Performance: The Good, Bad, and Ugly

Performance: It's the seductive lure of the warm spotlight and the heady rush of thunderous applause, but it's also the thrilling experience of stepping outside of yourself to become something or someone you're not. At its best, performance is communication that imparts truth and humanity; but when people are swept up in its irresistible and threatening momentum, the results can be devastating.

Performance rears its ugly head in filmmaker Tony Kaye's riveting new documentary Lake of Fire, his epic quest to shine honest, balanced, and unapologetic light on the fraught issue of abortion.

Show Business Weekly review: Lake of Fire

As he proved in the raw American History X, Kaye isn't afraid to expose the ugly underbelly of the American experience, and this seminal work features interviews with the many of the main players in the abortion battle. Most frightening to me was witnessing the indomitable powers of mob mentality, particularly when animated through the proselytizing and chanting of members of the Far Right.

A documentary, of course, is a performance of its own, and Kaye splices together clips in subtle (and not-so-subtle) patterns, but the most horrifying performances come from the Pro-Life protestors who unblinkingly pronounce that those who don't believe what they do (in many cases, conservative Christian tenets) will land in the Biblical anti-promised land, the eponymous "lake of fire." Mugging for the camera and swaggering with pseudo-authoritative bravado, these (mostly) men seem keen to perform their roles to the very tips of their fingertips.

As terrific as the film is, Kaye gets a bit swept up in the act of performing himself, and I agreed with Entertainment Weekly critic Lisa Schwarzbaum that many of his overly dramatic and artsy cinematic flourishes threaten to take the film from dedicatedly intelligent to blatantly kitsch.

Performance also permeates the subject of Max Sparber's fantastic play Minstrel Show, or the Lynching of William Brown, currently playing at the New Jersey Repertory Company in Long Branch, NJ. In this brief, two-character study, he sets the story of two fictional black minstrel performers against the very nonfictional story of William Brown, a black man who was lynched for the alleged rape of a white woman. The murder took place on the steps of the Douglas County courthouse in Omaha, Nebraska in 1919. (Eerily, it just so happened that the night we attended the show, September 28, marked the 88th anniversary of the unspeakable tragedy.) Peter Filichia provides an insighful review in the NJ Star-Ledger.

Under the deft direction of Rob Urbinati (who also directed a recent production of the show at Omaha's Blue Barn Theatre), Spencer Scott Barros and Kelcey Watson give lively, focused performances that brim with intensity and grace. Called back to the courthouse one week after the lynching, the men tell the story about the fateful evening, when they were also being held at the jail. Of course, they (literally) dance around the story, frequently lurching into their vaudeville routines--these performances, set to jovial music with racist undertones, provide them with an escape from reality. Eventually, they stop singing, wipe off the coal-hued makeup that covers their faces (African American performers during the period performed exclusively in blackface), and quietly tell the harrowing story.

The power of performance is an obvious theme, from the song-and-dance routines behind which the men initially retreat, to the crazed lynching mob that they witness. Controversy had erupted earlier in Long Branch in protest of minstrel-themed posters that advertised the show. Despite the NAACP's threats to boycott the production, the sold-out crowd was completely attentive.

A talkback followed the performance, and one audience member commented that he was swept up in the actors' powerful telling of the story and now had a much better understanding of the terrifying momentum of mob violence. Another man commented that, in its use of blackface, the play "appropriates an image to show its ugly face."

I grew up in Nebraska but had never heard of William Brown. Clearly, given the recent spate of deplorable race-related crimes across the country, it's important to keep telling--and retelling--these stories so that these performances no longer repeat themselves.

Frost Bite

The Yellow Wood has a lot going for it: A story that centers loosely on Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken"; a mostly superb cast, including the very likable Jason Tam (Broadway's A Chorus Line) as Adam, a high school student obsessing about memorizing the Frost poem (not to mention the flights of fancy brought on by his decision not to take his Ritalin), the uproarious Randy Blair (as his best friend Casserole), the savvy comic stylings of Jill Abramovitz (as the snappish English teacher), and Yuka Takara (as Adam's smartypants younger sister Gwen); and the direction of journeyman actor B.D. Wong, who also produces.

So what went wrong?

Like many NYMF shows, writers Michelle Elliott (book and lyrics) and Danny Larsen (music and lyrics) have tried to cram too many themes into their story. The adolescent fairy tale begins with the hyperactive Adam sitting at the breakfast table with his parents and sister: we learn that his parents are not getting along, his sister is transferring to his school because of unexplained problems at her old school, and that he denies his Korean heritage to his classmates (i.e., nobody thinks that he is Asian--and he'd like to keep it that way).

Interesting problems and conflicts, all, but they are never untangled or explored to any satisfying ends. Instead, Adam goes to school, where his overactive, Ritalin-free senses conjure up scene after fantastical scene. There's even an overextended video game sequence, in which the actors--in thrall to the erratic jerks of Adam's brain--stiffen their limbs and lurch around the stage to illustrate a story problem.

Other critics have found much to love in this unique story, and there is plenty of creativity on display. With a bit more focus, The Yellow Wood could be not only a story worth telling, but an incisive, dimensional look at an exceptional life.

offoffonline review: The Yellow Wood

Pictured: Randy Blair, Jason Tam, and Caissie Levy (photo credit: Lia Chang)

Mighty IT

The third annual New York Innovative Theatre (IT) Awards were held Monday, September 24 in the Haft Auditorium at the Fashion Institute of Technology in Chelsea. Created by enterprising theater artists Jason Bowcutt, Shay Gines, and Nick Micozzi, the awards are designed to honor the best of Off-Off-Broadway theater--the people, as one presenter quoted the legendary OOB patriarch Joe Cino as saying, "who make magic out of nothing."

I attended and covered last year's ceremony, and I'm happy to report that this year's festivities were just as exuberant and celebratory. If anything, the awards seemed to be distributed more evenly between the competing companies, and first-time host Julie Halston was predictably nutty, sarcastic, and hilarious.

There was some high-brow talent on hand to present the awards, including Speaker Christine Quinn, Tony Award winner (and Dream Girls star) Anika Noni Rose, lighting designer Natasha Katz (who described lighting as "a whisper you see"), costume queen Susan Hilferty, legendary actress Kathleen Chalfant, director Leigh Silverman, and composer Robert Lopez (Avenue Q).

If New York has "community theater" (which is to mean "theater of a community," not "amateurish") it's on the Off-Off-Broadway stages, where artists work for peanuts (or less: maybe peanut shells?) to put their vision on stage. Looking around the auditorium, I could see little "communities"--tight-knit groups of actors/directors/technicians who muscle through this city and support each other to get their shows up and running.

It was especially moving to see how seriously people have come to take these awards--there were the usual jokes and shout-outs to friends and God from behind the podium, but there were also genuinely honest tears, thanks to relatives who had traveled long distances to attend the ceremony, and tributes to departed parents and mentors.

Once again, I looked through the program and was mystified by the number of theater companies that I have a) never witnessed in action, and/or b) never even heard of. I made a list of companies to watch, and I'm looking forward to discovering what new creations they'll bring forth over the next year. I'm particularly curious to track Rising Phoenix Repertory, recipient of this year's Caffe Cino Fellowship Award. They took home the award for Outstanding Production of a Play for Daniel Reitz's Rules of the Universe, and Elizabeth West performed a dazzling and disarming monologue from the show, which took place on a series of toilet seats in a venue in the East Village.

I was particularly thrilled to see the Gallery Players' production of Urinetown take home the award for Outstanding Production of a Musical. I've reviewed many shows put on by this fantastic Park Slope-based company, and this one is easily the best I've seen.

Playwright Doric Wilson, a pioneer in gay theater and the first resident playwright of the infamous Caffe Cino, won the 2007 Artistic Achievement Award. As he reminisced about his eventful career, he scanned the crowd and pronounced: "You are the people who make the theater I believe in happen."

The IT Awards put a stamp of importance and pride on the Off-Off-Broadway world; I only hope that next year's ceremony will celebrate even more innovative companies and distinctive artists.

Pictured above: Tauren (member of the Urinetown cast) and I strike a pose before the show. Below: Host Julie Halston in action

Going the Way of the Dodo?

A friend passed along this intriguing bit of metajournalism: a blog about blogging. And, more specifically, about theater blogging.

Lyn Gardner, a critic for the Guardian, writes that, as newspapers have continued to squish arts reviews, she felt like she was on the verge of extinction. But blogging, she says, is "opening up criticism and giving us newspaper critics a necessary kick up the bum."

I agree with many of her pro-blogging arguments: blogs give critics a place to elaborate further on subjects they might not be able to squeeze into a print review, and also faciliates and encourages conversation:

"Unlike the newspaper letters page, these dialogues can be returned to again and again and can gradually evolve. Bloggers also have none of the restraints of space that occur on a newspaper reviews page. This creation of more voices can only be a good thing, bringing a wider range of background, experience and interest to the rough and tumble of critical debate. Whether or not you trust these new voices will take time to discover--just as readers of any newspaper have to decide whether their own tastes and opinions concur with those of its professional critics."

The lasting effects of the critical blogosphere have yet to be seen, but I certainly hope that they will enliven and enrich the scope and depth of arts writing. Although I do find the limitless word count a bit intimidating at times ...

Rock(ae) & Roll!

From the perennially popular Rent to the surprise success of Spring Awakening, it seems that the rock musical is not only in vogue, but is also here to stay. Prospect Theater Company's The Rockae mixes a punchy, metallic rock score with one of theater's most provocative protagonists: the powerfully petulant god Dionysus in Euripides' timeless tragedy The Bacchae.

Show Business Weekly review: The Rockae

Rock music is just as much about cultivating an aesthetic as telling a story, and director Cara Reichel has turned the stage of the Hudson Guild Theater into an emotional labyrinth. Certain songs come together better than others, and the sound system sometimes distorts the lyrics (it'd be wise to check out a synopsis before you attend), but at its best, the searing vocalizations of the gifted cast make The Rockae a screaming rock tour-de-force. And don't you love the rockin' artwork? It reminds me of my parents' old rock LPs stored away in the basement--blazing colors heralding a powerhouse feast for the ears.

A Chamber(s) Musical

Who ever said politics isn't theatrical? This week, Nebraska Senator Ernie Chambers announced that he is suing God--yes, that's right, he's suing GOD.

When I was in high school in Nebraska, I thought Ernie Chambers was divine inspiration itself--always controversial, and dedicatedly provocative, he would endlessly filibuster bills he didn't agree with, and give lengthy orations to stir up heated discussions. When he arrived to speak at our Close-Up Club's town hall event, I was mesmerized by his articulate arguments--and the fact that irreverently wore a T-shirt with tuxedo shirt screenprinted across it.

In the fire of adolescence, I was all for risky debate, and I had recently published an article that sharply criticized Rush Limbaugh in our local newspaper. In response, I was thrilled to receive my first "hate mail"--letters scrawled in the shaky hands of elderly Limbaugh supporters who warned me that I had severly misstepped my bounds. Far from discouraging me, the disapproving correspondence only enlivened my determination to speak my mind.

But although Chambers inspired me then, I'm not sure how I feel about his tactics now. He is suing God, he claims, in order to make a point about frivolous lawsuits and archaic legalities. I'm unconvinced--doesn't this just waste even more time? And this is the same man who, not too long ago, recommended the racial segregation of Omaha school districts. Isn't there a better way to put Nebraska on the map? In any case, I'm keeping an eye on my home state. Whither the faux tuxedo?

In Memory of a Blizzard

Last week we received word that Dr. Bill Logan, a former Norfolk dentist and a good friend of my parents', had passed away in Florida. We lived just down the street from the Logans in my first chilhood home (we moved across town when I was 14), and I have such fond memories of Bill, who loved to tinker with vintage automobiles (1937 Packards) and make everyone laugh.

I also remember Bill rescuing me during one fateful Nebraska blizzard, with an artic wind chill and terrifying drifts, that left me stranded at the grade school when I was 7 years old. My mom was home with my three younger siblings, and Bill offered to pick me up at school after classes were dismissed early. He had a son who was several years older than me, so after dropping him off at their house, he literally carried me down the street--through waist-deep drifts--to deposit me at my mother's feet.

I don't remember many details from that time, but I have a vivid memory of clinging to Bill, my face buried in his cool winter coat as he trudged through the blinding snow. People come into contact with us at many different times and for many different reasons throughout our lives; there are so many microscopic instants that are fleeting but meaningful. I will always be thankful that--for that moment, at least--there was someone there to carry me safely home again.

Back to School and Back on Stage!

Looking for a place to hone your acting skills or amp up your theater/film career? My latest feature is out in this week's Show Business Weekly, and it's a primer on some of the best acting programs in New York and beyond. I had the opportunity to speak with administrators, teachers, and professionals from both conservatories (Stella Adler, Lee Strasberg, the Atlantic Acting School, the Ted Bardy Studio) and universities (Carnegie Mellon, DePaul, Five Towns College, the American Film Institute). And many more ...

I always enjoy chatting with people who teach the business of "the business," and I'm constantly astonished by the sheer number of options and opportunities available to performers of all ages. For example, ACTeen is the country's premier provider of on-camera training for teenagers; founder Rita Litton is one of the most positive and energetic people I've spoken to, and I'm sure the school's courses must be similarly encouraging for aspiring young performers.

I was also particularly intrigued by the course offerings at Weist-Barron, which provide training for performance opportunities that are not always so obvious: hosting home-shopping programs (QVC!), web-hosting, trade shows, and industrials. You can even take a course on how to skillfully read a teleprompter! (Academy Award presenters, take note ...) And while these are certainly not "glamorous" acting gigs, why not use your stage presence and charm to make some extra money?

And speaking of the long, hard slog to fame, my review of the film Great World of Sound is also out this week. In our "American Idol"-obsessed age, everyone is cashing in on "reality ______ (fill in the blank)," but writer/director Craig Zobel manages to find something fresh in this darkly comic picture. Rather than capitalize on the "rags-to-riches" stories of those seeking a quick trip to celebrity, he flips the camera around to tell the story of the talent scouts who hunt for untapped "talent."

Martin and Clarence are two troubled agents looking for amateur singers for a company called "Great World of Sound," but as they weed through the hungry throngs in small, dingy towns, they slowly uncover both the deceit of their employer and the searing desperation that rips everyone apart in its wake. Because, of course, they're not really trying to help people, they are (surprise!) fishing for cash.

As Martin and Clarence, Pat Healy and Kene Holliday deliver outstanding performances, texturing their unsteady friendship with deft comic flourishes. Healy is particularly excellent as the conflicted Martin; as Clarence barrels through each "sell," Martin gives us uncomfortable and powerful glimpses of his reservations.

The quest for fame seems endemic in our time, and I'm always curious to watch what it does to those who surround it. Zobel makes his film even more poignant by integrating authentic "auditions" into the agents' journey. Yep, they actually took out fake ads in local newspapers encouraging aspiring recording stars to show up for a chance at the big time. People came in droves, and--with their permission, of course--many of their auditions made it into the film. There's something both mesmerizing and terrifying in seeing just how far people will go to capture their dream. Fame, or celebrity, has become the great equalizer, and Zobel gives us a telling look at just how far people can fall before they even make it to the "the top."

Show Business Weekly review: Great World of Sound

And last but not least (well, maybe least) on the topic of corporate, air-brushed greed: my review of Walmartopia is also out this week. I blogged about it earlier, but now you can also read the review.


Pat Healy and Kene Holliday on the hunt for hot stuff in Great World of Sound.

Filling a Need

This scene may look like something out of your worst nightmare.


It doesn't faze me, but then again, I grew up with a dentist that I could trust: my father. He always teased me mercilessly, but I also knew he would take good care of me. I never hesitated to yelp, "Dad, that hurts!"; he never hesitated to spray me and my siblings in the face with water.

Over the weekend my dad participated in Nebraska's third annual Mission of Mercy, a gathering of hundreds of people to provide free dental care for anyone in need of it. The event took place over two days; on Friday, over 700 people received treatment, including everything from basic check-ups to fillings to denture work. During the first two hours alone, the dentists performed over $40,000 worth of work. People actually camped out overnight to be first in line.

This year's event was held in Norfolk, my hometown, and my hard-working, generous, and always witty dad got to help with much of the planning and set-up. Previous locations have included North Platte and Grand Island, and next year the Mission of Mercy heads out west to Scottsbluff. It's amazing what a group of dedicated individuals can accomplish; I'm sure a lot of Nebraskans are now feeling much more comfortable--if a bit numb--in the jaw.

More photos from the event:


Dr. K. with Jan, one of his excellent dental assistants, and Cheryl, his fearless office manager (and no, I don't think she injured her arm yanking any teeth):


Hard at work:

Sunday in the Park

I spent the long holiday weekend in Columbus, Ohio, where I attended the wedding of my friends Ilana (a long-time friend, co-theater-creator, and conspirator from Rice) and Mike (her lovely new husband and a brilliant lawyer). Ilana and I have always been crazy about Sondheim musicals, and appropriately, I made a pre-ceremony visit to see Columbus' extraordinary Topiary Garden with a small group of friends.

And what, you may wonder, could be so extraordinary about a topiary garden? (And where does Sondheim come in?)

Well, the shrubbery in this particular garden has been sculpted and coaxed to resemble Georges Seurat's famous painting, "A Sunday On The Island Of La Grande Jatte," and it is, to quote the website, "a landscape of a painting of a landscape." The results are both beautiful and a bit strange. It's not a place I'd want to wander around in alone at night, lest the figures start moving. But it's certainly a novelty, and something to see (for free) if you should ever find yourself wandering around Columbus. And for musical theater aficionados, it will instantly strike up the gorgeous chords of Sondheim's masterful musical, Sunday in the Park with George, which tells the persuasive fictional tale of the painting's creation.