"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