| THEATER TIMES REVIEWS JULY 2006 |
God of Hell
by Sam Shepard, directed by Jason Alexander
Geffen Playhouse. Previews June 28; opens June 28, closes July 30
WITH Sarah Knowlton, Bill Fagerbakke, Bryan Cranston, Curtis Armstrong PRODUCTION John Iaccovelli,
set; Christina Haatainen, costumes; Jason H. Thompson, lights/projections; Jon Gottlieb, sound
‘God of Hell’ (at the Geffen Playhouse in Westwood through July 30) is Sam Shepard’s
searing burlesque of our drifting ship of state and the new breed of helmsman driving it
into the rocks. Shepard returns us to the scene of his previously chronicled crimes, a
lovingly drawn Mid-western farmhouse. But the days are gone when the worst life
could throw at us was death. The perennial farming nemeses of disease, weather and
forced subsidization are overshadowed by more invasive threats of government
agents, brainwashing techniques and free-range radioactivity. Threats of nuclear
proliferation a generation ago were more remote. Now, suitcase bombs of Plutonium --
a substance that gets its name from the God of Hell - are a reality. And while the
terrorists who will use them are insane, the people protecting us may beclowns. “Did
you think you could enjoy this wanton freedom without any cost?” one character
demands of another. Good point. Except that we have paid and continue to pay for our
freedom with thousands of young lives and trillions of taxpayer dollars. The question
should be, 'Did you really think the leaders you elected are worried about what
happens to you!?'
The story begins at sun-up, as Frank (Bill Fagerbakke) is suiting up for a day tending his dairy herd and
Emma (Sarah Knowlton) is preparing her daily over-watering of the house plants. After the morning
broadcast of the national anthem (which Frank observes but does not stand for), Emma anxiously asks if
she can wake their house guest, Mr. Haynes (Curtis Armstrong). Haynes is an old acquaintance of Frank’s
who is temporarily sleeping in the basement. Once Frank has left, Emma has a visit from a stranger named
Welch (Bryan Cranston). Dressed with patriotic accessories, bounding around like a superball and pulling a
small gift shop from his magician’s briefcase, Welch is dismissed as an annoyance. But he returns several
times until it is clear he is an agent of the government tracking an exposed nuclear worker, who is Haynes.
Shepard is skewering the new political style as much as its substance. This is a fair exchange, given how
interchangeable style and substance have become. The U.S. government is represented by salesman-
politicians who win the hearts and minds of citizens with jingoistic gibberish that passes for leadership. To
make this blunt message easier to swallow, Shepard wraps it in a cloud of laughing gas and has Jason
Alexander -- in his directorial debut -- stage it . Alexander, who is a star performer in theater and television,
knows the first rule of directing is casting and he's employed a quartet of actors who, like himself, know
how to work the big stage as well as the little screen. This is a tough first assignment, however, as it’s a
play that wants its gut-punches to land as belly laughs. Not surprisingly, neither goal is fully achieved. For
the belly laughs, Alexander relies more on comedy tricks from the ‘Producers’ end of the spectrum. There is
also subtlety, but it's more or less lost in the production's big comedy devices: exploding lights, sparking
torture effects, and a tedious running gag in which a mooing sound is milked to the point of gagging.
Ironically, its pay-off, in which a thunder roll indicates the cows are now lowing from on high, goes right
over our heads.
This should not be confused with the acting, which rides the line of normalcy and excess pretty
convincingly. That is, except for Cranston's performance, which is what gives this show its value. This is
a role that clearly comes with an official union scenery-chewing license. And Cranston does that, but
somehow he earns the excess and takes his curtain call without having left a single bite mark on John
Iacovelli's set. Shepard and Alexander are lucky to have him at the center of this farce. Those more familiar
with his television work may have feared a case of felony mugging. But the revelation is that Cranston is a
very polished actor. His excesses are completely in control, as he carefully shifts from manic showman to
brainwashing executioner without breaking character. One recognizes so many of our chuckling leaders in
Cranston's comedy. Then, just when you feel he's benign, the mask drops just enough to reveal the
monster. Immediately he snaps back to the smiling, shining person we're used to in campaign advertising
and used car commercials. His Janus profile parallels the plays namesakes: Pluto the cartoon character and
Pluto the radioactive element are named for the same god.
Post script: It was eerie to see Alexander wearing the same old Glory tie Cranston wears when he hosted
the ‘Capitol Fourth’ broadcast on Tuesday. -- ctg
by Sam Shepard, directed by Jason Alexander
Geffen Playhouse. Previews June 28; opens June 28, closes July 30
WITH Sarah Knowlton, Bill Fagerbakke, Bryan Cranston, Curtis Armstrong PRODUCTION John Iaccovelli,
set; Christina Haatainen, costumes; Jason H. Thompson, lights/projections; Jon Gottlieb, sound
‘God of Hell’ (at the Geffen Playhouse in Westwood through July 30) is Sam Shepard’s
searing burlesque of our drifting ship of state and the new breed of helmsman driving it
into the rocks. Shepard returns us to the scene of his previously chronicled crimes, a
lovingly drawn Mid-western farmhouse. But the days are gone when the worst life
could throw at us was death. The perennial farming nemeses of disease, weather and
forced subsidization are overshadowed by more invasive threats of government
agents, brainwashing techniques and free-range radioactivity. Threats of nuclear
proliferation a generation ago were more remote. Now, suitcase bombs of Plutonium --
a substance that gets its name from the God of Hell - are a reality. And while the
terrorists who will use them are insane, the people protecting us may beclowns. “Did
you think you could enjoy this wanton freedom without any cost?” one character
demands of another. Good point. Except that we have paid and continue to pay for our
freedom with thousands of young lives and trillions of taxpayer dollars. The question
should be, 'Did you really think the leaders you elected are worried about what
happens to you!?'
The story begins at sun-up, as Frank (Bill Fagerbakke) is suiting up for a day tending his dairy herd and
Emma (Sarah Knowlton) is preparing her daily over-watering of the house plants. After the morning
broadcast of the national anthem (which Frank observes but does not stand for), Emma anxiously asks if
she can wake their house guest, Mr. Haynes (Curtis Armstrong). Haynes is an old acquaintance of Frank’s
who is temporarily sleeping in the basement. Once Frank has left, Emma has a visit from a stranger named
Welch (Bryan Cranston). Dressed with patriotic accessories, bounding around like a superball and pulling a
small gift shop from his magician’s briefcase, Welch is dismissed as an annoyance. But he returns several
times until it is clear he is an agent of the government tracking an exposed nuclear worker, who is Haynes.
Shepard is skewering the new political style as much as its substance. This is a fair exchange, given how
interchangeable style and substance have become. The U.S. government is represented by salesman-
politicians who win the hearts and minds of citizens with jingoistic gibberish that passes for leadership. To
make this blunt message easier to swallow, Shepard wraps it in a cloud of laughing gas and has Jason
Alexander -- in his directorial debut -- stage it . Alexander, who is a star performer in theater and television,
knows the first rule of directing is casting and he's employed a quartet of actors who, like himself, know
how to work the big stage as well as the little screen. This is a tough first assignment, however, as it’s a
play that wants its gut-punches to land as belly laughs. Not surprisingly, neither goal is fully achieved. For
the belly laughs, Alexander relies more on comedy tricks from the ‘Producers’ end of the spectrum. There is
also subtlety, but it's more or less lost in the production's big comedy devices: exploding lights, sparking
torture effects, and a tedious running gag in which a mooing sound is milked to the point of gagging.
Ironically, its pay-off, in which a thunder roll indicates the cows are now lowing from on high, goes right
over our heads.
This should not be confused with the acting, which rides the line of normalcy and excess pretty
convincingly. That is, except for Cranston's performance, which is what gives this show its value. This is
a role that clearly comes with an official union scenery-chewing license. And Cranston does that, but
somehow he earns the excess and takes his curtain call without having left a single bite mark on John
Iacovelli's set. Shepard and Alexander are lucky to have him at the center of this farce. Those more familiar
with his television work may have feared a case of felony mugging. But the revelation is that Cranston is a
very polished actor. His excesses are completely in control, as he carefully shifts from manic showman to
brainwashing executioner without breaking character. One recognizes so many of our chuckling leaders in
Cranston's comedy. Then, just when you feel he's benign, the mask drops just enough to reveal the
monster. Immediately he snaps back to the smiling, shining person we're used to in campaign advertising
and used car commercials. His Janus profile parallels the plays namesakes: Pluto the cartoon character and
Pluto the radioactive element are named for the same god.
Post script: It was eerie to see Alexander wearing the same old Glory tie Cranston wears when he hosted
the ‘Capitol Fourth’ broadcast on Tuesday. -- ctg
Bryan Cranston
Sarah Knowlton
MICHAEL LAMONT
Sarah Knowlton
MICHAEL LAMONT
And the Winner Is
by Mitch Albom, directed by Andrew Barnicle West Coast Premiere
Laguna Playhouse May 30-July 2, 2006
WITH Annie Abrams, Kelly Boulware, Nicolas Coster, Ann Marie Lee, Jeff Marlow, Brent Schindele
PRODUCTION John Berger, set; Julie Keen, costumes; Paulie Jenkins, lights; David Edwards, sound.
The title page credit for the West Coast premiere currently at the Laguna Playhouse
(through July 2) reads Mitch Albom’s ‘And the Winner Is’ by Mitch Albom. The stutter-
billing is to underscore the importance or popularity of the author. Albom wrote
‘Tuesdays with Morrie,’ a feel-good novel that Oprah endorsed, spawned an Emmy-
winning TV movie, and was adapted to a stage play (which the Laguna Playhouse
successfully produced in 2004). The billing requirement seems unlikely to have come
from Albom, an extremely likeable and down-to-earth fellow. The inside story is more
likely thatthis bit of show business excess reflects a meddle-some agent who likes
flexing his muscles. Taken this way, ‘And the Winner Is’ lives up to this billing: It
purports an insider’s look at show business excess and a meddlesome agent. There is
even some gratuitous muscle-flexing.
When the house lights first fade, to a ‘50s tune, the sound of breathing begins to rise, then divide into gasps
that echo and divide again until the auditorium is choking on David Edwards’ superb sound design. Sudden
silence as Paulie Jenkins' lights reveal John Berger’s formidable set, a proscenium-stretching dilapidated
saloon that has been boarded up from the inside. Toppled tables and chairs clutter the floor around the open
mouth of an immense laundry chute-ventilator shaft that disappears up into the fly space. Just as we notice
the back of a gray-haired man at the counter, hunched over some reading material, a half-dressed man falls
from the chute onto the pile of mattresses and soft-trash beneath its opening.
An auspicious start. However, once the new arrival speaks, the delicate air of mystery created by the
design team is dispelled.
Tyler Johnes (Kelly Boulware) has died in his sleep the night before an Academy Awards ceremony.
Worse than that, he’s been dumped into this tweener-bar purgatory, rather than joining the rest of the night's
deceased outside it, because he didn't maintain the reciting of a childhood bedtime prayer. Worse still, he’s
up for an Oscar this year, for a role in a war-themed art film. But worst of all is that Johnse’s nomination for
Best Actor means not only has the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences finally lost its mind, this
play has lost any promise of internal logic. ‘Winner’ traces its bloodline to the fantasy field where ‘Here
Comes Mr. Jordan/Heaven Can Wait,’ ‘It’s a Wonderful Life,’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ and others still provide stud.
Just 'cause it's called fantasy doesn't mean that it can operate without governing rules: Can the dead go
back for a visit to see the world they left? If so, will they be visible? Can they communicate with others, be
touched, etc? Might they be able to alter history to prevent their own deaths?
If such a rulebook for ‘Winner’ exists, it must be lost amid the saloon floor clutter. This netherworld seems to
gain aspects of its operating system as the jokes require them.
Tyler Johnse, a stage name that replaced "Jake Steinberg," embodies all the easy clichés about screen and
tv actors. In flashbacks we see Steinberg tell his young wife, Sheri (Ann Marie Lee), platitudes about the
importance of theater as he somehow gets cast as Richard III. Apparently, before he can be fitted for a
hump, he’s ready to take up with a fast-talking agent (Jeff Marlow), change names, dump the stage route
and the marital fidelity, and pursue a film career and all that comes with it. He reaches the red-carpet
stardom he holds at his passing through a cop-film franchise about crime-fighting Chippendales dancers that
co-stars Kyle (Brent Schindele), a rival off-screen Lothario and (just to keep plotting easy for us) another
Oscar-nominee for the same war film. For years, Tyler has accused Kyle of seducing his wife away,
despite protestations from both of them. But, in the great Shakespearean tradition of Othello, Johnses
leaves her without ever discussing the matter intelligently.
But then intelligent discussion is not what we’ve signed up for here.
In deference to the play’s comedy, Boulware and director Andrew Barnicle want to make sure Tyler's self-
obsession is unmistakable. That translates to a pretty one-note performance that, particularly in the opening
exchanges, is a very loud note. The old cliché about athletes giving 150 percent now has a theatrical
equivalent as Boulware works at at least that overage. And it’s not a pretty sight. Lots of fuming, lots of
gesturing, lots of shouting. Little coloring. When he sits at the bar table, his right leg bounces away
uncontrollably, an enervating disorder for the performance.
As Teddy, Marlow hints at deft comic timing and nuance. Unfortunately, that is undermined by the required
Clousseau-style French accent that must be ladelled over his speech like Bernaise a-sousz. Nicolas Coster
plays Seamus, the “Clarence” in this story, and does the best he can with what he’s given. An affecting
Ann Marie Lee is Tyler’s wife, Sherri, the main person with whom he must make amends. Thanks to Lee,
who manages to escape the Comedy Demands and stays grounded during the whole show, the characters
of Johnes and Sheri are able to hog-tie this beast and drop it for a moment of tenderness before the final
curtain. But, like much of the effort, falls pretty flat. A sixth character, or caricature, is the walking pin-up,
Serenity (Annie Abrams), who -- as one wag noted -- gives the whole evening the up-to-the-minute
consciousness of a Dean Martin Gold-diggers' sketch. - ctg
by Mitch Albom, directed by Andrew Barnicle West Coast Premiere
Laguna Playhouse May 30-July 2, 2006
WITH Annie Abrams, Kelly Boulware, Nicolas Coster, Ann Marie Lee, Jeff Marlow, Brent Schindele
PRODUCTION John Berger, set; Julie Keen, costumes; Paulie Jenkins, lights; David Edwards, sound.
The title page credit for the West Coast premiere currently at the Laguna Playhouse
(through July 2) reads Mitch Albom’s ‘And the Winner Is’ by Mitch Albom. The stutter-
billing is to underscore the importance or popularity of the author. Albom wrote
‘Tuesdays with Morrie,’ a feel-good novel that Oprah endorsed, spawned an Emmy-
winning TV movie, and was adapted to a stage play (which the Laguna Playhouse
successfully produced in 2004). The billing requirement seems unlikely to have come
from Albom, an extremely likeable and down-to-earth fellow. The inside story is more
likely thatthis bit of show business excess reflects a meddle-some agent who likes
flexing his muscles. Taken this way, ‘And the Winner Is’ lives up to this billing: It
purports an insider’s look at show business excess and a meddlesome agent. There is
even some gratuitous muscle-flexing.
When the house lights first fade, to a ‘50s tune, the sound of breathing begins to rise, then divide into gasps
that echo and divide again until the auditorium is choking on David Edwards’ superb sound design. Sudden
silence as Paulie Jenkins' lights reveal John Berger’s formidable set, a proscenium-stretching dilapidated
saloon that has been boarded up from the inside. Toppled tables and chairs clutter the floor around the open
mouth of an immense laundry chute-ventilator shaft that disappears up into the fly space. Just as we notice
the back of a gray-haired man at the counter, hunched over some reading material, a half-dressed man falls
from the chute onto the pile of mattresses and soft-trash beneath its opening.
An auspicious start. However, once the new arrival speaks, the delicate air of mystery created by the
design team is dispelled.
Tyler Johnes (Kelly Boulware) has died in his sleep the night before an Academy Awards ceremony.
Worse than that, he’s been dumped into this tweener-bar purgatory, rather than joining the rest of the night's
deceased outside it, because he didn't maintain the reciting of a childhood bedtime prayer. Worse still, he’s
up for an Oscar this year, for a role in a war-themed art film. But worst of all is that Johnse’s nomination for
Best Actor means not only has the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences finally lost its mind, this
play has lost any promise of internal logic. ‘Winner’ traces its bloodline to the fantasy field where ‘Here
Comes Mr. Jordan/Heaven Can Wait,’ ‘It’s a Wonderful Life,’ ‘A Christmas Carol’ and others still provide stud.
Just 'cause it's called fantasy doesn't mean that it can operate without governing rules: Can the dead go
back for a visit to see the world they left? If so, will they be visible? Can they communicate with others, be
touched, etc? Might they be able to alter history to prevent their own deaths?
If such a rulebook for ‘Winner’ exists, it must be lost amid the saloon floor clutter. This netherworld seems to
gain aspects of its operating system as the jokes require them.
Tyler Johnse, a stage name that replaced "Jake Steinberg," embodies all the easy clichés about screen and
tv actors. In flashbacks we see Steinberg tell his young wife, Sheri (Ann Marie Lee), platitudes about the
importance of theater as he somehow gets cast as Richard III. Apparently, before he can be fitted for a
hump, he’s ready to take up with a fast-talking agent (Jeff Marlow), change names, dump the stage route
and the marital fidelity, and pursue a film career and all that comes with it. He reaches the red-carpet
stardom he holds at his passing through a cop-film franchise about crime-fighting Chippendales dancers that
co-stars Kyle (Brent Schindele), a rival off-screen Lothario and (just to keep plotting easy for us) another
Oscar-nominee for the same war film. For years, Tyler has accused Kyle of seducing his wife away,
despite protestations from both of them. But, in the great Shakespearean tradition of Othello, Johnses
leaves her without ever discussing the matter intelligently.
But then intelligent discussion is not what we’ve signed up for here.
In deference to the play’s comedy, Boulware and director Andrew Barnicle want to make sure Tyler's self-
obsession is unmistakable. That translates to a pretty one-note performance that, particularly in the opening
exchanges, is a very loud note. The old cliché about athletes giving 150 percent now has a theatrical
equivalent as Boulware works at at least that overage. And it’s not a pretty sight. Lots of fuming, lots of
gesturing, lots of shouting. Little coloring. When he sits at the bar table, his right leg bounces away
uncontrollably, an enervating disorder for the performance.
As Teddy, Marlow hints at deft comic timing and nuance. Unfortunately, that is undermined by the required
Clousseau-style French accent that must be ladelled over his speech like Bernaise a-sousz. Nicolas Coster
plays Seamus, the “Clarence” in this story, and does the best he can with what he’s given. An affecting
Ann Marie Lee is Tyler’s wife, Sherri, the main person with whom he must make amends. Thanks to Lee,
who manages to escape the Comedy Demands and stays grounded during the whole show, the characters
of Johnes and Sheri are able to hog-tie this beast and drop it for a moment of tenderness before the final
curtain. But, like much of the effort, falls pretty flat. A sixth character, or caricature, is the walking pin-up,
Serenity (Annie Abrams), who -- as one wag noted -- gives the whole evening the up-to-the-minute
consciousness of a Dean Martin Gold-diggers' sketch. - ctg
Little Egypt
by Lynn Siefert, music and lyrics by Gregg Lee Henry, directed by Lisa James
Matrix Theatre, extended through June 25
WITH JohnApicella, Misty Cotton, Gregg Henry, Jenny O’Hara, Sara Rue, French Stewart PRODUCTION
James Carhart, set; Vicki Sanchez, costumes; J. Kent Inasy, lights; Brian Mohr, sound; John Lathan, vocal
arrangements; Robert Martin, musical director (other musicians: Eric Heinly, Andre Holmes, Kevin Tiernan)
The confluence of three rivers help define the shape of Illinois’s lower quarter. That
area earned the nickname ‘Little Egypt’ after prairie folk arrived in a migration of
biblical proportions caused by the 1830 drought. That region is now the inspiration of
a crazy new musical that is the confluence of three talented theater artists:
playwright Lynn Siefert, composer/ lyricist Gregg Lee Henry, and director Lisa James.
‘Little Egypt’ offers its own welcome escape thanks to a strong score and a top cast
just inches away in the intimate Matrix Theatre. There is some turbulence downriver,
however, when the script moves into the darker waters of the second act. Continuing
in an extended run through June 25, ‘Little Egypt’ is a worthwhile excursion for a
screwball love story set amongst small-town nerds, brutes and misfits, and a
refreshing break from theater about theater people.
Director Lisa James has a lot of power to unleash on this world premiere in a cast of French Stewart, Misty
Cotton, Sara Rue, composer Henry, Jenny O’Hara and John Apicella.
The plot is an anarchic take on boy meets girl, set seven years after the end of the Vietnam War, wherein
lies the weighty back story that surfaces late in the play to nearly sink this towering blancmange of musical
farce. Victor (Stewart) and Watson (Henry) are old comrades in arms who are having trouble gaining
traction back in their tiny town. Victor is a poorly paid mall security guard who loves his work but can only
afford to live in an abandoned service bay. His sweet devotion to the cruel and manipulative Watson
grows harder and harder to fathom, especially after it threatens his one-shot-in-a-million romance with
Celeste (Rue), a quirky beauty who is the village idiot savant. Back from college, she’s dumb enough to
report when asked about meeting ‘Mr. Right’ that she “didn’t meet anyone with that name.” Celeste has
sought shelter from the norm with her waitressing mother and sister (O’Hara and Cotton), who are usually
in the pink uniforms of their white trash diner . They get the play’s hilarious, over-the-top ‘trash farce’ style
up to racing speed when an early argument tumbles into a wrestling match that quickly melts into hysteria.
Celeste, on the other hand, is given to wrestling only with questions of arcane science, and laughing in a
kind of snorting seizure that Rue manages to make look adorable. Apicella plays the town’s mayor, giving
Celeste’s single mother a love interest – and the show the subject of its Act II opening number.
Unfortunately, this character's deeds and misdeeds don't stand much analysis so we'll scrutinize that
subject not.
There’s an art to farce and for the most part these guys have it. Stewart and Rue have characters who
are equally ridiculous and endearing, and they serve them well. The others combine a screwball side with
a range of other traits -- mean, brassy, tarty, philandering, etc. -- and do them well within the script's
demands. Stewart thankfully shows he has more oars onboard his craft than the alien antics of his “Third
Rock” TV persona. The singing voice he adds to the strong vocals could out-chart Keith Carradine. Misty
Cotton is a force of nature I’m embarrassed to say I’d only seen perform at the Robby Awards, which ain’t
prime time.
Henry again displays the rock-roots chops he showed off back in the 2000 world premiere of SCR’s
musical of Randy Newman tunes – whose style is echoed at least once in this show's ‘Nobody’s Immune.’
Henry’s music is always engaging and his lyrics can be quite poetic, as in Celeste’s beautiful ‘Fishing for
the Moon’ (paraphrased, unfortunately, but you get the idea: “I used to want you to dance to my own tune,
but so much water under all these blackened bridges has me fishing for the moon"). That song is but one
example of how Henry and Siefert employ the rivers as agents of various forms of departure. For the first
act, the mixture of farce, heart and music is pure joy.
Once we’re into Act II, however, when the waters need to flow to an end point, the plot’s arteries start to
harden and Victor’s dark secret lands like a drunk guest on a birthday cake. Victor’s survival instincts need
to come to the fore a little earlier and clearer. His final visit to the river won’t be compromised if it gets a little
backbone earlier. He'll still fulfill the ‘Boy Loses Girl’ part of the equation by showing the snorting darling he
really can stand up for her. – ctg
by Lynn Siefert, music and lyrics by Gregg Lee Henry, directed by Lisa James
Matrix Theatre, extended through June 25
WITH JohnApicella, Misty Cotton, Gregg Henry, Jenny O’Hara, Sara Rue, French Stewart PRODUCTION
James Carhart, set; Vicki Sanchez, costumes; J. Kent Inasy, lights; Brian Mohr, sound; John Lathan, vocal
arrangements; Robert Martin, musical director (other musicians: Eric Heinly, Andre Holmes, Kevin Tiernan)
The confluence of three rivers help define the shape of Illinois’s lower quarter. That
area earned the nickname ‘Little Egypt’ after prairie folk arrived in a migration of
biblical proportions caused by the 1830 drought. That region is now the inspiration of
a crazy new musical that is the confluence of three talented theater artists:
playwright Lynn Siefert, composer/ lyricist Gregg Lee Henry, and director Lisa James.
‘Little Egypt’ offers its own welcome escape thanks to a strong score and a top cast
just inches away in the intimate Matrix Theatre. There is some turbulence downriver,
however, when the script moves into the darker waters of the second act. Continuing
in an extended run through June 25, ‘Little Egypt’ is a worthwhile excursion for a
screwball love story set amongst small-town nerds, brutes and misfits, and a
refreshing break from theater about theater people.
Director Lisa James has a lot of power to unleash on this world premiere in a cast of French Stewart, Misty
Cotton, Sara Rue, composer Henry, Jenny O’Hara and John Apicella.
The plot is an anarchic take on boy meets girl, set seven years after the end of the Vietnam War, wherein
lies the weighty back story that surfaces late in the play to nearly sink this towering blancmange of musical
farce. Victor (Stewart) and Watson (Henry) are old comrades in arms who are having trouble gaining
traction back in their tiny town. Victor is a poorly paid mall security guard who loves his work but can only
afford to live in an abandoned service bay. His sweet devotion to the cruel and manipulative Watson
grows harder and harder to fathom, especially after it threatens his one-shot-in-a-million romance with
Celeste (Rue), a quirky beauty who is the village idiot savant. Back from college, she’s dumb enough to
report when asked about meeting ‘Mr. Right’ that she “didn’t meet anyone with that name.” Celeste has
sought shelter from the norm with her waitressing mother and sister (O’Hara and Cotton), who are usually
in the pink uniforms of their white trash diner . They get the play’s hilarious, over-the-top ‘trash farce’ style
up to racing speed when an early argument tumbles into a wrestling match that quickly melts into hysteria.
Celeste, on the other hand, is given to wrestling only with questions of arcane science, and laughing in a
kind of snorting seizure that Rue manages to make look adorable. Apicella plays the town’s mayor, giving
Celeste’s single mother a love interest – and the show the subject of its Act II opening number.
Unfortunately, this character's deeds and misdeeds don't stand much analysis so we'll scrutinize that
subject not.
There’s an art to farce and for the most part these guys have it. Stewart and Rue have characters who
are equally ridiculous and endearing, and they serve them well. The others combine a screwball side with
a range of other traits -- mean, brassy, tarty, philandering, etc. -- and do them well within the script's
demands. Stewart thankfully shows he has more oars onboard his craft than the alien antics of his “Third
Rock” TV persona. The singing voice he adds to the strong vocals could out-chart Keith Carradine. Misty
Cotton is a force of nature I’m embarrassed to say I’d only seen perform at the Robby Awards, which ain’t
prime time.
Henry again displays the rock-roots chops he showed off back in the 2000 world premiere of SCR’s
musical of Randy Newman tunes – whose style is echoed at least once in this show's ‘Nobody’s Immune.’
Henry’s music is always engaging and his lyrics can be quite poetic, as in Celeste’s beautiful ‘Fishing for
the Moon’ (paraphrased, unfortunately, but you get the idea: “I used to want you to dance to my own tune,
but so much water under all these blackened bridges has me fishing for the moon"). That song is but one
example of how Henry and Siefert employ the rivers as agents of various forms of departure. For the first
act, the mixture of farce, heart and music is pure joy.
Once we’re into Act II, however, when the waters need to flow to an end point, the plot’s arteries start to
harden and Victor’s dark secret lands like a drunk guest on a birthday cake. Victor’s survival instincts need
to come to the fore a little earlier and clearer. His final visit to the river won’t be compromised if it gets a little
backbone earlier. He'll still fulfill the ‘Boy Loses Girl’ part of the equation by showing the snorting darling he
really can stand up for her. – ctg
Nicolas Coster
ED KREIGER
ED KREIGER
French Stewart
Sara Rue
I. RAPAPORT
Sara Rue
I. RAPAPORT
Christmas On Mars
by Harry Kondoleon, directed by Kristen Brandt
Old Globe Theatre June 8 through July 9, 2006
WITH Jack Ferver, David Furr, Colette Kilroy, Sarah Grace Wilson PRODUCTION Nick Fouch, sets;
Angela Balogh Calin, costumes; David Lee Cuthbert, lights; Paul Peterson, sound
Playwright Harry Kondoleon died in1994 at the age of 39 having published 18 plays
and a volume of poetry, but only one of the numerous novels he is said to have
written. Its title, “Diary of a Lost Boy,” provides a haunting context for the final
images of “Christmas on Mars,” a 1983 script introduced to the West Coast at South
Coast Repertory that year and now in revival on the Old Globe Theatre’s Cassius
Carter Stage through July 9. In newspaper interviews director Kristen Brandt says
she hopes to serve the play with her staging, and the signs that she indeed has
approached the prickly script with kid-gloves are evident. Brandt subtly strums
Kondoleon's central theme of personal alienation so severe it might as well be inter-
planetary, but allows one performance to inadvertently take on the theatrical
equivalent of a suicide bomber. And although the production is far from destroyed – in
fact, it remains worth a look for anyone curious about Kondoleon – a gaping hole has
been blown into it.
The play takes place in an unfurnished apartment that, in Act I, Bruno (a solid David Furr) is showing his
girlfriend Audrey (Sarah Grace Wilson) as part of a marriage proposal hidden in a bid for co-habitation.
Bruno, an actor-model trading on good looks and Audrey's position in commercial casting, has also
arranged for them to meet Audrey’s estranged and despised mother, Ingrid (Colette Kilroy). He's hoping the
apartment, his charms, and the impromptu mother-child-reunion will convince Ingrid to loan him a down
payment. Breaking in before Audrey arrives is Bruno’s needy roommate Nissim (Jack Ferver), who has
chosen this time and place to ambush his friend of more than a dozen years and disclose suspiciously
suspicious information about their relationship in hopes of frightening Audrey away. We soon see that
nothing anyone says can be taken at face value; what Audrey has told Bruno about Ingrid is denied; what
Nissim says about Bruno seems absurd; and what each character says about themselves sounds
fabricated. Soon, Audrey doubts Bruno's love.
Kondoleon created a world in which despair is the default emotion and happiness the one we hunt and
gather from scratch each day. His characters are developed from the outside in, through blasts of
hyperactive poetry that propel the simple plot. The characters' unreliability is part their basic instinct, to
keep the void at their centers hidden. Eventually they can't tell the difference between what's real and
made up, between what they want and what they need. All of this makes the actor’s job of understanding
each exchange harder and the play is prone to feel wobbly as styles and moments seem to bear no
relation from one minute to the next. Ultimately, however, there is a grace to the people on Kondoleon's
planet, a nobility of the doomed. It pushes each characters to try and fill those elusive needs in the most
colorful, endearing and poetic ways, and communicate their misery in lines like, “I feel like a contusion;
banged around in the night; blue with the truth."
Regarding the comic-kazi: The better written a crazy person is, the less an actor needs to play the
craziness. T. Scott Cunningham in ‘The Violet Hour’ is convenient proof (see review above). Here, while
Nissim gets the lion’s share of Kondoleon’s rants, and would seem to be his stand in, he is in truth no
healthier than anyone else. Furr manages to get laughs playing it straight, as do the sadly beautiful Kilroy
and doeful, damaged Wilson, who slyly adjusts from blankly depressed in Act I to generally pleased in
response to Act II's skewed domesticity. But Ferver plays it for all its worth, like a comic who has tried
everything and is now desperate. He uses the kind of eye-widening and face-wrenching excess that Mel
Brooks might be able to use (though it's doubtful). Nissim’s unbearable bearing undermines one of the play’s
few support-joists of logic - the length of his relationship with Bruno. (Again by comparison, the
believability of the Gidger-Seavering relationship next door helps us focus on more important matters in
'Violet Hour.')
What emerges is a thankful revival of a playwright who is becoming forgotten, and a good idea of what
might have been. -- ctg
by Harry Kondoleon, directed by Kristen Brandt
Old Globe Theatre June 8 through July 9, 2006
WITH Jack Ferver, David Furr, Colette Kilroy, Sarah Grace Wilson PRODUCTION Nick Fouch, sets;
Angela Balogh Calin, costumes; David Lee Cuthbert, lights; Paul Peterson, sound
Playwright Harry Kondoleon died in1994 at the age of 39 having published 18 plays
and a volume of poetry, but only one of the numerous novels he is said to have
written. Its title, “Diary of a Lost Boy,” provides a haunting context for the final
images of “Christmas on Mars,” a 1983 script introduced to the West Coast at South
Coast Repertory that year and now in revival on the Old Globe Theatre’s Cassius
Carter Stage through July 9. In newspaper interviews director Kristen Brandt says
she hopes to serve the play with her staging, and the signs that she indeed has
approached the prickly script with kid-gloves are evident. Brandt subtly strums
Kondoleon's central theme of personal alienation so severe it might as well be inter-
planetary, but allows one performance to inadvertently take on the theatrical
equivalent of a suicide bomber. And although the production is far from destroyed – in
fact, it remains worth a look for anyone curious about Kondoleon – a gaping hole has
been blown into it.
The play takes place in an unfurnished apartment that, in Act I, Bruno (a solid David Furr) is showing his
girlfriend Audrey (Sarah Grace Wilson) as part of a marriage proposal hidden in a bid for co-habitation.
Bruno, an actor-model trading on good looks and Audrey's position in commercial casting, has also
arranged for them to meet Audrey’s estranged and despised mother, Ingrid (Colette Kilroy). He's hoping the
apartment, his charms, and the impromptu mother-child-reunion will convince Ingrid to loan him a down
payment. Breaking in before Audrey arrives is Bruno’s needy roommate Nissim (Jack Ferver), who has
chosen this time and place to ambush his friend of more than a dozen years and disclose suspiciously
suspicious information about their relationship in hopes of frightening Audrey away. We soon see that
nothing anyone says can be taken at face value; what Audrey has told Bruno about Ingrid is denied; what
Nissim says about Bruno seems absurd; and what each character says about themselves sounds
fabricated. Soon, Audrey doubts Bruno's love.
Kondoleon created a world in which despair is the default emotion and happiness the one we hunt and
gather from scratch each day. His characters are developed from the outside in, through blasts of
hyperactive poetry that propel the simple plot. The characters' unreliability is part their basic instinct, to
keep the void at their centers hidden. Eventually they can't tell the difference between what's real and
made up, between what they want and what they need. All of this makes the actor’s job of understanding
each exchange harder and the play is prone to feel wobbly as styles and moments seem to bear no
relation from one minute to the next. Ultimately, however, there is a grace to the people on Kondoleon's
planet, a nobility of the doomed. It pushes each characters to try and fill those elusive needs in the most
colorful, endearing and poetic ways, and communicate their misery in lines like, “I feel like a contusion;
banged around in the night; blue with the truth."
Regarding the comic-kazi: The better written a crazy person is, the less an actor needs to play the
craziness. T. Scott Cunningham in ‘The Violet Hour’ is convenient proof (see review above). Here, while
Nissim gets the lion’s share of Kondoleon’s rants, and would seem to be his stand in, he is in truth no
healthier than anyone else. Furr manages to get laughs playing it straight, as do the sadly beautiful Kilroy
and doeful, damaged Wilson, who slyly adjusts from blankly depressed in Act I to generally pleased in
response to Act II's skewed domesticity. But Ferver plays it for all its worth, like a comic who has tried
everything and is now desperate. He uses the kind of eye-widening and face-wrenching excess that Mel
Brooks might be able to use (though it's doubtful). Nissim’s unbearable bearing undermines one of the play’s
few support-joists of logic - the length of his relationship with Bruno. (Again by comparison, the
believability of the Gidger-Seavering relationship next door helps us focus on more important matters in
'Violet Hour.')
What emerges is a thankful revival of a playwright who is becoming forgotten, and a good idea of what
might have been. -- ctg
Jack Ferver
Sarah Grace Wilson
CRAIG SCHWARTZ
Sarah Grace Wilson
CRAIG SCHWARTZ
And The Winner Is
Laguna Playhouse
Old Globe Theatre
Geffen Theatre
Matrix Theatre
JULY 2006 CONTINUED
Laguna Playhouse
Old Globe Theatre
Geffen Theatre
Matrix Theatre
JULY 2006 CONTINUED
