The Happiest Medium » Off-Off-Broadway

Hold On To Your Butts …

Karen Tortora-Lee — Thu, 18 Sep 2014 02:31:20 +0000

Dr. Ian Malcolm: If there is one thing the history of evolution has taught us it’s that life will not be contained. Life breaks free, it expands to new territories and crashes through barriers, painfully, maybe even dangerously, but, uh… well, there it is.
– Jurassic Park

Life will not be contained, but evidently neither will theatre. Right now, at the PIT Jurassik Parc – Hold On To Your Butts is also expanding to new territories and crashing through barriers. Is it painful? No. Is it dangerous? Possibly. Is it worth the price of admission? Abso-velociraptor-lutely.

So how exactly do you do a live action shot-for-shot reenactment of a movie like Jurassic Park? To get it right, doing the original movie justice while keeping an audience entertained, there are three things you need: perfect timing, decisive direction and complete audience-buy in. Have that and you walk away with theatre gold – and that’s just what Nick Abeel, Kelsey Didion, Kyle Schaefer and Kristin McCarthy Parker did. If you want to join the one-hour thrill ride they’re currently staging at The PIT, get your tickets now and get ready to Hold On To Your Butts.

To say Jurassik Parc – Hold On To Your Butts is “creative” is an understatement. From the first moment it’s obvious that this play will mimic the original as faithfully as two people with nothing but props (courtesy of Ashlee Springer) and a damn good foley artist (Didion) can. Where Spielberg used up a $63,000,000 budget on CGI and, I don’t know, craft services? this team keeps it lean proving less is more. The results are often delightful, consistantly humourous, and entertaining throughout.

Abeel and Schaefer embody every one of the characters – friend and foe, hunter and prey … sometimes full-bodied, sometimes simply using a carefully (and artfully) manipulated prop.

Abeel and Schaefer

What’s astonishing is how much is done with so little. Strip away the bells and whistles in a movie that arguably had very little going for it except for its bells and whistles and the brunt of the evening’s entertainment lies squarely on the shoulders of a strong cast and their ability to jog your memory of the best bits while leaving room for you to enjoy their interpretive camera angles.

While Chaos Theory is still alive and well (and hilariously expounded upon in a spot-on Jeff Goldblum portrayal) there is no chaos in the execution of this show, thanks to Kristin McCarthy Parker’s tight direction and the absolute synchronicity Abeel and Schaefer have as they morph through the enormous cast of characters, 14 types of dinosaurs and one unfortunate goat. Clever staging often not only recreates shots but often sticks a pin in the original giving a fresh shine to an old chestnut.

The creative team also keeps the vision crisp by having a seemingly endless bag of tricks and not relying on the same few “we’re going to do this which will represent that” move. By constantly switching it up – right till the very end – there isn’t a moment when you want to look away.

Were there minutes I was confused? Yes. With only two actors there are bound to be moments when things get a little muddled. However, those moments were rare and the overall piece was so perfectly constructed that I think I’d rather blame Michael Crichton’s source material than Parc’s creative team.

If you’re a fan of the movie then this is something that can’t be missed. If you’ve never seen Jurassic Park (anyone?) then let this be your introduction to the work. Trust me, see this first, and you’ll never see the movie the same way again.

It’s a short run – playing just till the 23rd – so find a way to see this show. There it is.

~~~

Hold On To Your Butts…
The PIT – Striker
123 E 24th St
New York, NY 10010

Remaining shows:
Saturday, September 20th – 11PM
Monday, September 22nd – 9:30PM
Tuesday, September 23rd – 7PM

The Fox – A Haunting Tail

Karen Tortora-Lee — Mon, 21 Jul 2014 18:14:36 +0000

When Jaded Eyes Arts Collective announced they were doing a revival of The Fox by Allan Miller – the first since its debut at the Roundabout Theatre in 1982 – they promised “to bring to the stage a riveting exploration of powerful themes on male/female power dynamics, femininity, sexuality, and the complex relationship between our physical and mental desires.” I suspected that even if they could only half deliver, this production would be something worth experiencing – and after catching a flawless opening night performance I was not disappointed. Simply put, this production of The Fox delivers on their promise with absorbing performances, powerful direction by Jordan Dann and a nuanced production design.

Step into the Gene Frankel theatre and you immediately see how the tiny theatre has been attractively transformed. The scenic design by Kimie Nishikawa instantly evokes a down-home feeling; the ceiling is draped in netting and Spanish moss and a cozy living room, set off by a crackling fireplace, is lit indirectly by lamps and lanterns. It is an agreeable, old-fashioned room filled with books and other creature comforts. The music piping in, pre-show, is lilting, harmonious and welcoming – creating an ambiance of warmth and kindness. And while the home itself may be somewhat humble it is obviously filled with small protected treasures.

It is 1918 England and we soon find that this is the home of Jill Banford (Elizabeth Elkins) and Nellie March (Clea Straus Rivera) – two women whose relationship to each other isn’t immediately clear. What is clear is that this farmhouse is constantly on the brink of financial ruin, though the woman have done what they can to make their home a comfortable one. When we come upon them, Jill is nestled by the fire singing softly and accompanying herself on the auto harp while Nellie sits and paints detail work on a porcelain vase. It seems these woman are used to a more genteel way of life, and what brings them to the rigors of farming isn’t immediately clear. Soon enough we find that their motives lean more towards being left alone rather than any particular dreams of homesteading.

And so, not being particularly suited to it, life is a perpetual struggle. Money is a constant worry, Jill is nursing an aching shoulder even as Nellie spends endless hours a day tending to the tremendous physical demands of simply keeping up the farm. They are battling hens that won’t lay, a barn threatening to topple and – perhaps most menacing – a fox that poaches their best chickens. It’s enough to make Nellie cry out in her sleep, as she dreams of this animal that threatens – it seems- not only their hens but their happiness as well.

Cue Henry Grenfel (Matt Savins) – a soldier who interrupts the cozy evening by the fire in search of his grandfather and some lodging while he’s on one week’s military leave – fresh from Greece and soon off to Canada. This was Henry’s childhood home for a bit, and he’d lived here with his cantankerous and stern grandfather until he ran away as a teen. Now, back for a short respite, he finds nothing but the women, both of whom treat his unexpected intrusion quite differently.

Jill – ladylike, frail and demure - is a welcoming host. It’s obvious she’s yearning for company, a break in the routine and someone to fuss over. She jumps at the chance for a bit of conversation, some new energy in the house, and some interesting stories.

Nellie, on the other hand, (to belabor a farm metaphor) is used to being cock of the walk and quite literally wears the pants in the family. She doesn’t take kindly to a new alpha male bulldozing in and flooding their home with all his testosterone and vigor. At every turn she challenges him – or sees every offer of his help as a challenge. They virtually come to blows at the smallest of things.

Director Jordan Dann masterfully builds the growing tension of the play with a slow burn. Dann sets Henry up as a devious manipulator, whose duality seems both unintentionally ingrained – yet specifically called upon. When Henry is alone with each woman he sets up a completely unique dynamic with each and calls forth different aspects of his personality. Initially open and friendly with Jill, he is instead cunning and slightly dangerous with Nellie. When all three come together, the room is charged as every word is heavy with double meaning. It’s fascinating to see this master manipulator play each woman expertly.

Henry (Matt Savins) and Nellie (Clea Straus Rivera) photo by Simon Snogles

Jill’s joy of having a house-guest soon sours when the excitement Henry brought with him wears thin. In the village she hears gossip of Henry which – coupled with some of his actions – leaves her with a growing aversion for him even as Nellie has now begun to warm to him. There’s a sly seduction that crackles between these two alphas – and what began as a battle to be the man of the house now has these two locked into each other in a brutal, sensual and emotionally explosive dependency. Henry begins to dominate Nellie with his passion – one so strong that it butts up against abusive smothering. He pursues her the way he hunts for his prey:

“I’ll tell you something, Nellie. A hunter, if he’s a real hunter, never just walks into a forest and says to an animal, ‘Please fall to my gun, beastie’ It’s a slower, subtler thing than that. When you bunt, you have to gather yourself to bring down what you’re out for. You have to coil everything you are, just as a snake does when he’s about to strike, and then you have to focus not just your eyes but your whole mind and soul on the thing you’re after, so it becomes like a fate. Your will against his. And then when you reach your true pitch, and you finally come into range, you don’t aim as you would at a bottle, or a can of chowder. It’s your will that carries the bullet through. It’s your will that brings the creature down. It has to be the will or you’ll never win. It’s whoever’s will is the weakest that’s the loser…! “

The words “You can’t refuse me” from his mouth are both a promise and a threat, and Nellie, caught up in this strange new whirlwind is both drawn to the force, as well seduced by the prospect of not having to be the caregiver anymore.

Jill (Elizabeth Elkins) and Nellie (Clea Straus Rivera) photo by Simon Snogles

Jill and Nellie’s relationship is broadly painted and while mention of them sleeping together is often spoken of, any hint of sexuality between them seems to hover at the brink of -and go no further than – deep fondness and enduring affection rather than any erotic passion. Theirs is an emotional pairing, solidly built on – and maintained on – similar habits, interests, goals and dreams. They are a couple who has built a life together and therefore it doesn’t matter that their bedroom escapades often seem dominated by a hot water bottle and being hummed off to dreamland.In contrast, Henry offers Nellie a brutally sexual relationship clearly hinted at in the way he manhandles her, grabs at her, and causes her breath to quicken. She – so strong, sturdy and reliant when dealing with Jill – becomes almost quivering when Henry demands that they run off together. Savins and Rivera masterfully portray these two lovers, drawn together with such combustible force that all rationality and clear-headedness withers in the wake of their ultimately destructive inferno. Elkins does a marvelous job at portraying Jill who must stand by in confusion and is powerless to stop what she knows is a story that can only end in tragedy.

The Fox, originally a novella by D.H. Lawrence, is a story that ages well. In the hands of Jaded Eyes Arts Collective, this story is able to speak to an audience who isn’t so wide-eyed at the thought of two women abandoning society in order to go rogue and live a life together on their own terms. And therefore, some of the darker points are able to be coaxed out and played with: Henry’s complete domination of Nellie, the dance that flirts with BDSM before toppling over into abuse via manipulation, and the complete brute force and sexual subterfuge which Henry uses to whip his prey into a lather of confusion and submission.

The end of the play is stark and gripping; Elkins, Rivera and Savins hold the audience so tightly in a game of will that it is impossible to breath as you watch the final moments play out. At times devastating, as well as bold and brave, this production of The Fox builds to a climax that will leave you transfixed.

~~~

The Fox
Written by Allan Miller
Adapted from the novella by D.H. Lawrence
Directed by Jordan Dann

The Gene Frankel Theatre
24 Bond Street
New York, NY 10012

Friday, July 18 @ 7:30p
Saturday, July 19 @ 2p and 7:30p
Wednesday, July 23 @ 7:30p
Thursday, July 24 @ 7:30p
Friday, July 25 @ 7:30p
Saturday, July 26 @ 2p and 7:30p

Click Here to purchase tickets

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The Maiden – Stream Of Subconciousness

Karen Tortora-Lee — Wed, 09 Apr 2014 01:30:39 +0000

In the dark and hazy mirrored halls a woman stands teetering on a towering wooden stool – eyes blindfolded and arms shackled to the ceiling. She is motionless, speechless; an altogether eerie presence. Beneath her in the darkness, piles of whitewashed suitcases act as a barrier between her world and some other place. She is Persephone and this is The Maiden, currently playing at The Club at LaMaMa.

This reboot of the Greek abduction myth is the brain child of The Nerve Tank and while it certainly falls under the category of innovative independent theatre, it does so in a way that is expectedly innovative and predictably independent. While there’s a lot to be distracted by it’s not a distraction that transports fans of avant-garde theatre to any new lands. Still, The Maiden does have its enjoyable moments and clocks in at just around an hour – so if you’re in the mood for a little left-of-center performance you’ll probably feel The Maiden is worth the price of admission.

The text, by Chance D. Muehleck, is an amalgam of rap lyrics, movie speeches and bits of poetry which are restated, overlapped, whispered, chanted and spoken in every available manner in order to coax out a subtle nuance or, at times, do the opposite. To this end there are moments when the words (intentionally) become so repetitious as to become almost hypnotic thus losing all their meaning and allowing the tone and timbre to supply the intention of the scene.

The Maiden (photo by Raymond Haddad)

Mark William Lindberg as Hades rides about the environs on a stunning four wheeled chariot (designed by Greg Henderson and Melanie Armer) which he steers expertly as he waves a golden megaphone. His ensemble designed by Miodrag Guberinic is goth black with accents of golden bullets which make their intended statement. As Lindberg channels P. Diddy and raps “I got it all but I really need a wife at home” he comes across more like Eminem dunked in Marilyn Manson. Don’t get me wrong -this is actually a very enjoyable thing. Other moments, however, just seem rehashed, familiar, and pat.

Still, for all its contrivances director and choreographer Melanie S. Armer offers forth an underworld that is at times exotic yet robotic – futuristic yet ancient. Some of the most intimate and – if not erotic then at least arousing – moments between Hades and his Persephone (Robin Kurtz) occur as they recite parts of “My Century” By Gunter Grass (referred to moments before in “The Rape Joke“). The blandness of the passage which explains how he “bought his first straw hat to wear while strolling to the Mühlentor” is neatly counterpointed with a Persephone who shimmies up Hades’ chariot and mingles her breath with his before dismounting. Their shared reality throughout this play is often mimicked by the chorus who sometimes watch, sometimes persuade, sometimes invade, and who are the trio of Admiral Grey (who also composed), Brandt Adams, and James “Face” Yu.

The result of all this movement, talk, quoting and perplexity is somehow more Alice In Wonderland than Persephone. One has the sense that this underworld of non-sequiturs is simply another plane of awareness – and calls to mind the stream of consciousness propelled from a grown up Alice as she endlessly drops down the rabbit hole.

Overall, The Maiden is an hour’s worth of one parcel of words leading to another. Midway one must simply come to terms with the fact that leaning forward and concentrating with extreme effort is no more the theatre experience intended here than leaning back and allowing the whole performance to simply wash over you. There’s no correct way to be an audience member, there’s no correct way to interpret theatre, and ultimately if you like your nights of theatre to end with a question mark, or an ellipse rather than a more decisive period, then The Maiden will be exactly the type of theatre experience you’re looking for. As for me …

~~~
The Maiden

La MaMa’s The Club
74A East 4th Street (2nd Floor)
(btw Bowery & 2nd Ave)
New York, NY 10003

March 28 – April 13, 2014
Created by The Nerve Tank
Friday – Saturday at 10pm and Sunday at 5:30

CLICK HERE for tickets

Basic Help (2014 Frigid New York Festival)

Karen Tortora-Lee — Fri, 07 Mar 2014 20:23:29 +0000

Strangedog Theatre’s Basic Help begins with a situation that is all too familiar to anyone who has ever spent endless minutes weaving through the labyrinth of telephone prompts in the hopes of eventually getting to speak with a live person who can actually help you.

We first come upon Cynthia (Megan Greener) at this exact moment of human contact. Cynthia is so startled and relieved to talk to a human being that the first thing she does is relate her frustration at being navigated through an endless maze to finally get to an actual rep. The phone-chain hierarchy is described perfectly – beginning with the the remote, robotic push 1 for this, 2 for that menu options which lead to the more interactive but no less animatronic“Okay. I heard you say such-and-such. Is that correct? Okay. One moment while I check that …”

So of course when Cynthia is finally connected with Simon (Gavin Earl Johnson) who answers the line with a scripted version of Thank you for calling Magicprep Kitchenware where all you kitchen prep is magic. What is the name of the Magicprep Kitchenware customer I have the pleasure of speaking with? is it any wonder that she demands verification that he is, in fact, human – and not just an even more clever version of robotic technology who will be of no more help to her than all the others?

On the surface, Cynthia seems a bit high strung. I mean, really – it’s just kitchenware. Does having a blender which makes an unexpected noise warrant a flood of crazy-lady rantings and accusations? Whether it does or doesn’t, Simon isn’t paid to really respond thoughtfully or give actual conversation anyway. He’s just meant to help the customer on the other end of the line, ask them if there’s any thing else he can help them with today, wish them a nice day, and sign off so that he can answer the next call. Simple.

Only it’s not that simple. Yes, Cynthia is high strung – but there’s a reason. And Simon does have more thoughtful, more conversational responses – he’s just not expected to voice them. So when Cynthia calls back the next day on some other pretext about her blender (“I lied to you when you asked if it was a gift …”) it gives the two a chance to connect a bit deeper – but only just. It’s enough of a connection, however, for Simon to give Cynthia his direct extension so that she can bypass the maze and get him directly. On the one hand, this is crazy. She’s obviously got a lot of time on her hands – she will obviously call again. On the other hand … not so crazy. Because she will obviously call again.

And so begins a strange friendship. And it is a friendship. The wonderful thing that playwright Ben Clawson has a gift for understanding is that the human mind is a complex thing and not all connections need to be romantic in order for them to be deeply moving and affecting. Director Artem Yatsunov interprets this beautifully. While there is most definitely a type of playfulness which grows between Cynthia and Simon as the phone calls become a daily ritual, the intimacy – and there is definitely intimacy – never crosses into coy flirtation. Nevertheless Yatsunov makes it obvious that these two human beings – without seeing each other, without REALLY knowing each other beyond the scope of these brief daily interactions, have created a bond which both rely on. Sometimes emotional intimacy is more of a life preserver than any other kind of intimacy. But, like a life-preserver, some intimacies are self contained and serve only one purpose – and aren’t useful unless you’re lost at sea.

The feasibility of BASIC HELP sits squarely on the shoulders of Greener and Johnson and both do a wonderful job of breathing life into their characters. Even more-so, their nuanced performance allows you to watch as they grow closer, even as the two actors never lock eyes or even face each other. No small feat. In just the act of simple phone calls they call forth humor, poignancy and even emptiness. They succeed in finding things that not only connect them to each other, but to the audience as well.

Musician David Byrne said “Sometimes it’s a form of love just to talk to somebody that you have nothing in common with and still be fascinated by their presence.” Do Cynthia and Simon fascinate one another? To an extent. They certainly intrigue one another. And at the time their phone calls happen they wake each other up a bit.

BASIC HELP does a beautiful job of exploring unexpected connections found in strange places which can lead us to decisions we wouldn’t have been brave enough to make otherwise. We live in a society where we can disclose our innermost thoughts on Tumblr anonymously via a screen name such as starburstfireflygrrrrl and get more support from Gothgrrrl92 than we do our own friends IRL. This simply underscores how the scenario of BASIC HELP is more accessible and commonplace than we think. Making friends with a stranger who we will never meet or talk to again? It happens every day. And if you think it doesn’t – remember this review the next time you’re pouring your heart out to the faceless masses on line. Think of BASIC HELP. And know: someone’s listening. And someone’s always there to give help – basic or otherwise.

~~~

Basic Help
Company: StrangeDog. Theatre
Written by: Ben Clawson
Directed by: Artem Yatsunov

Remaining Performance:
Mar 09, 12:30PM

Click HERE for tickets

Running time: 0 h 50 min
Price: $16.00
Seating: General Admission

UNDER St Marks
94 St Marks Place
New York , New York 10009
1st Ave and Ave A

Horse Trade Theater Group will present the 8th Annual FRIGID New York Festival at The Kraine Theater (85 East 4^th Street between 2^nd Avenue and Bowery) and UNDER St. Marks (94 St. Marks Place between 1^st Avenue and Avenue A) February 19-March 9. Tickets are available for purchase in advance at www.FRIGIDnewyork.info or by calling 212-868-4444.

Tina And Amy: Last Night In Paradise (2014 Frigid New York Festival)

Karen Tortora-Lee — Thu, 06 Mar 2014 21:08:26 +0000

Antonia Lassar and Maria Gilhooley (Photo by: Keke Brown)

These days, say “Tina and Amy” and immediately a comedic pair pop into your head – no last names or context necessary. No “Tina Fey from …” or “You know, they hosted the …” Yeah. None of that. Which, of course is exactly why all funny little girls with funny little best friends now have a gold standard to strive for the way boys throughout the ages had in, say, Laurel and Hardy or Abbot and Costello or Lewis and Martin … or the endless boys club duos who have followed.

Tina Fey and Amy Poehler certainly aren’t the first funny women in history – not by a long shot. Their careers were made off the backs of comic geniuses such as early TV pioneers like Lucille Ball and Gracie Allen. But countless women on SNL who weren’t Gilda Radner or Jane Curtin could point to post-Saturday Night careers littered with bit parts, long dry spells between roles, and blank looks at the mention of their names. (Ellen Cleghorne anyone? Melanie Hutsell? Nothing?) So Tina and Amy are more than just two funny women. They’re astronauts.

Before they slipped the surly bonds of earth, however, Tina and Amy were just two funny gals with the same issues and “isms” and fears and dreams that any other girls have before their lives fully unfold. In SixTee Collective’s Tina and Amy: Last Night in Paradise Antonia Lassar and Maria Gilhooley play fast and loose with the truth in order to present their dream version of what it must have been like for these two comedic icons on their last night together before Tina Fey (Gilhooley) went to New York to write for Saturday Night Live leaving her bestie, Amy Poehler (Lassar) to fend for herself.

When we first come upon Tina and Amy they’re hosting the Golden Globes – hilariously – and in their living room. It’s both a seemingly typical exercise as well as a stall tactic to keep Tina from getting to the immediate task at hand: packing and getting the hell out of Chicago so that she can go begin her career at SNL. Amy has no such offers. The rest of the show is a push and pull as Tina works to get her clothes in the suitcase, her ducks in a row, and her butt out the door in time to make her flight that will take her to her new life. Amy, on the other hand is doing everything in her power to knock this plan off track. She insists on finishing a sketch the two began a long time ago and Lassar’s delivery is winning. Gilhooley is also perfect as an over-stressed, nervous, excited Fey – tempering everything with just the right mixture of anticipation as well as wistfulness for the moments she can already see becoming unimportant. This is a fine line to play – for both actresses – and the chemistry between them as well as their devotion to the piece brings out many shining moments that work extremely well.

What Tina and Amy showcases is the fear of a friendship falling apart when one half of a dynamic duo moves on and the other doesn’t. ”Moving on” can mean different things: a partner, a family, or a writing gig at SNL, but when one woman gets it and the other doesn’t it threatens the synergy which has worked so well for so long. So, call it Tina and Amy or call it Antonia and Maria, the subtext is “don’t stop remembering how much you care about me. Together we are better than we are apart. Together we’ll do great things”.

Under co-creator Nikki DiLoreto’s direction Gilhooley and Lassar haul out every dream vehicle they can drum up in order to experience the joy of channeling their role models while simultaneously parading out their own comedic chops. And since this entire play is fictional every thing is fair game.

This does not always service the plot, however.

Despite the obvious talent of these two finely funny actresses who can turn from hilarious to heartbreaking on a dime, the production suffers when their real friendship is explored in a ‘halt-the-show’device. While this explains their connections to the story line, gives us a peek into their back-story and allows us a moment to interact with them personally, this isn’t something that couldn’t have been dealt with in the program notes. As it stands currently it completely breaks the pacing taking the audience out and then dropping them back into Paradise a bit too abruptly. Is the story of Lassar and Gilhooley an important one? Perhaps. However fleshing it out a bit more and dropping it in at other junctures might make it less of a non sequitur, though that might mean foregoing some of the (albeit fictional) story of Tina and Amy. Nevertheless, It would deepen the story of these two women who easily could be their successors – so famous that one day they do not need last names.

So while this show may have been Tina and Amy’s Last Night In Paradise I don’t think by any means it’s the last we’ll see of Antonia and Maria.

~~~

Tina And Amy: Last Night In Paradise
Company: SixTee Collective
Directed by: Nikki DiLoreto

Remaining Performances:
Mar 07, 10:15PM
Mar 08, 6:50PM

Click HERE for tickets

Running time: 1 h 0 min
Price: $10.00 – $16.00
Seating: General Admission

UNDER St Marks
94 St Marks Place
New York , New York 10009
1st Ave and Ave A

THE CANUCK CABARET (2014 Frigid New York Festival)

Karen Tortora-Lee — Thu, 06 Mar 2014 06:03:09 +0000

One of the best things about the Frigid Festival as a whole is how innovative, experimental, unfiltered and uninhibited it is. But that’s nothing compared to what happens each night, for while the last show of the evening is taking its bows, UNDER St. Marks gears up for its traditional midnight show. For five years now there’s been no greater testament to the wealth of talent that gathers for the festival than The CANUCK CABARET which is – yes – a Cabaret but also a bawdy playground where talented performers from Canada and parts south (that would be the good ole US of A to you and me) get an opportunity to congregate in that 45 seat theatre we love after all the FRIGID hub-bub of the day is over. There, performers and audience and anyone who wants to be there, can experience some amazing performances, and in general just have a blast. The good news? There are still a few more midnights to go … The Cabaret is still at full tilt and you’re invited! The bad news? After a great 5 year run this is the last year for these Canadians so miss this now and you’ll miss it FOREVAH.

To review the show I saw and then tell you that your experience will be the same is kinda pointless – as well as besides the point. One doesn’t go down those rickety stairs with a playbook – nor would you want to. It’s the unexpected, the serendipity of specific audience melding with specific performers that make the magic that you experience. Hell, there’s not even a set running time. Just arrive at midnight and surrender yourself to the river of performance that will flow.

Paul Hutcheson [photo credit: KL Thomas]

Two things are constant however: the bar IS always open and the show IS always hosted by the appealing comedic performer Paul Hutcheson who takes care of warming up the crowd, giving introductions and keeping the whole thing moving. I just wanted to convince him to move to NYC so that we could see more of each other – that’s how much fun Hutcheson is, not only as host but as performer — and if his stand up is to be believed then that’s how much fun he is as a person, period. I think the New York scene needs a few more Paul Hutchesons.

Sharon Nowlan [photo credit: KL Thomas]

Revving up the crowd and starting things off RIGHT was Sharon Nowlan who did a little burlesque – Canada style. Which – according to me means lights turned down low while she swirled glowing things in the air. With perfectly placed maple leafs (yes I said “maple leafs”) she charmed not once, but twice and her closing number (almost 2 hours later) was as delightful as her first performance.

Chris Wilson [photo credit: KL Thomas]

Chris Wilson who is from Toronto got the crowd going with a skit involving a coach taking over a health class for the day. Things get a little twitchy when anonymous questions like “what is love” and other sex-related queries are answered with sports metaphors.

Fay Slift – The Ladybearextraordinaire – was decked out in full tutu, wig and glorious beard. Fay’s first number took the crowd soaring through a pop landscape but later on the audience was on its feet (or at least bouncing in its chair) as Fay raced about in a whole new ensemble – all foam hair and Minnie Mouse hands and perfect “are you gonna stay the night” eyelash batting. Yes, Fay! Yes! We WILL

Matt Panesh – Monkey Poet - was there in all his tall loveliness with that amazing accent pouring out of him. He gave his background which had a little Liverpool smashed in with a little Manchester and so much more – all I can say is listening to him recite his poetry is something to behold. I’d seen him all day at the Kraine handing out flyers and was already smitten – seeing him perform did not disappoint.

CJ Sawchyn [photo credit: KL Thomas]

CJ Sawchyn (Steve Nuggett) of the notorious musical sketch company THE SPECIALS, was there doing something so brilliant it’s impossible to describe. Suffice to say this guy makes Keith Richards look like your grandmother’s canasta partner.

Antonia Lassar (who is one half of the FRIGID show TINA and AMY) was there with her super good friend (and kissing buddy – and ovary smasher) Artem Yatsunov (director of BASIC HELP). First of all, seeing them together made me understand why they were so sweet together in their 10 THINGS TO KNOW interviews. Ahh! So obvious. Secondly, seeing them together was just great fun – they sang songs while Antonia strummed the ukulele and told a story that involved a trip to the emergency room after an incident involving (yes, you guess it) Antonia’s ovary. Let me say right now – since seeing this show I have sung the phrase “Big dickery” more times than I can count. That’s the way to do it A&A. THAT’S THE WAY TO DO IT.

Jillian Thomas [photo credit: KL Thomas]

Jillian Thomas – originally from Canada but recently moved to NYC after marrying a man who heckled her – not only did some great stand up that illustrated her comedic chops, but she told even MORE stories about host Paul Hutcheson involving a live sex show that made me envy her a little more.

Una Osato, a performer I’ve enjoyed for her work in prior FRIGID shows (notably JapJAP) didn’t disappoint as she took to the stage in a giant Orca costume and swam to that Free Willy song slowly shedding her costume until she was in all

Una Osato [photo credit: KL Thomas]

her glory – save for pasties and a thong – celebrating her sweet parts, even those that jiggled – and as the audience cheered and urged her on she jumped high into the sky (or as high as the basement ceiling of USM will allow) and let those babies (or do I mean boobies?) fly free.

Rebecca Parry [photo credit: KL Thomas]

Rebecca Parry of the Frigid show Confessions of a Redheaded Coffeeshop Girl was there too – wooing the crowd with some songs from Suzy Snowflake Entertains The Troops and her red hair and red dress and red-hot number proved that this firecracker from Canada is more than just a pretty shade of claret – she went down as smooth as a fine burgundy.

By the time Paul Hutcheson and Sharon Nowlan were back to do one final closing number that involved fans and flutters and a Pink ballad I was all teary eyed for this Cabaret. In a city that never sleeps this show comes on at prime time. So take the next few available midnights and spend them at UNDER St. Marks where you’ll be treated like an old friend. Do it before they’re gone forever.

~~~
THE CANUCK CABARET
Hosted by: comedic performer Paul Hutcheson

Remaining Performances:
Mar 06, 12:00AM
Mar 07, 12:00AM
Mar 08, 12:00AM

Running time: 1 h 0 min
Price: $5.00

Seating: General Admission

UNDER St Marks
94 St Marks Place
New York , New York 10009
1st Ave and Ave A
2nd and 3rd Ave

For Body And Light (2014 Frigid New York Festival)

Karen Tortora-Lee — Wed, 05 Mar 2014 20:04:28 +0000

For Body And Light is so ethereal that to try and describe it flows beyond the bounds of a normal review. It’s almost as if what is expressed cannot be caught – or recreated … or defined with enough fluency to properly convey the experience of this breathtakingly beautiful production from TRAVAIL ROUGE now playing as part of the 2014 Frigid New York Festival.

For Body And Light is directed and choreographed by Stéphanie Morin-Robert in collaboration with spoken word and music artist Ian Ferrier. Together they have created a work so mesmerizing, so hypnotic, so trance-inducing that one hour with this talented group of performers will not only bring you the type of peace and calm that one usually seeks out in, perhaps, a yoga studio or a church – or in other places of meditation — but it will also have filled you with a longing to stop your own world for a little while and just … be. With phrases like ”Rosary of thought” this performance is filled with prayer – not to a god, however, but to a state of consciousness.

For Body And Light is not plot based, but there is no denying the story: the rich sound design, the dulcet spoken words and the echoing movement all take you to a place that is drenched in waves, fog, and other forms of sea and tide and tide-pool and ocean.

Have you ever sat by the sea in silent contemplation? The water – at once blank and vast – suddenly takes on subtleties and shadings which speak to you, inviting you to simply stay present in the moment. And suddenly the repetition is no longer endless and monotonous but rather lively and versatile and filled with possibility, even as it repeats its ancient progression as it always has and always will. This is what it is like to watch For Body And Light.

As Ferrier describes a world of stars, of torchlight, of “beauty and strangeness” with wondrous creatures and the water climbing over the edge we watch as incredibly graceful, lithe and limber bodies mimic the water, riding the waves, being the waves. They are twisting and churning in a beautiful, tortuous undulating symmetry.

There is a moment in For Body And Light when the dancers move together on the ground like creatures who are bonded by something timeless and ancient and unspoken. Saturated in both bright light as well as shadow, bodies roil and sway in an echo of the sounds of the surf which are played gently underneath the softly intoned words of Ferrier. As he speaks of imaginative worlds which dwell in tide pools and the shapes that move within them, of the life that is both ancient and pristine, our own corporeal frames seem to become lighter, less “mine” more universal. Watching this show, you feel both at one with the performance as well as completely alone in your own solitude.

So much light your mind is almost purged of darkness …

We’re not meant to live without shadows

The source of light is a type of pail which swings from a long rope and is raised and lowered as the movement dictates. Often it swings forcefully casting unpredictable, unexpected layers of shadow-play. Sometimes it is beamed on the swaying bodies carefully, the way a silent midnight searcher would move their flashlight on the beach in the hopes of discovering something wonderful without disturbing it. Choreographer Morin-Robert works this light expertly, part Kuroko, part ensemble performer. She moves the light (as do other dancers) and so the beam becomes another character – moving, engaging with the swaying bodies, leaving some in shadow and burning others in a stark high beam.

The words are both philosophical as well as straight-forward: take this speech at face value or let the journey of light and movement and atmosphere allow the words to become a metaphor for your life. However you take it, it remains breathtakingly beautiful.

Movement performed by: Alexia Martel, Linnea Gwiazda, Allison Burns, Marie-Pier Gilbert and Marie-France Jacques

~~~
For Body And Light
Company: TRAVAIL ROUGE

Directed and choreographed by: Stéphanie Morin-Robert
Spoken word and music: Ian Ferrier

Remaining Performances:

Mar 05, 5:30PM
Mar 06, 10:15PM
Mar 07, 7:05PM

Click HERE for tickets

Running time: 1 h 0 min
Price: $10.00 – $15.00
Seating: General Admission

The Kraine Theater
85 E. 4th Street
New York , New York 10003
2nd and 3rd Ave

Almost A Genius (2014 Frigid New York Festival)

Geoffrey Paddy Johnson — Wed, 05 Mar 2014 02:17:25 +0000

Mental disorder is a prickly theme for a comedian, at once courting a humane sympathetic response all but extinguishing of levity, while summoning a degraded, inhumane call for ridicule – an entirely viler form of laughter. As a chosen topic it is demanding, requiring skillful handling, but there are some who seem qualified to do so, much the way there are some who can juggle chainsaws. Maria Wojciechowski is one of those artful jugglers. In her self authored comedic monologue, Almost A Genius, playing at this year’s Frigid Festival, she offers an account of her fairly recent diagnosis as a bi-polar personality. A devastating label to be handed at any stage of one’s life, with presently no known “cure”, the knowledge carries a heavy burden of responsibility. It provides, however, a framework with which to look back on past experiences and reappraise them. It seems Wojciechowski is presently at this point in her young life, but it doesn’t stop her from finding comedy in reflection. And perhaps it opens up understanding in larger, freer ways.

Witness, for instance, her opening act here as slowly, painfully almost, she inches from behind a curtain wearing a head-to-toe banana suit, her face a riven mask of angst. She closes on the microphone and haltingly commences in a cringing voice a sequence of bad to very bad banana puns and humorisms. It’s agonizing. And darkly, deeply funny. Everything is up for the cut: the performer, the audience, humor itself, and the banana – most maligned of fruits. This is clever stuff. Mercifully the lights go down, the banana suit comes off, and she stands before us as herself, launching into the story of her recent real life diagnosis. She has a soft, gentle voice and a slight and graceful physical presence. There is something mild and vulnerable about her, altogether at odds with the evident sharpness of her intelligence and the gritty humor she conjures in this clear-eyed, slightly self-mocking account of her harsh situation.

Punctuating her affecting confessional monologue are a series of sketches and performances that crank up the laugh factor and deepen the investigation. Away from herself, in character, she is a bold and brassy performer, committed to her creations with a vitality that is almost scary – that banana is really quite alarming. We get some singing, some dancing, and a bunch of impersonations shedding various degrees of light on her personal story – some hilariously on point (an earnest nun singing How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?) – and some more vaguely so (a chatty Whitechapel prostitute who quips her way through a near fatal encounter with Jack the Ripper). Breezily she moves from act to act, effortlessly shifting gears, but the break in continuity and character sometimes damages the rhythm of the whole, and the proximity between scathing take-downs and heartfelt confession is an awkward one. What are we to make, for example, of her plaintive pronouncement concerning a cherished family pet -”sometimes I wonder if I loved that dog more than some of my family”? Does she mean it, or is she being funny again, sending up the trite sadness of the situation? Both, most likely. And really that’s the fine steel hook she can catch you with in this piece. She can use the comforting language familiar to support groups in a way that plays at once as sincere and as ridiculous. Many will be lulled by her soft ingenuous-seeming voice, the tender reality of her plight, but this is only half the story. Even though there are some broadly comical moments few could resist, by and large she’s a sly one.

With direction by Natalie Sullivan Shipman, as a piece it could use a little tightening up to improve pace, a little polish, perhaps even a little squaring up as to where the humor is contained and the real self prevails. But that might be tampering with a rare and delicate concoction from a distinctive performer. In its current form Wojciechowski has given us something already suffused with a vivid comedic sensibility and a brave creative reach. It’s almost a work of genius.

~~~
Almost A Genius
Directed by: Natalie Sullivan

Remaining Performance:
Mar 07, 5:30PM

Click HERE for tickets

Running time: 0 h 45 min
Price: $10.00 – $15.00
Seating: General Admission

UNDER St Marks
94 St Marks Place
New York , New York 10009
1st Ave and Ave A

I Shall Forget You Presently (2014 Frigid New York Festival)

Karen Tortora-Lee — Tue, 04 Mar 2014 18:25:18 +0000

I Shall Forget You Presently (Amy Overman/Nicole Lee Aiossa/Cara Moretto/Jennifer Gill/Rachel Grundy) [Photo by Theresa Unfried]

She was a woman … a poet … a lover.

She was found at the bottom of the stairs.

She made the city – she WAS the city. She was from the country.

I’d never read her …

These are some of the overlapping and recurring words of The Dysfunctional Theatre Company‘s theatrical piece I Shall Forget You Presently – a gorgeous dollop of theatre as evocative as a poem – magical, alluring – a love letter to a writer who wrote of love … and of more than love. You may have only vague notions of who Edna St. Vincent Millay was (she was a poet) or may dismiss her work (I’d never read her) because, like so many misconceptions, her time of birth seems to place her as someone from a by-gone era who would be out of touch with anything that your own life may reflect in this “modern world”.

Fortunately this beautiful homage written by Amy Overman and Eric Chase (who also directs) gives you not only a way to interact with Millay’s work, but a way to fall in love with it, as I did. Now playing as part of the Frigid New York Festival it has but one show left in its short run – all the more reason to read this review quickly so that you can get those tickets by clicking the link provided at the end.

Chase must have the soul of a poet himself, for his direction of this piece is as redolent and as transporting as any good piece of poetry can and should be. He not only makes Millay’s world come alive, but he makes her words rise up, shimmer, beckon.

The play is constructed as a play about poetry – and a poet – must be: filled with overlapping words and music, meaningful repetition that changes in nuance with each utterance, joyous patter set to an evocative tempo, all interwoven with soulful music and soaring arias

I Shall Forget You Presently ( Nicole Lee Aiossa & Rachel Grundy) [photo by Theresa Unfried]

performed expertly by Nicole Lee Aiossa who often sings a capella but is also sometimes accompanied on flute and saxophone by Rachel Grundy or on guitar by Adam Swiderski. Presently glitters in its brief hour with more beauty and brilliance than I would have thought possible.

With all the actresses having their turn at being Edna St. Vincent Millay (and some stepping into the shoes of her sister, Norma) the audience is brought several versions of the woman as interpreted through the mannerisms, postures and affectations of Nicole Lee Aiossa, Jennifer Gill, Rachel Grundy, Cara Moretto and Amy Overman. This effect gives us a Millay who is in turn playful, direct, authentic, romantic, yearning, and most of all – in every way -seductive. This makes the entire cast – including the wonderful men who support by playing Millay’s lovers, friends and husband (Rob Brown, Adam Files and Adam Swiderski) quite seductive in their own right. This is a true ensemble piece, melding, moving, catching up where another leaves off. As a cast The Dysfunctional Theatre Company is as in tune with their subject, and with their execution of the material as the poet herself was with her own creative voice.

Edna St. Vincent Millay [photo: Carl Van Vechten Archive at the Smithsonian]

Overman and Chase’s script – when not giving us snippets of poetry – give us a Millay who is shockingly accessible and raffish. ”Vincent” (as some friends called her) smoked, she drank, “she cursed and cut classes but she turned in work that was brilliant” … these days those things are not diametrically opposed.

It’s always shocking to realize — or rather reintegrate – the evidence that people were sexy and seductive in earlier centuries. As if the same sepia tones which color their fading photographs somehow scrub them clean of any impure thoughts. As if only our generation, or perhaps the one prior, invented longing, aching, frustration, confusion,

And if I loved you Wednesday,
Well, what is that to you?
I do not love you Thursday—
So much is true.

And why you come complaining
Is more than I can see.
I loved you Wednesday,—yes—but what
Is that to me?

– “Thursday” Edna St. Vincent Millay

But consider the biblical Bathsheba (mentioned in one interlude) whose seductive bath scene witnessed by David was as vivid and ribald as any webcam show. These are the connections Millay was offering up – and suddenly we realize that her discovery of prior centuries of lust is as surprising to her as ours is of her generation. Simply because people used more elegant and evocative language to discuss their urges doesn’t mean the fires weren’t burning with as much sizzle and steam as our own great love affairs.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:
I cannot say what loves have come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
– “What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why (Sonnet XLIII)” Edna St. Vincent Millay

At the end a teary eyed Cara Moretto addressed the audience as Edna and intoned Millay’s “First Fig”

My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends—
It gives a lovely light!

At this point my eyes were filled with tears as well – not just because I’d been so touched, so transported by what I’d just seen, but at the fact that these words had meant so much to me for so long – had been quoted by me, had been written in my diary at both triumphant as well as desperate moments, yet I had never bothered to cite the author for I had never known who it was. Wait. Just sit with that for a moment. I had never known who had written words I had quoted hundreds of times. It was both shaming as well as galvanizing. I couldn’t wait to dive headlong into more Millay.

“To know a great poet is a painful but precious privilege” says one of the characters in Presently, and so to know this great theatrical performance is both a painful but precious privilege. Painful for the brevity and fleetingness of it – painful for the travesty of never discovering this eloquent ebullient poet until now. But most definitely a precious privilege. Thank you, Dysfunctional Theatre Company, for capturing so hauntingly, so lushly, and so deeply the work of a poet who was a woman … a poet … a lover. A woman – found at the bottom of the stairs.

~~~

I Shall Forget You Presently
Company: Dysfunctional Theatre Company
Written by: Eric Chase and Amy Overman
~BASED ON THE WORKS OF EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY~
Directed by: Eric Chase

Remaining Performance:
Mar 06, 5:30PM

Click HERE for tickets

Running time: 1 h 0 min
Price: $12.00 – $15.00
Seating: General Admission

The Kraine Theater
85 E. 4th Street
New York , New York 10003
2nd and 3rd Ave

Professor Ralph’s Loss Of Breath (2014 Frigid New York Festival)

Geoffrey Paddy Johnson — Fri, 28 Feb 2014 00:33:54 +0000

Watching the performers in Playlab‘s production, Professor Ralph’s Loss of Breath, can shortly leave you in ready sympathy with the central character’s unlikely plight. The proceedings move at such a rate, the lines flow at such a pace, you’ll be virtually breathless trying to keep up. You needn’t fret unduly, however, if you miss a detail or an allusion (and you’ll probably miss a couple). You are fairly comfortably installed in a parallel cartoon universe where nothing matters too much because, well … because now look what’s happening! The two performers, Scott Michael Morales as Mr. Lackobreath, and Robert Berliner as Toby Dammit (and everybody else, come to that) charge through their scenes describing character, setting and action, alternately capering, prat-falling, breaking into song, dueling – verbally and physically – at a positively giddy tilt as the madcap tale unfolds. This could prove mere irksome slapstickery if it were not for the quality and commitment of the actors. Director Kevin P. Hale has struck a rich seam of gold in recruiting this duo, never mind it being some class of fool’s gold. Both project an instantaneous theatrical charisma, lavish with the vaudevillian understanding that only a high energy showmanship will do to keep this quirky puffball of a feature aloft. As a team they have a comedic aura just standing together: Berliner tall (and by more than just a head and shoulders), soignée and devious; Morales shrimpish, cocky, and gullible. Together they could almost put over anything, which is good as they’re asked to put over quite a lot. They’ll keep you watching even as your brain is wondering – how does anyone find the time to think this stuff up?

Robert Berliner as Toby Dammit. Photo by Paul Fox.

A downright silly storyline follows the frankly fatuous quest of Mr. Lackobreath to retrieve his, well, lost breath. This he has lost in the course of an argument with his new young wife. Of course. In rapid succession he becomes a fugitive from the police, the patient of a surgical quack, the quarry of a lustful virgin, the dupe of a convicted criminal, the subject of a public hanging, and the mark of Mephistopheles. And probably a few other things I forgot to mention. The rag-taggle tumult of events comes from the pen of Kevin P. Hale, who so brilliantly showed his puppet piece, Poe-Dunk: A Matchbox Entertainment, at the 2012 Frigid festival. Hale claims to have adapted it from one “Professor” Ralph Phillips, a nineteenth-century American itinerant puppeteer, who translated it from a German language version which was itself an adaptation of an Edgar Allan Poe short story, Loss of Breath, from 1832. Said Prof. Phillips allegedly, following his absinthe-soaked tour of Europe, repaired to Vermont where he established the puppetry department at one Eldritch College, in Glover, VT just before he died on Halloween night in 1911.(Searches on line for an Eldritch College in VT yield nothing, but there is in the virtual vicinity an Eldritch Institute promoting a fairly wicked tee-shirt design featuring an impression of H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu.) Invention, adaptation, or a combination thereof, the piece does hold much of the naive quality of story telling common to popular entertainments of the 18th and 19th centuries, being riddled with vulgar sexual innuendo while hollowly purporting to tell a tale of moral instruction (this one champions Perseverance). Poe’s original story is itself breathtakingly silly, but does bear the hallmarks of some of his distinctive phobic obsessions – guilt, suffocation, paralysis, live entombment – which are all nimbly presented here. A good smattering of olde world misogyny gets some play, coded and uncoded, and for those who would wish to delve a little deeper for subtext, themes of emasculation, loss of libido, impotence, homophilia, and auto-erotic strangulation might be induced to raise their curly heads. Then again, Punch and Judy was about a wife-beating, tyrannical felon. It’s all great fun. Inquiring minds might like to know more about Prof. Ralph, Eldritch College, and the ur-text of this creation, but it’s probably a safe bet to consider that Hale and the Playlab troupe are from that select type your grandma warned you about, carny folk. Providing you don’t believe a word of it, you’ll be fine.

Scott Michael Morales as Mr. Lackobreath photographer Paul Fox

More than fine, you’ll be highly entertained. Beneath all the tom foolery and apparent sham-ery is a cunning mind, rich in theatrical lore, and better, a beating heart of creative purpose.

~~~

Professor Ralph’s Loss Of Breath
Company: Playlab NYC
Directed by: Kevin P. Hale

Remaining Performance:
Mar 05, 7:05PM
Mar 08, 12:30PM

Click HERE for tickets

Running time: 1 h 0 min
Price: $10.00 – $15.00
Seating: General Admission

The Kraine Theater
85 E. 4th Street
New York , New York 10003
2nd and 3rd Ave

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