"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"

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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)