University of Rock

Arts feature:
WVBR's University of Rock
Ithaca Times
May 6, 2009
779 words
"Rock Formations"

full text here

Rock Formations

Mark Tedeschi

When a light bulb switches on in Ryan McGuire's head, it stays lit. "I'm an anti-procrastinator," he explains. "I had the idea about six weeks before we started."

Just over two months ago, McGuire, a 27-year-old Thursday-night DJ for WVBR, racked his brain for a way for radio to contend with its burlier cousins, TV and the Internet. "Radio is a powerful medium," he says, but of all three, "it probably has the least amount of interaction."

He came up with a solution in University of Rock, a reality-esque show that pits three Cornell-student bands against each other in six weekly challenges. By earning the most points, the winning band would be awarded six hours of professional recording time at Ithaca's Rep Studio. But first - auditions.

"We had 12 to 15 bands audition from 8am to 7pm on a Saturday in a jam studio on campus. They were pretty unique auditions... they played two or three songs and answered a list of random, wacky questions," McGuire says. "We knew they had to be talented, but also interactive enough for people to listen to weekly. We gave truth or dare questions, asked them to act out scenes from Willy Wonka, things like that."

Three groups made the cut: One Trick Pony, Weggalo Star, and Funk & Disorderly. The guitarist for Funk & Disorderly, Ethan Cohen, says, "As soon as I saw Ryan's shoes and his Spacecar, I expected the oddball questions."

While One Trick Pony has a sound that McGuire describes as "their own kind of country rock," its members call it simply, "Pop." They remained confident through the audition. "It was kind of dorky," remembers Matt Schmohl, guitarist and bassist for One Trick Pony. "We had fun with it. I think they liked our attitude."

Joey Stevens, One Trick Pony's guitarist and primary songwriter, explains how the band's history directed their approach to the contest: "We weren't trying to put on a show the second we got together - we were just trying to focus on playing." Their first gig wasn't until a year after they'd initially formed, and once they joined the contest, he says, they "dedicated pretty much the same amount of time that we always had to the band" and found that delicate balance between music and academics.

For the first challenge, each band was given 15 minutes to compose a song about a sandwich from Collegetown Bagels (check www.wvbr.com to hear what they came up with). In the second week, they had to produce an original music video.

Despite the four-day time constraints, each band used the video assignment to highlight their sense of humor and jocular approach to music. "We basically came up with it all in one night," says Ariyan Basu, guitarist, bassist, keyboardist and vocalist for Weggalo Star. "We finished at two in the morning... there was fake blood all over our attic."

After a "junk jam," a cover of Frank Sinatra's "Luck Be a Lady," a concert in an unconventional location, and a more standard concert on West Campus on April 29, the scores were tallied: Weggalo Star emerged victorious. "I'm very proud of all three bands," says McGuire. "Funk & Disorderly has an amazing sound... it can be hard to capture the full extent of the quality of [singer Magee Lawhorn's] voice on the radio."

Weggalo Star, ever modest, agreed. "We're all sophomores," says guitarist/keyboardist/vocalist David Vieira. "Half of Funk & Disorderly are seniors."

"It was so intimidating because they're all older and more established," Basu adds. "We saw One Trick Pony [perform] in October, and they were actually the reason we started a band. We said, 'These guys are awesome!'" Not only are Weggalo Star relatively new, they hadn't actually played for an audience before their University of Rock audition.

For now, the group will wait to cash in their prize so they can "hit the ground running" next year. And speaking of next year, McGuire says the voter turnout was easily enough to ensure that the contest will materialize again.

"All three bands will continue to be promoted on WVBR," he says. With all of the self-promotion, he says, "The whole six weeks groomed them toward being real rock stars."

Basu got to meet a real rock star at Slope Day last week. "[The Apples in Stereo's] Rob Schneider was like, 'Weggalo Star? How do you spell that? That's one of the coolest band names I've heard in a while, actually.'"

When asked to explain their moniker, Basu says, "Every show, we make up at least two stories about how we got the band name... we're going to leave it a mystery, I guess."

They're learning fast.

All three bands have fan pages on Facebook, and all three will be playing a "guaranteed to be a blast" University of Rock concert at 10pm this Saturday, May 9 at the Nines.



Magna cum loud-e: The winners of University Rock, Weggalo Star. (Photo provided)

"MASS"

Theatre review
"MASS" at Cornell's Schwartz Center
Ithaca Times
March 11, 2009
641 words
"Theatrical Synergy"

full text here

Theatrical Synergy

Mark Tedeschi

"MASS," music by Leonard Bernstein, text from the liturgy of the Roman Mass, with additional texts by Stephen Schwartz and Leonard Bernstein. Directed by David Feldshuh, musical direction by Scott Tucker. Starring Dominic Inferrera and featuring over 100 performers from Cornell and the Ithaca area. With projection design by Marilyn Rivchin, choreography by Joyce Morgenroth and Christine Olivier, scenic design by Ken Goetz, costume design by Sarah E. Bernstein, lighting design by E.D. Intemann and Ford Sellers, and sound design by Warren Cross.

When Leonard Bernstein's "MASS" premiered in 1971, it carried the subtitle "A Theatre Piece for Singers, Players, and Dancers." It was clear, with such a decisive title, that the ambitious piece should be finely calibrated in performance. Despite the demanding properties of "MASS," Cornell University's Department of Theatre, Film, & Dance - in collaboration with the Department of Music - has designed a full-throttle production rife with unique and credible artistic supplements.

Leonard Bernstein was a prolific, multitalented composer and musician who conceived of "MASS" by a commission from Jackie Kennedy for the opening of the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. The structure of "MASS" mimics that of the preeminent Roman Catholic liturgy at the time and contains some modern critical commentaries on faith and piety. Naturally, divisive reception accompanied its premiere.

Because of its technical arduousness and controversial reputation, "MASS" is not often produced fully staged. Yet Director David Feldshuh and musical director Scott Tucker produced a 90-minute piece that embraces Bernstein's complicated style in its calculated staging and striking visual design.

Fundamentally, "MASS" is a musical work. Bernstein composed its music using the text from the liturgy of the Roman Mass, presumably to capture the emotional resonance it has on its practitioners; delivered by an 80-plus-membered "Liturgical Chorus," the Latin portions' aural impact reverberates through the Schwartz Center's Kiplinger Theatre. In the pit, blues, rock and jazz instruments cooperate with a more standard orchestral setup, and together they bob and weave through precise changes in rhythmic motifs and myriad musical styles.

At the center, though, stands professional opera singer Dominic Inferrera as the central man of cloth, known only as the Celebrant. He drives the Mass onward, his control of diction and dynamics enabling his voice to sustain clarity even buried under the boom of the Liturgical Chorus and the protesting cries of the smaller, more contemporary-sounding Street Chorus.

The former, comprised of members of the Cornell University Chorus and Glee Club, wear black cloaks and stand mostly motionless onstage throughout, while the latter cycles through soloists to represent varied degrees of contentedness in the state of faith. The Street Chorus soloists pounce on their interlude portions, as do the eight members of the Children's Choir (borrowed from the Choraliers of the Ithaca Children's Choir and under the direction of Jennifer Haywood). But the lack of differentiation amongst group members even in the show's program reinforces the thematic focus of shared experience over dissociation.

The foregrounded characters are, however, obviously differentiable in their clothing, as designed by Sarah E. Bernstein. The Celebrant wears all black, while the Street Chorus don emblematic costumes from firefighter to bum.

Joyce Morgenroth's and Christine Olivier's choreography tangoes with Kent Goetz's scenic design. The details are minimal, but the dimensions metamorphose as "MASS" progresses. Giant head puppeteering and rainbow-ribbon dancing are just two highlights of the Alice-in-Wonderland chaos in the early portion of the show; later, when the Liturgical Choir occupies the risers, the lighting design plays a large part in defining the stage space.

With enveloping blues and brazen magentas, E.D. Intemann's lighting flashes and glows at the Celebrant's journey, synchronizing the state of his spiritual trek with the look of his surrounding environment. Sparkles and flares from deep onstage silhouette a population of crosses against a retractable, full-length projection screen, a neat trick that reflects the creative attention paid to the video design overhead.

On three large screens above the stage, filmmaking lecturer Marilyn Rivchin's projection design plays in snyc with the goings-on below. Her contribution usually involves either shots of devotional European paintings or investigation of the words being sung, through English translations of the Latin texts - a different typeface for every portion - or a kinetic typography excursion.

The eventual resolution feels cyclically predictable, and the symbolism periodically too hasty to catch, but Bernstein's vision remains intact, and "MASS" is a work of both bold religious inquiry as well as bold theatrical synergy.


Members of the cast of ‘MASS,’ at Cornell’s Schwartz Center. (Photo provided)

"The Diary of Anne Frank"

Theatre review
"The Diary of Anne Frank" at Syracuse Stage
Ithaca Times
April 15, 2009
683 words
"Growing Pains'"

full text here

Growing Pains

Mark Tedeschi

"The Diary of Anne Frank" by Frances Goodrich and Albert Hackett, adapted by Wendy Kesselman. Directed by Timothy Bond. Starring Craig Bockhorn, Stephen Cross, Catherine Lynn Davis, Peter Hourihan, Brad Koed, Joel Leffert, Arielle Lever, Leslie Noble, Maureen Silliman, Alexa Silvaggio, Joseph Whelan, and Stuart Zagnit. With scenic design by Marjorie Bradley Kellogg, costume design by Lydia Tanji, lighting design by Les Dickert, sound design by Jonathan R. Herter, projection design by Maya Ciarrocchi, and dialect coaching by Malcolm Ingram.

Sometime in middle school, I read The Diary of a Young Girl - or rather, as I looked at it, I was forced to read The Diary of a Young Girl. I'm loath to admit the book had little resonance at the time - back then it was another school-imposed chunk of paper from which to memorize facts for the latest pop quiz. Fast forward a couple of years: Syracuse Stage has produced a version of that play, adapted again by Wendy Kesselman to accompany the latest version of the diary, that illuminates the unmistakable might in the pages of Anne Frank's sedulous handiwork.

"The Diary of Anne Frank," directed by Syracuse's Producing Artistic Director Timothy Bond, begins with a recorded passage from the diary read by our Anne, Syracuse University junior Arielle Lever. Lever's Anne is the straightaway heart and soul of the show; her vivacity stays the knowledge of the dire, World War II-era circumstances. As Lever's impassioned reading of Anne's elegant writing plays, her family begins settling into a new residence with their very few belongings. Within a few minutes, Anne establishes herself as the vocal center of attention, an energetic (sometimes tireless) girl of 13 insistent upon her destined fame.

Miep (Leslie Noble) and Mr. Kraler (Joseph Whelan), two selfless friends of the Frank family, usher Anne and her father Otto (Joel Leffert), mother Edith (Maureen Sillman), and elder sister Margot (Alexa Silvaggio) into the hidden annex of an Amsterdam office building.

The annex itself, composed essentially of two bedrooms, a common/dining area, and a small attic space, is visible in its entirety throughout the play. The multitalented scenic designer Marjorie Bradley Kellogg constructs a space that conveys constriction and congestion, but allows a depth in presentation that, in collaboration with lighting designer Les Dickert, reveals unnoticed nuance as the story progresses.

Soon, we meet the Van Daans, another Jewish family in hiding: Mr. Van Daan (Craig Bockhorn), Mrs. Van Daan (Catherine Lynn Davis), and their 16-year-old son, Peter (Brad Koed). As the families strive for a semblance of equilibrium amid the perpetual terror, they're joined, at the regretful request of their hosts, by Mr. Dussel (Stuart Zagnit), a Jewish dentist with nowhere else to turn.

Despite Anne's eloquent characterization of the relationships manifesting and evolving in the annex, she often finds herself at odds with everybody - probably thanks to her refusal to quell her dramatic temperament - excepting her patient father, whom she nicknames Pim. Silvaggio's Margot, quite a far cry from her last role at Syracuse Stage, The Mute in last year's "The Fantasticks," is more reserved than Anne, but reveals her own vitality through a love of dance.

Most of the characters joke about the inevitable romance between Anne and Peter, an irritable boy easily targeted by Anne's button-pushing penchant. Soon, though, the proximity draws them closer, and Anne shows an emotional astuteness when she reveals the budding relationship outright to Margot, apologizing for having someone with whom to share confiding moments.

Anne addresses the audience as if we were her beloved diary: "I feel spring in me...I feel it in my entire body and soul," she shares with earnest spirit. "I'm utterly confused, don't know what to read, to write, to do. I only know I am longing."

Surprise tricks in sound and lighting punctuate scenes of escalating strain; bombs explode just outside the annex and projected images of a shouting Adolf Hitler adorn the stage. Just as the tension approaches unbearable levels, Edith catches Mr. Van Daan stealing bread in the middle of the night, a crime for which he breaks down in grief and she insists he be exiled.

During a rare moment of levity, the concluding scenes are set in motion. By this point, Bond has managed to mitigate the impending dread of the hiding families' inescapable fate by focusing on the text's lucid characterization, a refreshing quantity of humor, and the extraordinary maturation of Anne and her writing. Lever declaims the originally omitted passages dealing with Anne's sexual development with insight and courage.

In March of 1944, four months before she was captured, Anne heard a radio broadcast by a Dutch education official encouraging victims of oppression to keep personal records of the wartime events. She began revising her diary for a possible future audience; ultimately, her diligent desire to establish renown for her writing was fulfilled. Her ability to relate her life's narrative with a compelling voice and a curious personality created a story seamlessly translatable to the stage. Syracuse Stage has harnessed and released that potential.



Arielle Lever as Anne Frank in ‘The Diary of Anne Frank.’ (Photo provided)

"Archaeology"

Theatre review
"Archaeology" at the Kitchen Theatre
Ithaca Times
April 15, 2009
711 words
"Uncovering Adulthood"

full text here

Uncovering Adulthood

Mark Tedeschi

"Archaeology," by Rachel Axler. Directed by Margarett Perry. Starring Charlie Forray, Ace Heckathorn, Jack Paque, and Kristin Wheeler. With scenic designer Norm Johnson, lighting designer Jerry Thamm, costume coordinator Abigail Smith, sound designer Ben Truppin-Brown, and stage manager Abigail Davis.

A person's mid-twenties are typically viewed as an era for rediscovery and introspection. Childhood, teenage years, and time in college all provide separate but similar playing fields for untested activity, for experimentation. Eventually, it comes time to make heavy personal choices, and newly christened "grown-ups" look back at what they've learned. They dig through the scrapbooks of their memory to evaluate varied consequences and lessons learned. The theme of young-adult historical analysis permeates "Archaeology," an impressively produced but sometimes disappointing new play at the Kitchen Theatre.

"Archaeology," directed by Margarett Perry and written by former "The Daily Show with John Stewart" writer Rachel Axler, centers on Astin (Jack Paque) and Claire (Kristin Wheeler), two best-friend twentysomethings sharing a house in Upstate New York. Early one summer morning, an earthquake uprights the foundation of their (and only their) living space. The entrance and walkway to the house are both tilted sideways, door hanging open, beside the neat Wizard of Oz-meets-Dali vortex background (Norm Johnson, scenic designer).

Astin, a once-fat, math Ph.D.-dropout sporting an orange polo and plaid pants, stumbles onto the yard, confessing to Claire that he's too hungover to remember exactly when the tremor transpired - nor, for that matter, anything about the previous night. Claire, clad in her housekeeper's uniform and sipping absently on a vodka and lemonade, offers little help; it's immediately clear she's hiding something, some possibly crucial information that remains buried for most of the play.

Soon, help arrives - sort of. Two apparently untalented musicians-cum-grocery baggers-cum-part time Red Cross volunteers, John and Jon (har, har) storm onstage with paired wagons in tow filled with myriad supplies from Twinkies to electromagnets. John, or "H" (Charlie Forray) finds use for the latter when Astin confides that he's been working on an elaborate machine kept secret from Claire - instead, he'd told her he was creating a serialized robot corn cartoon. After an astute if slapdash explanation about Möbius strips and Klein bottles, John stares drop-jawed; Astin comments on his probable lack of understanding, and H becomes insulted.

Meanwhile, Jon (Ace Heckathorn) and Claire discover a crawl area beneath some loose floorboards in the house. Through some apt set and lighting manipulation (Jerry Thamm, lighting designer), the stage's floorboard section becomes the crawl area, where they submit to their childhood instincts and begin to dig. A sizable portion of Jon's stage time is spent highlighting his surfer-dude personality; nonetheless, his affectionate spontaneity impresses Claire.

Axler's script relies on boobish lines like "Man, who knew there was so much dirt underground!" and "Oh, you mean like E equals M.C. Hammer?" for laughs. They're delivered about as sharply as they could be, but the timing feels off even on some of the better jokes, an uncharacteristic directorial departure for Perry, whose knack for strict delivery allowed this season's Dykstra plays to hit their potential.

As Astin and H reconcile and make headway on the machine, Claire and Jon dig up some peculiar artifacts. During one scene of discovery, Ben Truppin-Brown's sound design makes savvy use of some Casio keyboard music in lieu of dialogue to accent the imagination that accompanies unearthing something unexpected; the transitory music choices elsewhere in the play are equally evocative.

Claire finds out about Astin's machine and blows her stack. The hot-blooded arguments that bubble up in "Archaeology" may seem overcooked at first - but the confused emotional drive stays authentic to the almost-full-fledged-adulthood age the characters are grappling with.

The homonymy twins share little in common save their name, their volunteer uniforms, and their tendency to try really hard to sound profound. Their entrance into the disordered lives of Claire and Astin cuts into the lead characters' tangible best-friend chemistry. But inspection of the unspoken provides motivation for both journeys in "Archaeology"; Claire seeks explanation in stratification, while Astin ventures to manipulate time itself.

I won't spoil the final scene, since it's one of the most interesting in the play - certainly the best acted and featuring a laudable metamorphosis in the set design. Here, Perry returns to the superior sense of subtlety seen in, to name one, last year's "Old Times." The conclusion doesn't address every unanswered question, but Axler seems to prefer leaving the arching metaphors open to interpretation. Near the end of the first act, Jon hits something while digging. Claire says, "Ceci n'est pas une pipe," a flag that what we're seeing isn't what it looks like. Fair enough; people don't often acknowledge that the mid-twenties are mysterious, elusive years.



(Provided)

"A New Brain"

Theatre review
"A New Brain" at Ithaca College
The Ithaca Journal
March 11, 2009
657 words
"Ithaca College stages a smart 'New Brain'"

full text here

Ithaca College stages a smart 'New Brain'
BY MARK TEDESCHI • CORRESPONDENT • APRIL 2, 2009

"A New Brain," the new show from Ithaca College's Theatre Department, embarks on a difficult, thin-ice mission: to explore equally the comedy and tragedy of a sudden, life-threatening ailment. A serious malady has the unremitting power to bring out the best and the worst not only in its victim, but its victim's friends and family alike.

When composer/lyricist William Finn was diagnosed with a cerebral arteriovenous malformation, he feared that his best work would remain unfinished, so he harnessed his talent and focused his efforts toward creating "A New Brain." With music and lyrics by Finn and book by Finn and James Lapine, "A New Brain," directed by Susannah Berryman, manages to sustain an enjoyably light story while paying appropriate respect to the gravity of lamentable circumstances.

First, there's the matter of Cornell University Professor Kent Goetz's phenomenal set design. Goetz has transformed the Clark Theater stage into something reminiscent of the laboratory of a mad scientist harboring an obsession for American modernist painting. All sizes of green squares, red and yellow circles, and black lines decorate the floor and backdrop. Surprise projected lighting design tricks by the highly skilled, local-theater-staple IC senior Kelly Syring keep the simple setting - present-day Manhattan - dynamic and spirited.

Ben Fankhauser plays Gordon Schwinn, a songwriter for a children's television show. Troubled by writers' block, Gordon, after a brief run-in with a decrepit homeless woman (Catherine Lena Stephani) meets with his agent, Rhoda (Meredith Ashley Beck) for dinner. Shortly after the first of several hallucinations involving a man (Jeffrey Schara) in an elaborate frog suit (think plaid vest and gigantic polka-dot bow tie), Gordon utters, "Something is wrong!" and collapses.

He is taken to the hospital, where his loving mother, Mimi (Mariah Ciangiola) arrives, his indifferent Doctor (Alex Krasser) confirms the imperativeness of dangerous surgery, the hospital Minister (Bruce Landry) gives little help, and two nurses - the "thin" one, Nancy (Hillary Cathryn Patingre), and the "nice" one, Richard (Jeremy Cole Reese) offer their support.

As Gordon is taking in this barrage of new information, his life partner Roger (Danny Lindgren) returns from a sailing trip. Their relationship is compassionate and without significant strife throughout "A New Brain"; the main characters' closeness strengthens the show's focus on the individualized responses that Gordon's hospitalization evokes. And with less attention to traditional story narrative, the production's energetic style opens up.

There are 34 musical numbers (arranged by Jason Robert Brown) in "A New Brain," but the show itself is well under two hours with no intermission. Most of the storytelling occurs through song, a Sondheim-esque method delivered here with a just-right combination of music (directed and conducted by Joel Gelpe), volume (Jillian Marie Walker, sound designer), and elocution. Finn's thick lyrics flow clearly from the actors in, for example, "Family History" and "Gordo's Law of Genetics," as they simultaneously execute innovative choreography by Adam Pelty, the man behind the beautifully chaotic dancing in IC's "The Wild Party" last November. Director Berryman (whom you might have seen acting downtown at the Kitchen Theatre this season in "Happy Days" and "Tony and the Soprano") brings the performances together with her superior sense of timing and transition.

By the first full-ensemble number, "Heart and Music," it's easy to see the wealth of talent onstage. Not all of the numbers are vital ("Sailing," while well written, felt unessential), but all of the cast members have terrific voices. Often, Ainsley Anderson's costumes enhance the characterization in performance: Stephani, in a beat-up Buffalo Bills sweater and a tattered overcoat, breaks out in the powerful ballad "Change"; and Ciangiola, wearing a black evening gown, plucks at the heartstrings in "The Music Still Plays On." Nurse Richard doesn't look nearly as fat as he's apparently supposed to, but Reese's vocal versatility blossoms in "Eating Myself Up Alive."

Fankhauser brings forth Finn's initial vexation and subsequent determination. "I want to love, but I need to write," Gordon admits. If Finn indeed reached the same conclusion as Gordon and produced songs like the closing "I Feel So Much Spring" as a result, I say he made the right choice. In "A New Brain," Finn's artistic and emotional legacies are one and the same.


Sheryl Sinkow/Provided
William Finn's wry musical "A New Brain," at Ithaca College Theatre through Saturday, April 4, looks at a life interrupted by illness and reclaimed through love and forgiveness. Pictured are Ben Fankhauser, Danny Lindgren and Max Lorn-Krause.

"Up"

Theatre review
"Up" at Syracuse Stage
Ithaca Times
March 11, 2009
793 words
"Balancing Act"

full text here

Balancing Act

by Mark Tedeschi

"Up," by Bridget Carpenter. Directed by Penny Metropulos. Starring Christopher Duval, Susannah Flood, Suzanna Hay, Todd Jefferson Moore, Graham Powell, Mhari Sandoval. With scenic designer Michael V. Sims, costume designer Maggie Dick, lighting designer Thomas C. Hase, and sound designer/composer Ryan Rumery.

This year's Oscar-winning documentary was about a man who spent four years planning and executing an illegal wire walk across the two World Trade Center towers. The film presents explicitly the How of his feat, but can only rely on conceptual explanations for the Why. The single, inexorable reason offered by Philippe Petit, the title "Man on Wire": It was his dream.

Since Petit completed the walk in 1974, the amount of time, energy, and money he spent fulfilling his dream has been baffling minds perhaps moreso than the actual event. Petit's long-term dedication advances his accomplishment from ludicrous to transcendent. He nurtured a love and a talent, set a goal utterly insane by quotidian standards, and followed the plan to completion. The fascination with dream pursuit, as it relates (topically) to family and finance - as well as an investigation of Philippe Petit as an inspirational archetype - courses through the veins of Syracuse Stage's latest feature, Bridget Carpenter's "Up."

Director Penny Metropulos has praised Carpenter's "ability to move in and out of reality with disarming agility." In "Up," Metropulos holds true to that form. The ethereal production design is grounded by a rock-solid cast, unleashing performances at once comforting and exciting. "Up" zeroes in on the Griffins - Walter (Todd Jefferson Moore); his wife, Helen (Mhari Sandoval); and their son, Mikey (Graham Powell) - a family scratching to find that holy-grail balance between what they wish to do, what they "should" do, and what they can afford to do. Playwright Penny Metropulos based Walter on a real person named Larry Walters who, like Petit, decided the sky was the limit; in 1982, he tethered 42 weather balloons to a lawn chair and flew, unauthorized, 16,000 feet into the air across Southern California.

The play takes place 16 years later: Walter insists on keeping his thoughts out of and away from the box, focusing his efforts on impractical inventions that place a monetary burden on his loving, hard-working, mail-carrying wife. Powell plays their son with a crippling uncertainty as two conflicting ideologies wreak havoc on his developing psyche.

Mikey finds a bit of direction on the first day of sophomore year, when a spunky, six-months-pregnant new girl, Maria (Susannah Flood) spots and grills him. At first, Mikey is as scared of her as I'd have been at that age, but her congenial sincerity bonds them into a close friendship rife with romantic chemistry. Maria's Aunt Chris (Suzanna Hay) offers him a gig in her office supply sales business, and Mikey discovers a lucrative knack.

The acting in "Up" lends the already poignant script an additional closeness. When Flood weeps, she seems to notice her tears less than you will your own. She and Moore as the two teenagers find themselves entrenched in scattered emotional outpours as their characters discover that living doesn't inevitably become easier with time. Long tormented by that truth, Walter turns to Philippe Petit (Christopher Duval), who saunters occasionally across a platform "wire" high in the background, for nuggets of advice like "A bird does not carry a wallet!" that sounds a little too idealistic to be helpful.

Michael V. Sims's hypnotic set, the background and translucent pillars (moved about by crews clad in jumpsuits and headsets) all painted with a cloudy sky pattern, evokes a waking dreamworld under soft yellow lighting (Thomas C. Hase, designer). When the conflict intensifies, the stage is shocked with a blaze of green or red, the former accompanying a spike in overlapped dialogue. Sound designer and composer Ryan Rumery creates a mood that matches the setting - quiet, orchestral tunes featuring an array of instruments from acoustic guitar to accordion.

The costumes (Maggie Dick, designer) reveal character: Aunt Chris wears a loud vest and sparkly jeans, sequins all around; Walter looks frazzled in his ruffled shirt with rolled-up sleeves; and cautious Mikey in a blend-in polo becomes go-getting Michael between acts with a handy tuck-in and posture adjustment.

Eventually, Walter focuses considerably more on distancing himself from the stranglehold of money than Helen does on earning enough to support their family. Michael defends his father's right to follow a dream, but responds with fury when he finds out his father has been flat-out dishonest about his latest enterprise.

Though it concludes with a note of triumph, "Up" leaves the characters we've grown close to in a state of bleak disrepair. As Maria reminds Mikey, most people search their whole lives to find what makes them special, but she doesn't offer any counsel on balance - a crucial element, especially today, that the Griffins can't seem to pin. Still, the sentiment of Philippe Petit and Larry Walters, simple in theory and backbreaking in practice, remains: Follow your dreams, however high, no matter the cost.


Suzanna Hay, Todd Jefferson Moore and Mhari Sandoval in the Syracuse Stage production of ‘Up.’ (Photo by T. Charles Erickson)

"A Play on Words"

Theatre review
"A Play on Words" at the Kitchen Theatre
Ithaca Times
March 4, 2009
807 words
"Word Matters"

full text here

Word Matters

Mark Tedeschi

"A Play on Words," by Brian Dykstra. Directed by Margarett Perry. Starring Brian Dykstra and Mark Boyett. With scenic designer Kelly Syring, costume designer Hanna Kochman, lighting designer E.D. Intemann, and sound designer Nate Richardson.

In the summer of 1995, Bill Watterson wrote what might be my all-time favorite Calvin and Hobbes comic strip. Calvin tells Hobbes that the point of a conversation is to block another person's thoughts and take the subject matter in the opposite direction. Hobbes counters that conversations aren't contests, and Calvin awards him a point.

Watterson nails the humorous side of the one-upmanship inherent in most verbal exchanges, a subject that is also of great interest to playwright/actor darling of the Kitchen Theatre, Brian Dykstra. In last year's "The Two of You," his meticulous dialogue is itself nearly a character, bringing an extra, tangible potency to the theme and tone. While "The Two of You" is a deliberation on theatrical protocol, his new play tackles the rhyme and reason of communication.

In the autological "A Play on Words," a world premiere production at the Kitchen, Dykstra distills his love of linguistics into a play about - and positively spilling over with - language. "A Play on Words" features two actors - Dykstra as Max and Mark Boyett (last seen at the Kitchen in Dykstra's "Clean Alternatives" two years ago) as Rusty - and no doubt intentionally, both characters' names have uses as other parts of speech. Best friends since high school, Max and Boyett have a backyard conversation that alternates paces quick and slow, reaches scales epic and trifling, and leafs through just about every aspect of language you can cover in that amount of time.

So, what's the story? Dkystra knows you're thinking that, too - that's why he made it the first line of his play. Rusty is trying to find out what Max is doing; it looks like he's staring riveted at a piece of cardboard, but we don't get any specifics until well after Max pesters Rusty to explain whether he actually wants to know, why he asked him in that manner, and what he was thinking immediately before he brought it up.

Max and Rusty interrupt some of each other's sidebars before they can carry on. Often the chain-reaction changes in discussion topic deviate so far from the original issue that neither character - let alone the audience - can remember where the exchange began. Consequently, we don't find out what Max's story actually is until Rusty refuses to let the conversation move elsewhere.

Max is a button-pusher, and Dykstra plays him as recurrently disagreeable. In one moment, he'll demand that Rusty elucidate on every minutiae of his contribution; in the next, he'll assert that their digressions are, simply, "not fun." Boyett reveals Rusty's enthusiasm when he finds he can jump on the offensive, often arguing for the position that "language is the opposite of communication." Max chides his naïve position and they engage in long segues on the semantics of semantics, reappropriated commercial jingle lyrics, and apocryphal stories about famous authors' writing processes.

Undeniably, though, they are good friends - what's a little jocular prodding between buddies? All the while, both deliver the incredibly thick dialogue (they even nail a portion of tongue twisters!) with expert timing and (when called for) emotional output - patently due to Margaret Perry's patient direction.

The set, lighting and sound are minimal so as to focus on the guys' confabulation. Their chinwag takes place in late afternoon, and a careful eye will catch the subtle shifts in lighting that indicate a gradual sunset. The siding of a house and a toy basketball hoop line the background; the ground is divided evenly between a sheet of artificial turf and a scattering of words enclosed in boxes reminiscent of magnetic poetry.

And speaking of words, what would a play with this wonderful title be without some euphonious vocables? Here are some of the good ones: obfuscate, curmudgeon, leviathan, ecclesiastical, moratorium, intractable, pithy. Dykstra even invents some of his own words (a perfectly cromulent thing to do) and dissects the etymology (or is it entomology?) of grog, "give a hang," and E-I-E-I-O.

Dykstra's consistently daring ambition lends itself to magnifying-glass inspection; after all, a piece focusing on language should itself boast consummate phraseology. Good news - for the most part, it does. The main problems come from Dykstra's inability to resist an injection of the same hyper-left worldview amplified in his one-man show "The Jesus Factor" last year. The potshots at "faith-addicted Christian fundamentalists," fashion models, and "alcoholic politicians" draw too-easy laughs from an Ithacan audience but distract from the best parts of Dykstrian writing.

In "A Play on Words," Dykstra's intelligence affords his work a charming wit and a strong current of thoughtful commentary. We typically take language for granted, giving it a transparency in our lives. Word junkies, behavioral scientists, phonologists - see "A Play on Words" once, even twice. You'll give your vocabulary some exercise and chuckle at the confusing, bizarre structures we've customarily adopted.


Brian Dykstra and Mark Boyett in ‘A Play on Words,’ now at the Kitchen Theatre. (Photo by Megan Pugh)

"Putting it Together"

Theatre review
"Putting it Together" at Syracuse Stage
Ithaca Times
February 11, 2009
660 words
"Song & Dance"

full text here

Song & Dance

Mark Tedeschi

Putting It Together, words and music by Stephen Sondheim. Devised by Stephen Sondheim and Julia McKenzie. Directed and choreographed by Rajendra Ramoon Maharaj, with musical director Dianne Adams McDowell. Starring Chuck Cooper, Tyler Hanes, André Ward, Lillias White, and Stephanie Youell. Scenic design by Felix Cochren, costumes by Maria Marrero, lighting by Josh Bradford, sound by Jonathan R. Herter.

Stephen Sondheim's musicals disguise comprehensive ambition with lucid storytelling and fresh subtleties. By the early 1990s, his cohesive and lyrically bright songs had earned a level of popularity and prolificacy wherein compilation was inevitable; the result of his collaboration with actor/director Julie McKenzie, a musical "review" called "Putting it Together," premiered in England in 1992, on Broadway in 1999, and at Syracuse Stage last month. "Every little detail plays a part," inform the lyrics of the title number. "Putting it Together": It's what Sondheim does best.

Usually, though, when Sondheim "puts it together," he crafts a nuanced story replete with organic songwriting - not a story chassis around which to write songs, or in the case of "Together," a stock backdrop (the characters literally nameless) that sort-of fits with a handful of his preexisting tunes. Fortunately, his songs are dependably enjoyable, so the show at Syracuse, directed and choreographed by Rajendra Ramoon Maharaj, while not to the brim with pure Sondheim, is still plenty full.

André Ward (Man 3), his big, genuine smile extremely contagious, delivers the scripted curtain speech and with vim and vigor. He introduces and intermittently narrates the "story": An older married couple invite a younger unmarried couple to their swanky, contemporary Trump Tower penthouse for cocktails. They ruminate on their respective marital situations via song while Man 3 sticks around to comment.

The older, black couple (Man 1 and Woman 1) are played by Tony Award-winners Chuck Cooper and Lillias White. Cooper's resonant baritone booms early on in "Rich and Happy" from "Merrily We Roll Along" and quietly captivates later in "Good Thing Going" from the same. White solos deftly, her character progressively tipsier, with "My Husband The Pig" ("A Little Night Music") and "Could I Leave You?" ("Follies").

Like the couple they portray, the older performers are more seasoned and experienced, but Man 2 (Tyler Hanes) and Woman 2 (Stephanie Youell) have plenty of youthful exuberance to highlight their talent. Hanes holds his own alongside Cooper in "Company's" "Have I Got a Girl for You" and the "Sweeney Todd" number "Pretty Women," while Youell nails two songs from the movie "Dick Tracy": "Sooner Or Later" and "More."

Man 3 is chiefly included as a narrative tool; he introduces the songs with a single categorical word like "Happiness," "Seduction," "Competition," or "Desperation" in an attempt to justify the jumpiness of an undeveloped plot. However, Ward's irrepressible enthusiasm, showcased in his feature solo number "Buddy's Blues" ("Follies") wins him a buoyant, absorbing stage presence.

Together, the five performers master their harmonies (no easy feat with Sondheim's musical acrobatics) and explore the set under Maharaj's diverse choreography. "Bang!" from "A Little Night Music" uses quick and meticulous movements, while the minimalist gestures in the arresting "Company" song "Being Alive" softly communicate resolute hope and conviction.

Felix E. Cochren, scenic designer, also worked on "Into the Woods" and "A Little Night Music" at Syracuse previously; here, he creates a well-to-do setting using a chandelier, a top-shelf bar, fancy curtains, and two symmetrical staircases leading to an upper-level landing at center stage. The characters' clothing, designed by Maria Marrero, fits smartly with the surroundings: a sequined crimson dress, a sharp pinstripe suit, an aqua collared shirt under a diamond print sweater. Additionally, Josh Bradford's atmospheric and often inventive lighting design contributes to the posh ambiance of the palatial surroundings.

Also on stage sit the two instrumentalists: percussion and synthesizer player Jimmy Johns and musical director, conductor and show pianist Dianne Adams McDowell, who makes playing piano flawlessly for almost two straight hours seem easy.

In "Putting it Together," context destroys subtext - or at least obstructs it. Sondheim's conversational lyrics and musical motifs relate specifically to an all-inclusive show, so swiped from their original source material, the songs lack a certain logical depth. But while a full Sondheim musical may prove more fulfilling, the quality of performance and faithful delivery at Syracuse will satisfy the fans and intrigue the uninitiated.


Andre Ward, Stephanie Youell, Chuck Cooper, Tyler Hanes and Lillias White in ‘Putting It Together,’ now at the Syracuse Stage. (Photo by T. Charles Erickson)

"I Become a Guitar"

Theatre review
"I Become a Guitar" at the Kitchen Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
January 22, 2009
710 words
"Kitchen's 'I Become a Guitar' juxtaposes dreams and reality"

full text here

Kitchen's 'I Become a Guitar' juxtaposes dreams and reality
BY MARK TEDESCHI • CORRESPONDENT • JANUARY 22, 2009

Consciously every day and subconsciously every night, we dream. The fantastic and intensely personal sojourns that our minds embark upon reveal a remarkable amount of our character: hopes and fears, confusions and curiosities, memories and prognostications. A new play at the Kitchen Theatre directed by Sara Lampert Hoover, "I Become a Guitar," explores the struggle of a modern Washington family plagued by persistent dreams of a different life.

Written by Kitchen newcomer Francesca Sanders of Portland, Oregon, "Guitar" focuses on the Stewarts: a father, mother and son frustrated with fate's curveballs. Each reacts to his or her situation in a different way, but all are guilty of letting fantasy take over. The 20-year-old son, Pablo (Nicholas Caycedo), though, has no choice - since he was six, he's suffered from Klein-Levin Syndrome, a rare and complicated neurological disorder that causes unpredictably cyclical episodes of excessive sleep lasting days, weeks or even months in which he'll rise only to eat or use the bathroom.

But we don't know that at first. Sanders recalled in an interview that one artistic director aptly noted of "Guitar": "This play starts out complicated and gets very simple." It begins with a narrated poem under blue and purple lights (Kelly Syring, lighting designer); Pablo sits in his raised bed, lyrically describing a Mexican village he lives in with his friend, Silvio. Pablo's bed is attached to a ladder, in front of a backdrop painted with a staircase in odd perspective that "connects" to an adjacent living room set with a dining table and armchair (scenic design by Kent Goetz).

Once he lays back down, the rest of the stage lights up and his parents, Kevin (David Moreland) and Madrigal (Sally G. Ramirez), enter; it's soon apparent that their love has dwindled due to a prolonged lack of communication and intimacy. Madrigal holds fast to the "eternal optimism" that their son could come to at any time, keeping his favorite foods ready 24 hours a day. The aloof Kevin constantly distracts (and thus distances) himself, exacerbating the difficulty of a return to normalcy. He has a recurring fantasy about a sultry sex therapist or "sexual surrogate," Catherine (Laura Ciresi Starr, bold and provocative), who consistently dares him to perform - consistently to no avail.

A striking sound design by the ever reliable Don Tindall, in cooperation with a poignant original score by Ron Kristy, deepens the emotional strain within the Stewart family. Rain falling or an elegiac acoustic guitar tune magnifies their constant, desolate uncertainty, a feeling likely had by any family with a Klein-Levin patient.

When Pablo does come to, his parents' expectations for his behavior fall flat. It takes him a while to regain what prior vocabulary he had, and he often acts moody and disoriented. Madrigal coddles Pablo, sparking an indifference in Kevin until they discover that their son has spent so much time in the dream state that he considers it his reality, and a preferred one at that. His slumberland existence with "Silvio" is odd, but Kevin and Madrigal realize that for their own happiness, they have to want for their son's as well.

The acting in "Guitar," no doubt thanks to Hoover's skilled direction, intensifies as the story decrescendos into a strange equilibrium. Moreland (recognizable as the principal in "Donnie Darko") stutters as he argues with his wife in the beginning, but his resonant voice crystallizes once Kevin finds potential comfort in accepting his family's unconventional situation. Ramirez's on-edge demeanor flawlessly fits a mother drowning in her own hope, and Caycedo surmounts the unenviable charge of playing a disabled, childlike adult. Occasionally, he hams up the cuteness, but when Pablo becomes upset, Caycedo's talent is undeniable.

"I Become a Guitar" raises questions about the nature of actual dreams versus invented aspirations (are they any different?) and further, fantasy versus reality. When her idealized vision of a family is marred, Madrigal laments, "It's not supposed to be!" Sanders shifts us in and out of each character's dream world, highlighting each family member's hopefulness that something from his or her illusion will cross over. When nothing does, it becomes necessary to adapt to unusual circumstances. Awakening doesn't have to entail abandonment of dreams - rather, as in this play, it can simply mean embracing new possibility.

"I Become a Guitar" runs at the Kitchen Theatre through Feb. 8. Tickets are $21-$36. Call 273-4497 or visit www.kitchentheatre.org for more information.


The Kitchen Theatre presents the world premiere of Francesca Sanders' play “I Become a Guitar,” with David Moreland and Sally G. Ramirez, through Feb. 8. (Megan Pugh/Provided)

"The Santaland Diaries"

Theatre review
"The Santaland Diaries" at Syracuse Stage
Ithaca Times
December 17, 2008
706 words
"Ho Ho Help"

full text here

Ho Ho Help

Mark Tedeschi

The Santaland Diaries by David Sedaris, adapted for the stage by Joe Mantello. Directed by Wendy Knox. Starring Wade McCollum. With scenic and costume designer Jessica Ford, lighting designer Alex Koziara, and sound designer Sarah Pickett.

There's a one-actor play at Syracuse Stage called The Santaland Diaries that's about an hour and fifteen minutes long, roughly the same amount of time it takes for a drive to the theater from Ithaca, one way. If you're a diehard David Sedaris fan, though, or just in the mood for some top-notch seasonal comedy, this show is well worth the trip.

Santaland is based on the essay that, when Sedaris read it on NPR's "Morning Edition" in 1992, sparked literary attention for his shrewd, irreverent style. Four years later, Tony Award-winning director Joe Mantello adapted Sedaris's "Santaland Diaries" for the stage, placing much of the original text verbatim into the show and adding his own equally punchy portions of elaborations and side-stories.

At Syracuse's Storch Theatre, Jessica Ford's set extends into the hallways, successfully disguised as cheery Christmas decorations under the customary call of bubbly holiday staples like "Feliz Navidad." As Wade McCollum, the lone performer in Santaland, launches his narration, the pine-green wreaths, shiny ornaments, and ribbon-tied presents adorning the edges of the stage begin to conjure the all-too-familiar but annually tolerated stresses of the season. Santaland is a true account of Sedaris's starving-artist decision to apply for a job as an elf in Macy's Santaland and the borderline insane encounters he has with flirtatious co-elves, a sundry spectrum of Santas, and exasperated parents.

McCollum's character gives himself the elf name "Crumpet" (one of those inherently funny words - later, he changes it to "Blisters") and vividly describes both the elf outfit he must wear (Ford designed that too) and the surreal environment in which he is to wear it. Luckily, this is a theatre performance, not an essay reading; we actually get to see both. He changes into candy cane leggings, a yellow turtleneck, a green vest, a green hat, and oversized green shoes. After dressing, stone-faced, he expertly delivers the classic Sedaris line, "This is my work uniform."

When the curtain goes up, surprise! Santa's illustrious chair sits in front while snowdrift-covered trees and houses recede deep into the Santaland background.

McCollum, under Wendy Knox's direction, confidently pitches Sedaris's rapid-fire language from deadpan mentions of "parents relentless on their quest for documentation" to lurid fantasies of Santaland's transformation into a kind of hellish Satan-land. The latter is a prime example of McCollum's performance cooperating with the lighting (Alex Koziara) and sound (Sarah Pickett): the entire stage bathed in crimson, a low rumble emanates from the speakers as McCollum envisions the "pools of blood and feces" the visitors must wade through.

Gross, huh? Sedaris's humor isn't typically for young children, and this is no exception. His jokes are often harsh and sometimes risky enough to miss their target from time to time, but the joke density in a Sedaris piece is thick enough to move smoothly from one to the next without breaking momentum. Crumpet's observations on the folks who ask for their child to specifically see either a black or a white Santa could fall flat, but the ruminations' objectivity enhances their comedy.

Other imitations of Santaland visitors occur at regular intervals; McCollum proves a knack for giving each a distinct flair. A jokester dad from Jersey provides his best fodder, while his occasional crowd-milking mugging as in a dimwitted waitress ranks among the weaker moments. The consistent discovery natural to Sedaris's dependable style shows up on the stage; lighting tricks like a bright flash indicating a kid-with-Santa photograph or a falling-snowflake effect are saved for the second half of the show.

Four days to Christmas, the holiday stresses escalate. Crumpet begins to snap back at disgruntled guests who whine, "I'm gonna have you fired!" with, "I'm gonna have you killed!" Closer to the day, Mantello dives into a heartfelt but nonetheless cornballish departure from straight comedy in favor of a sobering reminder of the "It's Christmas" spirit of selflessness we see in countless holiday stories from Miracle on 34th Street to Bad Santa.

The segue, different from the comparatively cynical ending of the source material, is unexpected - but not unwelcome. Sedaris is the first to include himself in his fault-finding; but when the unstoppable force of his societal criticism meets the immovable object of holiday atmosphere, even self-deprecation can take a breather.


Wade McCollum in ‘The Santaland Diaries,’ now at Syracuse Stage. (Photo by T. Charles Erickson)

"Love's Labour's Lost"

Theatre review
"Love's Labour's Lost" at Cornell University
The Ithaca Journal
December 4, 2008
720 words
"Amusing ‘Love's Labour's Lost' offers classic Shakesperean wordplay"

full text here

Amusing ‘Love's Labour's Lost' offers classic Shakesperean wordplay
BY MARK TEDESCHI • CORRESPONDENT • DECEMBER 4, 2008

Rumor has it that the comedy “Love's Labour's Lost” is one of Shakespeare's least-produced plays. It contains an formidable wealth of wordplay and, says Shakespeare scholar Tucker Brooke, a greater percentage of rhyming lines than any of the Bard's works. It was purportedly intended to be performed for the intellectual students at the prestigious Inns of Court; for these reasons, it's been considered inaccessible to modern audiences. The production currently running at Cornell's Schwartz Center — amusing and absorbing — makes one wonder from whence these cries of esotericim do cometh.

“Labour's” indeed fits its reputation of comprising overt craftiness, but that feature is hardly a handicap; rather, the pleasure of catching any of Shakespeare's rapid-fire witticisms, especially boosted by quality acting, is even more of a treat. And, as in any Shakespeare production, if intent skims by, there's plenty more quips to follow — and moreover, you can still blissfully bask in the words of the best (arguably, I suppose) English-language writer who ever lived.

The comedy, here directed with intimate familiarity by Bruce Levitt (he directed “Labour's” at Cornell 20 years ago), begins with the retired King of Navarre's (Ian Jones) explication of a solemn oath he and his three Lords — Berowne (Jeremy Flynn), Dumaine (Myles Rowland), and Longaville (Chris Romeo) — have taken. They've agreed to spend three years studying, totally free from distractions, but when Berowne realizes the King included women in that lot, he protests and reminds him that the Princess of France (Mary Gilliam) and her three Ladies — Maria (Alicia Weigel), Katherine (Ariel Reed), and Rosaline (Katherine Karaus) — were planning a visit in the near future.

The King agrees to house them nearby, outside the court. As expected, the men fall powerless to their impulses. They promptly fall in love with their color-coded counterparts (by the hand of costume designer Sarah E. Bernstein, though one couple is inexplicably not matched) and even compose love sonnets in secret.

Meanwhile, the clown Costard (Jeffrey Guyton), schoolmaster Holofernes (Sonja Lanzener), Spanish nobleman Don Adriano de Armando (J.G. Hertzler), and his page Moth (Alex Viola) join forces to put on play for the nobles centered around the Nine Worthies. During its presentation, the Princess receives some disturbing news and “Labour's” draws to, by Shakespeare's standards, an unconventional close.

By the time the message is delivered, the background lighting (Daniel Hall, designer) has imperceptibly shifted from a cheery midday blue to a deep, melancholic purple. The rest of “Labour's” looks and sounds pristine--at times, the the spotless set (Sarah Lambert, designer), immaculate regal clothing, and delicate harp interludes (Gary Mackender, composer), border on saccharinity, but appropriately fit the royalty-at-leisure garden setting. The multileveled set extends beyond the stage, too, helping to engage the audience in the jam-packed text; the actors skip and hop about the aisles and even perform from the balcony on either side of the stage.

The cast is composed of professional actors as well as students, though experience doesn't necessarily guarantee reliability. Guyton's energetic Costard convinces as a witty swain and Paul Hebron fits impeccably into the role of Boyet, a nobleman accompanying the French visitors; on the other hand, Hertzler, popularly known for his role as the Klingon Martok on “Star Trek,” lets his accent slip into inconsistency and Lanzener's unpredictable take on Holofernes detracts from the character's potential strength.

Flynn as a skittish but astute Berowne offers the best performance of the leading men, followed closely by Jones as the King. The talents of the four principal actresses were notable as well, but unfortunately, Shakespeare didn't offer them highly distinguishable parts. Viola's scampish Moth, though, entertains in every scene.

“Labour's,” while certainly more approachable than its reputation precedes, stays dated on a few fronts. The slapstick of an extended rear-end-slapping scene is a bit much to bear, and the Latin-language jokes, probably side-splitting to Elizabethan academics, have a dwindling target audience in 2008.

But the familiarity of Shakespeare's predominant themes and plunges into verbal expression will always resonate. When Berowne, in hiding, anticipates hearing Dumaine's love-fueled poem, he declares, “Once more I'll mark how love can vary wit!” As Shakespeare knew of the infinite potency love brings to language, he penned “Love's Labour's Lost” as an atypical, self-conscious story. The main characters recognize the dependable anomaly of love and, in the end, find it ever hopelessly evasive.

"Tony and the Soprano"

Theatre review
"Tony and the Soprano" at the Kitchen Theatre
Ithaca Times
December 3, 2008
718 words
"Family Fun"

full text here

Family Fun

Mark Tedeschi

Tony and the Soprano, book & lyrics by Rachel Lampert, music by Larry Pressgrove. Co-Directed by Margarett Perry & Rachel Lampert. Starring Susannah Berryman, Jesse Bush, Robert J. DeLuca, Jessica Flood, Charlotte Senders, Erica Steinhagen, Joey Steinhagen, and Sophie Potter. Music direction by Richard Montgomery, set by Dan Meeker, costumes by Jon Donk, lighting by E.D. Intemann, scenic artist Juls Bueher, opera arrangements by Richard Montgomery, and stage manager Preeti Nash.

Three years ago, a musical cleverly titled Tony and the Soprano blew the socks off Kitchen Theatre audiences on the night of its world premiere. Sadly for me, I was not in that group - but thanks to those who have been clamoring for a repeat performance since then, I had the delight of attending one of this season's sold-out encore performances. And even better, it features nearly all of the original show's cast and crew. If you saw it then, you know it's worth a repeat attendance; if you missed it, you should catch it this time around - and you can bring your whole family along, too.

In 2006, the cast featured well-known Ithaca favorites; today, they're positively demanded at a show like this. Joey Steinhagen plays Tony, a 35-year-old auto mechanic stuck living in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn with his mother Rose (Berryman) and spending his spare time hanging out with latchkey kid Carrol (Charlotte Senders) and impetuous restauranteur Vinny (Bush). One of the few things he looks forward to is souping up a vintage Chevy the three of them have been hoarding for the right time. Erica Steinhagen (Joey's real-life wife) plays a charming, naive opera singer from Iowa, Frances, who moves in above Rose and Tony, rattling things around for everyone she encounters. Meanwhile, Vinny racks his brain to put off paying back a loan he was given by a slick mobster called Carmine (Deluca) and strains to train his flustered, ill-equipped new waitress, Isabel (Flood).

This story framework, together with bright direction (Perry and Lampert) and blithe musical numbers (Pressgrove), sprinkles some clever herb-and-spice additions onto the traditional back-and-forth love triangles - and balances the comedy and romance with astute familiarity.

You can bet that Berryman appreciates playing the role of Rose, a part more subdued than her most recent undertaking at the Kitchen (Winnie in Beckett's Happy Days), but that's not to say she's taking a break; her Brooklyn accent and Italian-mom concern are spot-on from the opening "Hello Carroll Street" onward. From a faux upper-story window, she calls down to Tony that dinner is ready; nearby onstage, he leans against his simple ground-level stoop and calls back up.

Meeker's set, based on the show's original design, allows credible interaction by the cast for quick, easy changes - for example, when the scene switches to Vinny's restaurant, Vinny rushes around to set up the bar and tables as if he's actually getting the place ready for customers.

Bush's Vinny would be sleazy if he weren't so eager to please; he asks Tony to evaluate "Bugs Bunny," a silly, short, Barber (or Rabbit) of Seville-inspired opera number he penned to try to win over Frances. Steinhagen as Frances sports a fantastic Midwest accent and a wide-eyed adoration for opera music, despite Rose's claims that her Italian is dreadful.

Steinhagen and Senders make a chummy team as Tony and Carol. Senders - a seventh grader at Trumansburg Middle School - holds her own on stage, even (especially!) during her solo number, "Carol of Carroll Street."

Deluca certainly looks the part with a spotless suit, slicked-back hair, and mob-guy hand gestures - but his accent, a must-have for a character like Carmine, slips in some of the heavier dialogue scenes. Flood as his crony "Isabel," though, impresses on the Kitchen stage as usual. Her powerful voice matches Frances's, even when they battle during "Vedrai Carino" and match up in "They Always Get Their Way." Isabel goes through several incarnations in haphazard attempts to either draw attention or disguise her identity, and she wouldn't be able to do either without costume designer Jon Donk's handiwork.

Pressgrove's music with Lampert's lyrics, as in last year's Lampert/Pressgrove collaboration Bed No Breakfast, together provide both belly laughs and the earnest appreciation of heartfelt realization. "Oh, No It's Vinny" and "Oh, No Tony" use Intemann's quick lighting design to draw laughs, and Richard Montgomery's opera arrangements pay respectful homage to their Mozart, Rossini, and Verdi source material. The only quaky number is the first-act "Gotta Go," mostly just a set-up for the better reprises of the song later in the show.

All told, though, you'll find more quality entertainment for both kids and adults in Tony and the Soprano than in plenty of the dopey-fodder "family-friendly" movies that studios love to churn out. Tony runs until Dec. 14, so jump on the chance now - otherwise, you may have to wait until the year 2012.


Erica and Joey Steinhagen in ‘Tony and the Soprano.’ (Photo by Wendy Woods)

"The Rimers of Eldritch"

Theatre review
"The Rimers of Eldritch" at Syracuse Stage
Ithaca Times
December 3, 2008
718 words
"Midwestern Malaise"

full text here

Midwestern Malaise

Mark Tedeschi

The Rimers of Eldritch by Lanford Wilson. Directed by Geraldine Clark. Starring Alex Alcheh, Hilary Curwen, Megan Dobbertin, Sarah Gorman, Eric Grapatin, Peter Hourihan, Kerry Kazmierowicztrimm, Brad Koed, Becky Leifman, Patrick Murney, Kristian Rodriguez, Alanna Rogers, Amy Shapiro, Liz Tancredi, Lindsey Van Horn, Danielle von Gal, and Tara Windley. With dialect coach Joe Alberti, scenic designer Michael M. Nardulli, costume designer Lauren Levesque, lighting designer Christine E. Bernat, sound designer David Huber, and stage manager Kathryn Graves.

Now is about the time of year when, following a somnolent morning glance out the window, it's almost a comfort to see a delicate coating of rime completely covering the intricate, labyrinthine branches of a bare tree. Overnight winter stillness allows vapor to collect and freeze, transforming whatever it touches into a bleached apparition of what it used to be.

The handful of residents still inhabiting the 1953 Missouri ghost town of Eldritch in Lanford Wilson's The Rimers of Eldritch fit their title branding; they slowly cake their town with a chilly hoarfrost of gossip, but like the rime on a piece of vegetation, it's impermanent; sooner or later, it will build up and break off, baring its true nature.

In the dark and methodical Rimers, which completed its run at Syracuse Stage at the end of November, the cast inhabits the stage for the whole of its presentation. The fascinating, unconventional structure of the play offers its audience a fly-on-the-wall privilege: You can hear all that transpires, but the everyone-knows-everyone tidbits of hearsay don't entirely make sense at first.

The characters generally stay put, each in his or her designated area; Nardulli's minimal, pantomimed-props set conveys a deceptively straightforward assemblage of layered Eldritch settings - a porch, a preacher's pulpit doubling as a judge's bench, a boulder in the woods - all beneath a tilted cross hanging still overhead. Bernat's remarkable lighting design complements the speedy dialogue changes, smoothly illuminating whose turn it is to speak with an autumnal gold.

We gather - or rather, overhear - that there's been a murder of someone unnamed and a sexual attack directed at a young teen, Eva Jackson (Windley). Wilson's deliberate script delivers calculated smatters of information; dialogue overlaps, jumps to and fro in time, and is often revisited, so the specifics are signaled but not directly revealed until the climax. The townspeople offer each other their two cents on the shocking crimes and, since there is little else to do in Eldritch besides share slices of juicy misinformation, other goings-on in town.

Cora Graves (Tancredi) has taken in a much-younger Walter (Coed) as an employee and bedmate, as spouted in the beginning from the queens of buzz, Martha Truitt (Dobbertin) and Wilma Atkins (Gorman); Robert Conklin (Murney), pejoratively called "Driver Junior" after his late race-car enthusiast older brother, spends most of his time avoiding people save the physically disabled 14 year old, Eva; Josh Johnson (Alcheh), brother to Patsy (Curwen), and Lena Truitt (Leifman) begin seeing each other out of sheer proximity; everyone shares a loathing for the reclusive creeper, Skelly Manor (Rodriguez); and throughout, the town switches from attending the trial for the crimes at hand and worshipping at church (curiously, the Judge and Priest are both played by Kazmierowicztrimm).

Wilson's complicated storytelling technique cannot be executed well without quality actors, and Syracuse University's cast, under Clark's deft direction and Alberti's effective Midwest-dialect coaching, delivers. Windley's Eva convinces entirely as blossoming teen wrought with small-town cabin fever, especially in her scenes with Murney's Rob.

The most stunning performance comes from Rodriguez as Skelly; instead of the "deep, mangled, growling, almost drunken voice" in the original stage directions, he finds a higher-pitched sort of howl in the character's speech that teeters ambiguously on a tightrope between confidence and terror. Rodriguez delivers a riveting extended monologue, a centerpiece of the second act wherein his use of timing and gesture signals an outstanding and disciplined talent.

Skelly and Mary (played with appropriate chaos by Van Horn, supplemented by Shapiro's concerned Nelly), the two characters with the least of their minds left, seem to comprehend Eldritch better than the others. "People talk but they don't know - it's them that's the bastards," Skelly says simply. "I don't want to go up there," says Mary, afraid to be stuck in her room. "The evil town is all around me up there." But even Mary can't stop herself telling people that her daughter beats her.

The jabber amongst the township, when taken at face value, echoes the typical gossip one might find in a tabloid; but when scattered and reassembled, it reveals an obscured, melancholy poetry. Few in Eldritch are innocent of tossing these lyrical stories at one another, and as the town's layer of rime collapses under is own weight, its population is rendered both exposed and speechless.


Brad Koed and Liz Tancredi in the ‘The Rimers of Eldritch.’ (Photo by Michael Davis)

"The Wild Party"

Theatre review
"The Wild Party" at Ithaca College
The Ithaca Journal
November 13, 2008
745 words
"IC Theatre stages a hedonistic ‘Wild Party'"

full text here

IC Theatre stages a hedonistic ‘Wild Party'
BY MARK TEDESCHI • CORRESPONDENT • NOVEMBER 13, 2008

If you've ever found yourself held back from letting loose into a fit of base indulgence and reckless excess by that insistently cruel mistress called consequence, the Ithaca College Theatre Department may have a treat for you. Andrew Lippa's “The Wild Party” offers what its title promises: a rare invitation to engage in, and even to enjoy, unabashed hedonism.

Lippa (book, music, and lyrics) based his musical comedy/drama/Vaudeville performance on Joseph Moncure March's epic 1928 poem of the same name. March's poem, while well received critically, was initially banned across the U.S. for its racy content. In 1994, Art Spiegelmen re-published the poem with his own interpretive illustrations, and in 1999, Lippa wrote an Off Broadway adaptation of the poem (curiously at the same time his colleague, John LaChiusa, independently penned his own version for Broadway).

Though director Norm Johnson Jr. warns in the program notes “not [to] attach yourselves to the necessary visions of excess, the unbridled enthusiasm for defying laws, or the degenerate, almost too familiar, absence of morals,” it's difficult not to get caught up in the euphoric insanity of the first act.

At the height of the Roaring Twenties, Vaudeville stars Queenie and Burrs (Meredith Ashley and Eric Morris), join in matrimony only, according to Queenie, for their shared bedroom voracity. (Early on, it's clear that “The Wild Party” is for adults only.) With the hope of re-igniting their soulless relationship, Queenie suggests they host a party that can feature the antics of all of their madcap, devil-may-care acquaintances.

The guests show up, smartly clad in designer Alexander Woodward's delicious 1920s costumes. Two key invitees are Kate (Catherine Lena Staphani), Queenie's volatile best friend, and her recently acquired beau Mr. Black (Michael Haller), the only straight man at the party. A few other guests: Dolores (Rebecca Futterman), a prostitute; Eddie (Ryan DeNardo) a “pugilist,” and his lover, Mae (Jamie Amos); Jackie (Steven Dean Moore), the dancing phenom; Madeline True (Emily Brazee), a lesbian on the prowl; Nadine (Lindsey J. Bullen), the coveted minor; and the flamboyant d'Armano brothers (Jeffrey Schara and Kyle Johnson).

Soon into Act I, the party begins, and the momentum, fueled by alcohol and unrestrained impulse, never falters — a testament to Johnson's attention to timing and the talented triple-threat cast. The Mae West-meets-Stanley Kowalski chemistry between Queenie and Burrs ebbs and flows as they capitalize on the party's “unusual at best, unusually dressed” array of guests to test each others' limits. Queenie hits on Black, Kate hits on Burrs, Madeline hits on everyone, and everyone hits on Nadine; the collective sexual tension culminates in the climactic wee hours of the party.

Black is the only character not a caricature and the only to show any moral reservations, unfortunately designating him as the weakest of the bunch — though he is well-acted and voiced as he proves in the slow medley “Poor Child.” Of the dozen-plus songs in both acts, it's among the calmer moments; “Raise the Roof,” a raucous introduction to the party, “An Old Fashioned Love Story,” a hilarious lovelorn lament sung by Madeline, “Wild, Wild, Party,” a shameless “Biblical” story featuring the d'Armano brothers, and “Life of the Party,” a contest in outrageousness, energize the audience and challenge the cast's physical capabilities. Adam Pelty's choreography during both the upbeat songs and the subdued portions let the dancers perform a range of styles. And numbers like “Maybe I Like It This Way” and “Let Me Drown” further showcase Ashley's and Morris's respective vocal talents.

The spoken-word poetic dialogue of “The Wild Party” complementarily cooperates with the production design; Kelly Syring's bi-level set, influenced (especially about the warped window frames) by German Expressionism, under Steve TenEyck's red, blue, and purple lights, distances the audience just enough to enhance the fantastic nature of the party.

The music, directed by Brian DeMaris, comprises a lush diversity of instrumentation (electric guitar, muted trumpet, slap bass, etc.) played in swinging jazz beats with minor tinges of melancholy, enhancing the Act II theme of post-recklessness malaise.

The saddening turn toward the end doesn't feel unnatural, but it does seem compulsory in the “what goes up” sense. “The Wild Party” both celebrates the hypnosis of substance-stoked tumult and warns against its inevitable aftermath. It's easy to for the party's guests to believe their glee doesn't have to turn dour, but everyone knows what followed the Roaring Twenties — and I'll bet some people still know what follows an evening of too much bathtub gin.


Michael Haller plays Mr. Black and Meredith Ashley plays Queenie in Ithaca College Theatre?s production of Andrew Lippa's musical "The Wild Party." (Sheryl Sinkow)

Meredith Ashley plays Queenie in Ithaca College Theatre's production of Andrew Lippa's musical "The Wild Party.” (Sheryl Sinkow)

"Tales from the Salt City"

Theatre review
"Tales From the Salt City" at Syracuse Stage
Ithaca Times
October 29, 2008
691 words
"Syracuse Stage tells seven stories"

full text here

Syracuse Stages seven stories

Mark Tedeschi

Tales From the Salt City, conceived and directed by Ping Chong. Written by Ping Chong and Sara Michelle Zatz, also project manager. Starring Lino T. Ariloka, Gordana Dudevski, Rebecca Isabel Fuentes, José Miguel Hernández, Albert Marshall, Emad Rahim, and Jeanne Shenandoah. With dramaturg Kyle Bass, projection designer Maya Ciarrocchi, lighting designer Darren W. McCroom, sound designer Jonathan R. Herter, and stage manager Amber Dickerson.

A story told well will entertain and, we hope, edify. Watching a movie or reading a book often instills in us poignant lessons or observations about life. And if what we're seeing has the stamp "based on a true story" emblazoned alongside its title, watch out - somehow, its credibility skyrockets.

Plays based on reality - to the extent that they can be labeled "documentary theatre" - are exceptionally interesting animals. The immediacy of live performance, by its nature, foregrounds representation of reality, so what could that stamp realistically add? Well, if it's done Ping Chong's way: more than you ever thought possible.

Tales from the Salt City, Chong's 38th project in a series titled "Undesirable Elements," has no real need for either of the above labels. "Tales" is a collection of stories, told by the people who experienced them, wound together into the big ball of yarns in which we all play roles.

Seven performers, chosen after a series of interviews, face the audience in a semicircle, sitting atop 2,500 pounds of salt. When they speak sequentially in their first languages, the juxtaposition of sounds creates a rousing euphony - after all, the rich variance of language is a flagship of cultural identity. They read the script from music stands. They come from seven distinct worlds, but they tell their story as one, chronologically. They only speak a few sentences at a time, often playing characters in different stories or simply adding to each others' thoughts. The seven seem to have little in common besides a life constantly balancing struggle and joy that led them, ultimately, to Syracuse.

As briefly as justice permits, the performers: Lino T. Ariloka, an 8-year Syracuse resident from Sudan; Gordana Dudevski, a mother of two from Velas, Macedonia; Rebecca Isabel Fuentes, an Army Specialist-turned-immigrant rights activist from Tijuana, Mexico; José Miguel Hernández, a theatre dance instructor from Cuba; Albert Marshall, a black Syracuse native and president of the 1277 United Steel Workers Local Union; Emad Rahim, a Cambodian Muslim who lost his parents in the Killing Fields; and Jeanne Shenandoah, an herbalist and member of the Eel Clan of the Onondaga Nation.

Unified clapping and the announcement of a year and place, typically stated by the storyteller and echoed by the rest of the circle, punctuates their words. Each member starts with the circumstances of his or her birth and follows with early family life. Eventually, one by one, they make their way to Syracuse - and to crowd-pleaser lines like "Then she took me to Wegman's... wow!" and, "Ever since they built that Carousel Mall, Syracuse has never been the same!"

A few times, they relax the often fast-paced dialogue for a musical interlude, either sung with show-stopping beauty by one of the performers or played via sound system while the huge projection screen in the background displays images related to their stories. During the latter, the performers rise and pace while the lighting shifts to a deep blue and pillars of salt cascade, neatly somehow, down to the ground, a tribute to Syracuse's salt mining hisory. They reorganize their places, reinforcing the show's no-one's-in-charge harmony.

Chong and Zatz based the show's script on the interviews with the Syracuse performers and gave them final approval to make sure that the lines appropriately "sounded" like them. By level of enthusiasm, some have a more natural stage presence than others (and there's an occasional, understandable overlap of lines), but all, with an earnest, nothing-to-lose honesty, are able to effectively communicate both deep sadness and heartfelt laughter. And the unique motifs ("One... two... three eternities pass," and, "Don't rock the boat") give the script a laudable cohesion.

The "Undesirable Elements," unfortunately, are the seven performers; each has been subject to cultural prejudice at one time or another. A harsh reality, but Chong's work shines light not solely on the sorry state of affairs, but on the possibilities of humanity and the potential for improvement. Thanks to Ping Chong & Company's acceptance into a new arts initiative created by the Nonprofit Finance Fund, more "Undesirable Elements" productions might be cropping up in other cities. Great news - I want to see another one.


The cast of ‘Tales from the Salt City,’ now playing at Syracuse Stage. (Photo by Michael Davis)

"Happy Days"

Theatre review
"Happy Days" at the Kitchen Theatre
Ithaca Times
October 22, 2008
659 words
"'Kitchen Theatre stages Beckett's 'Happy Days'"

full text here

Kitchen Theatre stages Beckett's 'Happy Days'

Mark Tedeschi

Happy Days by Samuel Beckett. Directed by Jesse Bush. Starring Susannah Berryman and R.M. Fury. With scenic designer Steve TenEyck, lighting designer Kelly Syring, costume & prop designer Nik Taylor, sound designer Nate Richardson, associate scenic designer David L. Arsenault, and stage manager Michal Kaufer.

"They're in purgatory," my companion said with the naivete of a neophyte "LOST" lover. "It took me a while, but I think I got it."

He posited his theory during the intermission of Happy Days, Samuel Beckett's formidable two-person, one-set play, showing until Nov. 2 at the Kitchen Theatre. Later, my friend told me that somewhere in the middle of the second act, he realized he wasn't going to get any concrete answers.

That's because there aren't answers - just situations, bizarre as they come, and ruminations running the gamut of existence.

The story begins before you enter - a 50-ish woman in a yellow dress, buried a tinge over waist-deep in a clumpy pile of dirt tanned by the harsh, unabating overhead light, rests her head, asleep. Behind her hangs a picture window for the 21st Century: a projection screen displaying drifting clouds, and later a desert landscape under blinding sun.

A piercing bell sounds offstage, waking our hero, Winnie, who throws her head back and declares "Another heavenly day!" Winnie is played by Susannah Berryman, who calls the part "one of the actors' Mount Everests;" if that's so, Berryman plants a flag on the summit. Under Jesse Bush's au fait direction, Berryman's timing and articulation of expression hold fast to the tenor of Beckett's universe. Winnie speaks at length, chiefly platitudes and observations of her surroundings, assuming that since she is able to speak there must be someone to hear.

Lucky for her, there is: her companion of sorts, Willie. Willie, older than Winnie and much less loquacious, is played by R.M. Fury with admirable devotion - not an easy task, since he spends most of the time either gravelly grunting in an out-of-sight hole behind Winnie's residence or facing away from the audience, reading selectively from newspaper headlines.

Besides Willie, Winnie has her belongings. From her bag, she pulls out and admires, among other things, a toothbrush, a music box, a nail file, a revolver. Her possessions aren't essential, but as time ordains, just like in real life, most are running out.

She indirectly mocks the audience between stretches of disorderly monologue; she remembers a man named Shower or Cooker who asked: "What's the idea... stuck up to her ditties in the bleeding ground... What does it mean...What's it meant to mean?" She imitates Shower/Cooker with a childish whine. Early on, Beckett warns the audience of the futility of insular questions like these.

The second act, believe it or not, is bleaker than the first. Winnie awakes to the echoing bell to find herself buried up to her neck, unsure if Willie is still there. Her attitude turns from desperate to resigned, as she has, now limbless, lost the ability even to end her own life.

Winnie's strange state has its brighter moments: She and Willie share a laugh at Willie's muttering of "formication" (the sensation of insects crawling over your skin) after Winnie watches an emmet (an ant) carrying an egg.

The audience laughs, too, but they have about as much idea why as do the main characters. Is it the morbid thought of Winnie covered in bugs? The simple tee-hee pun? Or something completely unrelated, perhaps an inside joke between the two? The answer isn't as important as the connection, scarce and brief, that they share. Their laughter is a microcosmic glimmer of pleasure in Beckett's admittedly fatalistic (and absurdist) view of the world.

With Happy Days, Beckett isn't after clean satisfaction; as a result, the play isn't for everyone. After all, it is what it sounds like: a woman stuck in a pile of dirt aimlessly pontificating to herself.

To understate, Happy Days is not meant to be easily comprehended. It isn't even meant to be understood, necessarily. Winnie's existence is meant to be discussed and interpreted to no end, just as our strange gift of cognition should be applied to mulling over our own existence, no less preposterous and haphazard than hers.

Susannah Berryman as “Winnie” in Samuel Beckett’s “Happy Days,” now at the Kitchen Theatre. (Photo by Megan Pugh)

"The Exonerated"

Theatre review
"The Exonerated" at Ithaca College
The Ithaca Journal
October 16, 2008
671 words
"'IC Theatre's ‘The Exonerated' hampered by flawed script"

full text here

IC Theatre's ‘The Exonerated' hampered by flawed script
BY MARK TEDESCHI • CORRESPONDENT • OCTOBER 16, 2008

“The Exonerated,” a politically driven piece of documentary theatre by Jessica Blank and Erik Jensen, opened the 2008-2009 season at Ithaca College; it ended Oct. 12.

Seeking to increase public awareness of the sporadic imprecision of the American justice system (and, in particular, the death penalty), Blank and Jensen, a married couple each with impressive acting resumes, interviewed many exonerated ex-prisoners and incorporated what they found into a play. It's been performed all over the country, produced as a movie for CourtTV, and received a host of awards from dramatic, peace, and law organizations.

Ithaca College Theatre's version, directed with a diligent balance between restraint and urgency by Cynthia Henderson, harnesses the potential of the actors and the stage; unfortunately, inherent problems with the script create some dramaturgical discord.

“The Exonerated” is presented as a chronological recollection by six men and women of their alleged crime and each of the accused's subsequent convictions, incarcerations, and exonerations. The play is divided smoothly and smartly into four portions (Introduction, Interrogations, Internment, and Exonerated), each bookended by slide guitar (Brendan Clark) and poetry by one of the exonerated, Delbert Tibbs (Max Lawrence).

The other players: Sunny Jacobs (Mariah Ciangiola), jailed for 22 years for the shooting of two police officers; Robert Earl Hayes (Thaddeus McCants), a black man accused of raping and murdering a woman; Gary Gauger (Alex Krasser), pressured into a faux confession of parenticide; Kerry Max Cook (Tyler Gardella), falsely convicted by bad fingerprint evidence; and David Keaton (Jeremy Reese), a black man hastily fingered for the killing of a police officer. Jaylene Clark and Kacie McEgan play smaller parts.

The acting, notably from Krasser and Reese, believably communicates the turmoil of an ordinary person catapulted into misfortune. They all wear casual clothing (Kelly McCaffrey, costume designer), reinforcing their innocent-bystander nature.

The set (Keeley Dorwart, scenic designer) houses but a few chairs; the lighting, sound, and blocking give the material strength. Characters are hidden within the audience, and when they're introduced, a bright spot (Christine Goldman, lighting designer) shines down as they tell their story and approach the stage. At one point, armed guards lit with yellow stroll the rafters overhead as in a prison. And often, characters adjust their placement so they can directly address different portions of the audience, helping along the emotional involvement.

Strictly structurally, “The Exonerated” makes sense, and the transitions are smooth enough. I wasn't sure how to pinpoint my lingering discontent until I listened to an NYU interview with the two playwrights wherein Erik Jensen said it for me: “You can't really argue with the fact that an innocent person shouldn't be executed.”

Exactly. That attitude, an I-dare-you-to-disagree conceit embedded in the fibers that hold this play together, is a mark of laziness. So I answer the challenge: If the justice system is so treacherous and corrupt, why are we so positive that the exonerated were actually innocent? Some of the accused had prior or subsequent convictions—why were they not mentioned?

I don't mean to ruffle feathers—that should be the playwrights' job. Instead, they rely on the fallacious notion that if a story is based on truth, its drama is credible. And if we suspend that notion, looking at “The Exonerated” as fiction, the one-sided stories appear preachy, predictable, and clichéd. Regarding execution of the real culprit, “It isn't gonna bring my parents back,” says one character. “Prison really did something to me,” says another.

Maybe the exonerated six actually said these things in all honesty, but as I heard several audience members wonder afterward: How much of the dialogue was taken literally from interviews? And I add: Does it matter? Blank and Jensen don't seem to specify, ostensibly because they took liberties. If you want actual interviews that dig deeply into a single case, watch Errol Morris's documentary film about false conviction, “The Thin Blue Line.”

If “The Exonerated” moves people to action—fantastic. But I think it would have benefited from a more prodding, provocative exploration. Ithaca audiences can handle it.

"Steel Pier"

Theatre review
"Steel Pier" at Syracuse Stage
Ithaca Times
October 15, 2008
670 words
"'Spirited in acting and breathtaking in choreography, 'Steel Pier' hits all the right notes"

full text here

Spirited in acting and breathtaking in choreography, 'Steel Pier' hits all the right notes

Mark Tedeschi

Steel Pier, book by David Thompson, music by John Kander, lyrics by Fred Ebb. Conceived by Scott Ellis, Susan Stroman, and David Thompson. Directed and choreographed by David Wanstreet. Starring Brendon Stimson, Nadine Malouf, Kelsey Stalter, Brody Hessin, Elena Shapiro, Matthew Tolstoy, Lauren Nolan, Benjamin Michael, Katja Zarolinski, and Jared M. Poulin. With musical director Nathan Hurwitz, scenic designer Robert John Andrusko, costume designer Meggan Camp Kulczynski, lighting designer Alok Wadhwani, sound designer Jonathan R. Herter, and stage manager Dimitre Guenov.

The dance marathon - alongside bob cuts, flagpole sitting, and Prohibition - is surely one of the weirdest American phenomena to come out of the 1920s. Dance marathons started out as spirited (if grueling) celebrations of whimsy and competition, but possibly fueled by the yearning desperation of the Depression era, they devolved into spectacle-driven cash cows generally hosted by greedy exploiters. As such, an early-1930s dance marathon is an excellent setting for musical theatre.

Steel Pier, the new musical at Syracuse Stage put on by SU Drama, takes place in 1933 at the famed amusement pier in Atlantic City. The eleven-Tonys-nominated show, which ran for just a few months on Broadway in 1997, clocks in at around three hours - but with its impressive production design, spirited acting, and breathtaking choreography, even the slothlike movement of latter-hour marathoners feels rousing.

The show opens on go-getter stunt pilot Bill Kelly (Brendon Stimson) disoriented and clutching a ticket, declaring, "I understand - I've got three weeks!" He hears floor judge Mr. Walker (Justin Nichols) announcing the event and signs himself up. Along the way, he runs into (and is later paired as dance partners with) Rita Racine (Nadine Malouf), a popular performer who relates her all but intolerable weariness toward dance marathon participation. She's secretly married to the glossy Mick Hamilton (Benjamin Michael), the marathon's promoter and charming master of ceremonies - while under the skin, he's a sleazy, menacing control freak.

The rest of the cast is enormous yet delightfully varied. Some memorable couples: Shelby Stevens (Kelsey Stalter), a lovably lascivious Mae West-type with harmonicist Luke Adams (Dominique Stasiulis, a skilled harp player); Buddy Becker (Brody Hessin), a hyper vaudevillian with his optimistic sister Bette (Elena Shapiro); Happy and Precious McGuire (Matthew Tolstoy and Lauren Nolan), naive Utah newlyweds.

Over 21 days, the couples endure the strict rules of competition (which are printed in the program and posted near the stage); most importantly, they must dance for a full 45 minutes with only a 15-minute break every hour. To raise the stakes, officials can institute mandatory sprints to weed out the weak, and throughout the show, the number of couples gradually dwindles.

We soon learn that Bill has been in love with Rita since he first saw her perform at an airshow. He's determined to redeem a raffle ticket he won promising a dance - a "real" dance - with her.

With such a large cast navigating the stage in almost constant pandemoniac movements, director/choreographer David Wanstreet proves his dexterity. Foxtrots, waltzes, polkas, and swing dances punctuate and augment the solid performances, especially from the leads. Michael's aggression is scary and Stimson's earnestness genuine; but the show belongs to Malouf. She transplants to the audience Rita's complex yet sympathetic emotional struggle through committed delivery of song, dance, and dialogue.

Steel Pier's choreography and music cover a wide breadth of buoyant, of-the-era styles. "Everybody Dance" kicks off the Steel Pier marathon with jaunty exuberance. "A Powerful Thing," "Everybody's Girl," "Running in Place," and "First You Dream" are a few more catchy numbers, and Nolan's undeniable, high-soprano vocal talent is a pleasant surprise as she leads the song, "Two Little Words."

The Nathan Hurwitz-led band sits silhouetted behind a sheer starry backdrop, courtesy of scenic designer Robert John Andrusko. The design, based on actual elements of the Atlantic City pier, contains a number of clever set pieces, from a propeller-complete airplane with platformed wings for dancers to a simple rooftop spire with "windows" overlooking the marathon goings-on.

Meggan Camp Kulczynski's costumes and Alok Wadhwani's lighting mirror each other; deep reds, bright oranges and razzle-dazzle purples dominate the show, often giving the action a welcome ebullience.

Mick's man-behind-the-curtain command of the Steel Pier marathon's publicized drama reflects the real sensationalization showcased in 1930s dance marathon events. Schadenfreude is all well and good, but a behind-the-scenes story seems even more compelling than the actual event as it was outwardly misrepresented. And until someone makes a musical exposing the abhorrent underbelly of flagpole sitting, Steel Pier shall keep us entertained.

Ensemble in the SU Drama production of ‘Steel Pier.’ (Photo by Michael Davis)

"Hernani: A One-Act in Five Acts"

Theatre review
"Hernani: A One-Act in Five Acts" at Cornell University
Ithaca Times
October 8, 2008
646 words
"'Modern Upheaval"

full text here

Modern Upheaval

By: Mark Tedeschi

Hernani: A One-Act in Five Acts by Victor Hugo, translation by Linda Asher. Edited by Jonah Eisenstock and Katherine Karaus. Directed by Katherine Karaus. Starring Bridget Saracino, Sharisse Taylor, Timothy Fasano, and Marc Hem Lee. With stage manager Ariel Reid, music/sound director Tyler Herman, costume designer Vlada Kaganovskaya, and lighting designer Michael Garrett.

Full disclosure: As I arrived at the Schwartz center to see Hernani I didn't fully understand the "A One-Act in Five Acts" subtitle, nor was I familiar with Cornell's Black Box series. Until I stepped into the Black Box theatre - no, actually, until I opened the program - I was entirely ready to take in all five acts of Victor Hugo's epic romance. Imagine my sigh of relief when I read the portion of the director's statement that called Hernani a "ridiculously long, arduous text."

Sometimes art just doesn't age well, and director/co-editor Katherine Karaus knew that Hernani performed in front of an audience today wouldn't generate even a raindrop of the hurricane that was the reaction to the play's premiere in 1830 France. The passionate, melodramatic language in Romantic plays like Hernani enraged Classicists, but since Hugo anticipated backlash, he made sure that on opening night, his own supporters showed up in droves. The divided crowd booed, applauded, hissed, cheered. They fervently shouted at and dueled with each other.

Today, partially thanks to Hugo's radical stylistic upheavals - again, in Karaus's words - "What was revolutionary is now outmoded." With that truth in mind, Karaus and company have pared down the story to its essential, relatable elements. With slick performances and nifty pieces of anachronism, the cast and crew manage legitimate comedy and tragedy all in under an hour.

The story is accessible enough: Timothy Fasano plays Don Carlos, the snide, power-hungry King of Spain who shows up at the home of his romantic interest, Doña Sol, a lovely noblewoman played by Sharisse Taylor. She, in turn, is in love with Hernani, a keyed-up bandit who arrives shortly after Don Carlos. Hernani is played by Bridget Saracino - a curious casting choice, but easily credible.

Before long, Doña Sol's fiance and uncle, the aging Duke Don Ruy (played by Marc Hem Lee), arrives. We know he is a Duke because there's a shiny letter D is affixed to the front of his regal purple jacket. And, for the less observant (perhaps those who ignore obvious subtitles): the word DUKE plastered across his back becomes visible when he crosses the stage later on.

Funny nuances in costume design like that, from designer Vlada Kaganovskaya, decorate the actors: Doña Sol wears a purple wig and a punkish wedding dress with Converse All-Stars and a single pink-and-white striped fingerless glove; Hernani sports a slack brown vest and a green bandana; and the company (Lee Dallas, Juliana Kleist-Mendéz, Joseph Redondo, and Alex Ruiz) wear all black to match their eye makeup, contrasting the white makeup covering the rest of their face and hands. Decked out that way, they can play anything from one of the King's loyal cronies to a creaky front door.

The few objects that aren't played by humans come from props master Carlos Guerrero and include a piece of thick metal and a rainstick that together, operated by the cast, create a minimalist, ad hoc thunderstorm. Tyler Herman, sound designer, gives other crafty innovations, like using a sounded gong for a cannon, and also as music director, peppers the quick act changes with short choral interludes.

The plot unfolds: after another encounter between Don Carlos and Hernani, Hernani confronts Doña Sol at Don Ruy's home. When Don Carlos arrives, Don Ruy hides Hernani, and in return, Hernani pledges his life to Don Ruy.

The typical fleeting ups and trenched downs of a tragedy follow, but with a genuine heart. Hugo's text is chopped up into pieces and even perhaps made fun of, but the spirit that, way back when, brought Hernani such attention is still there.

Unfortunately, Hernani played for just one weekend at Cornell, but the strength in Karaus's honorable ability to wink at the audience while still proving a canny control of the subject matter is certainly enough to recommend attendance at future Black Box Series productions.


Sharisse Taylor and Timothy Fasano in ‘Hernani,’ which played at Cornell’s Black Box Theatre in the Schwartz Center from Oct. 3-5.

"Ma Rainey's Black Bottom"

Theatre review
"Ma Rainey's Black Bottom" at Syracuse Stage
Ithaca Times
September 24, 2008
736 words
"'Ma Rainey's Black Bottom' opens up the Syracuse Stage 2008 season with a big, musical bang"

full text here

'Ma Rainey's Black Bottom' opens up the Syracuse Stage 2008 season with a big, musical bang

Mark Tedeschi

"Ma Rainey's Black Bottom" by August Wilson. Directed by Timothy Bond. Starring Thomas Jefferson Byrd, Doug Eskew, Ebony Jo-Ann, Warner Miller, Cortez Nance. With composer Michael G. Keck, choreographer Anthony Salatino, scenic designer William Bloodgood, costume designer Helen Q. Huang, lighting designer Darren W. McCroom, sound designer Jonathan Herter.

Since 1990, Syracuse Stage has produced four plays from August Wilson's acclaimed "Pittsburgh Cycle." Their current season opener, "Ma Rainey's Black Bottom" marks number five. Syracuse Stage's current producing artistic director, Timothy Bond, has committed to directing the rest of Wilson's ten-play cycle, and judging by Bond's work directing "Ma Rainey," Wilson's stories are in able hands.

Bond has directed "Ma Rainey" before, at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival; in this Syracuse production, he harnesses nuance to highlight the potent resonance that has earned "Ma Rainey" its respected reputation (including several Tony nominations for its 1984 debut).

Equal parts comedy, tragedy, and musical, "Ma Rainey" takes place over one day in a 1920s Chicago recording studio (it's the only of Wilson's cycle not set in Pittsburgh). Ma Rainey is based on a real woman of the same name, a singer known as "The Mother of the Blues" who, in the play, never hesitates to demand the recording session take place according to her terms.

While they wait for Ma Rainey to arrive, the rest of the band spends time in the rehearsal room chewing over music, humor, philosophy, storytelling, and the sociopolitical state of black people in America.

Toledo, the well-read pianist (Thomas Jefferson Byrd, Tony nominee for the same part in Broadway's 2003 "Ma Rainey" production) always delivers his speeches with deliberate and insistent articulation. He and the senior guitarist Cutler (Cortez Nance) often clash with the ebullient and ambitious young trumpeter, Levee (Warner Miller, definitely on his way up), who delights in his new shoes while always looking to jazz up their music, which is rooted more in traditional blues. Slow Drag (Doug Eskew), the bassist, also chimes with his opinions and, occasionally, his powerful singing voice.

That leaves Sturdyvant (John Ottavino), the studio big shot; Irvin (Kenny Morris), the only one capable of handling Ma; Ma's entourage, the stuttering Sylvester (James F. Miller) and trouble-magnet Dussie Mae (Danielle Lenee'); and Ma Rainey herself, played with riveting confidence by Ebony Jo Anne, no stranger to the role.

As soon as Ma, decked out in a regal red and gold dress, finally arrives, she demands to play songs of her choice in the style she prefers. Ma even demands that Sylvester speak the opening lines of the title track to help cure his stutter and, despite Irvin's earnest pleas, postpones recording until someone somehow presents her with a Coca-Cola. She knows her talent will earn money for the record company, so there's no point in following instructions from anyone but herself. The real Ma Rainey demonstrated a similar stubbornness in her refusal to change from her Southern-folk style of singing to the more popular "sophisticated" sound of the 20s and 30s.

The music for "Ma Rainey" put together by Michael G. Keck easily induces toe-tapping and showcases the cast's musical capability - particularly Ebony Jo Anne's phenomenal singing voice - to capture the style of early blues music. Credit also goes to sound designer Jonathan Herter for crisp timing and the often comedic effect of the in-and-out click coming from Irvin and Sturdyvant in the recording booth.

One of the most striking components of William Bloodgood's brilliant set design is the hierarchy of the stage: on the bottom, there's the dusty, purgatorial rehearsal room; in the middle, the soundstage, where Ma and her band play; and way up above, there's the recording booth where the two white characters spend most of their time. Fluid lighting shifts (Darren W. McCroom, designer) accompany changes in focus during certain scenes.

Mirroring the rich, layered browns in the set's background and furniture is Helen Q. Huang's costume design; besides Ma's lush regalia, the musicians' suits all seem, from ties to shoes, apropos and illuminating to each character.

Wilson's dialogue, as lyrical as the music the characters cherish, holds immense power. Each voice has its own current, temperament, vocabulary, and most notably, style. Their interactions sound realistic but fascinating, natural but beautifully crafted.

All together, Bond's take on "Ma Rainey" foregrounds the many talking points that have earned Wilson's play a classic status while simultaneously retaining the subtlety of skilled storytelling. The band members poke fun at each other, making us laugh, until they're inevitably back to looking social malaise square in the face. In his youth, Levee hasn't picked up what Ma and the others know: to take what you can get when opportunity allows, but if there's nothing else, there's music.

Warner Miller as Levee, and Doug Eskew as Slow Drag in the Syracuse Stage production of ‘Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom.’ (Photo by T Charles Erickson)

"Johnny Guitar"

Theatre review
"Johnny Guitar" at Cortland Repertory Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
August 29, 2008
711 words
"Cortland Repertory Theatre stages a campy 'Johnny Guitar'"

full text here

Cortland Repertory Theatre stages a campy ‘Johnny Guitar'
By Mark Tedeschi • Special to Cortland Ticket • August 29, 2008

Cortland Repertory Theatre's final production of the summer, “Johnny Guitar,” is unlike anything they've produced this season — and probably unlike anything you've ever seen. Part western shoot-em-up, part romance melodrama, and part musical farce, “Johnny” plays camp about as far as it'll go.

“Johnny Guitar” is based on a 1954 Nicholas Ray film, itself based on a Roy Chanslor novel. The film starred Joan Crawford and was looked at by some critics as a quasi-western with a plot evocative of McCarthyism. The musical version (book by Nicholas van Hoogstaten, music by Martin Silvestri and Joel Higgins, lyrics by Higgins), now showing at CRT, lacks that subtext and instead embraces the silly side of things.

Bert Bernardi, behind last summer's “Great American Trailer Park Musical,” directs a fully committed cast. Chrysten Peddie plays Crawford's part, Vienna, the keeper of a southwestern edge-of-the-town saloon frequented by the undesirables. She, along with her nemesis, cattle rancher Emma Smalls (Megan Rozak), infuse their characters with an exhausting amount of emotional energy. Emma (like Helena to Hermia) is jealous of Vienna because Emma's unrequited love interest, The Dancin' Kid (Jeffrey Victor), openly courts Vienna. Other actors of note include Geoff Lutz playing the wimpy Turkey and Chris Nickerson, Danny Baylock, Matt Vavalle, and Sean Riley in various bit parts.

The title character (Scott Moreau, singing over the offstage Pete Hawley's guitar), a forgotten romance from Vienna's past, isn't the main character (Vienna is), but he does show up and offer his protection — an offer she can't turn down, since The Dancin' Kid and his gang rob the local bank and Emma tries to point the guilt toward Vienna. Johnny and Vienna hide out at the Dancin' Kid's lair and the gangs square off.

“Johnny” is initially surprising in its unique delivery. Peddie, presumably doing her best Crawford-as-Vienna, speaks nearly every line with her fists on her hips and her chin cocked up toward the audience, while Rozak's Emma seems perpetually on the verge of angry tears. You quickly welcome the overgesticulation and hyperenunciation as a comedic style, but taking it to the extreme occasionally feels tired. The play itself is perhaps the shortest of CRT's season, so the approach of excess doesn't overstay.

Jo Winiarski's set also contributes to the camp; the first thing that happens in the play is a large tumbleweed's jerky traversal across the stage via a clearly visible string. Whenever Johnny's name is spoken, it's a big event: “Johnny... Guitar.” and a sign overhead bearing his name lights up. The set also features a bar that doubles as a bank counter and a house's interior facade that, when flipped, serves as an easy exterior.

The costumes in “Johnny Guitar” (designed by Jimmy Johansmeyer) are superb. Emma's crew's black suits, Vienna's white dress, even the Dancin' Kid's bank burglary getup — they're all perfectly befitting for their characters.

“Johnny” is technically sound elsewhere, too: Shawn Boyle's blue-sky lighting complements the rocky orange background, and Joel Pape's sound design is well timed, often for good laugh (for example, horses' hooves clopping a split second before a group walks onstage).

There are plenty of memorable musical moments in “Johnny,” but my favorite would have to be toward the beginning when a few townspeople confront Johnny; he convinces everyone that they “all know the song!” and in unison, they launch into “A Smoke and a Good Cup O'Coffee.” Some other good ones: “Branded a Tramp” and “Old Santa Fe,” sung by Vienna and her cronies; “Welcome Home,” a nice, slower number featuring just Vienna; and “Bad Blood,” a fun, climactic song preceding the final confrontation of Emma and Vienna.

A few moments in “Johnny” seemed out of place. There was a completely inexplicable physical chemistry between Vienna and Emma twice referenced, and a number of phallus jokes that the production could have easily done without. And Bernardi's choreography, while tight in the gunfight scenes, at least once resorts to uninspired goofiness in Johnny's song “Tell Me a Lie.”

Still, the epic rivalry between the two female principals fuels the peculiar telling of a simple, lightweight story. And you've got to love a musical that make fun of itself: “That was good, boys — take five,” says Johnny after one song. Jokes like that one get me every time.

"The Two of You"

Theatre review
"The Two of You" at the Kitchen Theatre
Ithaca Times
August 27, 2008
728 words
"Double Time"

full text here

Double Time
By: Mark Tedeschi
08/27/2008

"The Two of You" by Brian Dykstra, directed by Margaret Perry. Starring Matthew Boston, Heather Frase, Nance Williamson. With scenic designer Brian Prather, lighting designer E.D. Intemann, costume designer Hannah Kochman, sound designer Don Tindall, and stage manager Preeti Nath.

The Kitchen Theatre's new season has begun, and they're not wasting any time. Their premiere show, "The Two of You" - written by Kitchen staple Brian Dykstra - is, start to finish, a challenge. The devices Dykstra has applied juggle with convention and confront the audience, literally, with their implications.

The fundamental plot element in "The Two of You" concerns the emotional concomitants of a married couple's visit by a young woman claiming to be the husband's daughter.

Brian Prather's scenic design sets the space: a modern, expensive-looking apartment with a granite bar, shelves of reference books, and a background Hockney-esque photo collage of a Boston skyline. After the first scene wherein Hank (Matthew Boston), a respected academic, and his wife Parker (Nance Williamson), a politician, discuss their evening plans, Parker exits to get ready and Hank places a telephone call. Midway through the call he stops talking, looks straight into the audience, and waves. "Hello, hi, hello. As you can see, this is one of those plays," he says, swinging a wrecking ball at wall number four.

He launches into an explanation of the preceding scene, which he says wasn't in the original draft - it was rather a workshop suggestion. His elucidation - the first of many - sounds beautifully as if it's been made up on the spot, and evokes Dykstra's own penchant for verbose yet fluid jungle-gym passages of language.

The action resumes. 21-year-old January Aloha Ireland (Heather Frase) shows up unannounced and eventually reveals what Hank had probably assumed: that she was the hitherto undisclosed product of a previous, ancient-history relationship. He turns to the audience again to explain why he should have asked January to postpone the meeting before his wife returned, and January, to his disbelief, chimes in. He blurts, "You can't do that!" and she counters, "Why not? You established a convention."

When Parker does discover what's happening, she immediately becomes combative, and to us, defensive of her behavior. Who is this girl, and what business does she have intruding into their lives, daughter or no?

The characters continue walking the tightrope of direct audience address, often accompanied by lighting changes (E.D. Intemann, designer) until their arguments about the "rules" become a welcome method for plot advancement. As Dykstra has pointed out in an interview with the Kitchen staff, the characters are aware they're in a play, but "they have no issue with 'reality'" as those in, for example, Luigi Pirandello's "Six Characters in Search of an Author." "The Two of You" is instead about the inherent psychology of relationships: young and old, male and female, husband and wife, father and daughter.

Dykstra's dissection of a strange, new emotional bond stirred enough vigorous debate in the Lark Play Development Center workshop that he felt the characters needed to foreground their reasoning, and under Margarett Perry's brave direction, the characters' instincts feel credible.

On the tip of their toes and at the top of their game, the three actors give outstanding attention to the unorthodox style. Boston sidesteps and "lobbies" for sympathy from the audience ("a group of oddly accessible strangers"), and Williamson bounces between intimidation and adaptation. Frase clasps her hands and gives believably awkward responses to the on-eggshells conflict.

Art that candidly addresses itself solicits intense scrutiny; naturally, the unfamiliar format of "The Two of You" is not without a few concerns. Something especially unconventional happens in the second act, to which Hank reacts with the claim, "There's no model for this!" It's obvious that Dykstra's intention wasn't to brag that he's the first to try something new, but that possibility is inexorably attached to such a line. The frequent mentions of workshop suggestions could indicate a frustration mitigated by an easy fix (explaining his purpose directly), and January's insistence on having no agenda could be construed as an excuse for overlooking dramatic potential.

But Dykstra's aggressive, confronting (and often comedic) use of these devices beside thespian terms like "stasis," "mitigating," and "dramaturgically" is at once their saving grace; in any other case, they'd sound like the words of a playwright a bit too proud of his theatrical know-how. Instead, Dykstra refuses timidity; he takes his idea and plows over protocol. Studying the mercurial nature of human emotion, in this play, takes precedence over standardization. See "The Two of You" with a friend and you'll be talking about it for a long time.


©Ithaca Times 2008

"Little Shop of Horrors"

Theatre review
"Little Shop of Horrors" at the Merry-Go-Round Theatre
Ithaca Times
August 27, 2008
752 words
"Growing Pains"

full text here

Growing Pains
By: Mark Tedeschi
08/27/2008

"Little Shop of Horrors," book and lyrics by Howard Ashman, music by Alan Menken. Directed by Steve Bebout. Starring Josh Lamon, Amy Goldberger, Michael James Leslie, and Chuck Rea. With choreographer Lori Leshner, musical director Mark Goodman, scenic designer Czerton Lim, lighting designer Robert Frame, and costume designer Travis Lope.

When I was somewhere between five and 12 years old, there were a small handful of VHS tapes that my older sister and I would watch together on a regular basis - "Who Framed Roger Rabbit," "Spaceballs," "The Neverending Story" - fun stuff worth popping in again and again. Among the chosen few was a musical gem from 1986 called "Little Shop of Horrors."

To this day, "Little Shop" plasters a grin on my face from the first piano lick onward. The film I know and love was based on an Off-Broadway musical that was itself based on 1960 horror spoof movie directed by Roger Corman. The 1986 movie has a decidedly different ending than either of the other versions, but as the Merry-Go-Round Theatre's season-closing production proves, the sentiment remains: it's a lighthearted, hilarious, and oddly touching story of a man, a woman, and a bloodthirsty talking plant.

The man is Seymour, a failing plant store's employee played by Josh Lamon; the woman is Audrey, a timid and sometimes black-eyed employee of the same place, played by Amy Goldberger; and the plant is Audrey II, a foulmouthed oddity voiced by Michael James Leslie and puppeteered by Marc Petrosino.

Three "Urchins" (Chiffon, Ronnette, and Crystal, played by Jade Hicks, Kellee Knighten, and Gabrielle Porter respectively) introduce the audience to the "Skid Row" setting via a catchy song of the same name and several large, rapid-fire set changes orchestrated by Czerton Lim. Mr. Mushnick (Ray Arrucci) runs Mushnick's Skid Row Florists, where Seymour torturously watches his love interest abused by a dangerous clown of a dentist, Orin (Chuck Rea).

Seymour acquires a "strange and unusual plant" that he names Audrey II, but in "Grow for Me," he discovers Audrey II can speak - and most of its speech consists of demands for blood. The plant coerces Seymour into finding fresh flesh, and we see it grow to four different sizes (the last one monstrous), each controlled to increasingly physical degrees by Petrosino. Mushnick's shop flourishes with new plant's celebrity.

The cast plays their parts as if they have for years, probably because MGR's production features an unusual amount of repeat participants, including director Steve Bebout; in particular, Leslie and Petrosino have teamed up to give life to Audrey II for over 600 performances. Nearly all of the other lead actors have played in "Little Shop" before, save Goldberger who still nails Audrey's unassertive, throaty New-York-accent-ladled voice.

Unfortunately, opening night brought a few flaws in production, but only in Act II: some microphone crackles interrupted a few portions of dialogue and the beautiful number, "Suddenly Seymour," though the actors continued unimpeded, and later, the characters were barely audible over the pit orchestra. One of the larger sliding set pieces got stuck between scenes, too, but on all counts, smooth performance elsewhere in the play points to those incidents as flukes that will be fixed in subsequent shows.

Other elements worked nicely: Robert Frame's lighting reflects emotion with color, most visibly (red, of course) when Audrey II is out for blood; Lori Leshner's choreography draws some great laughs in the goofy "Mushnick and Son"; and judging by the unkempt Skid Row bums and Orin's perfectly ridiculous leather jacket, Travis Lope's costumes confirm a conscious craftsmanship.

The lighting design includes an innovative motif of a movie screen projecting snippets of the Corman film during the few breaks in action. The surrounding lighting prevents detailed discernment of the screen images, although they're not crucial to the show.

Two of the best songs (how to choose!) are Audrey's talent-show staple lamentation, "Somewhere That's Green," and Orin's autobiographical "Dentist!" about his mother's prediction regarding his sadistic tendencies. Each tune characterizes its singer while keeping with the overall demands of mirth. "Feed Me (Git it)" is also a great song, but Leslie's strong voice often sounds muffled, as if he's singing from within the plant. And anything the Urchins belt ("Da-Doo," for one) reveals full commitment to their parts - the bedrock for "Little Shop" success.

Perhaps the most appealing element to the show, at least to me, is its self-conscious sensationalization of the ludicrous. "I couldn't help but notice that strange and interesting plant in the window!" says an enthusiastic patron immediately after Seymour places Audrey II in the window - and then he buys $100 worth of roses simply because the shop can't break his big bill. Lines like that, as well as a wealth of devoted, widespread repeat performers, are what has earned "Little Shop" such unlikely (and, I say, deserved) attention.


©Ithaca Times 2008

"Hedwig and the Angry Inch"

Theatre review
"Hedwig and the Angry Inch" at the Hangar Theatre
Ithaca Times
August 20, 2008
739 words
"All That Glitters"

full text here

All That Glitters
By: Mark Tedeschi
08/20/2008

Hedwig and the Angry Inch," by John Cameron Mitchell with music and lyrics by Stephen Trask. Directed by Michael Donald Edwards and starring Aaron Berk and S.J. Pickett. Set design by David L. Meyer, costumes by Gretchen Darrow-Crotty, lighting by Jason Read, sound by Jonathan Herter. With stage manager Kelly A. Borgia and technical director Colin Stewart.

Nearly everything about John Cameron Mitchell's "Hedwig and the Angry Inch," from its furiously black humor to its bizarro title, is unconventional. It's a concept musical: a stage show presented as a rock concert-cum-performance art piece starring a charismatic character of ambiguous gender. Hedwig, the title 'raconteuse' recalls her life for the audience via engaging storytelling, ribald stand-up comedy, and rocking out, backed by her enthusiastic band of Yugoslavian refugees.

"Hedwig" is well-suited to be produced anywhere, since the show is staged as a gig in a traveling tour. In the Hangar Theatre's current production, Hedwig authenticates the Ithaca placement by mentioning landmarks like Stewart Park and Moosewood. But lending an even more bona fide if intangible sensation of uniformity are the principals' familiarity with the material and each other; the director (Michael Donald Edwards) and two leads (Aaron Berk, donning the Hedwig wig for his fifth time, and S.J. Pickett - also the musical director - playing another questionably sexed, powerhouse-voiced band member named Yitzhak) put on "Hedwig" at the Syracuse Stage four years ago.

Before the show even begins, we're treated to some wonderful sights and sounds, the latter gifted by Lou Reed and Iggy Pop. Scenic designer David L. Meyer has married a disarrayed East Germany, where Hedwig was raised, with glam-rock razzle-dazzle: a backdrop of wooden planks and graffiti over a catwalked, stars-and-stripes stage floor complete with the transgender astronomical symbol. Audience members seated at bar tables up front allow Berk to better interact with and respond to the crowd. The set has a few neat surprises, too: for one, Matthew Farrow-coordinated projections of sketches and (unfortunately, sometimes illegible) words correspond with the music.

The four "Angry Inch" band members (Dillon Kondor, Josh Oxford, Steve Reichlen, Ben Reynolds) enter, clad in bang-up black leather, courtesy of costume designer Gretchen Darrow-Crotty. Yitzhak - timid, bearded, and baggy-clothed - introduces Hedwig, who braves the stage with thick-glitter makeup, big hair, a corset, and gray stiletto boots, which, mercifully for Berk, are changed by the doting Yitzhak midway through the sub-two-hour show.

Hedwig tells her tale: Born to a single mother, Hedwig (né Hansel) is a poor boy who escapes oppression through passion for listening to rock music. Eventually, he's noticed by "Sugar Daddy" American GI Luther Robinson; they fall in love and Robinson offers to bring Hansel back to the United States. Before they're allowed to marry, Hansel needs sexual reassignment surgery, but the doctors botch the operation, leaving Hansel, now Hedwig, with a functionless "one-inch mound of flesh."

They fly to Kansas, and after a year, Robinson leaves Hedwig for another man. So Hedwig moves into a trailer, forms a band, and begins a complicated romantic relationship with a teenage boy, Tommy. After they write a few songs together, their popularity as a group escalates. Following a highly publicized auto accident, Tommy leaves her and catapults into rock superstardom. Hedwig resents her lack of deserved credit and follows Tommy's countrywide tour with her own... including this particular stop in Ithaca.

That's pretty much everything, but the story, while beautiful and original, isn't as important as the experience. The band, made up of carefully selected IC music students or graduates, express agile musicianship and prowess; the songs range from raging metal-ish numbers to soft, heartbreaking ballads. Jason Read's spirited lighting design simulates a rock concert with strobes, sharp color changes, and ever sweeping spots. Jonathan Herter's sound design is largely articulate, but in louder numbers, the band, while terrific, drowns Stephen Trask's enchanting lyrics.

The music, like the dialogue, encompasses multifaceted emotion. "The Origin of Love" is epic, "Angry Inch" seething, "Wig in a Box" toe-tapping, and "Sugar Daddy" jocular. Speckled between the songs are rim-shot groaners, generally adults-only jokes I can't repeat here. Hedwig plainly explains her stylistic blend of comedy with tragedy: "I laugh, because if I don't, I'll cry."

Finally, there's the matter of the make-or-break lead performer. Berk, under Edwards's confident, cohesive direction, is spot-on; he walks, talks, and sings like a female rock star better than most contemporary female rock stars. He allows you to experience Hedwig's life as she relates it, through the brilliant ups and tearjerking downs of a gifted musician with the world's worst luck.

If you didn't know, Mitchell created "Hedwig" as a Broadway show, and then adapted, directed, and starred in a film version. It's excellent, but I recommend you attend the live version first. And now you have a chance.


©Ithaca Times 2008

"A Few Good Men"

Theatre review
"A Few Good Men" at Cortland Repertory Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
August 14, 2008
668 words
"Cortland Rep's 'A Few Good Men' features stellar performances"

full text here

Cortland Rep's ‘A Few Good Men' features stellar performances

By Mark Tedeschi • Special to the Journal • August 14, 2008

If you aren't familiar with the courtroom drama “A Few Good Men,” you must at least have heard “You can't handle the truth!”, a catch phrase popularized by Jack Nicholson in the Rob Reiner-directed film version. Nicholson has his own catalogue of memetic utterances, but that's probably because he's choosy about the material he gets paid to verbalize.
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It's not especially hard to come up with a repeatable one-liner (see “You're fired!”) -- but it is rather difficult to consistently pen scripts that actors will chomp ravenously at the bit to earn the privilege to play. Aaron Sorkin does that. When Sorkin wrote “A Few Good Men,” producer David Brown bought the film rights before the play even premiered. Brown signed on a hefty handful of early ‘90s superstars -- but enough of that. The play version is still alive and well at the Edward Jones Playhouse.

Cortland Repertory Theatre's penultimate production of the summer hits all the right notes for a Sorkin brainchild. Bill Kincaid, responsible for last summer's CRT standouts “How the Other Half Loves” and “Almost, Maine,” expertly directs a committed cast in a story that Sorkin based on a true occurrence.

The events transpire in 1986, in several locations in Washington, D.C. and in the U.S. Naval Base in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. There are few, if any, set changes between scenes; Jo Winiarski (“The Great American Trailer Park Musical”) selects the most essential elements (a background barbed wire fence, a few chairs and a table) and cooperates with a sophisticated yellow, white, and blue lighting design (Shawn Boyle, in his CRT debut) to seamlessly yet stylishly shift locations in space and time. And CRT vet Jennifer Paar's costumes, mostly versions of military dress uniforms and fatigues, coupled with everyone's close-cropped haircuts, add to a sense of authenticity in the performances.

Brent Bradley plays Lt. j.g. Daniel Kaffee, a sarcastic son-of-a-famous-lawyer lawyer who, at the entreaty of the brave Lt. Cmdr. Joanne Galloway (Victoria Haynes, undaunted as the show's sole female performer), takes on the defense of two Marines: Pfc. Louden Downey, an earnest simpleton (Parker Pogue), and Lance Cpl. Harold Dawson, a sharp, duty-minded soldier (Jesse Gabbard). They're accused of inadvertently murdering a peer, Pfc. William Santiago (Michael Angelo Morlani), during a “Code Red,” a form of extrajudicial punishment or “disciplinary engagement” routinely performed on someone who falls out of line.

Galloway believes that the order was given by Capt. Matthew Markinson (Michael Kreutz) and Lt. James Kendrick (Brent Bradley), send down the chain by Lt. Col. Nathan Jessep (Kyle Kennedy, in the role Nicholson held in the film). Kaffee enlists the help of Lt. j.g. Sam Weinberg (Kevin Sebastian) to research and prepare. Lt. Jack Ross (Aaron Seeburger) prosecutes while Capt. Alexander Rudolf (Michael F. Hayes) presides. The action bubbles as the trial begins and boils during Jessep's legendary climactic testimony.

The stellar acting and direction in CRT's “A Few Good Men” enables success for Sorkin's handiwork. There are a few inevitable stutters, but they're forgivable considering the breakneck pace at which the actors work. Kennedy's Jessep seems honorable enough at first, but bits of malice and wrath eke their way through until eventually Bradley's Kaffee craftily provokes him into explosion.

Within the first minute of the play, the rat-a-tat dialogue screams of Sorkin's hand. Anyone who's seen (and can stomach; it's not for everyone) “The West Wing” or “Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip” knows that he thrives on making light of nearly everything with jokes and joke callbacks, offhand pop culture references, multi-person conversation overlaps, and often-epic monologues (too epic to quote here, and they should be heard, not read). Usually everyone participates in the almost-too-clever back-and-forths, making some characterizations unrealistic -- but it's purely a stylistic liberty.

Sure, he has a religio-political agenda. Sure, his protagonist's most prominently recurring motif is a fondness for Yoo-Hoo. Sorkin makes it worth glazing over any perceivable flaws to enjoy the aesthetic payoff in listening to the words of a thoroughly talented and downright gifted writer.

"The Playboy of the Western World"

Theatre review
"The Playboy of the Western World" at the Hangar Theatre
Ithaca Times
August 8, 2008
689 words
"Murder, He Wrote"

full text here

Murder, He Wrote
By: Mark Tedeschi
08/06/2008

"The Playboy of the Western World" by John Millington Synge. Directed by Robert Moss. Starring Don Amendolia, Freddy Arsenault, Ian Boley, Christian Conn, Emily Robin Fink, Gretchen Hall, Rachel Johanson, Zachary Kamin, Christine Marquet, John Michalski, Claire Morrison, Ted Nappi, Evin Rose, Brendan Sokler, Mitch Tiffany. Set by David Meyer, costumes by Gretchen Darrow-Crotty, lighting by Matt Richards, sound by Eric Watkins, fight direction by Norm Johnson.

John Millington Synge's "The Playboy of the Western World," a dark comedy filled with love and loquacity, suspect storytelling, and aphrodisiacal parricide, is playing now at the Hangar Theatre. The dialogue is thick and the accents heavy, so if you go, be sure to bring your utmost attention along.

Robert Moss - Artistic Director of the Hangar from 1981-1996 - has returned to direct a credentialed cast of deft actors, particularly the five principals, in the most revered - and infamous - play in Synge's catalogue. Moss's and his cast's task seems fatiguing; Synge's dialogue can take a toll on an ear unfamiliar with Irish colloquialisms and speech patterns (there is a helpful three-word glossary in the program notes, but it's about as many pages too short). Inevitably, the dialogue will sometimes slip by the most acute of hearers, but befuddlement is a mark of authenticity: It sounds correct (and even beautiful, thanks to Moss and master vocal coach Thom Jones), if sporadically thwarting.

Because of the potential confusion, it's a good thing the compelling story is kept straightforward: Set in a pub on the rural coast of County Mayo, Ireland in 1907, "Playboy" takes place around the time it was premiered in Dublin. Low-volume wave crashes in Watkins's sound design subtly remind of the local ambience. A disordered man, Christy Mahon (Conn, portraying brilliantly Christy's crescendo of confidence), appears at the pub, owned by Michael James (Amendolia, and Seinfeld fans, just try and hide your excitement at seeing Kramer's neighbor Dennis from "The Rye").

Christy stumbles in wearing dirtied work clothing (Darrow-Crotty mostly sticks to a pleasing motif of small-town rusticity). There, he meets the barmaid, Michael's daughter, nicknamed Peegen Mike (Hall, smartly alternating staunch and fickle), a keen lady betrothed to Shawn Keogh (Arsenault, tragic in his justified cowardice).

Christy reveals that he has recently killed his abusive father, and here's where I'll offer a dialogue sample, spoken by Christy about his victim: "He a man'd be raging all times, the while he was waking... shying clods against the visage of the stars till he'd put the fear of death into the banbhs and the screeching sows." See?

The tale of murder-by-loy (that's a shovel) captivates the town, especially the women. Christy has the advantage of being a generally interesting chap, as if he'd been long thirsty for a chance to try out his charm. The Widow Quin (Fink) takes a liking enough to compete against Peegen's, and gains ammunition when she learns more about the titular Playboy.

Other acting standouts include Michalski, who belts the cast's best brogue through a voice of virtuosic inflection and character, and Amendolia, who besides having a bit part in a sitcom 12 years ago (in all seriousness, he has several other TV and film credits), can superbly play drunk, a feat often cited by actors as one of the hardest states to perform convincingly.

Michael James's pub is almost a character itself; scenic designer Meyer gave it a cozy fireplace and a small, inviting bar enclosed inside, worn rock walls to exude a dynamic homeyness buttressed by the oft-used walkway outside, visible on either side of the stage. Under Richards's lighting design, the pub takes on a completely different look in darkness and daytime, as real buildings do.

During its initial run, "Playboy" was met with protests - even riots - from Irish citizens offended by the play's moral callousness. In "Playboy," the townspeople's barely restrained jubilation - and more, the women's obvious sexual interest - about housing an in-cold-blood murderer is one of the most interesting elements in the play.

The dialogue, though also a strong, important part of the structure and atmosphere, is in parts a weakness: a few portions of early-third-act conversation stretch much longer than is needed. And I take issue with its billing as a comedy; the dialogue is clever, but the jokes were thin.

It's strange that an audience a century ago might have opinions opposite to mine regarding the play's content. Some of the words in "The Playboy of the Western World" may now sound outdated and unfamiliar, but its curious and engaging story was well ahead of its time.


©Ithaca Times 2008

"The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas"

Theatre review
"The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas" at Cortland Repertory Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
July 25, 2008
718 words
"CRT offers a rollicking 'Best Little Whorehouse in Texas'"

full text here

CRT offers a rollicking ‘Best Little Whorehouse in Texas'

By Mark Tedeschi • Special to The Journal • July 25, 2008

If you're at all apprehensive about seeing “The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas” for the first time, I understand. I had the same sort of concern going into “The Great American Trailer Park Musical” for Cortland Repertory last year — that it could be inappropriate, exploitative, underhanded. (It skirted the line on all three counts, but balanced the precarious with the delightful.)
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Two pieces of advice for those who are on the fence about “Best Little...” this summer: see it anyway, and don't worry. It's fun, it's fair, it's rollicking — and it's even poignant.

Kerby Thompson, CRT's producing artistic director, directs “Best Little...”, a musical comedy involving unabashed adult themes and language, with comprehension and insight. He also acts as the Narrator, stepping into character right after his familiar opening remarks. After the “20 Fans” opening, we're acquainted with the, ahem, gentlewomen of the Chicken Ranch, a legal-but-tolerated, ahem, whorehouse in Texas. It's “A Lil' Ole Bitty Pissant Country Place,” the ladies sing, led by their madam, Mona (J. J. Hobbs).

Hobbs plays a convincing leader as Mona, a tough job considering the talent over which she presides: Meredith Van Scoy and Aisling Halpin as newcomers Angel and Shy; Caitlin Sams as Linda Lou; Stephanie Long as Ruby Rae; Brittany Lewis as Beatrice; Kelly Jakiel as Dawn; Laura Keller as Durla; Marissa Dompe as Ginger; and Mitzi Greshawn Smith as Jewel, the ranch maid. Their voices cohere (Ethan Deppe, musical director) and their dance moves dazzle (Daniel B. Hess, choreographer /assistant director).

The Chicken Ranch, so-called because the women eventually began accepting payment in poultry, is based on a real-life Texas brothel that closed in 1973 as a direct result of the investigative journalism by reporter Marvin Zindler. In “Best Little...”, Zindler provides the basis for Melvin B. Thorpe (Michael Kreutz), an energetic if overzealous bewigged TV personality hell-bent on generating strife.

Thorpe presides as the “Mona” over his own group, The Dogettes. We meet them during “The Watchdog Theme,” an a cappella number sung in the dark with nifty flashlight play (Todd Profitt, lighting design). Once the stage illuminates, their baby-blue plaid-jacket uniforms are revealed as just one part of Jennifer Parr's all-around wonderful costume design.

Thorpe's antics antagonize the town sheriff, Ed Earl Dodd, played with attention-grabbing enthusiasm by Scott Wakefield, also a standout in last year's “Trailer Park Musical.” The two have it out behind a giant TV screen set piece (courtesy of scenic designer Jim Bumgardner) and Dodd lets out a passionate stream of colorful language.

Facing immediate public backlash, Dodd endures the pressure of the Texas Governor, a small role stylishly played by Claus Evans (a terrific Tevye in CRT's “Fiddler on the Roof” last summer). Dodd visits the Ranch, where a manner of relationship between him and Mona is revealed.

Throughout the show, Dodd and Mona serve up their share of often easy-but-amusing one-liners penned by Larry L. King and Peter Masterson. Early on, Mona insists to an up-and-comer: “Men ain't all bad — they just 92 percent bad.” (Possibly true.) Dodd, later, muses to a friend: “Women will drive you crazy if you let ‘em.” (That's also true.)

Some of the memorable songs (written and composed by Carol Hall) in “Best Little...” include “The Sidestep,” a riff on political strategy; “24 Hours of Lovin',” a wah-pedal showcase of Mitzi Greshawn Smith's powerhouse vocals; and “The Aggie Song,” a tour de force of boots-on-hands choreography as well as the source of the “fair” comment I made earlier (but will not elaborate on). The Aggies, all doubling as Thorpe cronies, deserve mention: Tim Fuchs, Kyle Hines, Jefferson McDonald, Myles McHale, Michael Morlani, Parker Pogue, Mark Reeve, and Leigh Wakeford.

Occasionally, the momentum hesitates during numbers like “The Bus From Amarillo” and “Doatsey Mae” (sung by Katherine Proctor), two numbers well-performed in their own right but largely inessential to the story's progress.

The final few songs, all pretty while sad, wind the narrative down to an appropriate melancholy. It's no surprise: The real Chicken Ranch was closed without a bang, and presumably, its inhabitants went their own ways. There's no moral punch in the end — more a suggestion of malaise. “Best Little...” respects its audience; It has loads of laughs and judicious commentary, enough to make the trip to the Edward Jones Playhouse worth it.

“The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas” runs through Saturday, August 2. Visit www.cortlandrep.org or call (800) 427-6160 for information.

"Oklahoma!"

Theatre review
"Oklahoma!" at the Hangar Theatre
Ithaca Times
July 16, 2008
730 words
"It's a Ho Down!"

full text here

It's a Ho Down!
By: Mark Tedeschi
07/16/2008

"Oklahoma!" directed and choreographed by Dan Knechtges. Music by Richard Rogers, book and lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein. Starring Whit Baldwin, Joseph Breen, Caitlyn Caughell, Piper Goodeve, Dan Kiely, Joanna Krupnick, Mark Leydorf, Judy McMahon, Sorab Wadia. Scenic design by Beowulf Boritt, costumes by Janifer Caprio, lighting by Aaron Spivey, sound by Don Tindall.

Early last year, the government of Saskatchewan launched a campaign to add an exclamation mark to their province's name; according to a handbook of guidelines, the special punctuation was reserved for "optimistic" messages as on billboards and websites. Their rare use of the stamp of exuberance on a proper name was perhaps inspired by the buoyant select few entertainment productions that also provide a home to the mark: "Jeopardy!", "Airplane!", "Oliver!", "Oh! Calcutta!", and a classic paragon of optimism, the musical play "Oklahoma!"

In its introductory incarnation (originally called "Away We Go" - the exclamation mark on the new title was a last-minute addition), Rogers and Hammerstein's "Oklahoma!" (based on a 1931 Lynn Riggs play, "Green Grow the Lilacs") broke ground as a musical with a wider range of drama and better music/story cohesion than audiences had come to expect. It was grounded in a dawn-of-a-new-era sanguineness not always as prevalent in theatre nowadays. The staff at the Hangar Theatre recognized this absence and decided to stage a revival - a successful, dynamic, and wholly enjoyable revival.

The story unfolds in the early 1900s on an Indian Territory that would eventually become the state of Oklahoma. Curly (Baldwin), a spirited cowboy, kicks off the show with the iconic "Oh What a Beautiful Mornin'." He and farm girl Laurey (Goodeve) exhibit a Calvin-and-Susie relationship, one that's in plain sight but that each refuses to admit.

Their stubbornness runs them into trouble when Jud, a shady farm hand, asks Laurey to a box social and she accepts just to get a rise out of Curly. He visits Jud and sings "Poor Jud is Daid," a protracted, veiled insult that segues into an exchange of direct confrontation (and later evolves into a fight, directed by Norm Johnson).

Meanwhile, Laurey's malleable friend Ado Annie (Goodeve), admits in the showstopping number "I Cain't Say No!" that she's easily influenced by men - this time, by the Persian peddler Ali Hakim (Wadia). Hakim was unaware she had a sometimes-boyfriend, Will Parker (Breen), but once her father, Carnes (Kiely), decides Hakim is the man for her, he laments his in-too-deep situation and tries endlessly to remove himself from it.

Director Dan Knechtges endows most of the show with an involved poignance, the same element that gave "Oklahoma!" such a successful audience response on Broadway in 1943. The impressive dance numbers, particularly "Kansas City," "Many a New Day," and "The Farmer and the Cowman," show Knechtges's knack for solid choreography and the ensemble's collective dancing talent. "Dream Ballet," being a great dance sequence, stands out as a beautiful spectacle of lighting (Spivey), set design switchery (Boritt), and sound (Tindall).

In other scenes, the set design also cooperates with the lighting. The burlap-patched background and painted clouds over muted brown tones evoke a farming landscape of the South Central United States. And though the lighting is pleasant and consistent per location in the story, it occasionally shakes noticeably over stationary characters, and the paper lanterns, though a neat idea, distract with their constant jiggling.

The casting in "Oklahoma!" is phenomenal, thanks to casting director Alan Filderman. Krupnick and Goodeve both shone brightly among the giant cast of last year's production of "Hair" at the Hangar; here, they work together seamlessly and seize the spotlight when their turn comes. The same is true of Baldwin, a newcomer to the Hangar who has most certainly proven himself. All three demonstrate singing voices both powerful and crisp. The only troublesome acting comes from McMahon (playing Aunt Eller) who stumbled over a few lines on opening night, a shame since the rest of her dialogue ("Ain't nobody gonna slug out anything - this here's a party!") was delivered quite well.

The writing, by today's standards, shows flaws toward the end. Aunt Eller gives a speech about prosperity's necessitating hardiness and steadfastness; without revealing too much, the tension is hastily resolved using neither of those qualities, and everything again turns blithe almost instantly.

Not that blithe is inherently bad. The acting and music (played by John Bell, Walter Stinson, and Josh Oxford) in "Oklahoma!" are enough to sustain interest, and maybe Rogers and Hammerstein deserve a break for taking that dramatic risk, slight as it may now seem. But one can't get by on optimism alone; in tough times, rather, it should be fuel for resilience. And, if the option is there, exclamation marks can only help!


©Ithaca Times 2008

"The Mousetrap"

Theatre review
"The Mousetrap" at Cortland Repertory Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
July 11, 2008
535 words
"CRT's 'Mousetrap' features standout performances"

full text here

CRT's ‘Mousetrap' features standout performances

By Mark Tedeschi • Special to Cortland Ticket • July 11, 2008

Agatha Christie's “The Mousetrap,” like “Ten Little Indians” (performed last summer by Cortland Repertory Theatre) boasts an intriguing history.
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In 1947, a BBC station broadcasted a half-hour radio play by Christie called “Three Blind Mice,” a story that borrowed some plot elements from a real-life crime story a few years prior. The play was successful, and Christie wrote it as a short story the following year. In 1952, she wrote a full-length theatre play version called “The Mousetrap,” taking the title from a line in “Hamlet.”

The play began production in London's West End; 23,000 performances later (it is, after all, the longest-running play of all time), Christie's wishes for the short story to remain out of publication in the UK as long as the play continues its run are still in effect.

Productions of “The Mousetrap” elsewhere, though, are permitted — so thankfully, we have Cortland Rep's version to enjoy this summer.

The story is as Christie-an as “Ten Little Indians”: a group of unfamiliar, eclectic (“either unpleasant or odd,” one character comments) folks get stuck in a confined space together, and when they start to get picked off, they guess with about as much certainty as the audience, “whodunit?”

The confined space is the Monkswell Manor hotel in the winter of 1952. We have Mollie and Giles Ralston (Sonya Cooke and Leigh Wakeford), enterprising newcomers to the homey-hotel business; Christopher Wren (Joshua Forcum), a messy-haired young exercise in flamboyance; Mrs. Boyle (Robbeye Lewis), a spoiled-rotten defeatist; Major Metcalf (Gerard Pauwels), a polite army vet; Miss Casewell (Katherine Proctor), a dark-haired standoffish type; Mr. Paravicini (Michael Kreutz), a mustachioed Italian goofball; and Detective Sergeant Trotter (Dustin Charles), a just policeman who tries to parse the affairs himself.

The cast, each at the manor under separate circumstances, learn that peculiar murders have been committed at a nearby residence. The killer is described as sporting a dark overcoat, light scarf, and soft felt hat — an outfit that most of them arrive wearing (thus giving costume designer Jennifer Parr a chance to personify each character into that ensemble). A storm blocks the roads around the hotel, and with cut-off communication to boot, they must fend for themselves once one of them is anonymously killed.

Standout acting performances come from Forcum with his demanding, Tom-Hulce-as-Amadeus-esque glee and giggles and Charles, with his speedy, professional explications of the goings-on.

In the first portion, the slow pace gives the audience a chance to inspect Carl Tallent's attractive set: hardwood floors, oak walls, bookcases with silver tea trays. He leaves plenty of places to block everyone in the Great Hall, either strolling around or sitting on the couches and armchairs.

As lighting designer, Todd Proffitt makes a few interesting choices, including showing a few scenes in complete darkness, relying on Andrew Modansky's well-mixed sound design to relate the events.

Another pice of “The Mousetrap” history involves a ritual of asking the audience not to share the surprise ending. I won't, obviously, but there are several twists, not just one — and it's hard to say that they're unexpected, since the story is designed to have the audience suspecting everyone. But 23,000, remember? Maybe my mom was right: asking nicely really does work

“The Mousetrap” runs at CRT through Saturday, July 19. Visit www.cortlandrep.org for more information.

"The Soup Comes Last"

Theatre review
"The Soup Comes Last" at the Kitchen Theatre
Ithaca Times
July 9, 2008
695 words
"East-West Side Story"

full text here

East-West Side Story
By: Mark Tedeschi
07/09/2008

The Soup Comes Last, written and performed by Rachel Lampert. Directed by Margaret Perry. Original music composed by Mer Boel, Set Design by Dan Meeker, Costume Design by Lisa Boquist, Lighting Design by E.D. Intemann.

Remember the last time you traveled to a place completely unfamiliar? Where people looked, sounded, and acted different than everyone you were used to? With a traveling partner whom you'd never met? When you, with your companion, staged a production of West Side Story with a cast and crew almost completely unfamiliar with American theatre?

No? Then you haven't seen The Soup Comes Last, Rachel Lampert's solo storytelling performance at the Kitchen Theatre about her voyage to China 11 years ago. She transports you along on a piece-by-piece recollection of the trip and all of its hilarious, uplifting, heartbreaking elements. Gather round - it's story time at the Kitchen.

Lampert, Artistic Director for the KTC since 1997, opens "Soup" with her familiar pre-show announcements, a precursory explanation, a list of things she brought with her on the trip - and you might not even notice the lights dimming, because you're into the story before you have time to realize it.

A group of authoritative Chinese theatre historians invite Lampert to choreograph and South African Joanne Gordon (the co-traveler mentioned earlier) to direct the first-ever in-China staging of West Side Story - in Chinese. Gordon, "competitive, controlling, and used to being the boss," decides early on that outrageous pantomime is the best way to communicate with non-English speakers. Lampert's enacting of Gordon's consistent, misguided zeal elicits laughs and cringes alike.

Upon her arrival, Lampert says the airport is "everything [she] expected communism to look like," setting the tone for her trek into unfamiliarity. At her hotel, people flock to the showers after an announcement about the hot water's precious few minutes of availability, the Chinese dance teachers think Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video exemplifies American dance, and in the grand event of a Chinese meal, eyeballs are a delicious delicacy.

Dan Meeker's set - chiefly Chinese stools and tables for Lampert to climb around and step on - keeps the attention on the performer and her story. E.D. Intemann's lighting design functions the same way, but with an extra-red touch. The mostly clean-white backdrop houses a small projected box, sometimes mentioning the location but more often displaying a light aphorism such as, "In a multitude of words, there will certainly be a mistake."

That one is definitely true; thankfully, Lampert and Gordon eventually are introduced to a capable, 21-year-old, "fascinated with language" translator named Emma who helps correct some of the myriad miscommunications they run into, including a late script-translation overhaul. Some concepts are more difficult than others, though: many of the actors and actresses confuse sexual liberation with prostitution and filial disobedience with political radicalism.

In time, they dig up ways to cope. Lampert separates Jets from Sharks by the idiosyncrasies of their movement and introduces the word "buffalo" as a signal for Emma to stop translating if a slip of the tongue may bring trouble.

Lampert, under the adept direction of Kitchen vet Margaret Perry, plays a handful of characters, and her changes in voice are immediate enough to recognize each. Lampert ebbs quiet and earnest when, in the story, she considers the consequences of her teaching students to appreciate freedoms they'll likely never have; and she shows off her capacity for complex delivery by recalling an anecdote while repeating a complicated dance sequence.

Eleven years ago, communication hadn't yet advanced to a point where most people took it for granted. Lampert emphasizes that "if you wanted to connect with a place, you had to go there." It's easy to sit at a computer and pretend to experience somewhere new, but then you lose all of the comfort-zone shakeup, an important component of travel that a few people I know would insist builds character (and I agree).

The title The Soup Comes Last refers both to a simple cultural dissimilarity and a treat of an ending far too enjoyable to give away. When it's time for her to head home, Lampert has grown attached to many of those she's closely worked with - it's sad to see her have to leave the environment that was initially so dissonant. But, of course, had she stayed, we wouldn't have been able to enjoy all she's contributed to the consistently reliable Kitchen Theatre.


©Ithaca Times 2008

"Leading Ladies"

Theatre review
"Leading Ladies" at Cortland Repertory Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
June 12, 2008
564 words
"Cortland Rep's 'Leading Ladies' offers plenty of laughs"

full text here

Cortland Rep's ‘Leading Ladies' offers plenty of laughs

By Mark Tedeschi • Special to The Journal • June 26, 2008

Since the dawn of first names with ambiguous gender attachment, cross-dressing has been a staple motif for comedic performance. But when Billy Wilder's “Some Like it Hot” hospitalized filmgoers with uncontrollable laughter in 1934, stories involving men wearing ladies clothing had a new par for the course. (I made up the hospitalization thing, but it could be true — after all, the American Film Institute did name “Some Like it Hot” the funniest movie of all time.)
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In that film, Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis played two guys who pose as women temporarily only to find themselves stuck in their roles — just like Marc Goldhaber and Dominick Varney in Cortland Repertory Theatre's latest chucklefest, “Leading Ladies.”

Goldhaber and Varney respectively play Leo Clark and Jack Gable; they are two down-on-their-luck Shakespeare-trained actors who stumble upon a news article about a woman (Florence Snider, played by Robbeye Lewis) searching for her kin (“Max” and “Steve”), whom she hasn't seen in years, so she can include them in her will. Eventually, Clark and Gable (get it?) discover that Max and Steve are Maxine and Stephanie, but decide to go ahead with the scam anyway; after all, it's a chance for them to exercise their craft in greater depth than ever before.

“Ladies” was written by Ken Ludwig, best known for the Tony Award-winning “Lend Me a Tenor” and directed by Tony Capone, who directed “Ten Little Indians” at CRT last summer. Other cast members include Morgan Reis (Meg Snider, Florence's other niece), Adam Bevlo (Duncan Wooley, Meg's pastor husband), Mark Bader (Doc Myers, Meg's best friend), Kyle Hines (Butch, Doc's son), and Erin Balsar (Audrey, Butch's girlfriend).

The story, set in 1950s York, Pa., contains all the elements you'd expect from a farce with a men-posing-as-women backbone: the con men fall for the women they're fooling, fooled men fall for the “women” they meet, and all hell breaks loose halfway through the second act when everything comes to a head.

The loony story would be less credible if CRT didn't have such sound actors. The lead males exhibit full commitment to their roles, which demand on-the-fly switching in body language, attitude, and voice. Goldhaber, the Curtis to Varney's Lemmon, smooth-talks his way in and, less often, out of sticky situations; director Ludwig has Varney spending a lot of time working the audience (successfully, mind you) by bulging his eyes and squirming — a shame, since his performance during the hilarious “Scenes from Shakespeare” portion confirms his capability for better depth. Reis also deserves mention for her confused but passionate Snider. But the biggest laughs come from Bevlo, whose Pastor Wooley, admitted foreigner to the words “living,” “sex,” and “humor,” frantically frets over being chastised for his skepticism.

To amplify the absurdity, “Ladies” features a great number of elaborate costumes courtesy of Wendy Zea; Clark and Gable make their first disguised appearance after digging into their suitcase of Shakespeare garb and pulling out costumes of Cleopatra and Titania (possibly the most ridiculous choices they could have made, but their hosts are calmed by the age-old device of “They're not weird, they're English.”).

The crafty scenic design (Brian Howard) proves useful, as the pristine Snider mansion turns almost instantly into a stage for Shakespeare plays when needed. And Todd Proffitt's subtle lighting design (watch for the stained glass window reflection), along with Andrew Modansky's sound, help along those transitions.

The dialogue in “Ladies” hits and misses; there are many obligatory jokes, usually tee-hee procreative one-liners (“Is that a chopstick in your pocket?”) and Freudian slips (“I wanted your bust—I mean, your trust”), but there are just as many snippets that embrace the silliness (“He put a telegram in my hand— maybe for a minister, that's foreplay!”).

“Ladies” has its superior moments (Duncan's color coming through during the show's plenty of theatre meta-jokes) and its humdrum ones (What's with that tango scene?), but through it all, it's a crowd-pleaser. There are surprises in the end, to be sure, but the marvelous final few lightning-round scenes are less a twist than a treat, one that gives “Well, nobody's perfect!” a run for its money.

“Leading Ladies” runs at CRT through Saturday, June 28. Visit www.cortlandrep.org for more information.

"No Child..."

Theatre review
"No Child..." at the Hangar Theatre
Ithaca Times
June 25, 2008
727 words
"Stands, and delivers"

full text here

Stands, and delivers
By: Mark Tedeschi
06/25/2008

"No Child..." by Nilaja Sun. Directed by Wendy Dann. Starring Rachael Holmes. Scenic design by Kathryn Kawecki, costume design by Jennifer Caprio, lighting by Daniel Meeker, sound by Sarah Pickett.

Anyone who either teaches children or watches television knows by now that the No Child Left Behind Act has, in its current application, serious problems. Opponents of the act maintain that inner-city schools in particular face hurdles that only a restructuring or extensive reconsidering of the current education policy could address.

Until someone in the higher echelons takes action for change, all the rest can do is speculate and, for those more daring, gamble. In the Hangar Theatre's latest one-woman production, No Child..., the main character (Sun, named after the original award-winning Off Broadway show's writer and performer) takes a risk and tries a new technique to engage a diverse Bronx classroom of 10th grade students. While her efforts are commendable (and star Rachel Holmes's performance expert), the air of the show leaves behind a few important considerations.

Rachael Holmes fluidly bounces without a beat in and out of all of the show's 16 characters, including Janitor Baron (the play's de facto narrator), an uneasy Asian schoolteacher (Ms. Tam), a Jamaican security guard, the typical education-standards-concerned principal (Mrs. Kennedy), eight different students of various ethnic and social backgrounds, and Sun, the thirtysomething teaching artist who's brought in by Mrs. Kennedy to introduce the kids to theatre.

Sun chooses Our Country's Good, a 1988 play by Timberlake Wertenbaker, for its theme of theatre as a tool of motivation and elevation. As expected, the students act with defensive hesitation at first. Sun shows patience with assertion, and her presence and ideas seem all it takes to metamorphose the classroom - for example, she politely insists they refrain from using swear words; they comply, and if they slip, they instantly apologize.

The kids take to the new material. Their enthusiasm and participation build until the class gets a sudden replacement teacher whose strictness reawakens their antagonism. They lose interest and the frustrated Sun quits. Later, Janitor Baron dies in the story but continues narrating, ostensibly so the students and Sun can recommit and dedicate the play's performance to him (and writer Sun can make an Arthur Miller reference).

Holmes demonstrates a vast range of capability with her unassuming, consistent performance. Each of her characters has a physical tic (arms locked at the elbows, a tummy rub, a collar pull) and embodies a realistic vibe of youthful attitude.

Unfortunately, real kids aren't always that funny; repeatedly they jab at the similarity between "thespian" and "lesbian" and joyfully sing a Justin Timberlake tune when they hear the name of the guy who wrote the play they're to study. Holmes's most emotionally charged moment, though, comes in a conversation between Sun and Mrs. Kennedy regarding standards and the students' potential.

No Child... looks and sounds excellent, and at under 80 minutes, stays enjoyable and concise throughout. The lighting stands out in the show's bookending slow crawls and a montage-style sequence when the students perform the play (-within-a-play-within-a-play). The sparse, smart set contains a few of the grungy elements you'd expect to see in a city school: a scuffed floor, beat-up lockers, an old drinking fountain. And the quiet hum of kids' chattering between metal-detector squeals and school-bus rumbles keeps the focus on Holmes's acting.

Though it's engaging, No Child... is not without problems. It creates for itself a duplicitous identity crisis: the narrator suggests that change couldn't possibly come from one starry-eyed educator's influence, but without exaggeration, that's exactly what Sun supposedly accomplishes.

In the end, the idealism seems almost too optimistic, since the hasty epilogue (which includes a confusing joke about renaming the high school) itemizes the varied futures of several students without any further mention of their educational upbringing.

Were No Child... longer, it almost certainly would have benefited from more actors and fleshier parts for some of the characters who had to be reduced to a slurred lisp or bucked teeth. The issues plead for a deeper dig than such a short (if well-intentioned), one-person performance can realistically achieve. (HBO's "The Wire" spent an entire season on the difficulties of testing new methods in a city school.)

The strongest suggestion No Child... does make is that there are potentially effective alternatives - especially found in the arts - to standardization. Experimentation should be encouraged, albeit scrupulously. As Janitor Baron says, "Teaching is the hardest job in the whole wide world...they're underpaid, underappreciated, and underpaid." I can't help but agree with him there.


©Ithaca Times 2008

"8-Track: The Sounds of the 70's"

Theatre review
"8-Track: The Sounds of the 70s" at Cortland Repertory Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
June 12, 2008
564 words
"Cortland Repertory Theatre gets back to the 1970s with energetic ‘8-Track'"

full text here

Cortland Repertory Theatre gets back to the 1970s with energetic ‘8-Track'

By Mark Tedeschi • Special to The Journal • June 12, 2008


Cortland Repertory Theatre's latest production, “8-Track: The Sounds of the 70's,” makes one wonder what musical acts from this decade will be looked at as representative of the era. I'm probably not alone in hoping that my favorite bands will stand the test of time, but that's unlikely. Popular music is engineered to claw its way to the top, and it inevitably will reflect the culture of our decade 30 years from now.

“8-Track,” conceived by Rick Seeber, is a poster-sized snapshot of popular music from the 1970s. Michael Gribbin's arrangement is essentially a two-hour medley of about 50 1970s songs of varying reputability--though the cast delivers them all with equal vigor. The instrumental tracks are pre-recorded, but the vocal performances are live and impassioned. Some songs get spotlighted; others are acknowledged with just a snippet.

Gribbin draws from many musical genres (rock, funk, soul, country, and yes, disco), and there's no story in “8-track,” so the pacing is sometimes shaky. It begins with “Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree,” a song that doesn't have quite the same energy as the show's later numbers like “You Light Up My Life” or “Takin' It to the Streets.” The four cast members (Gabriel Mudd, Crystal Rona Peterson, Katherine Proctor, and Leigh Wakeford) each shout a phrase that supposedly encapsulate the 70s (“Feminism,” “Hedonism,” “What's your sign?” and “Disco!”), announce that a CD of the show is for sale outside, and launch headfirst into the vibrant performance.

Daniel B. Hess directs and choreographs the players in a fast-paced song-and-dance challenge that spans from “We've Only Just Begun” all the way to “Lady Marmalade.” While any audience member is bound to prefer some songs over others, most of the tunes are vocally demanding, and the four talented stars tackle them with zeal. They shine during their solo performances, of which there are several; Mudd's powerful rendition of “My Baby She Wrote Me a Letter” is one of several standouts. Occasionally, vocal effects are added (Don Tindall, sound designer) to enhance the songs' delivery.

Hess and company execute entertaining choreography without being too flashy. “Brick House” brings some stellar energetic dancing, and all the movements in the second-act opener, “One Toke Over the Line,” are performed sitting down.

The set, designed by Sarah Martin and lit by Todd Proffitt, evokes a skating rink (and it is cleverly used as such briefly in the show) with its rainbow-color patterns, rope lights, and glitter. It matches Wendi Zea's many excellent costumes: denim suits, bell-bottoms, huge collars, and plenty of vests.

The amped-up disco-medley portion is saved for the end of the show. The cast barrels nonstop through “I Will Survive,” “Shake Your Booty,” “Get Down Tonight,” “Stayin' Alive,” “YMCA,” and a handful of other standards.

The people who will enjoy “8-Track” the most will almost certainly be those who lived through the era and can relish the barrage of nostalgia. The same people who love to make fun of disco, I'll bet, aren't able to stop themselves from singing along whenever it comes on.

Even though what is popular may not be what is best (Where is the Led Zeppelin? The Pink Floyd? The Who?), it's worth inspecting to remember what the fuss was all about. If Qiana shirts and pet rocks still make you chuckle, then you'll love “8-Track.”

“8-Track: The Sounds of the 70's” will run at the Cortland Repertory Theatre through Saturday, June 14. Visit www.cortlandrep.org or call (800) 427-6160 for tickets or more information.

"Souvenir"

Theatre review
"Soluvenir" at the Kitchen Theatre
Ithaca Times
June 11, 2008
727 words
"Sounding Good"

full text here

Sounding Good
By: Mark Tedeschi
06/11/2008

Souvenir by Stephen Temperley. Directed by Sara Lampert Hoover. Starring David Beach and Patricia Dell. Music direction by Thom Baker, scenic design by Ali Golden, lighting design by E.D. Intemann, costume design by Terésa Sears, sound design by Nate Richardson (REP Studio).

Some may say that I couldn't sing, but no one can say that I didn't sing." So said Florence Foster Jenkins, possibly the world's most successful and popular publicly recognized terrible singer this side of William Shatner, on one of the few occasions that she acknowledged criticism. Jenkins always wanted a career in singing, but her wealthy parents forbade it. When they both had passed away, she was free to pursue her dream... at age 60.

The earnestness of her performance and dedication to the music, as well as her lavish self-designed costumes and perpetual confidence, baffled her audience into fascination. She was either putting everyone on or at least slightly mentally detached; exploration of that question is woven into the fabric of Souvenir, a touching and hilarious play written by Stephen Temperley and directed by Sara Lampert Hoover now showing at the Kitchen Theatre.

There are only two actors (and two characters) in Souvenir, and it's the perfect number. Florence's accompanist, Cosmé McMoon, narrates the story, apropos since he's probably the closest tool we have to deciphering her psyche. Cosmé is played by David Beach, an excellent actor, singer, and pianist who has had parts in several TV shows, including "The Sopranos" and "Sex and the City." In Souvenir, Cosmé recounts how he got involved with Florence and the mental gymnastics he had to endure while he worked under her.

Patricia Dell, an accomplished opera singer and tap dancer, plays soprano socialite Florence with daring faithfulness. She contorts what is obviously a beautiful and well-trained singing voice into a precisely executed cacophony. Her consistent flats and sharps combine with arrhythmic liberties to wreak a sharp but still funny havoc on the eardrums.

Most of the story takes place in the room in which Florence rehearses. It looks cozy but refined: marbled floor, a few oriental rugs, a crisp-looking settee, etc. Cosmé and Florence discuss her career and her abilities between song rehearsals. There's a comforting mix of philosophical musings and comedic punches in the dialogue; Cosmé quotes Florence, "'Singing is a kind of dreaming in public,'" and adds, "But were we headed into a nightmare?"

At one point, Cosmé's frustration crosses a breaking point, but he apologizes as soon as he sees how much his outburst hurt her feelings. She says, "Nothing is wrong with my voice," and technically, she's right. She never claims to sing anything as it's written - instead, she says, "I'm known for my ear."

Florence's caterwauling recitals were less singing than performance art. Normally, she only performed once a year for a select audience, but her inexplicable climb in popularity eventually led to a sold-out show at Carnegie Hall that would become legendary. Much of Souvenir's second act consists of the story behind, and performance of, that show. The exceptional costume design during this portion includes a flamenco dress during "Clavelitos" and angelic wings-and-halo garb during "Ave Maria."

Also in this segment, the lighting design utilizes a hot spotlight to mimic a concert hall, and the sound design contains audience reaction noise. The sound is clever for most of Souvenir, but here is a bit too loud for how canned it sounds.

Both Cosmé and Florence seem genuinely excited about engaging in music throughout, and Florence's approach to performing makes Cosmé reconsider the preconceived notions of his livelihood. "Who made up the rules?" he wonders. He notes that those at her shows "seem to have a pretty good time," so why not embrace her singularity?

We experienced a modern Florence Foster Jenkins phenomenon a few years ago, albeit on a smaller scale and with an added element of racial controversy. William Hung, another historically awful singer, gained fame and a record deal for performing horribly in an opening round of "American Idol." The glaring difference between the two is that Hung went wherever the limelight took him, while Jenkins orchestrated her own career. But in each case, many people decided to abandon their conception of "good" music in order to shower attention on someone who was trying his or her best.

"Art may thrill the soul," Cosmé muses, "but its sole purpose is to teach." One thing we can learn from Souvenir (and, to a certain extent, Mr. Hung) is the capacity for widespread captivation by someone who persists at what they love no matter how ruthlessly he or she is criticized.

©Ithaca Times 2008

"The Fantasticks"

Theatre review
"The Fantasticks" at Syracuse Stage
Ithaca Times
May 7, 2008
775 words
"Fine and Familiar...Syracuse stage's production of long time favorite"

full text here

Fine and Familiar...Syracuse stage's production of long time favorite
By: Mark Tedeschi
05/07/2008

The Fantasticks, book and lyrics by Tom Jones, music by Harvey Schmidt, directed and choreographed by Peter Amster. With Charles Goad, Mark Goetzinger, Robert K. Johansen, William J. Norris, Alexa Silvaggio, David Studwell, Mackenzie Thomas, and Eric Van Tielen, and some singing by Lauren Nolan. Music direction by David Nelson, scenic design by Scott Bradley, costumes by Maria Marrero, lighting by Ann Wrightson, sound design by Todd Mack Reischman.

Anyone involved in the original 1960 production of the romantic comedy/musical The Fantasticks must be exhausted with pride by now. After an initial opening to mixed reviews, the show eventually became a statistical monster. It's both the world's longest-running musical (17,162 performances in 42 years off-Broadway) and the most frequently produced (11,000 productions in over 3,000 cities and towns) - not to mention that the original 44 investors have received a 19,465% return on their initial contribution.

Why has this particular show enjoyed such immense success? It's actually quite simple, and we have a fine production currently at Syracuse Stage to prove it. The core story is uncomplicated, tried, and familiar: Two neighbors, a girl (Luisa, played in this show by Thomas) and a boy (Matt, played by Van Tielen), fall in love against their fathers' (Bellomy, played by Goad, and Huklebee, by Goetzinger) wishes. Little did they know, their fathers wanted them to get together, but were subscribing to the ubiquitous notion that children always disobey their parents. When Luisa and Matt do find out the truth, they separate, and later, reconsider their feelings.

The magic of The Fantasticks blooms from its self-consciousness: There's a narrator, El Gallo (Studwell) who participates in the plot as a swashbuckling cosmopolite; two actors playing actors, Mortimer and Henry (Johansen and Norris), who literally appear from the stage itself; and a mime known only as The Mute (Silvaggio) who generates elements that are typically produced offstage, such as precipitation and sound effects. The Mute also acts as the wall between the neighbors' houses à la Pyramus and Thisbe - and that's just one of an uncountable number of literary and theatrical references in The Fantasticks, most of which are Shakespearean.

Other creative models are more contemporary; for example, dialogue in The Fantasticks was inspired by poetry of the Beat Generation. The play itself doesn't look particularly "Beat" - many good theatrical productions put their characters in states of disrepair - but there's the undeniable euphony of Beat in many portions, as in a snippet of a speech by El Gallo: "Try to see it - not with your eyes, for they are wise - but see it with your ears: the cool, green breathing of the leaves."

Syracuse Stage's production is composed of a treasury of talent. Amster's actors master his choreography during the "Abduction Ballet" scene, wherein El Gallo and his two cronies kidnap Luisa and feign defeat at Matt's hands. Emmy award-winner Norris commands attention as Henry, "The Old Actor," whenever he speaks. Studwell's baritone voice booms as El Gallo during the famous number "Try to Remember" and cooperates with Matt's equally capable singing during their duet, "I Can See It."

Marrero costumes the cast in excellent, eclectic garb. To name a few, El Gallo sports a swooshing cape, the fathers wear comfy-looking overalls and gardening gloves, Mortimer dresses as a pirate, and the Mute in her horizontal-stripe outfit looks like she came directly from an avenue in Paris.

Bradley's inspired set design also seems influenced by artistic references; in the beginning, El Gallo enters in front of a cloudy backdrop with a bowler hat and a green apple covering his face, much like the Magritte painting "The Son of Man." Later, when Luisa and Matt meet in the woods, The Mute "pulls" down another large backdrop of cubist-ish depictions of leaves. The wooden stage itself, though, remains true to the original Fantasticks - it looks flat and spare but is full of hidden openings for actors to scoot in and out of and to hold innovative props like musical instruments for the Mute to discreetly discover and sound off.

Behind that translucent backdrop of clouds, the musicians are visible. Nelson, also the show's conductor, plays the piano, and Deette Bunn plays the harp. Both manage to extract precisely the right emotion for the scenes through their playing, and together with the singers, they make the music in The Fantasticks downright touching. The story may be straightforward, but the message (or at least a simplified part of it) is significant: Evaluate your blessings with optimism.

There's also a horticulture motif throughout the story. Jones himself said of that device, "Whenever in doubt, I tried to put in something about vegetation and the seasons." Sounds a little like he's admitting it's a metaphor for the sake of metaphor, just as the mass of literary references seem to exist, at least partially, for the fun of it. But isn't that the point? Can't there be a show that's fun, through and through? Sure there can, and if its test-of-time success is any indication, The Fantasticks is it, and Syracuse Stage has captured the pleasure.

©Ithaca Times 2008

"A Midsummer Night's Dream"

Theatre review
"A Midsummer Night's Dream" at Ithaca College
The Ithaca Journal
April 24, 2008
656 words
"IC Theatre offers a fantastic ‘Midsummer Night's Dream'"

full text here

IC Theatre offers a fantastic ‘Midsummer Night's Dream'
By Mark Tedeschi • Special to The Journal • April 24, 2008

When Michael Hoffman's 1999 film version of William Shakespeare's “A Midsummer Night's Dream” was released, critic Russel Smith of the Austin Chronicle called the play “the most screwup-proof of the bard's works.” If his cryptically complimentary comment is true, it may simply mean that the play is a better candidate for experimentation than other Shakespeare texts.
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Director Norm Johnson, no stranger to challenging actors' physical capabilities (as he proved with his direction of “Alice in Wonderland” at Cornell this year) combined inspiration from the psychology of dreams, the music of indie bands Beirut and Gogol Bordello, the notion of Shakespeare as “fairytales for adults,” and the history of Roma gypsy culture to produce Ithaca College Theatre's fantastic production of “A Midsummer Night's Dream.”

The comedy's plot, composed of three interlaced storylines, is a bit much to digest when it's bunched up into a few paragraphs, but much easier (and more enjoyable) to follow on stage. Here goes: Duke Egeus (Michael Haller) commands his daughter Hermia (Eliza Silverman) to marry Demetrius (Jared Zirilli). She refuses, opting instead to steal into the woods to elope with her true love, Lysander (Ben Hart). Helena (Vicki Rodriguez), in love with Demetrius, reveals the plan to him and follows them all into the woods.

Fairies inhabit the forest; their king, Oberon (Andrew Krug) wants to teach his disobedient wife Titania (Celeste Sayles) a lesson, so he directs the scampish Puck (Corrinne Proctor) to secretly give her a type of love potion. He also tells Puck give the same potion to Demetrius, whom Oberon had seen in the woods earlier. Puck, mistaken, gives it to Lysander instead.

Meanwhile, a rough but energetic group of workers called the “Mechanicals,” led by Peter Quince (Brian Judkins), plan to put on a production of “Pyramus and Thisbe.” Prima donna Nick Bottom (Patrick Prudent) takes a lead role, but the production is hindered when Puck plants on him the head of a donkey and directs toward him the bewitched affections of Queen Titania.

Whew! The show runs nearly three hours, but there is never a dragging moment: you have Katie Delaney's elaborate, gorgeous costumes and Sarah Watson's clever, quick-changing set design under Sandra Podolsky's mystical lighting to gaze at; Jillian Marie Walker's sound design and fantastic fairy-wold musical compositions to listen to; and, of course, William Shakespeare's exquisite fountain of language to bathe in.

Only actors of appropriate caliber can bring out the integral beauty of Shakespeare's words, and I feel oddly confident saying that in this show, everyone qualifies. Not only do they speak their lines with conviction and clarity--Johnson also calls on them to navigate the stage with intense speed and grace, construct a lifelike mechanical donkey, learn new musical instruments, and compose compelling gypsy-style music for the play-within-a-play toward the end.

Johnson infuses two hooks into his version of the story: first, the opening revelation that the coming events are part of a child's dream; and second, the unique decision to place the events at (or near) a gypsy camp. The former seems almost unnecessary, since the latter boosts the dynamic enjoyment of the play--even though, as Johnson points out in the program notes, “Roma history...is a far cry from the romanticized image that many have of gypsy life.” The girl's inclusion (she also explores and occasionally participates in her dream) also slightly alters the meaning of the title “Dream” from the characters' interpretation of the night as too unlikely for reality to the concept that the entire play is a nocturnal vision. (And just as a curious side note, that makes “Pyramus and Thisbe” a play-within-a-dream-within-a-play.)

My miniature grouse should detract nothing from the sound achievement the cast and crew at IC have earned. Their version of “A Midsummer Night's Dream” might owe its engaging success to their embracing the sometimes daring experimentation that dedicated admirers of Shakespeare's oeuvre have proven conducive to his work time and time again.

The show runs at 8 p.m. today-Saturday, 2 p.m. Sunday in the Clark Theatre at Dillingham Center. Tickets are $4.50-$10. Call 274-3224 or (607) 273-4497 or visit www.ithacaevents.com. For more information, visit www.ithaca.edu/theatre.

Steve Brown retirement concert

Arts feature:
profiling jazz professor and musician Steve Brown
Ithaca Times
April 23, 2008
789 words

"A Teacher's Legacy"

full text here

A Teacher's Legacy...Jazz musician steve brown to retire from Ithaca College after four decades of dedicated work
By: Mark Tedeschi
04/23/2008

Any of the musicians who have been featured in the Ithaca College School of Music's Enduring Masters concert series could fill an entire article with a list of just a fraction of their accomplishments. The latest musician, Steve Brown, 65, has coauthored a book, recorded well over a dozen albums, and played with countless bands all over the United States and Europe. But as a teacher at IC for 40 years, his favorite type of achievement to talk about isn't one of his own; it's the collective successes of all the students whom he's instructed and befriended over the years.

Brown doesn't look his age; he's grey-haired and bespectacled, but that's about the only indication that you'll get. His exuberance discussing music subtracts years, and he embraces his excitement anticipating the hordes of alumni (35, to be exact, and certainly plenty more coming to watch) who will arrive in Ithaca for an alumni big band concert under his direction in Ford Hall at the Whalen Center for Music this Saturday at 8:15pm. Brown is currently a professor of music and the director of the jazz studies program at IC - in fact, he started the program in the 1980s.

In 1964, Brown graduated from IC with a degree in percussion, and in '67, became the school's first-ever master's degree recipient in classical guitar. He was always a jazz enthusiast, despite the fact that the school initially disapproved. "There used to be stickers on the pianos that said, "No playing of jazz on these pianos,'" he remembers. "I think the Scotch tape on the pianos would damage them more than the playing of jazz, quite frankly."

The school has come a long way. "I very much enjoy teaching jazz history courses, because I like to get to non-music majors - kind of twist their brain a little bit and open up their receptivity to jazz," he says. "I have a chance to influence people who will maybe go and support the music."

Considering his family's history, it's no wonder that he ended up a musician and teacher in Ithaca. "My mom and dad met on the steps of the Ithaca College Music School in the 1930s," he says. "They met on the first day of school at the old music building, which was downtown." They too were both teachers at high schools in Long Island, where Brown was born (Freeport).

Brown has been playing drums and guitar since fourth grade. His brother Ray, also an IC alumnus and bass player/jazz teacher, wrote a specially commissioned work for the concert called "I.C. Light" to feature Brown on four different instruments. Brown cites Barney Kessel as an important guitar influence growing up, as well as Jim Hall and, of course, Miles Davis. "He was an important one because of his flexibility... one of those chameleon kinds of characters," he says. "Historical lineage is very important." Brown offers a maxim he often repeats to his students: "These things are not revolutionary, but evolutionary."

Davis also gave Brown another sort of inspiration in the form of a namesake for his son, who will be playing bass in the concert. When asked if he always knew he'd name a son Miles, he chuckles. "I talked it up with my wife, and she seemed to like the idea. He's going to be taking over the Cornell Jazz Ensemble next year because Paul Merrill [the current director, also playing Saturday's concert] is going to finish his doctorate," he says. "I love having [Miles] in my back pocket, as I say."

Brown's daughter, Randi, will be one of seven featured singers in the concert. Most of the show's program will consist of his brother's or his compositions and arrangements. A handful of the performers he mentions, including professional musicians and college professors, include Howie Smith, Walter White, Jim Hynes, Gordon Vernick, Joe Bouchard, Tom Baldwin, Tish Rabe, Viet Gragg, Tony DeSare, Kim Nazarian, Darmon Meader, Cookie Coogan, Marty Ashby, Paquito D'Rivera, Al Hamme, and Tom Kline, project coordinator for the Enduring Masters series (and according to Brown, "a fabulous dude").

Brown rattles off stories of the alumni's accomplishments with great pride, but adds, "I don't take any credit for any of their abilities. If I motivated them to do something, then I'll take credit for that. And sure, I've taught them a fact or two here and there. But you have to understand that they're really great people to begin with." There will be short biographies of each participant in the event program so the group can concentrate on playing rather than introducing.

Of the weekend, Brown says, "It's going to be more than fun. It's going to be fantabulous, and you can quote me on that one."

Friday night, April 25, at the Lost Dog Cafe, there will be an alumni-organized jazz quintet featuring Brown on guitar, and after the concert on Saturday, April 26, there will be a jam session at the Carriage House.

"Old Times"

Theatre review
"Old Times" at the Kitchen Theatre
Ithaca Times
March 26, 2008
738 words
"Timely Matters"

full text here

Timely Matters
By: Mark Tedeschi
03/26/2008

"Old Times," written by Harold Pinter and directed by Margaret Perry. Starring Greg Bostwick, Leigh Keeley, and Camilla Schade. Scenic design and lighting by Brian Prather, sound design by Don Tindall, and costumes by Hannah Kochman. Stage Managers, Stephen A. Wagner and Kali DiPippo.

I have a theory that there are few marks of fame that carry as much prestige as the illustrious eponymous adjective. Imagine: a word created directly from your name because your work is just that incomparable. Brechtian, Kafkaesque, and Machiavellian are a few representatives of a more exclusive, writers-only list of "auctorial descriptives."

Sometime in Harold Pinter's prolific, Nobel Prize-winning, 50-year career, he earned a spot on that list, though he's refused to admit comprehending what "Pinteresque" actually means. Asked about the word, he says, "What I write is what I write."

Pinter's words may be truer than he realizes. His work is markedly his own, and with discernible trademarks - but after seeing a quality performance of his work, such as the Kitchen Theatre's current production of Old Times, it's almost impossible to agree with such a simplistic description of the experience.

Old Times, written in 1971, comes to the Kitchen under the direction of Margarett Perry and stars Bostwick as Deeley, Schade as his wife Kate, and Keeley as her friend and houseguest Anna.

The story, set in Deeley's and Kate's London farmhouse, takes place over a single evening. They've invited Kate's former best friend and roommate Anna to their house to catch up - a task that proves taxing, since Kate and Anna haven't seen each other in 30 years. The play opens with a conversation between Deeley and Kate before their guest arrives; curiously, Anna, immobile and facing away, stands onstage through the scene, as if her imminent presence already portends the need for a conversational one-upmanship.

Kate and Deeley mostly avoid eye contact with each other while they talk about Anna, and from the get-go, Bostwick delivers Deeley's incendiary dialogue with a sharp quality of announcement that indicates Deeley's intense pride in his words; meanwhile, Kate absorbs his accusatory tone with little protest.

When Anna arrives, it's obvious that Deeley dislikes her, or at least feels threatened by her. He asks prodding questions about her husband, her house, and Kate. Anna won't be dominated so easily and makes moves to take over the course of conversation under the guise of polite responses.

Anna and Deeley recall detailed accounts of past events to "prove" how much of Kate they possess, and eventually, it's every person for him or herself; the degree of truth in their tales begins to matter less than the psychological effect the stories have on the listener. Kate's participation is generally limited to subtle physical demonstrations rather than long monologues, but fear not - she earns their full attention later on.

Pinter's precise, poetic language alternately darts and drifts out of the actors' mouths. His words are a joy to listen to, especially when they're delivered with the scrupulousness of these three players. Anna's aside of "Rather beguilingly so." Sounds a normal line for Pinter, but the subsequent incredulity with which Deeley repeats the line (and the subsequent laughter from the audience) proves Pinter's capability to procure comedy from his own style.

And no evaluation of Pinter would be complete without mention of the "Pinter Pause," a frequent and sometimes comedic signature in his dialogue that can evoke anything from gut-wrenching awkwardness to a comfortable break for thought. They must be delivered wisely for the right effect, though, and the crew at the Kitchen knows this.

The dialogue might be enough to represent an escalating ferocity in Old Times, but the other theatrical elements extend the tenseness as the story progresses. Prather's sparse set of armchairs and divans also contains a large backdrop of interlaced black wooden panels that are surprisingly responsive to his changes in lighting coloration.

Tindall's sound generates just the right amount of nervousness as the low, distant rumble of the sea coincides with a rise in the dramatic tension. And Perry's blocking throughout helps the physicality in their confrontations grow more and more pressing.

After the conversation competition in Old Times reaches its climax, the characters, rendered speechless, play out the finale over a silence too protracted to be lumped into the usual "Pinter Pause" category.

Pinter himself offers little specificity on the plot of Old Times as a whole: "It happens. It all happens." He seems to prefer that his audience interpret (and perhaps insist upon) the events and their meanings, just as his characters offer each other their own interpretations of their own fuzzy memories, coating the nuggets of recollection with an unavoidable sheen of personal agenda.

"Alice in Wonderland"

Theatre review
"Alice in Wonderland" at Cornell University Schwartz Center
The Ithaca Journal
February 7, 2008
735 words
"‘Alice in Wonderland' captures absurdity of tale"

full text here

‘Alice in Wonderland' captures absurdity of tale
By Mark Tedeschi
Special to The Journal

A few short decades ago, American culture was rife with daring, high-profile explorations of jarring unease, commonly drawn out of the artistic consciousness by the conflict in Vietnam. The present Iraq War seems to remind us of that strange but human hunger for absurdity, that need to bulldoze convention just to make a point.

The inescapable comparison of today's sociopolitical climate to yesterday's brings with it, at least in Ithaca, a desire to pay homage to the theatrical creations of the ‘60s and ‘70s. This past summer, the Hangar Theatre staged the classic “Hair”; this month, Cornell's Schwartz Center presents an equally delightful and free-associative celebration of commentary disguised as nonsense in “Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland.”

Based on Carroll's children's book, this production, directed by Norm Johnson, revives Andre Gregory's 1970 collaboration with his 10-person NYU theatre group, The Manhattan Project. Gregory had dissociated himself from mainstream theater in favor of avant-garde projects, and Cornell's version of his version of “Alice” adds its own flourishes while respecting his vision as well as, in portions, the original text.

The main story elements of “Alice's Adventures in Wonderland” are present (the mad tea party, the croquet match, etc.), as well as a few from “Through the Looking-Glass” (Humpty Dumpty's speech, the White Knight's antics). Much of the dialogue, though, is digressive and full of juicy puns and semantic dissection, so it can be befuddling to track what's happening when a scene transition first occurs.

Amanda Idoko leads the diverse ensemble as a naïve but vocal Alice; the rest of the actors (Jeffrey Guyton, Tyler Herman, Zach Mast, Natasha Pendleton, and Ariel Reid) each have a chance to shine - and do so with passion and joyful commitment, apparent in their intense physicality throughout - as one of several characters in the odyssean narrative. All the players draw upon improvisational roots for the high-spirited and often absurd pantomime involved in much of the action.

Johnson, a first-time Cornell director, hurls the cast in all directions (including upward) and even moves the mobile elements of Christa Seekatz's sparse but highly practical set design about the stage as well. The characters, clad in patchwork pants and long-tailed velvet jackets, like period clothing with a clownish twist (Lisa Boquist, costume design), swing inflatable carnival-prize gavels and cart around a staircase-cum-closet for silly but hands-on effect.

The most striking element of this “Alice” is the partially live, partially prerecorded videography by video artist Rachel Katz. A few TV screens and a projector adorn the walls; during important scenes, Katz either ventures out with a camera to show the cinematic point of view of someone inside the onstage chaos (a rare treat for an audience), or she plays a clip with forced perspective or special video effects to add a (sometimes psychedelic) visual punch to an especially weird occurrence. Most of the sound effects (Warren Cross, sound design) are provided by the cast's blowing kazoos and voicing other vocal tricks.

“Alice” is a pleasure for anyone, not just Theatre of the Absurd aficionados. Probably the only time the action slows is during the White Knight's Dylan-esque performance of a song that he wrote, but he warns at first that it'll be long-- and even while he sings, the glaze of comedy shines as he treks through a range of convincing emotion while spouting an assemblage of ludicrous lyrics.

That dedication to stream-of-consciousness storytelling is where comparison to “Hair” shows up (besides that they both speak an appreciation of “long, beautiful hair”); the lack of control felt in a wartime era mirrors the unstoppable bending of reality that Johnson found in Gregory's interpretation of Alice's illogicality. But political suggestion is where the comparisons end; the only time “Alice” gets directly political is during the “caucus race” (purportedly the best means of drying off): A few of the characters imitate the current presidential hopefuls but avoid decrying anyone.

Just as there's no telling whether Carroll's nonsensical story was at all influenced by drugs or a psychologically troubled subtext, we'll never know what he would have thought of this type of rendition of his work--though Gregory and Johnson certainly hold true to the deliberate absurdity of Alice's tale. And as this production proves, there will always be some thoughtful counsel found in other characters' responses to Alice's naivete. “I can't believe that!” she declares. The advice she's given? “Take a deep breath and try again.”

“Alice in Wonderland” runs through Saturday, Feb. 10 at the Cornell Schwartz Center for the Performing Arts. Call 254-ARTS for more information.

"Bed No Breakfast"

Theatre review
"Bed No Breakfast" at the Kitchen Theatre
Ithaca Times
January 23, 2008
786 words
"Light done right"

full text here

Light done right
By: Mark Tedeschi
01/23/2008

Brett Bossard, Jessica Flood, Tony Simione, Dan Kiely, Erica Steinhagen, Norma Fire and Jessica Carr in ‘Bed No Breakfast.’ (Photo provided)
"Bed No Breakfast," written and directed by Rachel Lampert. Music by Larry Pressgrove, lyrics by Rachel Lampert. Set by Steve TenEyck, costumes by Hannah Kochman, lighting by Brian Prather. Starring Norma Fire, Brett Bossard, Jessica Flood, Tony Simione, Dan Kiely, Erica Steinhagen, and Jessica Carr. Stage Manager, Stephen A. Wagner, Associate Director, Jesse Bush.

You have to go too far to find out how far you can go," deadpans Mrs. L. (Fire), the slouching, sagacious, old-lady proprietor of a B&B in Michigan's snow-encapsulated Upper Peninsula. She offers these "little sayings" intermittently in conversations with her guests, and the initial responses are almost always an awkward but thoughtful silence. Some of her maxims are borrowed, we find out, and others are her own; some are playful, others cynical, but all coax a "Hey, that's sort of true!" realization.

Her snippets of wisdom reveal a fondness for dry wordplay as well as a veiled desire to help people - to encourage them to unwind, to make them laugh, to stir their thoughts. Bed No Breakfast, the Kitchen Theatre's first production of 2008, does all of that to its audience. Also a world premiere musical by writer/director/lyricist Rachel Lampert, Bed No Breakfast refreshes as it calms.

As usual, there's a blizzard in the U.P., and six random folks have no choice but to seek shelter at Mrs. L's establishment. She voices disdain at the unexpected company, but denies entry to none. TenEyck's cozy set is mostly her living room, a nice little place with a sofa, a card table, a cluttered bookshelf, a wood stove, and ample room for candles, since the place is completely "off the grid." The candlelight/natural light cycle of several nights allows for some fluid blue-to-yellow changes in the overall homey feel of Prather's lighting design.

The first guests are Will (Bossard) and Marla (Flood), a yuppie, married couple considering divorce who tell the others they're an unmarried couple considering marriage. Their room is to one side of the set, so we can see how the awkwardness between them inflates once they're alone.

Next, there are the lone travelers: Henry (Tony Simione), an enthusiastic accountant who is less shy than but as nerdy as he claims, and Greta (Carr), a squirrelly college girl who takes it upon herself to emcee any ice breakers or parlor games she can think of.

That leaves just Jake (Kiely), a dreadlocked globetrotter, and his pregnant sister Chance (Steinhagen), a single woman raised on a farm, who arrive together but let everyone believe they're a married couple in order to avoid confusion. Naturally, that (perhaps gratuitous) decision only creates more confusion, but not too much - the story of Bed No Breakfast transcends the farcical in favor of a quieter story about six people who, without Mrs. L.'s unique brand of hospitality, might not otherwise look twice at one another, let alone develop a solid friendship.

The peculiar music in Bed No Breakfast, written by Pressgrove and directed by Montgomery, functions differently through the show. Sometimes the lyrics pronounce one or more characters' analysis of another, like in "How Bad Can It Be?", a song that gets too on-the-nose with lines like "There's something about him / He's so at ease." Other songs, such as "In The Middle of the Night," combine that internal monologue with actual conversation. "Charades," a protracted number in which the group begrudgingly commences a game of gesticulation to break up the tension and monotony, requires commitment to precise timing; because of the actors' exciting delivery, at the climax you'll become as invested in the game as the characters are.

Most of the tranquil slower songs captivate just as well as the more upbeat numbers. "Time," in particular, includes crisp harmonies and a home-hitting message of enjoying when time is ample, a real feat for the characters who can think about little else than when the state road will be reopened so they can leave. "All About the Ride" is less gripping - the imagery is nice, but its lyrics lack the variety present in, say, "A Second Honeymoon."

Fire has probably the least powerful voice (and Flood the most), but that's a flaw easy to look past; her character's subtle style has its own power that comes from understatement married with a tinge of mystery. When she speaks, attention locks on: "Dinner will be done by 8... and begun by 6." That means dinner is at 6pm exactly, but she's joking about being so insistent. Or is she?

Some characters float in and out of likeability (don't worry, they realize their flaws like any good comedic personas), but all come from dissimilar backgrounds; each of their contributions to the collective group offers a distinct and interesting flair. The all-around success of this show lies in its relaxed suggestion: Step back and appreciate what surrounds you, no matter where you are, who you're with, or what you plan to do next. I'm a sucker for light done right, and the Kitchen should be proud of Bed No Breakfast.

"The Last Night of Ballyhoo"

Theatre review
"The Last Night of Ballyhoo" at Ithaca College
The Ithaca Journal
December 13, 2007
746 words
"Selco bows out with a fine 'Last Night of Ballyhoo'"

full text here

Selco bows out with a fine ‘Last Night of Ballyhoo'
By Mark Tedeschi
Special to The Journal

The “ballyhoo” in Ithaca College's latest production, Alfred Uhry's dramedy “The Last Night of Ballyhoo,” referred to an exclusive Jewish country club's annual social shindig, an event that is built up higher than it deserves. The characters' disappointment following the function suggests the dictionary definition of the word: “used to refer to one who uses any means necessary to inflate an object or idea to a status to which it does not rise.” IC's production, on the other hand, offered quite the opposite.

“Ballyhoo,” which closed Dec. 9, was award-winning director and IC theater professor Arno Selco's final show (after over 80 directing credits and 25 years teaching at IC), and he certainly rose to the expectations; it was a smart, sophisticated, well-directed production devoid the frills or extravagance you might find in a less attentive director's grand finale.

The story, written in 1996 for the Olympic Arts Festival in Georgia (along with “Driving Miss Daisy” and “Parade”), was a significant personal choice for Selco. “[It's] about the recognition and acceptance of each individual's way of life, in spite of societal pressure to be like everyone else,” he wrote in the program notes. “This is a phenomenon I have experienced.”

“Ballyhoo” takes place in Atlanta in 1939 and follows a Jewish family (the Frietags) through their holiday season. They seem happy enough, but eventually the discontent hidden beneath hoop skirts and Christmas trees boils over. For the most part, they're good people, too - just misguided by the identity crises related to being Jewish, American and southern. For them, the premiere of “Gone With the Wind” supersedes in importance anything Hitler may be up to across the globe.

The set design (Samantha Yaeger), though, was the first element that grabbed my attention. The hardwood floors and wallpaper - both hand-painted, though you'd never guess by looking - served as the backbone of a confident set layered with depth that allowed the actors to move up and down, back and forth, left and right across the stage. There was a living room, a kitchen, a staircase, a second-story facade, and two extra pieces of scenery that appeared (literally) when they needed to.

The lighting (Teresa Sears) was at once subtle and prominent, as it worked closely with the sound design (Jeff Strange); the unmistakable noise of a car pulling into a driveway fit precisely with the understated glow of headlights from the windows at stage left. The scenes were punctuated mostly with Christmas music, an auditory reminder that these characters, donning beautiful, time-and-locale-appropriate costumes (designed by Katie Delaney), remained stuck in a perpetual cultural confusion.

There was Lala (Lauren Wightman), the graceful but socially unsuccessful “natural born usherette” daughter, and her supposedly “less-Jewish”-looking sister Sunny (Abbe Tanenbaum); Boo (Meredith Ashley Beck), the mother who was ever eager to find Lala a date for Ballyhoo; Reba (Dani Stoller), the absentminded aunt; and Adolph (Daniel Greenwood), the sagacious bachelor uncle. Wightman and Greenwood offerred standout performances with natural, well-timed delivery.

Romantic interests for the girls showed up later: Joe Farkas (Michael Haller), an actual practicing Jew whose only shortcoming, to the members of the Frietag's club, is that he is of Eastern Orthodox descent; and Peachy Weil (Ace Heckathorn), a charming jester of a young man who rivets listeners with fantastic stories, only to throw his audience off guard with a goofy catch phrase (which I won't spoil). The strongest conflict emerged when Joe discovered the nature of the Ballyhoo club's exclusivity.

At first, I couldn't decide why Selco didn't choose a “bigger” production for his final work. With his credentials, it probably wouldn't have been hard to create a show teeming with flamboyance, even flamboyance that could enhance the story's message. Instead, he chose a work that raised clear and familiar yet relevant and universal questions. To name a few: What does it mean to “be” Jewish, or for that matter, to be born into any sort of label? Is it a question of inheritance, practice, or both? Moreover, should following one's heritage be a conscious choice or an obligation? Do certain inborn characteristics or harmless practices discredit one's right to acceptance?

The answer to that last question was obviously “no,” but you don't need to look far to see that too many people disagree. I imagine that Selco was eager to take this last chance to encourage cooperation amid discord, while at the same time, exercising the satisfying opportunity to showcase the talents he fine-tuned through his illustrious career.

"Nine Parts of Desire"

Theatre review
"Nine Parts of Desire" at the Kitchen Theatre
Ithaca Times
December 12, 2007
768 words
"Lone Survivors"

full text here

Lone Survivors
By: Mark Tedeschi
12/12/2007

Shia Islam founder Amam Ali said, "God created sexual desire in 10 parts; he gave nine parts to women and one to men." (I suppose I should be offended at the blanket generalization of one-dimensionality, but for some reason, I'm not.) His quote is the genesis for the title of the Kitchen Theatre's current mainstage production, Nine Parts of Desire.

Nine Parts was written and originally performed by Iraqi-American playwright and actress Heather Raffo. Here, the actress-director team of Lanna Joffrey and Carmel O'Reilly unite again - they worked together on this piece last year in Boston - and they've collaborated with the creative staff at the Kitchen to generate a moving, intense, and overall remarkable production.

Raffo's creation of the work stems from her visits to women of different social situations in Iraq. Their stories provided the basis for the nine separate, completely unique characters in Nine Parts. Joffrey meanders, drifts, rushes, and creeps to and fro across the stage, entering different spaces and lighting schemes while drastically altering her clothing, hair, and voice dozens of times throughout the show.

There isn't a straight story to Nine Parts as much as there is an arc of immediacy to the monologues delivered. Joffrey addresses the audience as if they were a pair of ready-to-listen Western ears and avoids pigeonholing her listeners into stereotypes by avoiding them herself; she plays characters we can identify with, but who clearly have their own specific experiences and biases to relay.

Some of the memorable characters include an Iraqi woman who lost her entire family from an American bombing, a pseudo-intellectual British woman sporting a grey blazer and a flask of Scotch, a teenage Iraqi girl in an *NSYNC t-shirt obsessed with American pop culture, a nurse in an Iraqi ward, an elderly hunchbacked merchant, and an Iraqi-American woman with relatives to whom she can't get closer than a long-distance telephone call.

The women all profess a unified quality: an unquantifiable love that can only be touched upon by language heavy with imagery and emotion.

The scenery intensifies the words. The background consists of empty white frames over splashes of white, black, and midnight blue paint and a winding river that connects at the ground, where the river turns into a real-life waterway, splitting the dusty tile floor to make way for a narrow creek in the middle of the stage. Woven baskets of clothing on the ground give Joffrey a few places to extract and deposit her many fluid wardrobe changes.

Nine Parts is a challenging undertaking for an actress, to say the least, so it's almost obvious to say that Joffrey holds her own. But she knows the material intimately and, as far as I could tell on opening night, flawlessly. She visits all the corners of emotion in this show, and will surely hold your attention steadfast for 90 minutes.

Joffrey's musings and stories become most relevant, understandably, when she addresses Americans' attitudes about the war in Iraq. An American character criticizes her friend for calling the war "heartbreaking" while she enjoyed a pedicure; then the character remembers she was getting a pedicure at the time, too. "I am so stressed out," she says. "Maybe I should take a yoga class."

It's indeed depressing to think that we live in a country responsible for irreparable destruction in Iraq, and it's even more frustrating to think most of us physically can't be part of the solution -and if there were a solution, the complete arresting of daily life in America wouldn't be part of it.

The graphic description of some probably true horrors sounds a bit gratuitous - does their existence alone merit their mention? - but in a production with such close attention to language, I have to give the benefit of the doubt; Raffo is not trying to incite a revolution, but rather to stir up conversation.

I also question her depiction of Iraqi (and Iraqi-American) women's perceived glossing over of the American involvement in Iraq. Judging by all the devastation the characters have detailed, wouldn't the vast majority of Iraqis be consistently furious with Americans? But again, Raffo would know better than I; perhaps it's a temporary coping mechanism to perceive bombings in nearby towns as a form of entertainment. Few people can claim knowledge of what people in other parts of the world truly think about Americans.

There is at least one assertion that's absolute: "You have our war inside you now," she tells us. She's right; the Iraq war is already a part of our history, and historical events inspire important conversations - and so will Nine Parts of Desire.

Tom Swartwout film screening

Arts feature:
profiling film editor Tom Swartwout
The Ithaca Journal
November 15, 2007
683 words

"Ithaca's Tom Swartwout, editor of Sidney Lumet's films, to speak at Cinemapolis Friday"

full text here

Ithaca's Tom Swartwout, editor of Sidney Lumet's films, to speak at Cinemapolis Friday
By Mark Tedeschi
Special to the Journal

Revered writer/director Sidney Lumet has earned dozens of awards for his masterful work on more than 40 films over the past 50 years. He's fine-tuned the craft of garnering top-notch performances from some of the most respected actors of our time. His newest feature, “Before the Devil Knows You're Dead,” starring Philip Seymour Hoffman and Ethan Hawke, promises to be a riveting exploration of anxiety and family tension. But behind the scenes, Ithaca resident Tom Swartwout controls a vital part of Lumet's filmmaking process.

Swartwout has been the exclusive editor of Lumet's films since 1996. “I did television commercials in the early ‘90s,” he explains. Then, Swartwout had an opportunity to apprentice under Sam O'Steen, a Hollywood film editor who has worked for, among others, Roman Polanski and Mike Nichols. “[O'Steen] got a Sidney Lumet movie in 1995,” Swartwout continues. Something must have clicked: “After that, Sidney nicely offered me his next one and we've been working together ever since.”

Swartwout, an Ithaca resident since June, will attend the premiere for “Before the Devil Knows You're Dead” at Cinemapolis at 7 p.m. Friday, Nov. 16 for a question-and-answer period following the film.

Before moving to Ithaca, Swartwout resided in Brooklyn with his wife and two children; to that point, it was the longest he'd lived anywhere. “I moved around a lot as a kid,” he says. He graduated from Cornell in ‘86 with a degree in political science, but not before investigating another passion. “I had started developing an interest [in film] on my own,” he says. “Senior year, I took an intro to filmmaking class with [Senior Lecturer] Marilyn Rivchin. She gave me a lot of confidence... that was when I decided it was really what I wanted to pursue.”

Lumet's films are not the only projects that Swartwout tackles. Recently, he edited a television documentary about green technology written by New York Times op-ed columnist Thomas Friedman. Swartwout likes being able to take on work that he can complete from his home over a period of one or two months; that way, he's available if he gets another offer from Lumet. But, he adds, “For someone like Sidney, I'll go down to New York to work with him.”

The editing process contains myriad elements of preparation; editors must be familiar with a director's style and intention before delving into the heart of the work. Usually Lumet and Swartwout have just one meeting before shooting. “We've worked together a long time now,” he says, “so we understand each other and the shorthand we have. He'll talk about something that's worrying him or something he's excited for that he'd like me to think about as we're putting it together. Then, every day we'll screen footage and he'll talk about what he has in mind.”

Swartwout mentions that there are as many artistic choices as there are technical ones. “I like both,” he says, “especially nowadays when things are almost all done with some sort of digital work.” Lumet has shot all his work digitally, including this film, since 2000.

Shooting digital alleviates the tension of potential problems film can create. “Those issues don't come up at this level very often, but there's always that anxiety.” Swartwout says Lumet loves the look of the digital medium as well as the ability to instantly see what he's just shot.

“Sidney's budgets are always fairly tight,” he says. “He's very economic.” Part of Swartwout's job is to help determine, using their budget, what the crew can accomplish with lighting, color, and sound. “All of it is geared toward making [the process] better for Sidney,” he explains.

Between editing projects, Swartwout occasionally guest speaks at film classes at Cornell and Ithaca College. He says that he and his wife, a painter, moved back to Ithaca simply because they love the area. “We actually thought Brooklyn was great... we were just attracted to Ithaca.”

Swartwout looks forward to speaking this Friday. “I think it'll be fun,” he says. “Sidney did a remarkable job directing the actors... such strong performances. The film is dark, but it's not boring.”

"The Full Monty"

Theatre review
"The Full Monty" at Ithaca College
The Ithaca Journal
November 8, 2007
733 words
"IC Theatre's ‘Full Monty' offers multiple delights"

full text here

IC Theatre's ‘Full Monty' offers multiple delights
By Mark Tedeschi
Special to the Journal


Men care about their weight. There - I said it. The secret is out: Men are as conscious of their bodies as women are of their own. Not many who refer to themselves as “real men” will admit to that, including the main characters of “The Full Monty” - at least in the beginning.

“The Full Monty,” a musical comedy adapted from the 1997 British film of the same name, counterbalances the woman-centric focus of Ithaca College's last theatre production, “Hedda Gabler.” “The Full Monty” (music and lyrics by David Yazbek, book by Terrence McNally), directed by Greg Bostwick, tackles some seldom-addressed themes while diving headfirst into a delightfully unique story.

A group of six unemployed Buffalonian steel workers led by Jerry (Eric Morris, projecting a phenomenal voice in both singing and acting) scrounge about for work and struggle to disprove their obsolescence. When the monetary difficulties press harder, the men become desperate; they have to commit to something substantial in order to get their lives back on track.

Jerry, divorced and missing the alimony payments for visitation with his precocious son Nathan (Lochlan Cahoon, a Dryden High School freshman), convinces his friend Dave (Matthew J. Gall) to follow his wife to a women-only strip club. After overhearing the women complain about their husbands, Jerry has an idea that will earn money and gain back the women's respect: put on a show where women can see “real men” take their clothes off - all their clothes off.

They recruit four others: Harold (Benjamin Hart), who has been keeping his unemployment a secret from his wife; Malcolm (Kyle Johnson), whom Dave rescues from committing suicide; Ethan (Brian Plofsky), who renders the men speechless when he disrobes during his audition; and “Horse” (Jonathan Burke), an older gentleman who impresses everyone with his versatile dancing skills in the show-stopping number, “Big Black Man” (choreography by Mary Corsaro). Once together, they dub themselves Hot Metal. An eccentric woman named Jeanette (Joanna Krupnick) also joins in on the audition process, apparently because she has nothing better to do - but that's no problem, since she's quite funny and a definite crowd-pleaser (watch for “Jeanette's Showbiz Number,” wherein she refers to the auditions as a “putz museum” and a “showbiz mausoleum”).

As in the film, if the six men are to follow through with their plan, they have to stare their insecurities, physical and psychological, squarely in the face. Dave is overweight, Malcolm is lonely, and Harold is afraid of losing his wife. It's a bit far-fetched to believe that stripping can lead to overstepping these obstacles, but the writing is sound enough to make it work. And between the more angst-laced (but still great) songs like “Scrap” and “The Goods,” there are honest confessionals of emotion in “Breeze off the River” and “You Walk with Me” - stuff you wouldn't typically expect from purportedly “real men” men.

In the visual realm, costume designer Greg Robbins gave the characters befitting attire, a task that must have been difficult given that many of the garments needed to be easily removed on stage. And Sarah Watson's lighting design has some challenging moments that were executed flawlessly, particularly in the song “Michael Jordan's Ball” when a spotlight hits each of the guys while they strike a basketball pose in midair, and in the final, epic number “Let it Go,” which requires even more precise timing.

By that point, it's become obvious where the show is heading, and there is little for the audience to do but enjoy the crescendo of energy rushing from the stage.

The writers' choice to Americanize the story and place it in Buffalo is an effective one. Scenic designer Sandra Podolsky applied Buffalo's reputation of decrepitude to parts of her set: a dirty bathroom, brown facades, and a steel plant complete with thick beams covering a screen of projected background images.

The show's Buffalo setting also creates some locally appreciated humor. The characters mention Ithaca, Utica, Rochester, and Poughkeepsie, and there's a Bills reference every so often. But besides humor, the struggling economic milieu provides a message of hope in a sea of melancholy. Maybe the real Buffalo should take a hint - no, not to open more everyman strip joints for ex-factory-workers - but to embrace innovation, optimism, and persistence like the resolute men in “The Full Monty.” They swallowed their pride and then displayed it unabashedly, and in turn, won a standing ovation.

"Adventure in Apartment G-Sharp"

Theatre review
"The Adventure in Apartment G-Sharp" at the Kitchen Theatre (Family Fare)
Ithaca Times
October 31, 2007
657 words
"Family-friendly opera"

full text here

Family-friendly opera
By: Mark Tedeschi
10/31/2007

The Adventure in Apartment G Sharp, book and Lyrics by Nathan Hilgartner & Rachel Lampert; music by Bizet, Donizetti, Dvorak, Humperdinck, Mozart, Ofenbach, Verdi & Wagner. Directed by Rachel Lampert & Tony Simione. With Music Director, Arranger, Accompanist Richard Montgomery. At Kitchen Theatre through Nov. 11.

The Kitchen Theatre's Adventure in Apartment G Sharp uses conventional elements of family-friendly storytelling, from the intermittent jokes for grown-ups to a sleep-induced fantasy world. But conventions like those exist for a reason: if executed with talent and enthusiasm, they can easily plaster smiles all over the audience's face. Smile-inducing is exactly what Adventure does for kids and parents alike, and the grins will stay for quite awhile.

Adventures was written by Nathan Hilgartner, a sophomore at Ithaca High School, and Rachel Lampert, the Kitchen's artistic director. Hilgartner helped Lampert with writing The Odyssey II at the Kitchen last year, and they decided to collaborate more closely for this show. Lampert also directed Adventures, along with Tony Simione, an Ithaca theatre newcomer. The directors' expertise shows up in the charming choreography and in the credibility of the acting performances.

Eight-year-old Erin Hilgartner (Nathan's sister) plays Bernadette, a girl visiting her Uncle Howard (Joseph Zappala) for the weekend. He loves opera music; he seizes every opportunity to croon about everyday things. Bernadette isn't a fan, and politely lets him know it. He understands ("One day you will like opera / Though right now you want me to stop-era"), but sings her to sleep nonetheless.

Bernadette wakes up as Despina, a servant girl in a fantastic dreamworld. We meet new characters: Zappala returns as Don Horatio, father of Carlotta (Jessica Flood) and Rosalinda (Maria Jacobi), both of whom receive affections from two wealthy brothers, Alfonso (Max Lawrence) and Alfredo (Larry Komrower).

The actors' relish for their characters engages the audience. Hilgartner has a particularly difficult job, playing a girl who has to keep her wits enough to save the day amidst chaos, while at the same time, making humorous asides acknowledging the fantasy ("Why am I singing?" she wonders). Lawrence and Komrower's teamwork offer a enjoyable dynamic; Alfonso coaches Alfredo on wooing women, and even the difference in their vocal range gives humor to a simple repeated line uttered dramatically by both brothers: "I neeeed you."

Horatio has arranged the marriage of Carlotta and Alfredo, an act that will make him rich (good thing Alfredo is a nice guy, too). Meanwhile, Rosalinda falls for Alfonso, but a few mistaken identities later, their paths all become crisscrossed, and Despina/Bernadette must set things right.

Music in Apartment comes from a handful of operas, most from the 19th century: "Carmen," "The Marriage of Figaro," "Hansel & Gretel," "Don Pasquale," "Linda Di Chamounix," "Tales of Hoffman," "The Valkyrie," Cosi fan Tutte," "Rusalka," "The Elixir of Love," and "Il Trovatore."

The songs have been repurposed in Adventure; Hilgartner and Lampert wrote new lyrics to fit the story. The opera numbers are short, sweet and wholly organic to the plot. They showcase impressive singing abilities all around. Carlotta's "Oh, Hateful Villain!" and Rosalinda's "Lalalalala (Alfredo's Wooing Song)" are two especially memorable performances.

The set consists of pieces from the current Main Stage production, STRANGERHORSE, but they do the trick. The lighting (design by Emily Zoss) is simple and puts the focus on the actors; it also highlights Hannah Kochmann's smart costumes.

By the end of the Adventure, almost as if she'd been tricked, Bernadette realizes that she actually does appreciate opera music after all. Have the kids in the audience been coaxed into liking it, too? Judging by the excited lobby conversations afterward, I'd answer a definite yes - for both the children and the parents.

"Bedroom Farce"

Theatre review
"Bedroom Farce" at the Cornell University Schwartz Center
Ithaca Times
October 24, 2007
740 words

"In the Bedroom"

full text here

In the bedroom
By: Mark Tedeschi
10/24/2007

Bedroom Farce by Alan Ayckbourn. Directed by Stephen R. Cole. Scenic design by E.D. Intemann. Costumes by Lisa Boquist. With Jeffrey Guiton, Kathleen Mary Mulligan, Ian Harkins, Akilah Terry, Jon Delikat, Katie Lane, Ian Jones, and Alex Viola. Cornell University Schwartz Center Oct. 17-21, 24-28.

Playwright Alan Ayckbourn has found a niche, and his prolific catalogue of work proves it. He experiments with sophisticated innovations on what's normally considered conventional, yet he and his work remain consistently popular and well-received. The subject matter of his plays usually deal with domestic couples comedy, and he's tackled farce enough to take even its conventions for a spin - and that's exactly what he did with Bedroom Farce, Cornell University's latest production at the Schwartz Center for the Performing Arts.

Ayckbourn wrote the Tony-nominated comedy in 1975, and had come up with the title long before he penned the actual story. He wanted to toy with the notions of a typical bedroom farce, a genre wherein, basically, couples sleep with each other amid increasingly loonier situations. Ayckbourn decided to avoid that sort of predictable bedroom behavior, "namely sexual activity and sleeping," in his version.

The original production was written for a much larger venue than Ayckbourn was used to, so he found it a suitable opportunity for the three-way-split set of his "Bedroom Farce" project. Cornell's production, funny but at times misguided, features an equally intelligent set design: three adjacent bedrooms, shifted diagonally just enough so that each room's inhabitants are invisible to the neighbors. The lighting (design by Ford Sellers) is appropriately modest, with scene-to-scene switch cues executed just right.

The characters are certainly Ayckbournian: Ernest (Guyton), the absentminded husband of Delia (Mulligan); their son Trevor (Jones) and his wife Susannah (Viola), a couple who wreak havoc in every bedroom, none of which are their own; Trevor's ex, Jan (Terry) and her whiny bedridden husband Nick (Harkins); and the normal-seeming couple Malcolm (Delikat) and Kate (Lane). The acting is sound; my only quibbles are with Harkins's and Viola's mugging in certain scenes and Terry's inconsistent accent.

Ernest and Delia reside in a bedroom with lace curtains and decorative pillows. At first, they seem more like mutual acquaintances than husband and wife, but the caring in their relationship surfaces when Ernest fishes through the house to find his "peckish"-feeling wife some sardines and toast, a snack that they share in bed.

Across the stage, Jan dotes on Nick, who moans and groans for attention, crying that his back is in debilitating agony. Harkins, laying down for the entire show, gives his accent a good tinge of whine ("I cannot move at all ever again!") and plays physical comedy well, though his position leaves little room for variety. Jan and Nick live in a room with newer-looking decor, and it looks like a kid's room - fitting for Nick's immature behavior.

Meanwhile, Malcolm and Kate prepare for a housewarming party at their place, still in a state of disrepair. They chase each other around, playful and apparently happy. He expects chaos upon hearing she's invited Trevor, Susannah, and Jan; it's not giving anything away to say that his worst fears come true.

Trevor and Susannah arrive separately (they've been arguing) and waste no time before accosting their hosts (and, eventually, each other). Susannah admits to Kate that she's been attracted to women and asks her, "Isn't that terrifying?" Kate answers, truly scared, "Yes!"

The frigidity between Trevor and Susannah is a strength; they act differently with each other than with others, and their anxiety crescendoes. The fuss of their ensuing (well-choreographed) fight scenes is enough to drive out the rest of the guests. The two separate again and make rounds to everyone's room, inciting discord between each couple. For example, Kate later has a conversation with Malcolm about spicing things up between the sheets; when asked if she gets bored, she reassures him, "No! ...Not often."

Unfortunately, at least in this production, Ayckbourn's choice to consciously subvert conventions turns into a weakness rather than a strength.In the end, the deletion of some expected elements in Bedroom Farce leaves a feeling of emptiness: The couples talk about sex, but what's clearly a bedroom issue between some of them (particularly Ernest/Delia and Malcolm/Kate) remains unresolved. Jan never addresses Nick's despicably needy nature as a husband. And with Trevor's uncontrollable violent side and Susannah's unfamiliar curiosities, just how okay can we expect them to be?

As the second act progresses and the hour gets later, it's clear that the characters want the night to end so they can get some sleep. Even watching Ayckbourn's skilled writing in action, when the audience begins feeling that unrest, a bed sounds just about perfect.

"Hedda Gabler"

Theatre review
"Hedda Gabler" at Ithaca College
The Ithaca Journal
October 9, 2007
649 words

"IC Theater captured the relevancy of ‘Hedda Gabler'"

full text here

IC Theater captured the relevancy of ‘Hedda Gabler'
By Mark Tedeschi
Special to The Journal

The main stage schedule at Ithaca College this year features a wide spectrum of work and “Hedda Gabler,” a classic by the hugely influential Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen, is an ambitious choice to kick off IC's ambitious run of shows. The talent shown across the board in “Hedda” seems like good indication of a memorable upcoming season.

“Hedda” takes places in a Norwegian villa in the late 1800s. The societal stresses placed on the title character allow for different interpretations of her motives; consequently, she's had countless distinct historical depictions. In this production, directed by Jeffrey Tangeman, senior Corinne Proctor played her as a busy but jaded woman with a potential for the sinister that's either a chosen counterbalance to society's fixed and overbearing expectations or an inborn trait that forces her to work against the grain. Her actions and their questionable motivations have made Hedda a historically fascinating character.

Hedda's popularity as a character needn't detract attention from the others, nor the adept group portraying them: There's Jorgen Tesman (Alex Krasser), Hedda's scatterbrained but well-meaning husband who provides occasional comic relief; Judge Brack (Gary Howell), a smooth-talking acquaintance who is the only one that sees through Hedda and confronts her for her misgivings; Thea Elvsted (Erin M. Callahan), Hedda's old target for bullying in school; Eljert Lovborg (Marcin Pawlikiewicz), Tesman's academic contemporary; and Julle Tesman (Dani Stoller), Jorgen's kind aunt.

In the first scene with both Tesman and Hedda, one would never guess they were husband and wife. Hedda married him for financial reasons — one of the many causes for her pessimistic outlook on life — not for love, as Tesman believes. Lovborg tells them both about his latest project, a groundbreaking manuscript about a new theory of history that was largely inspired, he says, by Elvsted. Jealousy distracts Tesman while Hedda flirts with the other men and reveals periodic hints about her rich and complicated back story. The men trek out to a party; later, the manuscript finds itself into the wrong hands while Hedda can't help but take out her frustrations out on Elvsted once again.

Andrew Upton's adaptation included frequent conversation interruptions that kept the pace quicker than it would have been in Ibsen's day; unfortunately, the disjointed dialogue sometimes made it sound as if the actors were struggling with timing — but judging by the strength of their embodiment of the characters, that was not the case. And in addition to the plethora of dashes, the text is filled with intense, beautiful language and perceptive, if harsh, observations — Hedda declares, “Love is how we sweeten obligation.”

The lighting, sound, and set designers worked closely together to explore Hedda's torment. Laura Krassowski's superb lighting design featured very slow, subtle changes, italicizing the drama in certain scenes. The sound design by Mary Elizabeth Barnes used somber string arrangements and overlapping sound bites from all characters to give a small glimpse of the hectic busyness inside Hedda's mind.

Alexander Woodward's set, almost completely grey, contained only a wood-burning stove, two tables, a sofa, and a piano — but that was not what you noticed first. Modern magazine advertisements attached to the floor surrounded the set on all sides. They were the only anachronistic flourishes in the show, and they popped up again later in a masterfully executed climax. The juxtaposition of Hedda's drab furniture and the colorful pizzaz of enticing ads reminded us that social pressures can exist in myriad forms.

Even Hedda's riskier actions were no match for the unrelenting monster of societal expectations. “I can do what I want,” she asserts repeatedly, as if a mantra. She's right, but as it still stands today, one must be ready for consequences.

That's the source of an air of depressing inevitability throughout “Hedda Gabler”: the universal, inescapable forces of society to which, at some point or another, we all fall victim. IC theatre captured the relevancy of Hedda's oft-discussed plight.

“Hedda Gabbler” ran through Oct. 7. IC Theatre's next play is “The Full Monty,” previewing Oct. 30 and running Nov. 1-10. Visit www.ithaca.edu/theatre for more information.

Vijai Nathan in Ithaca

Arts feature:
profiling Indian-American comedienne and theatre performer Vijai Nathan
Ithaca Times
September 26, 2007
1,271 words

"Upstaging Tradition"

full text here

Upstaging Tradition
By: Mark Tedeschi
09/26/2007

"With stand-up, each person is pretty different," says Vijai Nathan. "The guys I've worked with? One is like an Indian 'gangsta,' so that's his act. Another one is gay - he grew up in India but lives in America, so he has a totally different point of view."

Nathan, 35, also has a unique point of view. An Indian-American comedienne - performing at the Kitchen Theatre this weekend - she has spent the last 10 years using stand-up comedy and theatre performance to share her distinctive perspective with audiences around the world.

Nathan's parents moved from India to the United States in the early 1970s. She was the first of her siblings born in America, and in school, found herself looked at by her classmates as different. "There were a couple of Korean kids, me... and that's it," she says.

The culture clash she experienced growing up was a struggle for Nathan until she gave it a new outlet: comedy. But her original career path was hardly headed in that direction. "I had a degree in English literature, and then a job in copy editing." For an English major just out of college, she explains, "It was either Starbucks or journalism."

"I did [journalism] for three years," she continues. It was a good job, and I was making good money. I just started realizing it wasn't the right fit for me."

Nathan looked into adult education classes wherein, she jokes, "In two sessions you can become a wine taster or a professional comedian."

Comedy, Nathan discovered, was exactly what she'd been looking for. Initially, her parents responded to the news of her new interest with some skepticism; they thought she must be unhappy with her life. Then they watched her perform. "They saw that people were laughing, and realized, 'She must be doing something right!'" After that, they encouraged her, "If you're going to do this, be the best you can at it."

In 1997, she quit the journalism job and toured around Maryland. After an unfortunate car accident totaled her only means of transportation from venue to venue, she was forced to move to Manhattan ("An accident brought me to New York - literally"). There, she took a job as a receptionist to earn money while she performed in the city's comedy circuit. The receptionist job kept her from performing as much as she would have liked, but that wasn't the worst part. "The worst part was having to ask permission to pee," she says. It didn't last too long - since 2003, Nathan has been able to make a living strictly from writing and performing.

When she discovered that her stand-up material was touching on themes deeper than simple on-the-surface comedy, Nathan expanded her act to include a one-woman theater piece titled, "Good Girls Don't, But Indian Girls Do." For her upcoming performance at the Kitchen, she'll start with some stand-up, follow with the "Good Girls Don't" show, and conclude with time for audience questions.

She says that "Good Girls Don't" has a different energy than stand-up, her first love. "The main point is to be funny, to use the aggressive energy of stand-up. With the solo show, I can be more vulnerable and write some of the back story that's behind the jokes. I can give the full picture, the full range of emotion."

That back story was even enough for her to try turning the show into a screenplay. "I started writing the first draft," she says. "I got through act one. The second was harder...and on the third act, I quit." The prospect of waiting for the pleasure of hearing a crowd's reaction frustrated her. "I love writing a performance for an audience. The hardest part about writing a film or novel is that you don't get to perform it - you have to wait for someone else to work on it."

Nathan covers a breadth of topics in her act: growing up amidst cultural misunderstandings, having two "very Indian" immigrant parents, living in two worlds at once. "And there are other things that happen to anyone in America," she adds. "Dating and relationships, TV... it's a coming-of-age story."

Since "Good Girls Don't" follows a script complete with music and lighting cues, there isn't as much room for improvisation as the stand-up routine sometimes calls for. Nathan has to be ready to adjust to a particular audience's reactions, but she's only had one real instance of "heckling" in her comedy career - but she admits the guilty party had good reason.

"All the things converged in the wrong way," she remembers. Her friend was performing at a show called "The Nasty Girls of Comedy" and ordered Nathan up to the stage. "I wasn't ready - I was still in my hideous receptionist clothes. My material was not 'Nasty Girl' material, so my friend said, 'Just change your stuff to be nasty.' I'd do things like tell a joke and add an extra curse... I was obviously uncomfortable."

Nathan, still relatively new to performance, prayed for the "red light" to come on, indicating she could leave the stage. "Back then, I didn't realize that you should just leave. I still have the audio tape - you want to keep things like that around. I think I labeled it 'The Day I Completely Bombed.'"

Nathan has also performed abroad in South Africa, England and several cities in Canada (a country she calls "The Other White Meat"). She ran into some unexpected cultural differences during her visit to South Africa; at one comedy festival, there were two stages - one standard theatrical venue, and one called "The Danger Zone."

"Comics booked to that [latter] room would usually get naked at some point in their act," she says. "Many Indians in South Africa are conservative, or some are Muslim. They saw a woman who looks Indian, speaking with an American accent, talking about sex and dating... after two days, I got switched to the Danger Zone. It was like an Indian woman talking about premarital sex was as offensive as a guy showing his balls."

Although she hasn't performed in India, she doesn't expect the reaction there would be any less harsh. "I think they'd kill me," she says in jest. "An Indian guy could talk about sex or politics, but with a woman it's another level of whether it's okay to laugh." She adds, "So much of [my act] is about language, and English is a second language for most there."

Nathan has visited India, though, and plans to return there soon to gather material for a new show - in fact, her performance in Ithaca is the last before she takes some down time to write more.

What's the new show about? "I think... it's going to be about God," she says. "Maybe. It's still kind of a big mess of mushy soup in my head." Religion was a dynamic element in her upbringing, rife with ponderable implications. "My mother is Hindu and also very superstitious. My Dad was agnostic or atheist, depending on his mood. And my oldest sister is a born-again Christian."

In the meantime, she may also produce more short, cheap video sketches like "Chai Noon" (easily found via a Google video search), which stars both of her parents. "It was fun! A kind of instant gratification," she says.

Her parents have always loved being a part of her act. "They feel famous!" she says proudly. "My father passed away in April of this year. People were so sad when they found out. He affected all these other people's lives just because they'd seen my show. It's nice - makes it seem like he's always around."

Nathan's website is www.vijaicomedy.com. For more information on the Kitchen Theatre's Counter Culture series, visit www.kitchentheatre.org/kcc. The Kitchen Theatre is located on 116 N. Cayuga St.

Billy Taylor in Ithaca

Arts feature:
profiling jazz pianist and educator Billy Taylor
Ithaca Times
September 12, 2007
774 words

"Playing Strong"

full text here

Playing strong
By: Mark Tedeschi
09/12/2007

"I'm retired now," jazz pianist and educator Billy Taylor says. "I used to tour 50 weeks a year. I'm taking it easy. I still travel, but not as much."

He's earned a breather; after 350 original songs, 23 honorary doctoral degrees, two Peabody awards, an Emmy, a Grammy, and an appointment to the National Council of the Arts, any musician would be eager to settle down.

Relative to the busy schedule he's had for much of his life, Taylor has slowed - but his activity in the world of music performance and education is far from complete. He teaches in the summer at the University of Massachusetts, writes original compositions, and, on a regular basis, lectures and performs all around the country. Not bad for an 86-year-old.

This weekend, Taylor will be visiting the Whalen Center at Ithaca College for two nights: On Friday at 4:30pm in the Hockett Family Recital Hall, he'll coach Ithaca College student jazz ensembles; on Saturday at 8:15pm in Ford Hall, he'll host "An Evening With Dr. Billy Taylor," which will include a demonstration, a lecture, and a solo performance. Both shows are free and open to the public.

Taylor has been the Artistic Advisor for Jazz at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts for the past 13 years, and he says there are actually many performers out there who are around his age. "We had quite a few of them as guests for special presentations last spring, and I'm so proud," he says. "Some people don't get the kind of attention they should."

With a professional career spanning over 60 years, Taylor knows he's been very fortunate to have worked with so many significant figures in jazz history. He produces a few names as if pulling them out of a hat, while granting them equal respect: Ben Webster, Coleman Hawkins, Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, Dave Brubeck, Charles Mingus. In the 1980s, Taylor was the arts correspondent for CBS Sunday Morning, where on every show he used to have "at least four or five interviews with people who were into different kinds of jazz."

Though he thinks as a whole "we decided as a country to put [jazz] on the side," Taylor remains optimistic. "People come from other places because they recognize the quality of the music, and they play it with their own unique accents." The variety of contemporary jazz encourages Taylor to continue educating people. "So many don't realize that jazz is America's classical music. It speaks very eloquently about freedom." Musicians visit the U.S. from all over the world, he says, because they heard a form of music they wanted to get closer to.

Technology has afforded the world an even greater opportunity for that kind of exposure. Just look at Taylor's website, www.billytaylorjazz.com, which is filled with videos, audio clips, interviews, biographies, and a wealth of other information. "It could get expensive to go through the process of having to buy a record or see a performer live," he says. "[This kind of] technology allows it more easily."

Two of the Kennedy Center events that Taylor is especially proud of are the Mary Lou Williams Women in Jazz Festival, a showcase of "the world's most acclaimed female jazz artists," and Betty Carter's Jazz Ahead, a residency program for young people who want to study jazz performance and composition. Taylor's enthusiasm for these annual programs indicates his everlasting drive to edify as many people as possible on the dynamic potential of jazz music.

Taylor's appearance this weekend is part of Ithaca College's Enduring Masters series, a collaboration between the School of Music and the Gerentology Institute. "I'm delighted [Ithaca] is doing things like that," he says of the series. "The media now is so pop-oriented and hip-oriented. Look at the TV show American Idol. [Some of my students] can sing better than those contestants. It's ridiculous that [the producers] have made such an arbitrary decision of what we're supposed to listen to. It gives people the wrong idea of what American music is about."

He has performed in Ithaca before: "We used to bring the jazzmobile out there...it was always fun," he says. Taylor applauds the city's offering of exciting music that, he says, doesn't garner as much attention as it should. "One of the reasons I do this kind of [Enduring Masters] concert is that you can hear so much more from a live performance than you would from a record or on television," he says. "To be in the same room with someone and see what they do is a dimension that too often is missing in music."

More information on the Enduring Masters series is available at www.ithaca.edu/enduringmasters.

Ithaca Fall Theatre Preview

Preview story:
Theatre in Ithaca, Fall 2007
Ithaca Times
September 5, 2007
749 words

"Fall Theatre Preview"

full text here

Fall Theatre Preview
By: Mark Tedeschi
09/05/2007

This fall, local theatre venues offer a fascinating and delectable array of productions that promise to rouse conversation, stimulate intellect, and tickle funny bones.

Cornell University kicks off its fall season with Good (Sept. 13-15, 20-22) by C.P. Taylor, a challenging drama about a "good" man seduced into the Nazi regime; his torment is enhanced by evocative music. After that, Cornell will lighten things up with two classic comedies: The first is Alan Ayckbourn's Bedroom Farce (Oct. 17-21, 24-28) (a treat for anyone who enjoyed Ayckbourn's How the Other Half Loves at Cortland Rep. this summer); it follows a self-absorbed couple's havoc-wreaking attempts to salvage their failing marriage. The second, The Bourgeois Gentleman (Nov. 15-17, 29-Dec. 2), is a Molière comedy-ballet about an ill-mannered man who tries to buy his peers' esteem and respect by altering his appearance and demeanor.

Closing the theatre season is Slow Dusk (Nov. 9-11), former Syracuse University student Carlisle Floyd's Depression-era one-act opera about guilt and religious fanaticism. Other performances this fall include the free RPTA Showcase (Sept. 2) featuring the Schwartz Center's six Equity actors (including J.G. Hertzler of "Star Trek: Deep Space Nine") from the Resident Professional Teaching Associates program, and Cornell Dance Series' Garth Fagan Dance (Sept. 27), a performance of Afro-Caribbean energy choreographed by a Tony Award winner. For Cornell Theatre information and tickets, call 254-ARTS.

The first two productions at Ithaca College take polar approaches to exploring gender roles: Henrik Ibsen's Hedda Gabler (Oct. 2, 4-7) is a stark, personal drama about the iconic title character's struggle with the weighty choices she faces as a woman with traditional 19th century responsibilities; The Full Monty (Oct. 30, Nov. 1, 3-4, 7, 9-10) - music and lyrics by David Yazbek, based on Peter Cattaneo's film/Terrence McNally's book - situates women as family breadwinners and men as aspiring strippers. This racy comedy-musical is for mature audiences only.

Alfred Uhry's Tony Award-winning The Last Night of Ballyhoo (Dec. 4, 6-9) follows the trend of societal investigation with a story about a Jewish family living in 1939 Atlanta who obsess about an important upcoming social event, the premiere of Gone with the Wind, and an observantly Jewish dinner guest from Brooklyn. The play pushes its audience to contemplate intolerance at the same time as it encourages laughter. For Ithaca College Theatre information and tickets, call 274-3224.

Now in its 17th season, the Kitchen Theatre Company, located in the Clinton House at 116 N. Cayuga St., offers a plethora of regional and world premieres. The Main Stage Series begins with Sarah Ruhl's The Clean House (Aug. 30-Sept. 23), a Pulitzer Prize finalist about "the tidy, unemotional life of a doctor, her adulterous husband, her sister, and her Brazilian housekeeper, who aspires to tell the funniest joke in the world." Following that is a play by Brian Dykstra, author of Clean Alternatives (a regional premiere at the Kitchen last year) called STRANGERHORSE (Oct. 18-Nov. 11), a drama about ethics and racism that features Dykstra's snappy, humorous dialogue. In December, Iraqi-American Heather Raffo's critically acclaimed solo-performance show 9 Parts of Desire (Dec. 6-23) examines the strenuous lives of nine women living in Iraq.

The Kitchen's Counter-Culture series continues last year's focus on artists of color with five groundbreaking, rulebreaking solo performances. This fall features Vijai Nathan's Good Girls Don't, But Indian Girls Do (Sept. 28-30) and Darian Dauchan's Media Madness (Nov. 16-18).

Parents can take their kids to the always-enjoyable "Family Fare" series at the Kitchen, too. Acrobat/juggler Nicholas Flair performs his one-man show, The Other Side, on Sept. 29 and 30. The Adventure in Apartment G Sharp by Rachel Lampert and Nathan Hilgartner, featuring "music from the grandest of Operas," runs Oct. 27-Nov. 11. And the Kitchen Sink's Teen Extreme Playwriting Contest and Marathon! will feature young playwrights' talent from the local area. For Kitchen Theatre information and tickets, call 273-4497.

Finally, the Syracuse Stage at 820 E. Genesee St. in Syracuse opens its season with two literary adaptations of different sorts. First up is Christopher Hampton's Les Liasons Dangereuses (Sept. 26-Oct. 14), a sexually charged story about manipulation and the aristocracy based on a 1782 French novel by Pierre Choderlos. Following that, just in time for Halloween, is Simon Moore's adaptation of Misery (Oct. 24-Nov. 11), a nail-biting Stephen King suspense novel about a fictional famous author's torturous kidnapping by his biggest fan.

"The Clean House"

Theatre review
"The Clean House" at the Kitchen Theatre
Ithaca Times
September 5, 2007
715 words

"The Divine Comedy"

full text here

The Divine Comedy
By: Mark Tedeschi
09/05/2007

The Clean House, by Sarah Ruhl. Directed by Sara Lampert Hoover. With Ursula Cataan, Leigh Keeley, Olivia Lawrence, Charles Stransky and Addie Walsh. At the Kitchen Theatre through Sept. 23.



We rarely realize that a well-told joke extracts more laughs from timing (or its "time signature") and style of delivery than from straight content. When a woman opens a play with a joke in Portuguese in front of the projected words "a woman tells a joke in Portuguese," it's clear that although an audience might not understand it literally, their response indicates they can recognize and appreciate a hilarious joke when they hear one. The universality of humor is as encompassing as that of love, and Sarah Ruhl's The Clean House succeeds in illustrating both.

The Kitchen Theatre opens its 17th season with the Pulitzer-nominated comedy The Clean House, here directed by Sara Lampert Hoover, a complex but enjoyable example of the passionate work that the Kitchen consistently shares.

Lane (Walsh), a doctor who dislikes giving orders and hates laughing out loud, has a prim demeanor that fully fits the set design of her immaculate, all-white living room. She hires Mathilde (Cataan), the Brazilian jokester who considers humor as crucial to life as oxygen, to keep the place clean.

The problem? Mathilde hates cleaning; it makes her sad and uninspired. The solution? Lane's sister, Virginia (Keeley), an unemployed lady with a housecleaning regimen so familiar that she can spend her spare time secretly cleaning Lane's house for Mathilde while the two of them "talk and fold laundry, as women used to do."

Lane has a husband named Charles (Stansky), also a doctor, who remains unseen (though Stansky does appear earlier in flashbacks playing Mathilde's father opposite Lawrence as her mother) until it's revealed that he's having an affair with his 67-year-old breast cancer patient, Ana (Lawrence).

Ana's moxie counterbalances Lane's inflexibility, and Charles has no apologies about being forthright with his feelings. He even brings Ana into their home in order to introduce his wife to his mistress and uses the Jewish concept of a basherte (soul mate) to justify the "metaphysically objective" choice he made - even though he's not Jewish. Fortunately, the ensuing conversations avoid painful awkwardness - they're just plain funny.

The writing and acting cooperate to create layered characters. They evolve, and so does the set - you'll be surprised at how much a few furniture rearrangements and half-eaten apples can change one's perception.

Mathilde finds a muse in Ana, and decides to split her time evenly between Ana's and Lane's houses. When she's not apple-picking with Ana or pretending to clean for Lane, Mathilde is trying to come up with "The Perfect Joke," an elusive creation with the power to make someone die laughing and an equilibrium of purity and scatology that, she says, puts it "somewhere between an angel and a fart."

The structure of The Clean House follows no conventions, but still stays coherent. We move briskly from a peaceful seashore to an Alaskan snowstorm and back, helped along by swift lighting and sound design changes. Boel's original score also moves us through time and space with rich music that, as a whole, transcends genre.

Characters' initial introductions are set aside from the story with excellent monologues and mini-stories giving clues to their backgrounds and their attitudes about life.

Eventually, they confront and challenge those attitudes; Mathilde is asked to actually tell the world's funniest joke, Lane accepts that she needs (even likes!) help from others, and Virginia revels in making a complete mess. Ana looks like a totally different person by the end of the loopy second act, and her transformation has little to do with makeup.

The acting gives credibility to the changes and helps underscore the thematic underbelly: Life is a conglomerate holding immeasurable amounts of love and death, laughter and sadness, transition and confusion. Lane chuckles at a joke, then cries, then laughs, then sobs.

The four women characters represent different schools of emotional approaches to life. Mathilde sees humor as perhaps the purest of the emotions, or at least the most worthy of attention. She wears black because she's in mourning but always thinks fondly of her parents' life together, imagining them laughing through good times and bad.

The perceived humor in the opening joke demonstrates Ruhl's command of all-embracing storytelling and sophisticated language. Only a skilled team can execute such a production, and in its opening show this year, the Kitchen has done well.

"The Great American Trailer Park Musical"

Theatre review
"The Great American Trailer Park Musical" for Cortland Repertory Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
August 29, 2007
722 words

"CRT's ‘Trailer Park Musical' offers brash fun"

full text here

CRT's ‘Trailer Park Musical' offers brash fun
By Mark Tedeschi
Special to The Journal

With a title like “The Great American Trailer Park Musical,” you might expect Cortland Repertory Theatre's sixth and final production of the year to be full of shameless stereotypes, offbeat satire and borderline offensive characters delivering a borderline tasteless story.

You'd be right on all counts — but none will stop you from thoroughly enjoying every minute of it.

Nearly as tender as it is funny, “Trailer Park Musical” (directed and choreographed by Bert Bernardi, now in his third CRT season) treads on ground yet unseen in this season's lineup, and the zany, brash spectacle is a fantastic way to close the season.

David Nehls (music and lyrics) and Betsy Kelso (book) wrote “Trailer Park Musical,” which first played at the New York Music Theatre Festival in 2004 and ran Off-Broadway in 2005. Three women narrate the story: Betty (Doreen Barnard), the remarkably versatile leader of the trio; Linoleum or “Lin” (Erica Livingston), the uncouth jokester named for the surface on which she was born; and Pickles (Caitlin Maloney), the dense young woman who always thinks she's pregnant and brags about dating a cosmopolite — “He likes foreign beers and cheese that smells like urine!”

The show is filled with lines like that one; surprisingly, the biggest laughs come from jokes involving vulgarity, and the actors' fearless delivery of what would normally be considered rude is what makes the dialogue so amusing.

“This Side of the Tracks,” the catchy opening number of a show filled with radiant music (Ethan Deppe, music director) sets the scene: Armadillo Acres, a trailer park in Starke, Fla., where, as Lin laments, “You'd trade your left tit for a dip in the pool.” Norbert (Scott Wakefield), a gentle toll collector, tries to convince his agoraphobic wife Jeannie (Katherine Proctor) to step outside of their home by the time they reach their impending 20th anniversary.

Norbert soon finds himself at a strip club, where his new, sultry neighbor, Pippi (Amy Halldin) puts on a show (“The Buck Stops Here”). He inadvertently charms her, and the narrators sing that “It Doesn't Take a Genius” to figure out what happens next: Norbert falls for the vivacious stripper as his unaware wife tries to overcome her fear. Act One closes with the epic, hilarious number, “Storm's A-Brewin',” featuring madcap choreography, shiny costumes (Jimmy Johansmeyer, costume designer), and a disco ball (John Horan, lighting designer).

The second act is shorter, but even more vibrant than the first. “Roadkill” follows Duke (Andy Moss), Pippi's crazy, magic-marker-sniffing ex-boyfriend, from Oklahoma City to Starke. He confronts her, Jeannie confronts Norbert, and in the moving climax, all must “make like a nail and press on.”

Four talented musicians (Ethan Deppe, Dillon Kondor, Shannon Cockbill and Matt Pond) provide instrumentation for the musical numbers. “The Great American TV Show,” a tribute to the tacky Sally/Jenny/Ricki-esque morning talk shows, particularly showcases theirs and the singers' musicianship.

At a few brief moments, the jokes abrade, but not because they offend; there's a bit about flan that goes on too long and an obligatory Britney Spears potshot (come on, she's too easy a target). But that's to say nothing of the performances, which are all airtight. Accents have been consistently well-executed in CRT shows this summer, but the intense, spot-on drawl the actors put on in “Trailer Park Musical” stands out, especially during songs (credit for crispness also goes to Don Tindall's sound design).

The clever look of the show is due in large part to Jo Winiarski's set design, which is filled with crafty props: flowerpots made of tires, an old Chevy grille, Christmas lights, cinder blocks, milk crates and a tiny pink flamingo — possibly a subtle nod to John Waters and the memorable steps he took toward glorifying, in a hyperbolically caricatured way, trailer park lifestyle.

It's that sort of depiction I was initially afraid could make for shaky subject matter, but after “Trailer Park Musical” immediately and humorously addresses the stereotypes, I realized my worry was unwarranted. The characters are content with their lives and not afraid to joke about outsiders' misconceptions.

At its heart, “Trailer Park Musical” is a story about finding happiness in unlikely places; on the surface, it's a comedy highlighting the coarse lifestyle found only in locales like Armadillo Acres.

That solid combination definitely makes CRT's last show worth seeing.

“The Great American Trailer Park Musical” runs at CRT through Saturday. Visit www.cortlandrep.org or call (800) 427-6160 for more information.

"Almost, Maine"

Theatre review
"Almost, Maine" for Cortland Repertory Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
August 16, 2007
674 words

"CRT celebrates love's otherworldly qualities"

full text here

CRT celebrates love's otherworldly qualities
By Mark Tedeschi
Special to The Journal







Cortland Repertory Theatre's “Almost, Maine” begins with a bundled-up couple, Ginette and Pete, surrounded by starlit snowdrifts, sitting on a bench as far apart as they can. Their dialogue is sparse and timid.

In the next scene, a man named East meets a woman named Glory who's wandering around his yard and tells her, “I think I love you.” She asks if that's really true, and he candidly admits, “At first sight, yeah.”

At the outset, these two simple excerpts bare the heart that beats steadily throughout “Almost, Maine”: a celebration of love's ethereality.

Written by John Cariani (best known for playing Motel in the 2004 Broadway revival of “Fiddler on the Roof”) and directed by Bill Kincaid (a five-season CRT vet), “Almost, Maine” consists of 11 vignettes in two acts, interspersed with acoustic musical interludes, thanks to sound designer Don Tindall, over a pantomiming couple's up-and-down relationship as they rearrange Jim Bumgardner's scenery. Each scene, beginning at 9 p.m. in an unorganized township in Northern Maine known as “Almost,” offers ruminations on love and the expansive list of related topics: friendship, dating, marriage, breaking up, alcohol, shooting stars and misplaced footwear.

There are only six players in the production, counting the faceless scene-changers Gregory Trimmer and Lindsey Zaroogian. The other actors — Molly Pope, Colin Wasmund, Dana Bennison, and Dustin Charles — can't hide their eagerness to tackle the unique opportunity of playing several different characters in the same show; they explore the varied dynamics that come with different couplings. (That includes an unexpected same-sex pairing in a light piece that involves literally “falling” in love.) The acting is credible all-around — including the “jeezum crow” Maine accents — but Charles' natural consistency gives an air of gravity to potentially tacky lines like “I go away so I can know where I am for a second.”

Some of the other vignettes depict a woman (Pope) fascinated with a man (Wasmund) who can't feel physical pain; another woman (Bennison) who dumps colorful pillowcases on her boyfriend's (Charles's) floor and repeatedly demands, “All the love I gave to you? I want it back!”; a man who faces scolding from his wife (Charles and Bennison again) for mistakenly wishing on a planet instead of a star; a woman (Bennison) who returns to her ex's (Wasmund's) house to answer his years-old and two snowboarding buddies (Pope and Charles) who begin to confront the fact that their feelings for each other may be more than platonic.

Most of these stories are blithe, at least at first glance, but some of them end in sheer heartbreak. Seconds before each impending reconciliation, whether whimsical or weighty, the emerald flicker of aurora borealis appears in the background, courtesy of John Horan's excellent lighting design. In the outdoor scenes, the blues bouncing off piles of snow combined with Jimmy Johnsmeyer's sweater-and-parka costumes had me, once the show ended, reaching for a jacket that wasn't there.

A few minor quibbles: some of the 0shorts' endings finish too melodramatic for the amount of character development a vignette allows, and although the actors deliver their lines crisply, the dialogue is occasionally hit-or-miss.

Cariani frequently uses repetition for comedic effect, but with that technique, there can be a fine line between effective and tiring.

Those misfires are on the surface; the beauty of “Almost, Maine” lies deeper.

The stories relish in awkwardness (“There's so much sky here!” followed by “Used to be a potato farm.”), absurdity (“Ironing boards are the opposite of God.”), and nuance (about a hidden-picture painting: “You gotta try not to look at it. You gotta trick it.”).

All are qualities of love that benefit from a subtle but complex investigation; “Almost, Maine” offers it in addition to its outer shell of joyful jocularity.

Seeing “Almost, Maine” will indeed make a good date, but that certainly doesn't restrict its enjoyability. The pieces are so authentic, if you do see it with someone special, you might find that the ensuing conversation could fit right into the show as a final vignette.

“Almost, Maine” runs through Aug 18. For more information, go to www.cortlandrep.org.

"Fiddler on the Roof"

Theatre review
"Fiddler on the Roof" for Cortland Repertory Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
July 27, 2007
703 words

"Cortland Rep offers intimate version of 'Fiddler on the Roof'"

full text here

Cortland Rep offers intimate version of ‘Fiddler on the Roof'
By Mark Tedeschi
Special to Cortland Ticket







In 1894, Jewish author Sholom Aleichem wrote a series of stories about a Russian milkman named Tevye. Aleichem's most famous story, “Tevye and his Daughters,” inspired an adaptation called “Fiddler on the Roof” by the team of Joseph Stein (playwright), Sheldon Harnick (lyricist) and Jerry Bock (composer).

It played on Broadway for more than 3,000 performances (the first musical to do so), generated a well-known film version in 1971 and has since enjoyed countless revival shows all over the world.

This summer the show finds a home in Central New York, and from now through Aug. 4, Cortland Repertory Theater will be tricking its audience — “Fiddler on the Roof” seems too grandiose for the modestly sized Edward Jones Playhouse, but the touching story is microcosmic enough that you might even think it's played better in a smaller venue.

Tevye, performed with gusto by Claus Evans, is the narrator, lead character, breadwinner of his family and father to five daughters (guess which of those is the hardest feat). He explains at the beginning what life is like for the inhabitants of a 1905 Russian shtetl; plainly and proudly, he says, “We stay because Anatevka is our home.”

The rest of the cast files in for the opening number, “Tradition,” where we learn the specific roles of Papas, Mamas, Sons, and Daughters as per Jewish custom. We also immediately see how attentively director/choreographer Jim Bumgardner uses set designer Carl Tallent's visually snug (and richly brown) space.

Tevye's jokester demeanor and neighborly familiarity lightens what must have been quite testing hardships for Jewish families under Tsarist regime. But he's a genial man and a caring father; the plot focuses on his three eldest daughters and the men they love — men that put Tevye's sense of tradition in check.

Tzeitel (Lindsay Zaroogian), the oldest, falls for a cartoonish young tailor named Motel (Gregory Trimmer), against the counsel of the nosy, kibitzing matchmaker, Yente (Suzan Perry). Meanwhile, Lazar Wolf the butcher (a wonderful moniker, isn't it?), played by Ted Nappi, asks Tevye for Tzeitel's hand in marriage; Tevye pontificates, decides that security supersedes age disparity, and accepts. The nearby bar patrons offer a toast in the form of “To Life,” a song featuring a catchy chorus and some notable Barynya footwork.

Tevye relents to Tzeitel's plea not to force her to marry Lazar, and he accepts her betrothal to Motel. The haunting but beautiful classic “Sunrise, Sunset” precedes their wedding reception, where everyone is in high spirits — even Lazar. Some authentic bottle dancing wows the crowd — then, perhaps too quickly, Lazar has a change of heart and snaps at Tevye.

A traveled young radical (Perchik, played by Nicholas Palazzo) attempts to alleviate the tension by grabbing his secret love and Tevye's second oldest daughter, Hodel (Catherine Lena Stephani, consistently boasting a powerful singing voice), for a dance. Everyone balks at the broken taboo until they cave and join in. Soon, Russian occupants, led by the Constable (Mark Bader), Fyedka (Liam Cronin), and Sasha (Jefferson McDonald, also dance captain) step in and crash the wedding.

In the second act, Tevye gives his blessing to Hodel to seek out Perchik, who's been arrested in Siberia. However, Tevye's tsuris puts him at the end of his rope when the middle daughter, Chava (Ephie Aardema), elopes with Fyedka, a gentile. He laments via a heartbreaking song, “Chavelah,” and later treads on a thematic line between blind faith and contentment.

Although poignant, CRT's production isn't perfect; some beards look too fake, “Miracle of Miracles” is a bit schmaltzy and on opening night there were a few trips over the wordier portions of dialogue. Also, some actors might have practiced their Yiddish pronunciation more, as it often suggests on-the-spot gibberish.

Despite the script's initially flat exposition (“Tzeitel, you're the oldest.”), its witticisms (“May the authorities itch in places they can't reach!”) and subtleties (Lazar would be much easier to disregard if he weren't such a nice guy) qualify it as first-rate. All the elements — counting Patrick Young's music direction, John Horan's lighting design (watch for the slow change during “Sabbath Prayer”), Jimmy Johansmeyer's costumes, and Michael J. Speach, Jr.'s sound design — pay captivating respect to this timeless tale.

"Hair"

Theatre review
"Hair" at the Hangar Theatre
Ithaca Times
July 25, 2007
790 words

"Tripping out on 'Hair'"

full text here

Tripping Out on 'Hair'
By: Mark Tedeschi
07/25/2007

Hair, book and lyrics by Gerome Ragni and James Rado, music by Galt MacDermot. Directed by Kevin Moriarty, choreographed by Rachel Lampert and Sara Lampert Hoover, set design by Jo Winiarski, costumes by Greg Robbins, lighting by Tyler Micoleau, sound design by Don Tindall. Starring Gregory Maheu, Robert Adelman Hancock, Piper Goodeve, Danny Mefford, Jonathan David, Derrick Cobey, Joanna Krupnick, Jill Knox, Celeste Sayles, and Tiffany Nichole Greene. Accompanied by IY: Dave Billings, Chris Frank, Nate Terepka and John Zinder; conducted by Joel Gelpe, music direction by Kevin Long.



When I took my seat as I arrived at "Hair," a handful of young guys sat near me. One asked, "Are these our seats?" Realizing he didn't know, he said, "With the spirit of this show, you should sit wherever you want. If you even paid to be here, you're breaking the rules." He made an amusing point (and he did find his real seat), but "Hair" is easily worth the price of admission.

Get there a few minutes early to watch the "Happening" - it helps get the audience ready for some theatrical participation -­ ­­that occurs before the show "officially" starts. The merrily arbitrary activities from the Happening on opening night (they're different for each show) included "soundscape dawn" and "move a giant egg."

Then the actors dance, clap, stomp, bang tambourines, hoot and holler until they collectively decide the show should start - but they're in no rush, and the transition from hippie unpredictability to the booming, energetic opening number, "Aquarius," is absolutely seamless.

In "Hair," plot doesn't really take a back seat to spectacle; the atypical nature of the sights and sounds simply overwhelm it. The story follows a group - actually, tribe - of friends in New York City during the Summer of Love (1967 - this summer is its 40th anniversary) who live together and relish in their happy-go-lucky lifestyle.

The characters include Claude (Maheu), the blond-locked leader of the tribe and the only one who submits to his duty when the men are drafted; Berger (Hancock), a wild kid hell-bent on insubordination; Sheila (Goodeve), a pretty girl with a vigorous voice; Woof (Mefford), a bisexual young man who augments the collective exuberance; Hud (Cobey), a soulful Black Panther with a giant afro; Jeanie (Krupnick), a pregnant stoner who declares her love for Claude; and a flock of others.

Be on your toes; the Happening doesn't stop as "Aquarius" begins. Throughout "Hair," the audience is as much a part of the show as the actors. Winiarski has re-imagined the space of the Hangar to surround the actors with spectators, couches on stage included, as well as to give ample room for the actors to carouse around inside the audience. The connection seems so intuitive and unabashed that if someone from the audience jumped up and started dancing with the cast, the actors probably wouldn't bat an eyelash (but don't really do that - unless you're invited).

A viny ladder leading to the overhead catwalk and an almost-climbable cage surrounding IY's drummer (the band is also right on stage) extend the space further into the third dimension. The walls are lined with pots and pans, an American flag, and paintings of zodiac symbols, huge eyeballs and tie-dye swirls. This setup works closely with Lampert's fierce choreography and Moriarty's confident direction to use as much of the space as possible.

And the music! The song-to-dialogue ratio in "Hair" surpasses that of most typical shows; the stream-of-consciousness, non-sequitor flow of songs mirrors the lack of focus that the characters savor. Some memorable numbers of the first act are "Sodomy" and "Colored Spade" (two satiric jump-right-in numbers about sexual proclivities and racial slurs), "I Got Life" (a high-spirited list affirming one's body parts), and, of course, "Hair" (a hearty celebration of tresses, curls and manes). "Where Do I Go" introduces one of the most memorably surreal act breaks of all time, involving a wealth of nudity aptly softened by low red lighting.

Act two opens with a jam tune ("Electric Blues") by Ithaca's IY, a classically trained band that look ecstatic to be there. Where else would they have the opportunity to play such groovy music from the Golden Age of Rock with this level of enthusiasm? They hold their own during the face-tripping-acid and strobe-light-stoner-rock numbers - which is what much of the second act consists of. "Black Boys," "White Boys," "Abie Baby" and the classic "Good Morning, Starshine" are just a few elements in the hallucinatory compendium of stereotypes, pop culture, history, politics and generally joyful nonsense.

Throughout "Hair" I found myself wishing that I'd been alive during that historic summer. I had to rethink my jealousy when I realized there was a malaise setting in: Claude goes to war, the tribe's trip ends, and they face, well, reality. But when the closer, "Let the Sunshine In," reaches the height of its crescendo, the celebratory free-for-all makes the depressing return to Earth feel worth it.

"Hair," which rivals any rock concert I've ever been to, reminded me of just how different today's youth culture is becoming. But that's not to be pessimistic; I'd say we need our version of "Hair" to wake us up a little, but in the current climate, this one does the trick.

"Hair" will appear at the Hangar Theatre in Cass Park through July 28. Tickets may be purchased at the Ticket Center at the Clinton House, by calling 607-273-4497, or online at www.hangartheatre.org.

"St. Patrick's Four" documentary

Arts feature:
profiling "The Trial of the St. Patrick's Four" by Adolfo Doring and Amanda Zackem
The Ithaca Journal
July 25, 2007
503 words

"St. Patrick's Four documentary at Cinemapolis tonight"

full text here

St. Patrick's Four documentary at Cinemapolis tonight
By Mark Tedeschi
Special to the Journal

Most of us in Central New York are fairly familiar with the story: On March 17, 2003, four Ithaca Catholic Worker members now known as “The Saint Patrick's Four” entered a military recruitment center in Lansing.

They poured vials of their blood on the walls and on an American flag, knelt, and read a prepared statement and letters from Iraqis asking Americans to use civil disobedience to protest the invasion of Iraq. They were tried in Ithaca, where the judge declared a mistrial due to a hung jury, and then re-tried in Binghamton on federal charges — including conspiracy to impede an officer of the United States.

There's another story that most of us don't know: Two years later, Ithaca College graduate Amanda Zackem, now 26, met filmmaker Adolfo Doring, now 45, in Manhattan while both were working on a film project about gentrification. Shortly after Doring's passion for documenting the truth on celluloid became a shared one, they dedicated themselves to creating a film reminding people that, in Doring's words, “Democracy is not a free ride.” That film, screening at Cinemapolis at 7:15 tonight, is called “The Trial of the St. Patrick's Four.”

Neither Doring nor Zackem personally knew any of “The Four” (Daniel Burns, Teresa Grady, Clare Grady and Peter DeMott) until a friend told Doring about the second trial; that Zackem went to school in Ithaca was purely a coincidence.

Each of the Saint Patrick's Four faced a possible six years in prison and a $250,000 fine; moreover, the verdict “could have set a legal precedent, a choke hold on protests across the country,” Doring said.

Their film follows the second trial as it develops, starting when Doring and Zackem got involved. Cameras weren't allowed in the courtroom, although they did attend the proceedings every day amidst a packed audience. Then, every evening, they would interview the four defendants, as well as protestors outside the courthouse both for and against an acquittal. The documentary also contains footage of the Iraq war and interviews with political activists Howard Zinn and Noam Chomsky.

“The film shows reality,” Zackem said. “A documentary is about truth ... most people never get to see a trial like this — they only get to hear about it.”

The filmmakers interviewed people with as many opinions as they could. Though the filmmakers may have sympathized with the protestors' situation, their goal was for the film to remain objective.

The four protestors and their families have a history of political activism. Burns' father, John Burns, was mayor of Binghamton for many years. The Grady sisters' father, John Peter Grady, was part of the Camden 28, a group of Vietnam protestors who were acquitted of breaking into a building to destroy draft records.

“They believe in what they do, their reasons, and the constitutionality of all of it,” Doring said. “They're very resolute.”

DeMott, Burns and the Grady sisters were convicted on misdemeanor charges of trespassing and damaging government property. They all served time in prison for the convictions.

"Ten Little Indians"

Theatre Review
"Ten Little Indians" for Cortland Repertory Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
July 12, 2007
624 words

"'Ten Little Indians' finds strength in anxiety"

full text here

‘Ten Little Indians' finds strength in anxiety
Cortland Repertory Theatre's production a stylish take on Agatha Christie tale
By Mark Tedeschi
Special to Cortland Ticket

Nearly half of Agatha Christie's works have been published under two or more different titles, but none has had an identity crisis quite like her best-selling novel — we in the U.S. know it as “And Then There Were None.” When it was first published, the book was called “Ten Little Niggers”; thankfully, the racial epithet was not an important part of the plot, so it was replaced with a somewhat less aggressive blanket term. Christie believed the dark story needed some cheering up on stage, so the tone of her script for the play differs considerably from that of her novel. Cortland Repertory Theatre's “Ten Little Indians” is a well-cast, light and stylish incarnation of the classic, oft-imitated tale.

In the summer of 1940, 10 seemingly random guests are amassed at a house on an island off the coast of Devon, England, by an unseen host known only as Mr. U.N. Owen. A recorded voice informs them of a trait they have in common: They're all murderers. After the guests start dying per the nursery rhyme “Ten Little Indians,” they realize that someone among them must be responsible for the goings-on.

Tony Capone, a CRT acting vet from “Bye Bye Birdie” in 2002, directs the eclectic, age-appropriate cast. From the outset, we're bombarded with quick-snap character introductions like the buoyant Phillip Lombard (Scott Lee Williams), the take-charge Sir Lawrence Wargrave (Dale J. Young), and the multi-faced William Blore (David Lapkin). The tension doesn't really start percolating until Mr. Owen's butler, Rogers (Tim Mollen) and Mrs. Owen's secretary, Vera Claythorne (Victoria Haynes), admit that they can't confirm whether the Owens even exist.

Standout performances come from Suzan Perry, who channels the bitter-tongue disgruntlement of Judi Dench's angrier roles to play bible-clutching Emily Brent (“Young people nowadays behave in the most disgusting fashion!”), and Robert Finley as General Mackenzie, a cane-wielding golden-ager who lets out a sad monologue about discovering his wife's unfaithfulness.

Often there are six or seven actors on stage at a time, and surprisingly their chemistry is quite good during commotions when several people are moving and speaking at once. There's always a place for them in the lush set, thanks to scenic designer Sarah Martin and always an opportunity for someone to sneak away one of the “Little Indians” that sit on a shelf in the corner and are discreetly subtracted along with their human counterparts.

Jason Read's lighting design deserves applause; the six scenes are set at different parts of the day, and the lighting underscores the mood with clever technique. The electricity seems to flicker just the right amount for eeriness during a thunderstorm, and the beauty of a sunrise radiating from the doors at center stage set the third act with a (false?) sense of contentment.

Christie's script exchanges the novel's gloominess with a lightheartedness that sometimes makes for uncertainty; funny quips (“I think the joys of living on an island are rather overrated”) in the same context as melodrama (“A hypodermic syringe... the modern bee sting!”) feels jarring. The strength of “Indians” still lies in its amplification of anxiety — in the beginning, each character sugarcoats what crime he or she has done only to woefully confesses to wrongdoing later on — but amidst all the joking, the series of twists toward the end border on farcical.

But who am I to pick at Christie's style? Her prolific and hugely successful body of work has made an unmistakable impact in the crime fiction genre. “Indians” would have had an entirely different ambiance if the play ended exactly as the book did (don't worry, that's not giving anything away). Brent reprimands Lombard: “You should be ashamed of yourself for such levity!” Maybe there, Christie was chuckling to herself.

“Ten Little Indians” runs at CRT through July 14. Visit www.cortlandrep.org for more information.

Mark Tedeschi is an Ithaca College graduate.

"How the Other Half Loves"

Theatre Review
"How the Other Half Loves" for Cortland Repertory Theatre
The Ithaca Journal
June 27, 2007
611 Words

"CRT's 'How the Other Half Loves' plays with setting"

full text here

CRT's ‘How the Other Half Loves' plays with setting
By Mark Tedeschi
Special to The Journal



Six characters, three couples, suspicious spouses, mistaken identities.

A familiar formula, right? Add two houses in the same space, two nights at the same time, and for good measure, a flying pot of soup. Prolific playwright Alan Ayck-bourn understands the word “play” on a level all his own.

“How the Other Half Loves,” Cortland Repertory Theatre's latest production, sounds extremely complicated on paper, but Ayckbourn's masterfully subtle writing and the actors' brilliant comic timing, under the precise direction of Bill Kincaid (now in his fifth season at CRT), quickly yank the audience into the story and its complex concept.

“Loves” opens with two married couples in the 1970s pacing around a house decorated with furniture split in half — a different style on each side — courtesy of scenic designer Jo Winiarski. Frank Foster, an absentminded, mustachioed businessman played by Brian Runbeck, jogs around the abode, failing to pick up on his bored wife Fiona's (Stephanie Monsour-Nixdorf) obvious lies about her late-night whereabouts. Meanwhile, the vociferous Teresa Phillips (Jill Donnelly) and her wiseacre husband Bob (Dustin Charles) have a spat over a range of woes from Bob's late-night whereabouts to who should clean their recently prune-covered son.

That the couples don't hear or see each other may confuse initially, but the milieu solidifies after a telephone conversation between Frank and Bob: The two homes are transposed on top of each other.

Once he has the audience settled, Ayckbourn ups the ante. The Fosters and the Phillipses each invite the same couple to dinner on consecutive nights, and both nights occur on stage simultaneously. The Detweilers — ever-panicked William (Dominick Varney) and charmingly naïve Mary (Corrine Grover) — instantly change back and forth from feigned sophistication to terrified confusion. The chaos escalates and erupts, and the third act (back to only one day) consists mostly of Frank's painfully funny attempt at refereeing reconciliation.

Varney and Grover face a unique challenge in their flick-of-a-switch emotional ping-pong, but all six actors do a spectacular job at un-learning the basics of their craft. It's no easy feat for an actor to see or hear something on stage, hold back from reacting, and still recognize the cues. That task coupled with paying attention to audience response make for a pretty difficult endeavor. The actors in “Loves” pace their comedy with extraordinary coordination and cooperation.

Praise for the performances shouldn't detract from the look of the show, either. The kitschy art on the walls, the green-and-tan striped carpet, and the “shared” furniture create a fun space for the characters to play in (even the orange vacuum cleaner looks '70s). And in lieu of scouring vintage clothing shops for worn-out period garb, costume designer Jennifer Paar opted to make virtually all of the costumes herself; her crisp creations are fitting as well as impressive.

“Loves” was a hit at its original staging in London, but after some dialogue Americanization, the Broadway version attained only a mediocre run. Kincaid decided to give the characters back their British accents (they never falter, by the way), making the dialogue sound richer and more organic.

Attempting to give marital advice, Frank declares, “At times like this, I say to myself, ‘Frank, it's better than nothing.'” That's about as deep as anyone digs into the subtext of lifeless marriages, and it's a good thing.

The play doesn't forego its joy for the sake of gratuitous sentimentality, and in the end, the repentances are genuine and the merriment retained.

With the endearing characters, sharp parallels and overlaps, and a couple of excellent meta-references, Ayckbourn and the CRT company sustain all the hilarity of a well-executed farce with the exciting bonus of an imaginative presentation.

Mark Tedeschi graduated from Ithaca College this May with a degree in cinema and photography.

Paul Bernbaum profile

Arts feature:
profiling screenwriter Paul Bernbaum
The Ithacan
February 8, 2007
727 words

"Scripting His Dreams"

full text here

ACCENT | February 8, 2007
Scripting his dreams
Paul Bernbaum ’79 achieves success as a screenwriter in Hollywood
By Mark Tedeschi | Contributing Writer



A scene in the 2006 film “Hollywoodland” shows George Reeves, played by Ben Affleck, in a diner with his colleagues. Suddenly, he’s distracted by children yelling and rapping on the window. Reeves stands and strikes a pose, evoking an eruption of cheers from the excited kids.

Screenwriter Paul Bernbaum ’79, a longtime Superman fan, essentially saw himself as one of the kids and wrote himself into the scene.

His wife, Gina Bernbaum, said that when he was a child, he couldn’t wait to run home and watch “The Adventures of Superman.” She also said that his fascination carried through into adulthood.

“He once owned a costume from the original series,” she said. “He bought it at an auction. He has always wanted to tell George Reeves’ story, and it’s fitting that it would be his first feature film.”

“Hollywoodland,” which stars Affleck and Adrien Brody, explores the circumstances surrounding the apparent suicide of Reeves, the original actor to play Superman on television in the 1950s. Bernbaum has always had a knack for writing, though it was not his original career focus.

“I actually went to Ithaca [College] to be a sportscaster,” Bernbaum said. “I was on radio my first couple of years and did a sports show until I realized that I didn’t want to be a sportscaster. I only wanted to do play-by-play for the Knicks.”

He switched gears, declaring a writing minor, and became more involved in television production.

“All my spare time was spent down in the communications building,” he said. “I used to have a game show on TV hosted by my friend David Lee Miller, who has been a Fox News reporter for years.”

But Miller isn’t the only television figure Bernbaum met at the college. At freshman orientation, in addition to his future wife (then Gina Horne ’79), he met Barbara Gaines, who is the executive producer of “The Late Show with David Letterman.”

By senior year, Bernbaum and Gaines dreamed of starting a production company called “Bergan,” an abbreviation of their last names.

“Turns out, we got half of our dream,” Gaines said. “He became a writer [and] I became a producer — just not together.”

As a team, they produced and hosted an awards show their junior and senior years, and that final year, the three orientation friends lived together in the Garden Apartments.

The Bernbaums married in 1981, two years after graduation. That same year, he earned his first paycheck in television, selling a story to the show “CHiPs.”

“I got my first agent in 1983 and my first TV staff job in 1984,” Bernbaum said. “It basically took me five years to ‘make it.’ In the meantime, I made rent money working at temp agencies, doing very strange, very frightening jobs.”

Bernbaum and his family (his wife, three sons and two daughters) lived in Los Angeles for years, but have since moved to Paradise Valley, Ariz. He improvises when business calls for traveling. If he’s needed at meetings in L.A., he books as many as he can in one trip. And if he has to take extended trips to film sets or for research, he brings the entire family along with him.

“The best part about being a writer is that I get to work at home and spend so much time with [my family],” he said. “I’m probably the only writer in Hollywood that has no desire to direct.”

Even during his years of writing and producing for television, Bernbaum always knew that he wanted to write feature films. It took a few years for “Hollywoodland” to come to fruition, but he’s “very proud of how the movie turned out.”

The critical success of the film opened many doors for Bernbaum. He said he is so busy that he often has to turn down offers, a position he does not take for granted.

Some of the films that he is currently involved with include “Counter-Clockwise,” with Jennifer Aniston; “The Day I Turned Uncool,” with Adam Sandler; and “The Warden,” an HBO film from the producers of “Little Miss Sunshine.”

Still, “Hollywoodland” will always be remembered as Bernbaum’s first feature film. He said it was one of the best-reviewed films of the year, a welcome reward after the arduous four-year process the project went through to see completion.

“It’s a mini-miracle when anything gets made,” he said.

"Man of the Year"

Film Review
"Man of the Year"
The Ithacan
October 26, 2006
570 words

"Satire's message falls short of poignant"

full text here

Movie Review
Satire’s message falls short of poignant
By Mark Tedeschi / Contributing Writer
October 26, 2006
“Man of the Year,” director Barry Levinson’s latest cinematic foray into political commentary, arrives at an appropriate time. Unfortunately, the film’s erratic jumps across genres hinder the film from becoming the important protest piece it aspires to be.

Robin Williams stars as Tom Dobbs, a comedy talk show host who, encouraged by Internet fans, decides to run for president. He refuses to pay a single dime on television advertisements, instead relying on the support of Internet word-of-mouth and his attachment to a platform separate from parties and lobbyists.

Tom also shies away from comedy in his initial speeches, against the will of his manager, Jack Menken (Christopher Walken) and television show co-writer, Eddie Langston (comedian Lewis Black). At the presidential debates, Tom’s nervousness brings out his inner jokester, and the crowd ends up loving him.

The debate gets a little ridiculous. Tom’s opponents are meant to be boring, but they come off as completely unrealistic. And the television station’s response to Tom’s antics is less than professional. Nonetheless, Tom’s fans receive his approach with enthusiasm, but according to Eleanor Green, Laura Linney’s character, not enough to garner an actual win. Eleanor works for Delacroy, a corporation in charge of America’s new voting system that officially declares Tom the new president. Eleanor initiates a few battles of validity and integrity with him.

Williams brings his recognizable style of humor to the film, but because Levinson caters his movie to that particular humor, Tom seems more like Williams than his own character. It is obvious when Williams attempts to make a funny and the punch line isn’t good enough to justify the buildup. As Tom points out in the film, “If you tell a joke that stinks and put a laugh track over it, the joke still stinks.”

Linney’s performance pulses with intensity, particularly in one scene when Eleanor experiences a sort of drug-induced breakdown in a coffee shop. The emotional tenor of her disorderly confusion showcases Levinson’s skillful direction, which is more effective than his writing. The 1997 film “Wag the Dog” was Levinson’s last exploration of American politics and was penned by David Mamet. Perhaps Levinson should have enlisted someone to fine-tune the story’s balance between throwaway one-liners and effective satire.

The political-thriller aspect of the script is welcome but unexpected. Once audiences realize the predictable ending was inevitable from the start, they can ponder the film’s thematic raison d’être: Those who control thought in this country — politicians, corporations and the media — have a responsibility to sustain honesty and credibility.

The need to kick the man in the pants is lately becoming more prevalent in movies and television (“Good Night and Good Luck” and “Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip,” among others). And if the fake growing Internet campaign for the nonexistent Jon Stewart/ Stephen Colbert ticket for presidency in 2008 is any indication of America’s dissatisfaction with politics, then “Man of the Year” isn’t quite so far from reality.

In the film, viewers are reminded that “the difference between fiction and nonfiction is that fiction has to be credible.” The film’s helter-skelter identity crisis sadly causes the loss of that which it touts as crucial. Many of the scenes are engaging, and the concept is close-to-home enough to keep audiences in their seats. With less misguided goofiness, “Man of the Year” could have been more than just a well-intentioned step in the right direction of political satire.

“Man of the Year” was written and directed by Barry Levinson.
“Man of the Year” received two stars.