing one, and over time we're likely to hear many more gritty tales from Dean—who shows promise of becoming a major comedic force.
www.ontological.com/current/stuckpigs
Rating: ***
Abalone (playing Gerture's ex-boyfriend Ian): Will you take it in the ass?
Gerture: But it hurts.
Abalone: You have to try your best to make me love you again. I work very hard. Sometimes I go to strip clubs after work just to get off. I get a lap dance. Don't worry, you're not allowed to touch in a lap dance. I don't touch. I just let them do their thing on my lap. I get a hard-on, sure. But you have to accept what being a man is. Men want to f*ck. Men need to f*ck. Men think about f*cking. Any woman you introduce me to, I will picture f*cking her. Even your mother, I will picture f*cking without any clothes. I may not even want to do it, but I will picture it.
Gerture: Poor men; what a big job, having to stick their dicks in the entire world.
Abalone: It is exhausting.
Both of the characters in this drama are emotionally exhausted. A brother and sister who grew up mostly apart from others—in a taped introduction at the start of the show, playwright Lally Katz informs us they were "shielded from the world by their protective parents"—the siblings developed the habit of acting out a series of ritualized roles. In the vignette above, they revisit Gerture's hurt at being dumped by her lover Ian for a different woman. In another scene, they pretend to be their own father and mother.
Abalone: Why did we have children, Mum?
Gerture: Because I was doing the dishes. Because you were working in a job. Because we had sex for something to do. Because that's what we do to be close. To look in each others eyes. For you to pull my hair before you're about to cum. Because I can remember that the next day and the day after, and it gives me a feeling of being close to you.
The parents are now deceased, although the cause isn't clear. We're given several different explanations: they "died tragically in a tree pruning accident" or "were killed in an ill-judged game of Russian roulette" or "had fatal allergic reactions to an orange-flavored birthday cake." Then again, maybe something more sinister happened.
The latter suspicion is fueled by Abalone's obsession with Macbeth. He practices the part continually in preparation for the eisteddfod, a local talent competition (which actually is a major fad right now in Australia, where the playwright and her troupe are based). The winner will receive a one-way ticket to Moscow.
At first resistant to this play within their play, Gerture eventually agrees to help out as Lady Macbeth. Abalone therefore commences teaching her about Shakespeare's classic:
Abalone: Question 3: What is the underlying theme in Macbeth? A. That love conquers all. B. That life is a competition fueled by one's desires. C. That ambition, when ill placed, is a traitor in one's spiritual fortress.
Gerture: I believe the answer is C.
Abalone: Incorrect. Life is a competition fueled by one's desires.
Indeed, although they love each other, the siblings subtly compete for dominance as their play goes on.
Gerture: I'm not gifted in any way. I'm a competent teacher, but I am not going to be as good as someone who has a real gift. So why bother? I can just appreciate other peoples gifts instead. Sure, sometimes I envy them. But not with a burning feeling. Just with a slight wistfulness. If you don't have it in you to be great, then you shouldn't try.
Abalone: You still should have gone for your personal best.
Gerture: This is my personal best.
Abalone: No it's not. You should get plastic surgery. You should take courses. You should try and aim for above average. Go to the gym. At least then, you would have pride. Pride is a very good way of masking mediocrity.
Portraying Lady Macbeth helps toughen Gerture, though; and after the eisteddfod takes place, we're delighted to see Gerture slowly turn to reveal a First Prize blue ribbon around her neck. She then finally lets go of past wounds and stifling relationships, leaving Abalone (a word that means "shell") for that one-way trip to Moscow.
Bringing this delicate production to life are strong direction by Chris Kohn, and tremendous performances by Luke Mullins (as Abalone) and especially Jessamy Dyer (as Gerture). Although the maze-like turns of the play can at times be confusing, Dyer's expressive face tells the story with such feeling that you can almost follow along by just watching her.
Still, when the lights come back on, we're left to wonder: Was there really an eisteddfod? Or was it yet another show within the brother's and sister's private world?
For that matter, did Abalone really exist, or was he just a figment of Gerture's imagination?
There are no definite answers in this challenging, layered play. But the characters' sadness, longing, and instincts for survival come across clearly.
Rating: ***
You know you're probably in for an entertaining evening when it begins with an announcement like this:
Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves to be flung headlong into another dimension: a whirling miasma of perversion where no twisted carnal thirst in left unslaked. Prepare to enter a world where hip-grinding, hog-riding, pill-popping latter day sodomites will stop at nothing for the next thrill, the next kick. This world, ruled by a velvet glove that conceals an iron fist, is the world of Go-Go! (Music swells, then stops short.) ...and please turn off your cell phones.
That last instruction is important, because this show makes better use of sound effects than any other in the festival. In fact, Go-Go Kitty's Mark Huang ended up winning the FringeNYC Award for Outstanding Sound Design. Although our heroines are chicks on bikes (inspired by Russ Meyers' 1965 sexploitation classic Faster, Pussycat! Kill, Kill!), the actresses are given little more than black & white cardboard photos of motorcycles, guns, and other stock action devices. It's the sounds, and the sharp direction by Samuel Buggeln, that make these simple elements roar to life.
The whole story works on a similar ebullient cartoon level, as the Go-Go Kitties investigate the mysterious death of a transvestite...and, indirectly, fight to free our country of political hypocrisy and sexual inhibitions.
There are many fun moments in this adventure written by Erin Quinn Purcell, Greg Jackson, and Brian Hyland. Here's a smattering:
Police
Officer: All right, take it easy there, cupcake.
Go-Go Kitty Sugar: The name's not Cupcake! It's Sugar!
Gas station attendant Gramps: This pump here's broke, see.
Sugar: I hear they got a pill for that nowadays...Hey Gramps, where can a girl strap her mitts around a Ding Dong in this fillerup?
Evil villain Dick: You're all dirty girls with dirty pillows and dirty souls!
Sweet, innocent Peggy: You don't think I'm—a slut?
Hippie Billy: Oh my goodness, no. That's just some word the Man made up to make a girl feel bad about havin' a good time.
Go-Go Kitty Wanda: It's either Dick or your Daddy that's responsible!
Peggy
