Private Lives Revealed: The Letters of Noel Coward

"Private Lives Revealed: The Letters of Noel Coward" at St. Ann's Warehouse, December 7, 2009

(photo from Library of Congress collection)

An evening of highlights from his book The Letters of Noel Coward, Barry Day (looking a bit like a Springer Spaniel with his Dickensian sideburns brushing his collar) narrates as Anna Bergman, Patricia Conolly, Edward Hibbert, and Dana Ivey read as Mr. Coward and his correspondents, accompanied by Steve Ross on piano.

Mr. Day opened the evening with a quote from Mr. Coward's dear friend, Lord Mountbatten on the event of Coward's seventieth birthday:

"There are probably greater painters than Noël, greater novelists than Noël, greater librettists, greater composers of music, greater singers, greater dancers, greater comedians, greater tragedians, greater stage producers, greater film directors, greater cabaret artists, greater TV stars. If there are, they are fourteen different people. Only one man combined all fourteen different labels – The Master."

Mr. Day did not dive particularly deeply for this presentation, compared to the depths he explored in his book.  It's very much a theatrical focus, starting with letters to and from Mr. Coward and his beloved mother, Viola. Things move quickly as his career advances, to his relationship with the Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne.  Gertrude Lawrence is up next, followed by a quick dish on Mary Martin, who clashed with Noel over his "Pacific 1860."  A word of advice to her followed on what NOT to say to Princess Margaret.

There's a hop and a skip on to "Stritchie" with a bon mot or two about Dietrich and Garbo.  A couple of drive-by barbs take aim at David Niven, Clifton Webb and Ian Fleming as his life shifted to Jamaica.  I was sorry that they spent so little time on Mr. Coward's intelligence activities during WWII, since that makes up a major portion of the book.  Only a mere mention of his time in Paris felt like such a discount of the years he spent traveling the world on behalf of his country and the war effort.  When I read it last summer, I was really surprised and touched over his affection and devotion to "Mother England."

Mr. Hibbert managed nicely, reading as Mr. Coward.  Ms. Ivey fared better as Viola than Ms. Stritch and Ms. Conolly's Gertie was lovely.  The songs were interspersed effectively, but I thought they should have ended with the more upbeat "I Went To A Marvelous Party" instead of  "The Party's Over," though the sentimentality of the latter may have been truer to what Mr. Coward may have done himself.

Loaded

"Loaded" at the Lion Theatre at Theatre Row, December 3, 2009

This is at least the third time I've seen this story - two men, supposedly very different from each other, hooking up and then trying to take the time to get to know each other.  The result is a series of miscommunications, competitions, disagreements, potential violence, all with a bit of nudity tossed in to keep the audiences' interest. The first two on my list are Together Alone and Two Boys in Bed on a Cold Winter's Night.

This time around, 47 year old Patrick (Kevin Spirtas) has invited adorable 24 year old Jude (Scott Kerns) to spend the night for the first time following several previous hookups.  The short-lived nudity opens this one-act, followed quickly by a series of arguments in which each finds and repeatedly pushes the other's buttons on topics ranging from HIV and safe sex, to lesbians to gay marriage. Both Mr. Spirtas and Mr. Kerns find a nice moment or two when each is able to rise above their two dimensional characters, but it's a difficult task given the weak script by Elliot Ramon Potts.


Even with all the arguing between the two, Mr. Potts brings little enlightenment to the varying subjects. The dialog is frequently trite, despite the best efforts of the two handsome actors.  Director Michael Unger attempts to keep things moving, but the poor transitions keep the flow bogged down.

Adam Koch's NYC apartment set manages well under Herrick Goldman's unremarkable lighting.

Sadly, there's little to recommend here beyond watching two handsome actors for 90 minutes.

Orpheus X

"Orpheus X" presented by Theatre for a New Audience at The Duke, December 3, 2009

I was fascinated by Greek Mythology as a child and couldn't get enough of the stories of gods and mortals, all courtesy of the Scholastic Book Club at school.  It would be much later in life when I realized just how homogenized and sterilized were the tales I pored over in those slim paperbacks.  Mythology is a ripe source with innumerable versions in plays and music.  The tale of Orpheus and Eurydice is among the most popular stretching from the Greeks to the Romans, through the Renaissance into and beyond the twentieth century.

Rinde Eckert's Orpheus X, is the latest entry to receive a significant NY mounting, following Sara Ruhl's eurydice at 2econd Stage in 2007.  As Ryan McKittrick shares in the program notes for Orpheus X, using Eurydice as the focus in the story is a bit more recent, following the centuries of Orpheus as the suffering lover, lost without his love.  Ms. Ruhl's version took a similar Eurydicean approach by leaving Orpheus completely out of the title, reducing him to merely a featured player.

Mr. Eckert has taken steps in this direction as well.  In this post-modern, rock-operetta interpretation, Orpheus (Mr. Ecker) and Eurydice (Suzan Hanson) are unknown lovers in an apocalyptic world where "...half-formed creatures [rise] from the sea."  He is a rock star, she a poet.  They meet when she is struck by the taxi he occupied on the way to an event, stepping off the curb to retrieve her dropped glasses case.  She dies in his arms - her first and last words to him, "Oh it's you, how strange."  It's very much a "New York" story in this way.  Eurydice is continuously questioned by Persephone (John Kelly), wife of Hades and therefore, queen of the dead.  Persephone is fascinated that Eurydice is a writer, particularly a poet. After reading a selection of Eurydice's work Persephone says, "Like a list, you accpet its terms and let it run until it stops.  You'll do well here. Poets generally do...poets come closest to what I'd call thriving...all the narrative junkies feel perpetually unsatisfied."  Eurydice, twitching with a chalk in her hand, is compelled to continue writing, scribbling across glass panels what appears to evolve from gibberish into Greek.

In true rock star fashion, Orpheus is obsessed with her and withdraws from the world trying to resolve how she came into and left his life so quickly.  The thought of her overtakes his mind.   He can picture her image, but it's not real enough.  He spends hours just sitting at the impromptu shrine where she died surrounded by candles, copies of her book of poems and dried flowers.  He convinces his manager John (also Mr. Kelly) to find a way to bring her back so he can see her as "A woman displacing volume as she enters or leaves the room."

Blindfolded, Orpheus casts the spell and follows the instructions from John, meeting Persephone and convincing her to release Eurydice back to him.   Dragged away from her writing, Eurydice recognizes him and tears off the blindfold. This action sends herself back for eternity, to bathe away her memory and pain.

Ms. Hanson's Eurydice is a mature woman, lost and confused in the underworld.  She seems to have known of Orpheus, but had never met him.  She sings the difficult score well, nicely managing its demands. Mr. Eckert's Orpheus is less than a protagonist but more than a plot contrivance.  Generally deadpan, this Orpheus relies more on the content of his words and lyrics.  Mr. Kelly's androgynous dual roles of John and Persephone becomes almost an on-stage stage manager, John fueling Orpheus to resolve his grief and return to life, and Persephone convincing Eurydice to let go of her own life and memories.

Mr. Eckert and director Robert Woodruff have created quite a unique evening of theatre, unusual in the way Mr. Eckert's Horizon was unusual in 2007 - thoughtful and thought-provoking.  Mr. Eckert's score is operatic and hard rock all at the same time.  The cacophony created as he sings the spell to take himself into the underworld is ear shattering and effective (if about 16 bars too long).  Mr. Woodruff presents a nude and oblivious Eurydice scribbling on the floor beneath the seating risers as the audience enters, stripped both literally and figuratively of everything - her life, her possessions - except her need to write.  Scenic Designers David Zinn & Denise Marika have created a set of patinated steel floors, panels and I-beams, surrounded by glass walls.  Ms. Marika's video projections get a clever and interesting display throughout the performance, sometimes flowing water, dripping honey (another homage to the Eurydice myth), Eurydice scribbling, Eurydice dropping her glasses case.  The impact is powerful.  The ending, when Eurydice snatches Orpheus' blindfold and challenges him "Did you think I would welcome a rescue? Did you think you were saving me from something?" is a variation I hadn't expected.  "I'm done with the world." she says, "I won't remember anything but my name. I'll hear my words without their pain."  The two stand close in silence, almost kissing, almost daring the other to respond until Eurydice turns away. 

As the lights went black, the audience sat in perfect silence, each of us entranced by the moment.

Is Someone Out There Listening?

Finally!

I have thought this was a good idea since May of 2008.

This

"This" at Playwrights Horizons, November 17, 2009

(photo by Joan Marcus)

Jane (Julianne Nicholson) doesn't like games, particularly since her husband died almost a year ago, leaving her with a precocious child and no energy or ambition to expand her world. Long-time college friend Marrell (Eisha Davis) has found a sexy French doctor, Jean-Pierre (Louis Cancelmi) for Jane, sublimating her own lust and frustration of life with cabinet-maker husband Tom (Darren Pettie) and a newborn son who only sleeps in 15 minute increments. Alan (Glenn Fitzgerald) is the annoying, long-time gay friend/plot contrivance that facilitates exposition.

Playwright Melissa James Gibson sets her oddly titled story in various New York-like locations, Jane spends most of her time avoiding her own grief while placating her friends. In the opening game, Jane is sent out of the room, while her friends supposedly make up a story. Actually they don't, but Jane is to figure out the story by asking questions. Those ending in a vowel are answered "yes." Those ending in consonant are answered "no" and those in a Y, "maybe." Unwittingly, Jane's series of questions point the story to that of her own, revealing the dead husband. It's an interesting device to raise the emotional stakes early on. I had hoped to see the game repeated throughout the 100 minute, intermissionless evening, continuing its early success. Still, Ms. Gibson tosses in some interesting plot twists along with nice dialog, though each of the characters does have a tendency to sound like a grammar lesson on occasion.

Ms. Nicholson, fresh from "Law & Order: Criminal Intent" is actually a replacement in the role of Jane, originally intended for Parker Posey. I don't know the details behind the change, but it has turned out to be a wise one. Her Jane is grounded and lost, focused and distracted, all at the same time. Her final monologue, apologizing to her daughter for losing her temper is lovely.

Ms. Davis' Marrell twists and writhes under the pressure of new motherhood and her own self-pressure to do it perfectly, while also trying to perfect her less-than-perfect husband. There's a lovely humanity in her portrayal of this flawed character.

Mr. Pettie, rugged and handsome, gives a nicely shaded performance as the blue-collar type holding his own among a collegiate social circle. Mr. Fitzgerald does the best he can with the limited character sketch he's been provided, a coincidental mnemologist (one who can remember conversations verbatim - his one solo scene demonstrating this skill is superfluous and could easily be cut). Mr. Canclemi's sexy Jean-Pierre brings a sense of reason and balance to the group of naval-gazing friends. It is his inability to translate a description of the self-centered climactic plot revelations that awkwardly provides the play's title.

Director Daniel Aukin props the humor up front when things could get miserably dark, keeping the pace moving, though the cut mentioned above is only one possibility for tightening up the evening. Louisa Thompson's heavily layered set serves well as three different apartments, a nightclub and a sidewalk, accomplished with complementary lighting by Matt Frey.


Playwrights Horizons is offering discounted tickets:

Order by Nov.25 with the code THGR to get tickets for only $40 for performances Nov. 6 - Nov. 15 (reg. $65), or $50 for performances October Nov. 17 - Dec. 13 (reg. $65).

To order: visit www.playwrightshorizons.org or call Ticket Central at (212) 279-4200, open daily noon-8:00 pm.

Wolves at the Window

"Wolves at the Window" Brits Off Broadway at 59E59 Theaters, November 14, 2009

Toby Davies has adapted 10 short stories by Saki, a/k/a Hector Hugh Munro as part of the Brits Off Broadway 2009 festival. The result is an evening of Wildean sitcom vignettes as if presented by Monty Python.

Subtitled "(and other tales of immorality)" some segments land better than others. More successful are the sequences around Filboid Studge, a dreadful breakfast cereal renamed by a hopeful suitor for his true love's father. The four actors carrying the evening of Edwardian era tales, Gus Brown, Jeremy Booth, Anna Francolini and Sarah Moyle, each bring varying comic strengths. The laughs, however, tend to undercut what seem intended as more serious or frightening moments.

Director Thomas Hescott manages the frequents shifts from tale to tale nicely, drawing the best of each actor. Using simple set pieces like chairs and a steamer trunk, Mr. Hescott doesn't quite reach the heights achieved in 39 Steps, but does create an interesting forest of hat racks for the final tale of feuding neighbors who, when trapped by a fallen branch on the land that's the source of their disagreement, resolve their differences as they realize that the approaching figures are wolves.

A Steady Rain

"A Steady Rain" at the Gerald Schoenfeld Theatre, November 12, 2009

Wolverine meets James Bond onstage in Keith Huff's two-hander, A Steady Rain. Interweaving two monologues of a pair of police partners, Messrs. Jackman and Craig don Chicago-style accents with mixed results in this intermissionless event.

Mr. Huff's tale of friendship, betrayal, corruption and devotion provides great opportunities for these two talented men to flex some emotional muscles. If only there were more of a play here, rather than 80 minutes of "... then I said..." This technique undercuts the bond that each character describes having with the other. The good-cop/bad-cop dynamic is one they've played out since childhood that forces its easily anticipated final blow. Toss in a drive-by shooting, a hooker, her pimp and his little brother, hush money, and a Jeffrey Dahmer type and it's time for the undershirt auction fundraiser for Broadway Cares.

Mr. Jackman is the bad cop, Denny, married with kids, and a fatal attraction to lost causes. He drags Joey along with him every sordid step of the way, setting him up with a hooker he hopes to raise out of her downward spiral. He's got the dark, fiery Italian thing down pretty well (though his accent occasionally escapes Chicago).

Meanwhile, Mr. Craig's Joey, fighting alcohol and a crush on Denny's wife doesn't have the willpower to pull himself away. His despair is palpable as he continues to let Denny pummel him emotionally and physically. When Denny finally hits bottom, Mr. Craig creates credibility despite the weak writing.

Director John Crowley handles the proceedings nicely, smoothing through the awkward transitions. Scott Pask's sets introduce impressive, if unnecessary, cinematic effects bleeding through the back scrim.

Alexander Pushkin's Little Tragedies

"Alexander Pushkin's Little Tragedies" at the Baryshnikov Arts Center, Howard Gilman Theatre, November 10, 2009

Julian Henry Lowenfeld translates, directs, composes and appears in the four stories written by the 19th century Russian author.

IMHO, that's at least two jobs too many.

Mr. Lowenfeld provides 5 pages of program notes about Mr. Pushkin and an analysis of his writing - all very interesting, but a bit of overkill for an evening of theatre. The four stories that comprise Little Tragedies are The Knight-Miser, Mozart and Salieri, The Stone Guest and The Feast in Time of Plague. He seems most interested that none of the four stories are set in Russia.

After an oddly contemporary Requiem opening (seemingly composed in the style of Burt Bachrach) the ill-fitting evening begins. The Knight-Miser, set in France, is a familiar tale of Albert (Mr. Ruckdashel) a brash young knight whose lifestyle his miserly father (Mr. Von Berg) refuses to fund. Solomon the moneylender (Mr. Thompson) has cut off Albert's credit. After calling upon the Duke (Mr. Carin) to plead his case, the father reveals his son's greed and has him banished from court, then dies. Here the anachronisms surface with a reference to "Dad." The static and grand-ish staging, perhaps fitting for an opera, is markedly ineffective for a play, regardless of any "music" in the text.

If you've seen Peter Shaffer's Amadeus, either on stage or in film, think of Mozart and Salieri set in Austria as his outline. The weakest of the four scenes, Mr. Lowenfeld's Salieri calls to mind as if played by Rowan Atkinson's Mr. Bean. Mr. Simas, quite a talented pianist, is even more poorly cast as Mozart. Anachronisms continue: "See ya later."

The Stone Guest set in Spain is Mr. Pushkin's retelling of Don Juan. Mr. Innocenzi has a couple of nice moments as the legendary Lothario, but gets no support from Ms. Chapman's wooden Dona Ana. Mr. Ruckdashel's Leporello flails in contrast, and in vain. Soprano Niki Leoni has a lovely voice, but brings no interest to Don Juan's on-again-off-again lover, Laura. There are one or two fleeting moments of camp melodrama, likely unintended, which might have saved this leaden mess. Anachronisms continue - Don Juan asking about Dona Ana: "Is she cute?"

Finally, The Feast in Time of Plague set in England, staggers with overlong songs and an unclear goal. That lack of clarity hovers over the entire evening. Are these tragedies supposed to be sad? Is the goal that of irony?

Mr. Lowenfeld has assembled quite an eclectic cast, including Brandon Ruckdashel, Robert Carin, Karen Chapman, Stephen Innocenzi, Nika Leoni, Luiz Simas, John Leonard Thompson and Peter Von Berg. Each actor plays multiple roles among the four offerings. Of them, Messrs. Thompson and Von Berg come off the most effective and polished, delivering the stylized prose translations, and minimizing the numerous anachronisms among them. Offering his own interesting interpretation, Mr. Ruckdashel overlays a very natural style on the text. The result is a bit disruptive, particularly as the remainder of the cast infrequently manage to pull off their respective roles at all. Otherwise, the actors appear to wander aimlessly about the stage more often than not. Mr. Lowenfeld's academic credits are impressive. His devotion is clear, but his success in this theatrical venture is not.

There are some interesting staging moments, using split traveller panels and different sized black cubes to create various settings courtesy of Lea Orth. Gail Cooper-Hecht's costumes make a valiant attempt to raise the production quality, as do Derek Wright's lighting. Neither overcomes the weak direction.

What Once We Felt

"What Once We Felt" presented by LCT3 at The Duke, November 7, 2009

(photo from LCT Web site)

Lincoln Center Theater opens its season of LCT3 with a new play by Ann Marie Healy. This tale of a future feminist dystopian society in the midst of the "Transition" leaves as many questions unanswered as it asks.

(Spoiler Alert)

Positioned as a memory play, it is narrated by Violet (Ronete Levenson), the very last of the Tradepacks who worked as a comforter to other Tradepacks who have elected suicide to end their dismal and unproductive lives. Ms. Levenson's monotonous delivery only emphasized that her role added little to the story-telling. She sets the stage for the tale of Macy (Mia Barron), a struggling novelist who is trying to get her latest work published, the last book ever published in paper form. Macy is a "keeper," one of 70-80% of the population who are allowed freedoms and privileges not afforded to "tradepacks." Tradepacks seem to have some kind of physical or genetic flaw and have become a service caste, lesser and subservient to the keepers. In order to get her book published, Macy trades her only chance to "download" a baby to her publisher Claire (Opal Alladin), a tradepack, arranged by her agent Astrid (Ellen Parker).

Claire has masterminded the process of Digi-direct where data downloads have expanded to include DNA. Her assistant Laura (Marsha Stephanie Blake) then hijacks the book as propaganda for the next phase of the transition. Laura's goal with Macy's book is for it to be the first to include a fully virtual experience, extending for volumes of experiential downloads directly to reader's brains.

A cruel subplot of a tradepack who euthanizes her mother with a knitting needle struggles for counterpoint, along with a couple whose downloaded baby has an "error." The unseen and undefined RSS tighten security which will presumably reveal the child as a tradepack, doomed to a life of misery - Violet, perhaps?

With these elements of Faust, Orwell and Huxley, with a touch of "Handmaid's Tale" Ms. Healy packs a lot of plot into her script. If she'd spent a little more time on exposition and/or character development, she might not have needed so much plot. The unanswered questions abound: Where did the term Tradepack originate? Who started the Transition? Why are there no men anymore?

Ms. Barron suffers the most, finding little to play beyond the strident self-promotion of a self-doubting writer. Ms. Parker's Astrid has the most fun and a couple of great lines. Ms. Alladin never finds a third dimension to her character, despite the interesting concept of a tradepack "passing" in a keeper's world.

Perhaps it's a sexist reaction on my part, but I found it interesting that this high-estrogen package was assembled by a man, director Ken Rus Schmoll. Mr. Schmoll keeps things moving well with a thoughtful hand.

One nice thing about LCT3 productions are the high quality production values. The slick set (Kris Stone) and costumes (Linda Cho) evoke a future that's not terribly different from the present without falling into stereotype.

I Got Sick Then I Got Better

"I Got Sick Then I Got Better" presented by New York Theatre Workshop at 4th Street Theatre, October 30, 2009

(photo: Chad Batka)

Women's health issues are the basis for at least five theatre pieces currently onstage in New York City. Carrie Fisher is fighting mental illness and alcoholism at Studio 54 in Wishful Drinking. Anna Deavere Smith is battling the health care system at Second Stage in Let Me Down Easy. Kelly Samara is dancing her way through dependency on pain killers at TBG Theatre in ...Being Patient. And, Jenny Allen is recovering from cancer courtesy of the New York Theatre Workshop in I Got Sick Then I Got Better.

Ms. Allen's friend James Lapine along with Darren Katz has directed this 80 minute tale of illness and recovery. She enters the theatre while the houselights are still up, chatting with members of the audience in the small house of the 4th St Theater. She transitions into the piece fairly smoothly, but promises a few more laughs in her introduction than she ends up delivering.

Her story is deeply personal and she shares freely, but more often than not it feels significantly more cathartic for her than the audience. She's great with one-liners, describing her cancer surgeon as "a brunette Ann Coulter," and describing herself in the midst of chemo "...looked like a dandelion going to seed."

She speaks sometimes thoughtfully, sometimes condescendingly of her feckless, unperceptive husband and typically teen-aged daughter. She reveals her mother's life-long battle with mental illness. She confesses that she enjoyed the anger and suffering she endured through her plight.

All of this draws appropriate empathy when she shares an oddly touching story of how she resolves her anger in the parking lot of LL Bean.

In the end, the evening felt more like a recitation, similar to Joan Didion's Year of Magical Thinking, well-written but not really "asking" to be staged.