Congratulations to the folks over at T. Schreiber Studio – their production of Kenneth Lonergan’s Lobby Hero will extend for four additional performances November 30^th through December 3^rd at the company’s Gloria Maddox Theatre (151 West 26^th Street, 7^th Floor).  We loved the show and are thrilled that more audiences will be able to experience the show.  Read our review here and purchase tickets here.

Related Posts:

• Lobby Hero – The Good, The Bad, And The Lobby
• Balm In Gilead – Everyone Has A Story
• Joking Apart: To The Happy Couple!
• Goodnight Lovin’ Trail – What We’ll Leave Behind When We Go (FRIGID New York 2011)
• The Cherry Orchard Is In Full Bloom At The T. Schreiber Studio

If you’re fortunate enough to live in one of those apartment buildings with a decent sized lobby, chances are you’ve come across the characters who populate Kenneth Lonergan’s Lobby Hero currently running at The Gloria Maddox Theatre.  At first glance there’s nothing special about this lobby.  Neat, a bit shabby, in need of a coat of paint and some new furniture, it’s maintained by the security officer who sits behind the desk there.

Who is that guy?  The one asking your guests to sign in, accepting your packages for you, holding the door open for you when your hands are full? What’s his story?  Unless you’ve had more than a perfunctory interaction with your lobby security guard chances are it would be as disconcerting to run into him out of uniform as it was for you when, as a child, you saw your teacher in the grocery story.  Yet you know he must have a life when he’s not in uniform, right?

What’s his name again?  This lobby’s hero is named Jeff.  Jeff (a natural, solid Michael Black) is working the graveyard shift and seems friendly enough; affable if a bit plain.    But he’s as ubiquitous to us as any other guy who sits in a lobby in a bland uniform with a blank stare and a deliberate smile.  Jeff spends his time thumbing through a paper back, catching a nap (if he can get away with it) and keeping an eye out for his manager, William (Nasay Ano) who is working the graveyard shift to “weed out the bad apples”.  Every so often he gets a visit from the local cops on the beat as they make their rounds.  That would be Officer Bill (Joshua Sienkiewicz) and his young partner Officer Dawn (Olivia Rorick).  For Dawn this is a routine check-in, but for Bill his stop to Apartment 22J is of a more personal nature.

Cops and guards – just some of the random people you pass every day.  As long as they keep trouble out of your way, you’re happy.  But what if trouble follows them?

Lonergan’s Lobby Hero is a tightly written, multilayer interwoven story about two sides of the same coin.  What makes the dance so interesting is how the four characters pair off at various times to subtly create odd fusions which constantly have these four squaring off with each other in different combinations.  Sometimes the division is between the security officers and the police officers.   Sometimes it’s between the rookies and the veterans.  Sometimes the line is drawn between the ones who do it by the book and the ones who don’t mind bending the rules.  And like a paper fortune teller, every time a new path is chosen by one of the characters there’s no telling who will end up siding with whom.

Lobby Hero | L to R: Nasay Ano (William) and Michael Black (Jeff) | Photo Credit: N.P. Wilson

Security Captain William is exacting, official, precise and does things by the book – always.  While he certainly is not an old man he is a mature one and leans heavily on Jeff who has less than a year on the job under his belt. William has a low tolerance for Jeff’s cavalier attitude and joking demeanor.  For William, the lobby is a place of serious business where one false miscalculation can lead to a landslide of inefficiencies.

One man’s floor is another man’s ceiling, as the expression goes, and for some what might look like a boring job of monotony and lackluster emptiness gives others a sense of quiet servitude … a way to lay a foundation of order, not just for a building but for their own lives as well.  So when William confides in Jeff that his brother has been implicated in a brutal crime and is now asking William for an alibi we see how heavily it weighs on this precise man. His brother may be guilty … he may not be. But William is convinced that without his help his brother’s future seems bleak.

On the other side of the lobby doors are the police officers – veteran cop Bill and his rookie Dawn.  Bill is gregarious, outgoing and charming – well recognized by the police force with commendations for being an exemplary upholder of the law.  Yet despite – or maybe because of – that fact he seems to have no problem creating a few exceptions – especially when it comes to his own needs.  Dawn not only has the utmost respect for her partner but she’s dazzled by him, filled with hero-worship and thrilled when, despite being married, he expresses romantic feelings for her.  Of course that changes when she finds out just what his nightly visits to 22J have been about.

During these visits while Bill is upstairs Dawn and Jeff strike up a bumpy friendship in the lobby.  At first awkward and defensive they soon find a commonality and their bond grows.  That is until Jeff, in an effort to win Dawn’s confidence, finds himself betraying William’s.  How Dawn uses this information is what sends these four spinning out of control.

Lobby Hero is filled with ironies.  Despite the fact that the rookie cop is being told she’s not good enough, Dawn is the one who does all the right things – even if it may be for the wrong reasons.   It’s no coincidence that one authority figure is named Bill while the other is named William.  Bill, like the name, is casual, takes shortcuts, emanates ease and flair, capping everything he does with a confident swagger. William takes the long way, goes the whole nine yards, he is official, he is complete only when everything is followed to the letter and while he is sure of himself there is no false bravado to his measured actions.

What works so beautifully in Lonergan’s story is that there is no clear path for any of these characters; each is good, but flawed.  Each makes choices that are right, but they are all capable of making the wrong choices as well.  Turn them one way and they’re estimable, look at them in another light and they’ve acted selfishly, childishly, unprofessionally … but you can still see why.

Lobby Hero | L to R: Olivia Rorick (Dawn), Joshua Sienkiewicz (Bill) and Michael Black (Jeff) | Photo Credit: N.P. Wilson

Peter Jensen’s direction is strong and clear; there isn’t a wasted moment here.  Jensen knows how to showcase each of his four actors in order to highlight the inner struggle pushing against the outer pressure. Some of the best moments take place not in the dialogue so much as the glances exchanged between characters.   Dozens of emotions dance across Olivia Rorick’s face as she moves from flirtation and coy to overly tough to heart breathtakingly vulnerable.  Rorick knows exactly how to play each moment with such a conviction as to make you believe that she’s lived in the skin of this character for a very long time.    Joshua Sienkiewicz’s Bill is an incredible balance – what could easily have been a scenery chewing performance is instead a thing of brilliance.  Sienkiewicz knows how to be just charming enough while still letting you peek behind the curtain a bit.  After all, he didn’t get where he was by being a jerk.  In the hands of a less gifted actor Bill could be the kind of character who sets your teeth on edge but in Sienkiewicz’s hands the role is dynamic, fascinating and thrilling to watch.

If I came away with one lesson from Lobby Hero it was this: Right and wrong are not always diametrically opposed.  Sometimes they’re partners.

~~~

Related Posts:

• Lobby Hero Redux
• Balm In Gilead – Everyone Has A Story
• Joking Apart: To The Happy Couple!
• Goodnight Lovin’ Trail – What We’ll Leave Behind When We Go (FRIGID New York 2011)
• The Cherry Orchard Is In Full Bloom At The T. Schreiber Studio

In vain shalt thou use many medicines; for thou shalt not be cured.

Jeremiah 46:11

To call T. Schreiber Studio’s  Balm in Gilead a “play” is an understatement.   Step into the Gloria Maddox Theater and find yourself stepping back in time – to a sensation, a memory, a peek into a world that few escaped and even fewer survived.  The show is a visceral experience - astonishing in every detail and desperately authentic.

Playwright Lanford Wilson may have been writing of a world he knew well in the 60s,  but Matt Brogan’s set takes that world and offers it up to the audience in such careful nuance that – rather than watch the play – your first instinct is to avert your eyes – hurry past – to not become ensnared in this sticky world of wickedness.  Under Peter Jensen’s direction everything in this play reaches out at you and it’s impossible at first to feel comfortable in this microcosm of  hookers, junkies, dealers, transvestites, street thugs, gamblers, drug users, derelicts and transients who are so plentiful that they brush past you as you quickly aim for your seat.   Once you are able to look – you’re afraid to be caught staring.

Lawrence Crimlis (Dopey), Jonathan Wilde (Joe) and Ian Campbell Dunn (Fick) in Balm In Gilead

Of course, soon enough you have to stare . . . to look away would be to miss the intricate layers of humanity that bubble and buzz and churn all around you – and unless you happen to own a time machine that can take you back to the days of Needle Park, I guarantee that this is as close as you’re ever going to get to this version of reality that may still exist in some form, but is no longer so painfully exquisite.

Nothing good happens in this diner in New York – that much is clear.  Whatever is about to unfold will end in tragedy.  Fights break out,  tricks are about to be turned, passions are passed around like pills, and you can hear people’s souls being  dragged from their bodies . . . see them losing their individual texture till they all just blend into one great patina of hopelessness.  And yet, there’s a camaraderie here too – it manifests in the odd couplings of the patrons, and in the friendships forged from proximity and necessity.  Their jokes are of the “you had to be there” variety – but the fact that laughter finds a spot to squeeze in at all is miraculous.

The play doesn’t span a very long period of time – it doesn’t have to – everything that happens here has happened before and will happen again.  Even young innocent, Darlene (Belle Caplis) arrives in the furrow which her sister first carved – a sister who came to this city, saw what it had to offer her, let it envelop her and finally let it beguile her into becoming one of the women who eeked out as much of a living as she could on the street.  Darlene seems to be doing the same.

In the ebb and flow of this all-night diner Darlene finds Joe (Jonathan Wilde) -  a man who can easily flirt, seduce and conquer, then can just as easily put his clothes back on with barely a backwards glance as he heads back out to answer the call of the night.  Darlene is no stupider than the rest of the women in the world who think that sating a man’s desire for the evening bonds him to you.   Joe obviously couldn’t care less about Darlene once he’s slept with her – it’s the rhythm of the city which pounds into him and seduces him – it’s the movement of the streets that brings him to life.

At first it’s hard to understand what the attraction is for Darlene  – New York (or at least the one she’s found) holds no glamor, no promise, no future.  However, at the top of Act 2 in a 20 minute monologue that didn’t bypass an unexpressed thought, Darlene narrates a time from her life in Chicago that isn’t something she has the choice to go back to.  There’s nothing for her there, so she might as well be here.  Historically this monologue breaks open the character of Darlene and shows exactly how vulnerable, hopeless and lost she is.  However, during a few of the longer tangents I was far more intrigued by the hooker, Ann (Jill Bianchini), who fascinated me as she ate her soup and took in this account of a dream deferred.   Watching Ann go from politely bored to moderately trapped to wryly bemused to finally somewhat caught up and even a little sympathetic – all without saying much of anything – was astonishing and told more of Ann than anything else could.   Darlene couldn’t be less like Ann on a surface level, but she’d do well to take a few pages from Ann’s book when it comes to learning how to roll with the punches that swing from the arms of fate.

While the stage holds almost thirty people living loudly and dying quietly many of the stories are elusive – as they are meant to be.  You’re not there to witness a beginning, middle and end of anything – you’re simply meant to overhear, and catch, and assume and connect the dots.  These are incidental tales that would have happened were you looking or not.  Often your attention is split between conversations that take no heed of each other . . . you can decide for yourself which ones you want to overhear.  There are beautifully still moments too, however – director Jensen knows how to focus your attention where it needs to go – and when various street folk lay down impassioned pieces of stream-of-consciousness it sounds less like the ramblings of a wasted life and more like the wisdom of those who have pared their lives down to their soul’s essentials.

Anne Wingate’s costumes not only managed to clothe a city full of people, but succeed in placing them all on the spectrum of this human wheel of fortune so that without knowing it you are aware of the subtle ranking system of this group . . . the neat appearance of the actual working folk who bus the tables and cook the food, the fraying and greying of threadbare sleeves encasing arms that – if we could see them – would prove to be scarred up with needle marks.  The eye-catching ensembles worn by women – and men -  meant to draw the attention of a business man with 10 bucks burning a hole in his pocket and a few minutes to waste in an alley.  Every outfit tells a story – so even when we don’t have our ears on someone, our eyes can tell us who they are.

At the end of Balm in Gilead no one winds up richer, smarter, happier, or anywhere other than where they were in the beginning.  Nothing stops the ride for any of them.  They all got on, and they’re all going to stay on till the end – continuing to make the only decisions they know how to make.  Bad ones.

Related Posts:

• Lobby Hero Redux
• Joking Apart: To The Happy Couple!
• The Cherry Orchard Is In Full Bloom At The T. Schreiber Studio

Some people have these effortless lives; they’re naturally thin, they’re quick to laugh, they work to play, they enjoy their time off, they don’t give much thought to trifling matters and somehow everything is easy for them, things go their way, and they almost never suffer a bad day.   These people give off a certain glow – and make the others around them seem not so much dull in comparison but almost tarnished. Meet Richard and Anthea (Michael W. Murray and Aleksandra Stattin) two happily unmarrieds who glide through their life and are blissfully ignorant of the teeth gnashing, behind-the-back grumbling, and sideways glances their dear friends are prone to exhibit whenever they’re in the proximity of this Golden Pair.

James Liebman, Michael W. Murray and Aleksandra Stattin (Photo credit: Gili Getz)

Joking Apart, written by Alan Ayckbourn and directed by Peter Jensen is not so much a play about the happiness of two people over the course of twelve years, but rather a play about how a life of uncomplicated, fluid existence can chip away at those who must bear witness to it.

Richard’s business partner, Sven (James Liebman) and his wife Olive (Stephanie Seward) make a first impression that’s a bit swanky and pretentious, but as the years roll past Sven’s jealousy of Richard’s innate business savvy and Olive’s jealousy of Anthea’s natural lithe figure make their puffed up personalities easily deflatable – even as their figures become bloated over the years from too much abundance with too little fulfillment.

New to the neighborhood when the play starts are Hugh (Michael J. Connolly) the new vicar, and his skittish, proper wife Louise (Alison Blair). As a couple they have a very specific idea of how things are done, but soon enough, the more Hugh is exposed to the joie de vivre exhibited by Richard and Anthea the more the audience (and perhaps even Hugh himself) finds that the strict boundaries of “we don’t do that!” are more Louise’s edict than joint decisions arrived at by the couple. Even their never-seen but oft-alluded-to son, Christopher, is a pale copy of the (also invisible but nonetheless) robust children of Anthea’s who seem to thrive in the chaotic bubble created by Mum and her live in partner.

Added in to this jumble is Brian (Sebastian Montoya), connected to the group in a number of ways. He not only works for Richard and Sven but also – long ago . . . and that includes Before Richard – was a shoulder to lean on for Anthea when she left her husband with her two little children in tow. For three months he provided shelter, emotional and financial support, and in the course of those months he fell madly in love with her. Never brave enough to admit it he’s kept quite all these years, satelliting around her glowing world, nose pressed against metaphorical glass, aching with longing but too sorry, and sorrowful to press on with his own life.

Sebastian Montoya and Anisa Dema (Photo credit: Gili Getz)

Throughout the years -  and the weekends that make up the years  – Brian often brings his latest girlfriend (emphasis on girl) to stay with Richard and Anthea. A steady stream of differently named but similarly featured young girls – Melody, Mandy, Mo (all played by Anisa Dema) do their best to distract Brian from his singularly focused unrequited admiration for Anthea. Some gals are more successful than others, some are less bothered to play second fiddle than others. None last long enough for any of it to matter.

Ayckbourn manages to give the audience an interesting gift in the characters of Richard and Anthea – at once he shows us that while it’s very nice to have everything you ever wanted, including the admiration – even the envy – of those you surround yourself with, it doesn’t necessarily make you a fascinating person. For all their shiny, sweet, glowing bubblyness there isn’t much dimension to Richard and Anthea. Without the wrinkles of a bad marriage or distant children (such as we see with Hugh and Louise) or failing health (Sven) or aching disappointment (Olive) there’s not much character building in them.  They’re pleasant enough, but aside from their energetic happiness, what else do they really have to offer?

Aleksandra Stattin is wonderful at capturing Anthea’s innate charm and instinctive charisma. She wanders around her garden unaware of the true affect she has on others – that the men love her, the women seem to simply tolerate her through a mesh of utter annoyance. She’s too much for them: too much beauty and magic for the men, too much unapologetic ease for the women. Stattin walks the fine line and makes you understand Anthea, even like her, while still being able to understand what it is about a her that vexes those around her so much.

James Liebman’s Sven is the yin to Stattin’s yang, encompassing all that can happen to a person when nothing goes right. Sven, someone who “is never wrong, even when he is” is pompous and arrogant at first meeting, but his house of cards soon dissolves when he finds it harder and harder to keep up with Ricard’s good fortune – especially since they are equal business partners. A tennis match between Sven and Richard is the perfect metaphor for their relationship; what is pure sport and just fun for Richard is steely competition for Sven. Sven wins, of course, but only when Richard plays the game with his non-dominant hand. Liebman doesn’t over stretch Sven’s faults in order to expose them, he simple coats every action with a thin veneer of self-righteousness that at once makes Sven laughable and pitiable, especially as the years draw on.

It is the span of time which drives this plot, and Joking Apart almost seems like two plays; the one in which Richard and Anthea never age, never worry, never slack, never lose . . . and the play all the other characters are in where everyone feels the ravages of time. It is this juxtaposition of these two worlds that really stirs the emotion and creates the tension of this story.

For all those who have ever wondered if the grass is greener on the other side of the fence, you need only to witness the fence being torn down during Act One of Joking Apart to know – it’s not really about where the grass is greener. Look closely and you’ll find – anything that green is bound to be astro-turf.

~~~

Related Posts:

• Lobby Hero Redux
• Balm In Gilead – Everyone Has A Story
• Corner Pocket – Pool With A Side Of Everything
• The Cherry Orchard Is In Full Bloom At The T. Schreiber Studio

The Cherry Orchard was written in 1904 by Anton Chekhov and while it was the writer’s intent to have it play as comedy, the original production was directed as a tragedy.  This latest production of the play, directed by the venerable Terry Schreiber, contains elements of both comedy as well as tragedy, but it ultimately plays as a tale of transformation and renewal.

In Carol Rocamora’s new adaptation, playing at the T. Schreiber Studio, the story of The Cherry Orchard hardly seems dated at all, and this family, that we are given an intimate insight into, runs much like any that has recently fallen upon difficult times.  We come upon the story as Madame Ranevskaya (Julie Garfield) is about to return to her estate in Russia after a five-year-long absence spent in Paris.  She had fled quickly, after the tragic drowning of her young son (which came upon the heels of the death of her husband) and had left the responsibilities of running the estate on the shoulders of her capable eldest daughter, Varya (Aleksandra Stattin).  Over these last years Varya had done what she could to keep the household running, despite the fact that money is tight and interst on their outstanding loans continues to bear down on them.

Accompanying Madame Ranevskaya upon her return is her younger daughter, Anya (Laine Bonstein) who had gone for a visit to Paris and is now bringing her  mother back home to Russia for good.  Family, friends, and servants alike eagerly await their return,  but a lot has changed in the time the Mistress of the Manor has been gone.

Most notably Lopahkin (Jamie Kirmser), the son of a serf , has now become a wealthy landowner.  Yet he still carries the stigma of his humble beginnings  (Here I am . . . a pearl out of an oyster. I’m rich now, with lots of money, but just think about it and examine me, and you’ll find I’m still a peasant down to the marrow of my bones.).  In possession of a keen businsess mind, and eager to help the woman who had always been so kind to him, Lopahkin  advises the Madame that the debt she has returned to could easily be paid if she were to consider parceling off the land and leasing it.  It would mean tearing down the beloved cherry orchard, as well as the house, but at least the land would stay in the family and the debt could be repaid.  Later they could rebuild, if they wished.  But Madam Ranevskaya refuses to listen to this idea, and instead dithers about, wasting precious time and rhapsodizes about her lovely orchard which seems to become a character in it’s own right and a member of the family.

Others in the family offer no concrete help either; a brother, Gaev (Rick Forstmann) is concerned, but equally bumbling when it comes to business matters.  He talks in circles but can devise no reliable plan on how to save the land.

Hoping for a miracle, the family sends Gaev and Lopahkin off to an auction of the orchard, praying that Gaev’s small amount of money will be enough to save the land.  They come back that evening with surprising results; it is Lopahkin – not Gaev – who bought the orchard at the auction.   Madame finds that she is now forced to do exactly what Lopahkin had instructed all along – leave the cherry orchard and allow it to be razed in order to build anew.  Only now, it is not even her land anymore.

Ultimately, the entire family seems to greet this news with a sense of inevitability and acceptance;  that what they all feared most has now in fact happened, and while the news is shocking it is not exactly devastating, it seems rather to free them. Each character now has a new opportunity to go off and explore a path that hadn’t been available or desirable before while they were all tethered to this orchard which only provided an illusion of  comfort and security. Truly, any comfort or security the land had was gone long ago, simply a memory of  past greatness that no longer existed.

An old serf of the family, Firs (Peter Judd), acts within the play as a metaphor for the spirit of the orchard itself.  Now an old man 0f 87 he is the only character in the play to remember the glory days  when the cherry orchard produced fruit  with a rewarding outcome:

To Firs the orchard was a vital part of what the estate was about, the cherry orchard made the land more than just a house, or even a home; but a place for producing wealth, a livelihood, a reason for continuing.  Like the orchard,  Firs is a remnant of another time, and he carries the last remaining memory, which even now, to his own self, grows dim.   At the end of the play when he is inadvertently locked inside the house and is left alone with nothing but the sound of the orchard being chopped down, it is as if his whole purpose has been fulfilled and now his life can be over.  He can rest.

This marvelous production of The Cherry Orchard directed by  Terry Schreiber literally shimmers with layers of beauty; deep and nuanced performances are given amidst a beautiful large set designed by Hal Tine which is both minimalist and lush; Dawn Testa’s costumes add a quality of richness and remarkability; you can hear the fabrics rustle.  The entire staging is so evocative and precise that it allows Chekov’s work to shine as it is held aloft and illuminated by this team of great talents.

Julie Garfield as Madame Ranevskaya is mesmerizing.  She can at once show you her strength as well as her weakness, and bring you along on her character’s journey.  When she spoke of her cherry orchard, her emotions were so passionate that I followed her gaze, half expecting to see lush blossoming trees, even though I knew they weren’t there.   Garfield shades Madame Ranevskaya’s love of this Russian land with a tinge of the love Scarlet O’Hara had for Tara; she brings to life this love that we, 100 years later, can hardly imagine; this love of the land, of an ancestral home that becomes as much a part of you as your own blood.

If you’ve been longing to see a fantastic classic brought to the stage by some of the most talented people working in the theatre today, then do not miss this production of The Cherry Orchard.  It will be the production you will always remember as the standard by which all other Chekov productions are measured.

~~~

Related Posts:

• Lobby Hero Redux
• Balm In Gilead – Everyone Has A Story
• The Starship Astrov: Best Of Both Worlds (Midtown International Theatre Festival 2010)
• Entrevista: The Starship Astrov and Asian Belle (Midtown International Theatre Festival 2010)
• Joking Apart: To The Happy Couple!