Want some church with your theater?

I love The Civilians. I love this show.

Show Business Weekly review: This Beautiful City

Proof Positive

The Astoria Performing Arts Center has scored again with its excellent production of David Auburn's riveting math-play, Proof. I love having an honest-to-goodness theater just down the block from my apartment. While this production wasn't quite as superb as the other shows I've seen there (A New Brain and Picasso at the Lapin Agile), it has excellent production values (check out the glorious set in the photos) and a lot of obvious (if somewhat misplaced) heart.

offoffonline review: "Doing the Math": Proof

The main problem for me was the melodramatic style implied by the direction and, most gratingly, the lead actress. Auburn's drama is a taut, tense, piece of realism, and our heroine was rolling her eyes and mugging to the audience like a character actress in a 1950s musical. Although I had never before seen the play produced, I read it (and loved it) several years ago and saw the good, not great, film adaptation starring Gwyneth Paltrow. But there was an urgency missing from the APAC production--most likely lost in the over-emoting--that made me wonder, Would I have liked the play itself if this had been my first exposure to it? One of the difficult things about reviewing brand, shiny-new productions is that it's often hard to determine which element--writing or directing--is most clearly contributing to the show's success or demise. The quality of the acting, of course, is always easier to evaluate, since it's more exposed. Writing and directing dance a precarious sort of tango, however; when they're not completely in sync, someone's bound to end up flat on the floor.

Vibrant and (Vain)glorious

I recently became a huge Francine Prose fan after reading her gripping novel Blue Angel and her latest nonfiction work How to Read Like a Writer, so I was excited, and a bit surprised, to learn that the new Ahrens and Flaherty musical is based on her novel The Glorious Ones, a semi-fictional account of a commedia dell'arte troupe in the late sixteenth century.

Show Business Weekly review: The Glorious Ones

It's a fascinating, if uneven, production, but--as I've come to expect from Lincoln Center Theater--it's an extremely well-produced, intelligent, and important work. I encourage you to meet The Glorious Ones for yourself. Get a behind-the-scenes look here.

It's Alive, Sort Of

Apart from my recent fascination with Heroes, I've never been the biggest sci-fi fan, so I truly dreaded reading Frankenstein when I was in graduate school. Dutifully, I bought a copy of Mary Shelley's classic piece of gothic horror, expecting reams of unadulterated green monsters and high-flying melodrama. Instead, I was truly riveted by her lovely writing, her incredible imagination, and the harrowing plot. Frankenstein blurs the line between humans and monsters, and it was a fascinating tool for class discussion and considering the dangers of contemporary scientific research. Cloning, anyone?

I approached the new Off-Broadway musical Frankenstein with hope, since its creators have repeatedly said that they aimed to bring the focus back to the story itself. So I couldn't have been more disappointed when I was greeted by lightning flashes, strobe lights, vapid characters, and a throroughly chilly, and rather brainless, staging of this classic novel.

Show Business Weekly Review: Frankenstein

As any theater person will tell you, Mel Brook's Young Frankenstein promises to be the theatrical event of the season, and so Frankenstein certainly has moxie to go head-to-head with its fellow monster. But if this is supposed to the more "serious" Frankenstein, we're in trouble, because director Bill Fennelly's staging draws involuntary laughter when it tries to take itself seriously (the many cheesy lines and semi-rhyming lyrics don't help much). To me, the first half of the show could have been an anthropological study representing the worst of what producers think that audiences want from theater right now: gratuitous spectacle, over-processed pop music, a bare-chested man, and a lightning-quickness that panders to the short attention spans of veteran TV watchers.

As the doctor's love interest, the extraordinary Christiane Noll brought heart and intelligence to the story, but she also brought an unfortunate reminder of the mega musical Jekyll & Hyde, in which she played a similar supporting role. (Full disclosure: J&H is a guily pleasure of mine, but not one that I want to see replicated and brought back from the dead ad infinitum). Frankenstein clearly wants to seduce those "Jekkies" (the rabid fans who saw the show tens and hundreds of times), and it just might succeed. I wanted to like Frankenstein, but I'm afraid that this monster of a musical might just find its audience--and lure producers away from more intelligent musicals and back into spawning more and more of the same old schlock. For once, can't we just let these decrepit shows rest in peace?

Girl Gumshoe

The Ateh Theater Group has revived its production of The Girl Detective for the Crown Point Festival on the Lower East Side. An adaptation of a surreal short story by Kelly Link, the production follows the Girl Detective as she does a bit of sleuthing--but this time, instead of tracking down criminals, she's on the hunt for her own mother, who disappeared years before.

offoffonline review: "Glamour in a Gumshoe": The Girl Detective

I found the story confusing at times; Bridgette Dunlap (the talented adapter and director) doesn't always clearly denote time or setting, and the Girl Detective's journeys often feel like the elliptical, nonsensical pathways of a murky dream. Still, Dunlap has a gift for throwing splashy style onto the stage, from tap-dancing bank robbers to saucy flashlight sequences. She paints in wild, bright colors, but--as in her equally impressionistic adaptation of Aimee Bender's The Girl in the Flammable Skirt--the flimsy substance of the story is tinted in faint pastel shades.

Leaving a more potent impression was the short film that preceded the production: Brazilian director Kleber Mendonça Filho's aptly named Eletrodomestica, in which the everyday domestic tasks of a Brazilian housewife ultimately give way (and abet) a thrilling climax. Filho uses banal household appliances (microwave, TV, vacuum cleaner, washer & dryer) to anchor the story, then uses them in surprising--and scintillating--ways.

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.

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.

Diatribes, at a Discount

Ah, the curse of finding success at the Fringe Festival. A reputed hit at last year's Fringe, the cheeky corporate-bashing musical Walmartopia has just commenced an open-ended run, and the results are not promising.

The critics have not been kind, and I can't say that I entirely disagree. Their main complaint is the cornucopia of styles and mixed messages that plague the stage. I was also irritated by the gratuitous shifts in emotional tempo and dramatic thrust, but I was more disappointed that the show didn't teach me anything new. With its "Wal-Mart is evil" message, the writers settle for preaching to the choir (assuming that choir is a liberal, educated bunch who are keen to sniff out social injustice). In catapulting its heroines thirty years into the future to simplistically and predictably solve the problems of the Wal-Mart-worshiping neo-universe, this production safely skirts around addressing the problems of the present.

I felt a bit of that chronological dissonance when I watched the classic film 9 to 5 for the first time recently. As Jane Fonda, Dolly Parton, and Lily Tomlin fantasized about killing their boss and then cleverly spun corporate life for the better, I felt like I had opened a time capsule, a bit of nostalgia in a DVD. But as any smart woman (or man) knows, sexism still runs rampant in the workplace, even if it doesn't stare blatantly at your chest and ask you to fetch it coffee.

The point is, entertainment can be a tonic and a panacea for bigger, and always more complex, issues. Walmartopia wants us to unseat the world-dominating corporation, but does it really? Where's the action plan, and where are the specifics? When the solution is the homogenized maxim "think outside the big box," it's hard to take the show very seriously. This production might have an agenda, but it's definitely more "let me entertain you" than "do you hear the people sing."

Ironically, and perhaps unsurprisingly, the show's best moments are its show-within-a-show production numbers, such as "These Bullets are Freedom" (pictured above), the resolutely earnest call-to-arms in the Wal-Mart dystopia of 2037. A piece of straightforward propaganda, the skit trades in both ideology and commerce, inciting political loyalty while trying to sell a new gun model. Here, it's easy--and chilling--to see how the media attempts to brainwash us. It's unfortunate that the rest of the show isn't this in-your-face; instead, the creators fall victim to the very advice they give us: don't settle for a cheap and phony product.

Show Business Weekly review: Walmartopia

Voulez Vous?

I’m a sucker for a dark and stormy French chanson, whether it’s sung by an interpreter of Edith Piaf (I caught Maria Bill’s tour-de-force solo show when I was a student in Salzburg, Austria) or interspersed in a full-length production (as in last year’s gorgeously sung Off Broadway revival of Jacques Brel Is Alive and Well and Living in Paris). There's something so wonderfully unsettling about a tempestuous tale of love sung by a wine-soaked voice as a cheerful accordion works in counterpoint to lift a layer of the gloom. This paradoxical mixture (happy & sad) creates a truly visceral experience for its listeners. Pain morphs into something both beautiful and painful: performance.

Lured by the pathos, I jumped at the chance to review a Fringe Festival show that celebrated the life and music of Edith Piaf: Naomi Emmerson’s strong and wistful une-femme triumph, Piaf: Love Conquers All.

Show Business Weekly Review: Piaf: Love Conquers All

It’s no easy task to collapse the infamous French singer’s tragic life: it’s really as eccentric and riddled with romantic woes as they come. But Emmerson (who also directs) and Roger Peace (who wrote the book) have created an evocative and entertaining look at Piaf’s life and love(s), primarily by hinging her story firmly around what ultimately mattered to her most: the music. Emmerson sings 13 of Piaf’s most beloved melodies; interspersed with vignettes (which are charming but not always perfectly natural), the music moves into a new dimension, textured and shaped by Piaf’s real life experiences. Angst often seems to be a requisite tool for singers who brood about love, but here it is all the more riveting (and believable) because we can, for the most part, see directly to the root of her complaints.

From the opening seen, in which Piaf enters in a cascade of joy, extolling the virtues of Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” (apparently, he’s a composer she’s just recently discovered), we are presented with a girlish woman (or a womanish girl?) who always feels as if she’s the last one to arrive at the party--and is determined to make up for it. Now.

If Emmerson is a bit more convincing in the first act (Piaf's youth and rise to fame) than the second (her painful decline), it's likely the fault of the script, which pinches the final events of Piaf's life together a bit haphazardly and hurriedly. Stephanie Layton is terrific in a series of supporting roles, and she is a deft and dazzling musician; she flits between the accordion and the piano without missing a beat. John Doyle would do well to scoop her up for his revival of Sweeney Todd.

Unfortunately, the show has already concluded its brief run, but keep your eyes peeled for Emmerson: she’s been playing Piaf for nearly 15 years now, and after a successful run at the Toronto Fringe Festival in 2005 (and, by all accounts, a successful one here as well), it’s likely this raucous pixie will pop up again in a neighborhood near you.

A Moving Moo-sical

Monday I reviewed the enormously charming and occasionally frustrating Farmer Song: The Musical.

offoffonline review: "Heartland Song": Farmer Song: The Musical

As a Nebraska native, I wanted to see the show immediately when I heard that it was set in Iowa, but at the time I didn't realize that the production had actually been brought in from Iowa. Yep--there were a truck and trailer with Iowa license plates parked in front of the New School for Drama--right in the middle of the West Village.

The show explores the "farm crisis" (low interest rates=poor farmers) through the love story of Carl and Becky, who decide--against her parents' advice and all good sense--to take up farming.

I brought my friend Amy along, who moved to the city with me from Nebraska nearly three years ago (and yes, we drove our Penske truck through Iowa on the way). We both felt like we were visiting home as we watched the show. The cast and production loudly telegraphs its "community theater" roots, and not necessarily in a bad way. With a cast made up of farmers, engineers, and other people with "day jobs," their earnestness and excitement to be on stage is immediately tangible (if often slightly ill-focused). And after living, working, and reviewing shows in New York for almost three years, this sort of down-home goodness was as refreshing as the cow manure I always smell in the little towns we pass on the two-hour drive to my hometown from the airport in Omaha. Don't laugh--any scent that heralds home is welcome to me (and it's an ephemeral stretch of road miles away from the house where I grew up).

According to its website, this little show has already made a big splash in Iowa (sold out shows and ample press) and will likely continue to entertain and move hometown audiences who will not only understand its message, but fully empathize with it.

At first I was frustrated with the show. I wanted more sophisticated direction and sharper tempos--in short, the slick production values I've come to expect in New York. But after a while I became fully absorbed by this tender, touching story, and it was delightful to watch people who are happy to do theater for theater's sake and not (as many critics of the Fringe have complained this year) in order to take their show to Broadway or become tomorrow's TV sensation.

If at various moments I've become worn out and bitter about theater and its place in the universe, Farmer Song did something to restore my faith in the community, collaboration, and charm of live performance. Just for the fun of it.

A few of the melodies are still in my head, days later. A bale-ful of thanks to this hardy group of Iowans for taking me back "home" for a few hours--not only geographically, but in wholesome spirit (the sweet woman passing out programs complimented me on my skirt with genuine kindness).

But how would the show be received by other (often exacting, crabby, and sassy) critics? Honestly, I felt a bit protective of my fellow Midwesterners. But I shouldn't have worried. One reviewer so far, at least, has gotten it just right.

All images courtesy of Farmer Song: The Musical.

Musicals! Are! Exciting!

I'm not sure when the craze for exclamatory musical titles began, but there are certainly a lot of them in this year's Fringe Festival. Whether it's Williamsburg!, Show Choir!, BASH'd!, or Bukowsical!, these musicals' creators have named their projects with all the subtlety of a sonic boom.

It would be interesting to poll audiences to see if there is a difference in excitement level and anticipation due to the use of punctuation. In my experience, it actually puts me off a bit, like those overeager people who stop you to take surveys on the streets who are, essentially, walking exclamation points themselves.

But I digress ... Day Two of the Fringe found me at two !!!! musicals.

The first, Williamsburg! The Musical, is a spoof of the hipster-infiltrated Brooklyn neighborhood. Good fun, with some exciting performances and interesting choreography, but waaaaay loud (I actually plugged my ears a few times). It's forgivable, given the Fringe's limited rehearsal time, but wow ... a lot of noise and grit for noon on a Sunday. The people sitting next to me and my friend Tauren had actually brought their two sons (under 10 years old) to the show, which was rather shocking, both because their attention started to fade towards the end and also because the musical featured a healthy heaping of profanity. The finale, for example, kept screaming "It's the F*$%ing Finale!", just to make sure we had gotten the message. It was interesting to note, though, that the boys started getting restless just as my own attention span was maxing out. Even when you're young, you have a sense of when they need to wrap it up. It's good that mature audiences have, for the most part, grown out of the outward signs of boredom, such as dropping toys, murmuring incoherently, and trying to stand up on one's chair to see better.

Anyway. One of my favorite performers I've discovered this year is the fabulous Allison Guinn (I reviewed her earlier this year in The Gallery Players' productions of Urinetown and Victor/Victoria), and she gets to sink her teeth into the leading role in this 'burg. And good heavens--she is a force to behold. Singing down to the gutters and back up to the sky, firmly planting each comic moment, stealing every scene, this girl is going places. I can't wait to see her next show. Even if it's another! exciting! musical!

A few hours later we visited the equally excitable Show Choir! The Musical and had a marvelous time. The audience was electric (and quite sweaty from the heat), and the show is a clever spoof of a genre (or "art form," they argue) that so many of us theater people love to hate--or, let's be honest, hate to love. Face it, there's really no better outlet for teenagers who want to get on stage and express themselves in myriad ways. The creators do a fantastic job capturing the essence of "music in motion," especially in the sparkly, gleaming production numbers ... hooray for jazz squares! The second act gets a bit drippy when the writers veer precariously towards Lifetime movies and their attendant syrup. I'd love to see the show cut down to 90 minutes and tucked into a nifty commercial run. I'd be first in line to see it again. Check out my review and the show's MySpace page.

Still to come: A review of the more sedately monikered Farm Song: The Musical.

Pictured: Shlomo (Evan Shyer) talks Piper (Allison Guinn) down off the (Williamsburg!) Bridge.

Tru-ly Marilyn

The Fringe is flying in New York, which for me means my yearly gorge on theater: I've reviewed five shows in three days, with another coming later this week.

My hands-down favorite thus far is A Beautiful Child, a sleek and delicate adaptation of an essay by Truman Capote. It chronicles an afternoon Capote spent trolling around the city with a certain insecure actress named Marilyn Monroe. Exceptional performances ground this simple, frothy, and ultimately moving theatrical treat. My review has been posted, and you can read more about the show at its official website.

I also caught The Jazz Messenger, a drama about an American jazz trumpeter imprisoned by a German officer in France during World War II. It's not the most stirring theatrical experience, but there is an excellent jazz quartet on hand to provide underscoring and accompaniment.

Look here soon for reviews of Williamsburg! The Musical, Show Choir! The Musical, Farmer Song: The Musical, and Piaf: Love Conquers All.

Pictured are Truman Capote and Marilyn Monroe and the actors who play them: Joel Van Liew and Maura Lisabeth Malloy.

Masterpiece Theater

Blame the heat, blame the humidity, blame Harry Potter (I'm almost finished with the final book), but no matter who you blame, I've been neglecting this blog. I haven't fallen off the radar completely, however, and I'll be posting reviews of several new shows in the next few days. And with The New York International Fringe Festival looming, you can bet I'll be a theatergoing freak for a couple of days, at least.

But the show that brought me back to the blog is a small jewel of a play called Opus that I reviewed at 59E59 Theaters Friday night. A production of Primary Stages, Michael Hollinger's tense and tantalizing riff on the histrionics of a string quartet is one of the best productions I've seen this year, if not since I moved to the city nearly three years ago. PLEASE go see this show!

Show Business Weekly review: Opus

I had never been to 59E59, and I was immensely impressed with the facility, to begin with. Designer James Kronzer has outfitted it to look like a sleek and spare concert hall (even more than it usually does), and Jorge Cousineau's sound design is absolutely impeccable. Although the actors mime (I hate to use that word, but it's true) their playing, they're so perfectly timed with the gorgeous music that you almost forget that it's not really a live performance.

The story, in brief: When the quartet's violist, a stormy soul named Dorian, goes missing, the other three musicians quickly recruit Grace, a brilliant viola player fresh out of grad school and thunderstruck with her good fortune. They decide to play Beethoven's difficult Opus 131 at their next gig (at The White House), and they begin to practice--and get to know each other.

One of my dear friends, Christine, happens to be a violist who recently played with a string quartet, and her tales of their squabbles echoed through my head as I watched the play. Being a member of a string quartet is like being married to three people at once, she told me, and that truth bore out on stage as well. Hollinger has concocted a spirited verbal shorthand between the characters, and their relationships are at once both extremely intimate and dangerously volatile.

The action flits between the newly formed group's preparations and flashbacks to the scenes that foreshadowed Dorian's departure. Terrence J. Nolen's precise direction brings everything together brilliantly in the end: When all of the threads converge, the results are nothing short of electrifying. Honestly, I can't remember the last time (if ever) I literally gasped in a theater; in this case, my mouth dropped open and stayed that way for at least a couple minutes, so surprised was I by the outcome.

The actors are all outstanding, and they deliver such natural, human performances that you'd expect to be able to walk up to them after the show and ask them more about their instruments. David Beach is particularly splendid as the stuffy, snarky first violinist Elliot--he was, we come to find out, romantically involved with the elusive Dorian, and Michael Laurence turns in an equally fine and complex portrayal of the MIA musician.

Working within a genre that is often drenched with heavy-handed metaphors and forced jokes, Hollinger has created a play that deftly and easily conveys the strife, solidarity, and sauce of musicians in search of the Holy Grail: the perfect performance.

A Film of One's Own

Who knew that submitting a film to a New York festival could be as tricky as auditioning for a Broadway musical? My latest feature, a guide to what (and what not) to do to make the cut at area film festivals, appears in this week's edition of Show Business Weekly, available on newsstands this week. (If you missed it, contact me and I'll send you a copy.)

I had a great time interviewing some of the people behind New York's most esteemed film events, from the eclectic and edgy Tribeca Film Festival to Lincoln Center's selective and streamlined New York Film Festival.

As a person steeped in theater, I love learning more about the fascinating world of film, and there are so many basic elements that translate across the genres. It's a given that you should focus on the truth of your story in any successful artistic endeavor, but I was surprised to note the many parallels between low-budget/big-budget movies and Off Off Broadway/Broadway productions. One administrator essentially told me that "image certainly isn't everything" when he reviews films, and he often wishes that filmmakers would spend less time trying to make their film look "professional" and polished and more time on the nuts and bolts of what makes a good story: a captivating script, gripping plot, and honest, compelling acting.

That would be good advice to many theatermakers as well. In tiny Off Off Broadway venues, the play very often becomes the (only) thing. Stripped of pyrotechnics and devoid of dollars, these shows can focus on the very heart of their stories. Too often, valiant efforts are made to mimic the luxurious gadgetry of commercial productions to an often depressing and disastrous effect. Show me what you know and what truth you can create with what you have, I want to exhort them. Otherwise, it's like stuffing a helicopter through a storefront window--explosive, violent, and just plain wrong. Your room may be tiny, but the impact can be huge.

Water World

Rumor has it that Coney Island will soon be Disney-fied (read: made into a more glossy, homogenized, and expensive destination), so on Saturday we rode to the end of the N train to visit the historic beach and boardwalk. It's incredible to step off the subway and stand in such close proximity to warm sand and glittering water--both looked to be rather on the dirty side, but no matter. Don lives at the very opposite end of the line, so we actually took the subway from one end to the other.

It's all very seedy, silly, and sweaty, and I'm so glad I got to see it in its present form. We first walked along the water, delicately stepping between bronzed bodies coated in sand and sunscreen. It's such a raucous scene: tattoos, piercings, and flesh in abundance. We walked to the end of the pier and looked back at the coastline dotted with hundreds of bodies. Then we headed over to the amusement park area, where Don and our friend Debbie (in visiting from Nebraska) braved the famous Cyclone rollercoaster; Nora and I cheered them on from below.

Wooden rollercoasters kick up big appetites, so we grabbed fried food from one of the many vendors lining the boardwalk. I am newly smitten with corndogs; I don't think I've tasted one since I was 10! There's something so perfectly nuanced about the combination of sweet corn-like taste with salty-meaty hot dog ... I went back for seconds after everyone else had finished. In fact, my mouth is watering again now.

After wiping the grease from our fingers, we headed back into the city to try to win the Wicked lottery for Debbie (by the end of the weekend, we were 0/4 attempts, but miraculously she scored a cancellation seat for the Sunday matinee!). It was so bizarre to step off the subway back into Times Square after the cool water breezes of Coney Island. The longer I live here, the more I'm taken with the diversity of the NYC landscape. I have yet to find a swamp, but I'm sure there's probably one lurking somewhere in the shadows of Central Park ...

And speaking of water, my review of the splashy new play eurydice is in this week's issue of Show Business Weekly. As I mentioned in a previous entry, Sarah Ruhl's delicate work is a refreshing, lustrous summer event (and in this sticky heat, it also offers free air conditioning!).

A Home at the End of the World (on Coney Island)

Monday night I saw Ethan Lipton's new play "Goodbye April, Hello May" at the HERE Arts Center in Soho. My review is the offoffonline Pick of the Week.

In this taut, evocative character study of five roommates living in an apartment on Coney Island circa 2107, Lipton imagines cultural shifts that may or may not surprise you--developers putting luxury condos on Ellis Island, 50 as the new 40, a constant normalized threat of violence. Most chilling, however, is how he captures the impending shredding away of relationships and interconnection.

New Yorkers have certainly always been a strange and unique breed, but neurotic narcissism peaks precariously in many of these relationships, and the tragedy evolves from watching the characters attempt to salvage slippery fragments of warmth and love.

All in all, it's pretty bleak, but worth watching for the cast's splendid performances and the graceful direction of Patrick McNulty.

Lipton is particularly adept at capturing the love/hate relationships many New Yorkers maintain with their city. Gibson Frazier is a standout as the sardonic Frank, and when he moves to the country, he has this to say:

"When I got to New York, I'll never forget, I said, I'm going to give it a try. I am New York's to lose. If it wants me, I'll stay. If it doesn't, I'll go. I told New York my position. And New York said: There aren't enough words to describe how little I care about you."

It's nice to know that, at least according to Lipton's crystal ball, some things will never change.

Pictured: Kelly Mares, Bill Coelius, Albert Aeed, and Gibson Frazier [Photo Credit: Heather Phelps-Lipton]

I Can See for Miles and Miles

You might recognize Mare Winningham from her iconic role in "St. Elmo's Fire" or, more recently, her poignant turn as Meredith's stepmother on "Grey's Anatomy," but you haven't seen Mare Winningham at her best until you've seen her current tour-de-force in the new musical "10 Million Miles." As a supporting player (her program credit lists her as, simply, "The Women"), Winningham creates a handful of the most believable, genuine, and authentic women you'll ever see on a stage, often for only a couple minutes at a time. Each woman is a fully-realized study that deserves her own musical (writers, take note!), and let's hope we see their conduit back on stage again soon. Very soon!

In the meantime, head to the Atlantic Theater (home last summer to that little-show-that-could, "Spring Awakening") and catch a glimpse of some undeniably honest theatrical artistry. And check out my review here.

Pictured: Mare Winningham, Irene Molloy, and Matthew Morrison

Lost and Found

At the beginning of Gone Missing, the masterful music/comedy/sketch piece by the wired and wacky troupe The Civilians, a voice announces that the material was culled from “interviews with people in New York City and in the United States of America.” That subtle use of “and” is so telling—snidely inferring that NYC is, indeed, not quite the same as (or even part of) the rest of the USA.

The pithy intro was the perfect tongue-in-cheek opening to this fascinating, sardonic show, in which the six actors take on a batch of personas of people who have lost various things in NYC and elsewhere (I had to laugh at a woman recounting the loss of a doll in Iowa’s Amana Colonies, where I also vacationed as a child).

The piece begins with its sizzling title number—the suit-clad, androgynous performers move through slick and punchy choreography with such presence and precision that it gave me goosebumps.

Emily Ackerman quickly followed this up with the lush and torchy “The Only Thing Missing Is You”—a striking and impassioned lament for a lost romance that effortlessly calls up old Hollywood films of the 1940s. Purring with her sexy-scratchy voice, Ackerman struts with an irresistible combination of fire and reserve.

But although the show opens with such promise, the rest of the material never moves out of its teaser-phase. To be sure, the character studies are each strong and convincing, but I wished that the writing could become more meaty and juicy. And if those adjectives seem to indicate that I was hungry, that’s because I was. The saucy, irreverent opening scenes whet my appetite for substance, but the writing, while often sharp and witty, remains on the safer surface of many topics touched on by these evocative characters.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that—many a show gets by on consistently excellent fluffy material. But these actors (and their confident director Steve Cosson, who also wrote much of the show) are so superb that you can’t help longing for them to plunge into material that would show them off to their fullest potential. And “Gone Missing,” while entertaining and mildly provocative, eventually feels like an expanse of wasted resources.

Michael Friedman’s music and lyrics are especially fine and provide the show’s many high points. In “The Only Thing Missing Is You,” Ackerman despairs, “If Barbie has Ken/why do I have rien?” In these simple tunes and potent lyrics, Friedman conveys both humor and pathos. In “Hide & Seek,” a young girl’s memory of hiding amid her mother’s pretty blouses in a closet, Colleen Werthman wonders, “Why is no one seeking me?”

So what have people lost? Everything from rings to pets to gold teeth. One recurring character, an amiable cop played by the excellent Stephen Plunkett, describes what is lost or missing from the dead bodies he recovers. He describes the gruesome details with a “Can you believe it?” grin and a half-hearted shrug, which belie the seriousness of these disturbing scenes (which have clearly disturbed him a bit as well). But “You gotta laugh, right?” he reflexively asks after each description. “Or else …” (He mimes drinking alcohol.) One imagines it could get much worse than that.

The Civilians avoid making any overt political or mock-serious statements, and the poignancy of these lost things eventually comes into focus over the course of the show. Things are merely “shadows” or “echoes”—and, late in the show, the cast lightly references the ways in which we try to possess each other in relationships. But whether a relationship, an earring, or a rag doll, our possessions can both rule and possess us. Gone Missing hints at what these things can come to mean. “It was a small thing,” an elderly woman sighs, “But it was big because I loved it.”

Photo Credit: Sara Krulwich, The New York Times

A Dazzling Death

Last night I visited Second Stage Theater to review eurydice, playwright Sarah Ruhl's rhapsodic modern retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice.

I'm still puzzling out the intricacies of this arresting story, one of the finest and most sophisticated meditations on death I've seen on a stage or anywhere else.

Until I find the appropriate words to describe it (my review will come out next week), take a look at Charles Isherwood's lovely description in the New York Times.

And if you're in the vicinity, do yourself a favor and see this show; if the storytelling doesn't agree with you, it will be enough to experience the absolutely stunning design. Fittingly, the Tony Awards committee just announced that in 2008 it will begin to give out Tony Awards for sound design (for both a play and a musical). I'm hoping that this play will move to Broadway so that the amazing Bray Poor could be recognized next year. As Orpheus and Eurydice travel to the underworld and back again, they move through a robust, dynamic cascade of noise--a cloud of sound so nuanced and particular that I didn't fully appreciate it until I exited the theater into Times Square and was met with its signature squawk. It's amazing how a seamless team of designers can take you to another world entirely.

Pictured is Maria Dizzia as Eurydice, arriving in the underworld via fantastical elevator (Photo Credit: Sara Krulwich).

Putting the Fun in Dysfunctional

Last Sunday I reviewed an excellent production of William Finn's musical Falsettoland produced by the National Asian American Theater Company (NAATCO). NAATCO specializes in revisioning classic plays and musicals with all-Asian casts, and they do it with both superior production values and immensely talented performers. The first NAATCO production I saw was Cowboy vs. Samurai--a very poignant and incisive look at dating across (and within) racial lines.

So I definitely had high expectations for Falsettoland; of course, I have a soft spot for William Finn to begin with (I recently reviewed an excellent production of A New Brain in Astoria). His music can sometimes wander a bit, but there's an innocence and vulnerability to his writing that never gets stale. And I've been consistently impressed with the many fine Asian actors in this city (see my recent review of The Romance of Magno Rubio). I also noticed in the program that Finn himself invested in this production--always a good sign when the composer gives his seal of approval.

Falsettoland (which NAATCO originally produced in 1998) returns as part of the very first National Asian American Theater Festival (which runs through June 24), and I encourage you to get out and see some of this innovative work in action!

Pictured are Jason Ma, Christine Toy Johnson, Francis Jue, Mary Ann Hu, and Ann Sanders (Photo Credit: Bruce Johnson).