There’s much more than a touch of Raymond Chandler’s Philip Marlowe in the character of Katharine Sherman‘s Christopher Marlowe in her new play, Christopher Marlowe’s Chloroform Dreams, running at the lower east side’s The Red Room. The time-and-smoke shrouded legend of the Elizabethan playwright hangs over the proceedings and propels the story all the way, and then nearly, to its end. Familiar tropes from classical mythology and fairy tale erupt everywhere in a noiresque style tale of a femme who is at once fatale and in flight. Mix in more than a strain of poetic patter and the result might be ponderous, over rich and over-reaching if it weren’t from the pen of a careful, gifted playwright who has a sharpened sense of when to call off the big thunderous themes to allow the smaller human story to breathe. Sherman is excellently served in this production by director Philip Gates who has done a great deal to let this highly theatrical, complexly structured drama flow. And flow it does, like silk, like smoke.

Gumshoe Marlowe (the playwright, not the fictional detective) is on the case and it’s a case of love’s labor’s lost as the gal he pines for, Daphne Fairchild, has a problem with the needle. It’s somewhere, sometime in the eternal noir of Hollywood’s 1940s and the environment is murky with urban underbelly, its sinners, and its saints. Daphne has taken up with contraband king Ingram Frizer, who keeps her in morphine embrace. Marlowe tries to cut a deal with Frizer to release Daphne, and Frizer, like the southern drawling megalomaniac he is, perversely agrees. Confident of the weakness of the human spirit Frizer is sure of Daphne’s faithlessness, or rather as he would have it, faithfulness to the true church of humanity – what he has to offer. The narrative evolves in non-linear fashion, jumping between episodes of elation and degradation, hopefulness and despair. We pretty much all know in what direction the story is heading and this disrupted sequencing brings a freshness to the unfolding, allowing us to see the tale as if shot from diverse angles. Clever staging and ingenious scenic design (Joshua David Bishop) work to brilliant effect in keeping the tempo up while contributing to a sense of layered story and hidden motives.

A polymorphous narrative builds in a polygeneric world. Marlowe, playwright/detective, is in search of his muse/dame, herself enthrall to intoxicating sensual abandon, emotional numbness. She is at once the mythical Daphne, in flight from the god of poetry and his promise of ennoblement, and the Sleeping Beauty, in love with a solitary dreamworld. The excellent Sheila Joon, as a supporting actress, plays three roles that give a sense of the multi-dimensionality of the story. She is Eleanor del Toro, a hardened habitue of Frizer’s drug world, with yet a pulse of sympathy for its entrapped denizens; Nicholas Skeres, one of Frizer’s goons, and the name of one of actual playwright Marlowe’s dodgy comrades; and The Ferryman, a sleazy guide in the city sewers, who takes payment in coin and conducts Marlowe to the underworld drug den where Frizer holds Daphne captivated.

In synch with this variegated narrative, and part of the torrent that carries you headlong through the performance, Sherman’s vibrant language shifts and morphs from hard-boiled, snappy Bogart/Bacall banter, through rhythmic Beat poetics, pulpit fire and brimstone, to gin-soaked Tom Waites-ian monologues, complete with the whine of a bruised melody off in the distance (wonderful sly sonics by Will Fulton). Opening lines intoned by Marlowe, characteristically slouched against a wall, collar up, hat brim down, run:  Once upon a time there was a habit. A habit’a mine. For a time. A time. And once upon a time she hadda have it – the girl she had a habit she was mine. This sort of linguistic bravado might be annoying if it didn’t intimately serve the themes in the piece, echoing the broken time line the play deploys. Harmonious with the whole production, it’s vividly alive to its own artificiality, risking boldly, yet never quite overplaying itself, anchoring in small moments of naturalism that draw you back in. In the play’s intriguing, only pastoral moment (Chris Marlowe did after all bequeath us the lyric poem, The Passionate Shepherd to His Love), Marlowe, Daphne, and side-kick Tommy the Kid (Thomas Kyd? wink, wink, nudge, nudge!) share a star lit night by a campfire. Relaxed for once, Daphne observes – there’s a beam of light coursing through the trees. You can only see it if you blow smoke on it. I wanna live here forever. This eloquent line speaks volumes about Daphne’s character, as well as the play’s central themes.

But wait. Lunar Energy Productions (both Sherman and Gates are founding members) have to mix it up that one notch further. If you think you know everything that can happen in a noiresque rendering of a tale of dark addiction dovetailed with classical allusions and historical references, you might yet be surprised by a sudden eruption of ensemble dancing. Honest to god in-synch dance movements that might happen at a Madonna Super Bowl performance break out, complete with the skeevy, strung out, I-got-the-needful-jones jitters.

The laurels should be lavished, and shared here by all involved in this courageous production. Detailed attention has been paid in every department: scenic (Bishop), sound (Fulton), costume (Kalere Payton), and lighting (Alana Jacoby). The hard working actors deliver handsomely. Compelling leads, Christopher Fahmie and Valerie Redd, are squarely matched with supports Sheila Joon, Michael Markham, and Curry Whitmire. In her conflation of characters Christopher and Philip Marlowe, Sherman is really on to something. This is a hero that could go almost anywhere, uncovering nasty secrets; theatrical gold dust. We would all be lucky to have another installment. Meantime, Chloroform Dreams is knockout.

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Imagine what it would be like if you had always dozed off to sleep during your childhood bedtime stories, and you never got to hear the words -”and they lived happily ever after”? You were awake for the introduction of the main story characters – a fair maiden, a prince, a beast, a witch – and your head was nodding as the tale was reaching a crescendo of anxiety and crisis, but you were out for the count by the occasion when all was safely resolved and truth and goodness triumphed over evil adversity. Well, all your stories would be unresolved, forever arrested at a pitch of extreme desperation. You yourself might be inexplicably fearful, characteristically tense and anxious, and your slumbering dreams could well be nightmares. Such is the imaginative, if unlikely premise of Cody Lucas‘s Happily Ever After, produced by the Denton, Texas based outfit, Sundown Collaborative Theatre. The main character, Jack, was such a highly sensitive child, drowsy enough to experience this unfortunate set of circumstances. Now, a young man, he is a nervous pill-addicted wreck, afflicted and exhausted by his fear of sleep, a state that delivers him relentlessly to a nightmare realm of terror.

Beginning on a bare stage, with just a spotlight to dress the scene, we are presented with Jack, curled in the fetal position, but adamantly resisting sleep. Cody Lucas, as Jack, is extremely effective at pulling you into Jack’s tormented psyche, his anguished fretfulness never surrendering an instant in which your attention might wander, the tension slacken. Despite his best efforts, sleep overtakes Jack, surrendering him to the frightening world of his dreams. This realm is overseen and controlled by a couple of turn-of-the-century style carnival barkers, Jacob and Wilhelm, the Brothers Grimm. That their tastes and inclinations run toward the perverse is made swiftly clear as they indulge in a groaning session of incestuous mutual masturbation. When their attentions turn toward Jack things can only get uglier. He is summarily educated as to the level of his subjugation to their will and his complete powerlessness. Having dished out a little physical punishment, they decide to proceed on a more psychological level, summoning a cast of hapless story tale characters to re-enact depraved scenes of humiliation and despair. These characters are all as resentful and helpless as Jack, but their rebellious efforts to preserve their dignity are over-rode by the brothers, and each is mocked in a savagely cruel manner. In sequence the brothers call forth the characters – Rumpelstiltskin, Rapunzel, Beauty, Hansel, a Prince – as helplessly Jack is made to watch each tableaux of defilement and suffering. It’s a compelling and dark spectacle, punctuated with music, dance, and acrobatics; a delicately visualized carnival of horrors.

All of the performers are to be commended here. There is a conviction on display that defies you to relax your credibility in such a fantastical abstraction. Each scenario pushes at the limits of digestible mortification. The effect is genuinely unsettling. The Grimm brothers (Travis Steubing and Zane Harris) have some nice sneering comical passes, leeringly foul throughout, but never teeter over into recognizable contrivance. Robert Linder (Rumpel) and Nick Ross (the Prince) are especially strong in their scenes. The music (Patrick Emile) and choreography (George Ferrie) are effective at stimulating an atmosphere of drilled corruption. The direction, by Lucas, is taut and detailed. As the offenses mount up, and tension builds, I had utterly surrendered to the story’s gravitational pull, which made the conclusion, when it is suddenly sprung, all the more disappointing for being so pat. The skeleton in Jack’s closet, the bugaboo under his childhood bed, just did not do it for me. For all its ghastliness, the themes invoked in the various scenarios reached quite a bit deeper than the Tales from the Crypt-style denouement we’re served here. If these explanations must be maintained, perhaps the language they are divulged with might be adjusted. As a conclusion it goes some distance to undermining what came before, leaving it ultimately less than the sum of its parts. Horror buffs might disagree with me, but they will surely be delighted by this otherwise admirably wicked tale.

Happily Ever After ran until August 26, 2011 as part of the New York International Fringe Festival.
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Related Posts:

• Christopher Marlowe’s Chloroform Dreams
• Stinky Flowers, Sweet Thoughts

There’s something truly wonderful about smartly written children’s stories.  When you look at the enduring ones they’re not still around because they’re cute or funny or have clever titles . . . they’re still around because they teach an amazing lesson in a subtle and gentle way.  So, while Stinky Flowers and the Bad Banana has a title I could say over and over again and still laugh – I don’t think it’s gotten as far as it has on funny alone.  In fact, after hearing what creator Croft Vaugh had to say about his play, I think the reason this show has come this far is because its creator is as extraordinary as its topic.

Beginning as solo play performed by Croft Vaughn himself, Stinky Flowers and the Bad Banana was first presented as part of Six Figures Theatre Company’s Artists of Tomorrow Festival at the Westside Theatre in December 2006. From there it went to both the Edinburgh Fringe Festival (2007) and the Indianapolis Fringe Festival (2008). The new 5-person version of the play was presented in 2008 as part of The Management’s Salon Reading Series.  Now, audiences will be able to see the first fully staged production of the ensemble version of Stinky Flowers and the Bad Banana at UNDER St. Marks.

Today Croft Vaugh tells me about the challenges of turning a solo-show into an ensemble piece, he explains how Fairy Tales are filled with parental imagery, and he gives some advice on how to transform yourself into a monkey . . .

Stinky Flowers and the Bad Banana has got to be the cutest title I’ve ever run across. Tell me about what it means.

Playwright Croft Vaughn

CV: Well thank you for the compliment! The show is a fairytale frame play, and the title references two of the tales. I was visiting the Brooklyn Botanical Garden with a friend, and I had some bad news for him. I was trying to think of a way to bring up the subject without saying, “Listen, I’ve got bad news”, so I told him that I had a stinky flower for him. I liked the oddness of the metaphor, so I turned it into a fairytale about telling the truth when you have bad news. Stinky Flowers is the story that launched this show back in 2006. The Bad Banana tale is top secret, but I should warn you; the audience will be full of monkeys.

Stinky Flowers and the Bad Banana started off  as a solo show, and has now evolved into a 5 person ensemble piece. What prompted that?

My friend Kelly Miller is a literary manager and dramaturg. She saw my performance at the East to Edinburgh Festival at 59E59 Theaters. After the show, she grabbed my arm, looked me in the eye and said, “Croft, this show is beautiful. You need to write it for 5 actors for regional theaters, and for 45 actors, for high-schools.” I ran with her advice, and drummed up versions for Broadway, Cruises, and ultimately, the Pixar feature animation film, followed by a successful cartoon spin-off and tons of merchandise. If anyone knows how I can make that happen, please call me. Immediately.

What’s been the most challenging aspect of translating a solo show into an ensemble piece?

I think formatting is really hard, does that count? The play is steeped in storytelling, so, the bones of the play didn’t need to change much. It’s fun to write new characters, and discover what kind of trouble they can get into. I think the most challenging part was just allowing the play to take over with the new characters. Letting them speak, and drive the show with their fears and curiosity. Letting the new play organically develop.

Your tag-line “They . . . discover the answer to, ‘Are we still loved after the person who loves us is gone?‘” is so poignant and moving that it could almost be a line of poetry. That’s no ordinary theme. Where does it come from?

Thank you! I wish certain MFA admissions departments had your keen intuition. But I’ll fess up – I didn’t realize that’s what the play was about till about 3 years after I began working on it. I wrote a lullaby in the play that the kids discover on a cassette tape. It’s their mother singing, “Everything You Want to Know.” I was working with some musicians, trying to express to them what I needed from the song, and I had a moment of sublime clarity. That’s the question these kids face in the show. It’s something you can’t answer, so you have to take it on faith. For me, it touches a very deep and personal fear; one that I take on faith is universal. While that may be the heart of the show, the meat of the play is smart and entertaining tales told by 3 military brats who are convinced the audience is going to eat them. I’m going to be in the audience every night, so that could very well happen.

What’s your favorite moment in the play?

This is where my brilliant (to the nth degree) director comes in. It’s a good thing David A. Miller is such a great person, because with smarts like his in the wrong hands, you’d have a Robert Moses of Theatre. He’s the rare breed of artist who knows how to foster an environment where magic can happen. I just sat in on a run-through of the play, and the amount of creativity on display speaks to the freedom these actors have. Dorothy Abrahams only had a scarf with which to turn herself into a monkey, so she ties it around her head like Axel Rose. Welcome to the jungle, indeed! There was also an inspired moment with an earmuff by Lauren Sowa. Robert James Grimm’s Evil King puts my Evil King to shame, and that’s no small feat.

What part of the show have you found resonates most with the audience?

Monkeys. I think everyone resonates really well with monkeys. The finale is quite marvelous too. Maybe it’s the story about the 2 birds told in silence because it activates the sniffles pretty quickly… There’s something special in the relationship Sinclair has with his Grandfather. Fairytales are flush with characters who are not your parents, and at the same time, are your parents. For me, that’s like a grandparent. Sinclair develops an imaginary friend who takes on the role of his Grandpa to help tell the stories. Eventually he drops the charade and faces the truth. Fairytales carry the courage of their convictions. This is how the kids find the courage to create their own story, the ending of which weaves a fantastic finale for all the other tales. I’d say the audience relates to the journey of the show more than any single part.

And finally – what’s your favorite Stinky Flower?

Stinky Flowers!

Playing favorites with flora will only get you into trouble. On that note!  There are 2 genuinely stinky flowers, and I prefer Rafflesia Arnoldii. Take that Amorphophalis Titanum! Don’t worry – A.T. won’t flower again for like, 70 years. Rafflesia has no stem, no roots, no leaves. It’s just a fat, ugly flower, with a big hollow head. It sits parasitically on a vine, looks like something from The Dark Crystal, and smells like rotting meat. It is the king of stinky flowers in my opinion. Although, there are some members of Congress that give Rafflesia a run for it’s money…

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Be sure to catch Stinky Flowers and the Bad Banana – and check back here to read my review of the show.  I can’t wait to see what Croft Vaughn and his talent ensemble has in store.

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