While there’s nothing to indicate that Sondheim influenced Larry Kunfosky’s Your Boyfriend May Be Imaginary in any way (in fact, extensive interviews with Larry Kunofsky beforehand never once included references to The Man or the the musical I’m about to cite) we all have our own personal archives.   To me, there was an undeniable Company element (albeit an updated one) which manifested early on and lingered for most of the play.  Perhaps unintentionally Kunofsky has, in Your Boyfriend, offered up the city which Another Hundred People paid (somewhat contemptuous) homage to – the “city of strangers” with the people who “meet at parties through the friends of friends who they never know”. And as main character Marci spends the night living out the line: “I looked in vain”, another hundred people just got off of the train.

In other words – New York and its parties and crowds and social pecking order hasn’t really changed much in the 40 years since Sondheim wrote of the swarming masses of New Yorkers who gather and pretend to socialize when really they’re just desperately trying to be seen, and be seen being seen.   Your Boyfriend tosses main character Marci (an absolutely perfect Darcy Fowler) into this muddle of humanity although (by her own affectation and admission) it’s the last club in which she’s interested in truly having membership.  She’s only out on this buzzing Saturday night because it’s her six month anniversary with her boyfriend and (despite plans) he’s MIA.  His lack of phone, real address and other oddities give her little choice but to brave a tenuous labyrinth of  parties in order to seek out acquaintances who may or may not know where her “off-the-grid” boyfriend may be.  However, since Marci herself is a bit off the grid no one quite believes that this relationship exists – even as one character, Beth, concedes “Her story is elaborate.  Even if it’s fictional it’s layered … and that in and of itself is a feat.”

Clearly Marci’s not a party girl, so these parties are more hostile than hospitable to her skittish temperament.  She tries to remain as invisible as possible (“I’m not here” is her mantra of the evening) … the idea is to just get what she needs and get out. In fact,  she’s so out of her element that it hadn’t even occurred to her to dress for her destinations.  She’s wearing what she slept in, which is what she wore the day before, and she has no compunction admitting that she hasn’t showered.    This is just one of the quirks which sets Marci apart from this writhing mass of cell phones and hot music and cool eccentricity she continually encounters which hums and babbles and hugs and waves and clumps together and breaks apart but does little to actually connect on any level that matters.

“It’s kind of like Alice in Wonderland,” Kunofsky had said in his interview with me, “if Alice were an adult, had a boyfriend, couldn’t find him, and jumped into the Rabbit Hole that is all the parties that people are having in the Big City on a happening Saturday night.” And while there is a fish-out-0f-water element that parallels Alice’s there is also no denying that the “other”ness of Marci is an echo of what so many city-dwellers feel and have felt since … since they began admitting their feelings to their therapists.  But not to their friends.

Your Boyfriend May Be Imaginary featuring Zach Evenson, Debargo Sanyal, & Darcy Fowler Photo credit Meg Sturiano

Marci is one main character – the other main character is not so much a person but The Crowd itself which surrounds her.  This crowd of ubiquity babbles random things, snatches of which can be heard during scene changes, and it’s the random stuff that’s funny and inconsequential and yet somehow very important; because in this miasma of humanity where Marci is sifting and searching, these snatches of words are as valuable as anything else she will hear.  In other words: not very valuable at all.

Sometimes bits of the crowd break off to interact with her, but for the most part The Crowd remains a solid mass of something she not only cannot penetrate but – more importantly – something she wishes to have no part in.  While she’s present she’s certainly not included.  Those giving the parties would have her believe otherwise; there’s the self-centered Cassandra who - surprised to see Marci – greets her with a “Marci! I’m sorry I haven’t called or seen you or kept in touch with you in any way.  I’m so glad you’re here.” It’s like this everywhere she goes: she keeps being assured that she was invited … informally of course because really the process is so random.  More of a “you know you’re always welcome, even though we actually haven’t talked to you in … what?  Four years?” And another hundred people just got off of the train.

Cassandra (played by Risa Sarachan)  is vain and self-centered, she preens and pouts and simultaneously demands your attention while dismissing you. She has nothing to offer Marci except a lamp which Marci then carries with her throughout the play.  What seems like an odd and superfluous gesture is really a symbol of all the empty, unnecessary (and useless) pieces of comfort New Yorkers so often exchange – it’s an “OhMyGodI’mSoSorryYou’reGoingThroughThis” and a “LetMeKnowIfYouNeedAnything / WhatCanIDoToHelp?!?” empty token that, once offered, alleviates the giver of their guilt but is about as useful as … an unplugged bedside lamp in the streets of New York.

Marci, however, dutifully carries this pointless gift which serves partly as a talisman, partly as a flashlight which (unplugged after all) only underscores how useless it is at illuminating her way.  It is a metaphor for all her friends who don’t know how to help her becuase they can’t understand how she needs to be  helped.

Director Meg Sturiano makes some terrific choices that keeps the crowd feeling alive and pulsating while never being overwhelming for the small stage.  Sturiano keeps the pacing quick and energetic – allowing the surreal to coexist in the same arena as the real, which is the perfect way to encapsulate the New York scene. With repetitive moves that are distinctly choreographed to encompass everything an evening out might require (from “come here” to “go away”) Sturiano has the crowd speed up, slow down, and do exactly what Kunofsky requires of them without pulling focus from whatever may be going on at any given moment.  When necessary they fulfill the requirements of a Greek chorus, and even when not “in use”, they are never underutilized.

Characters bubble up from the crowd, distinguishing themselves, in order to move the plot along.  Besides the self-centered Cassandra there’s Toddwhatshisname (Debargo Sanyal) who is a Chelsea boy and comes complete with a trademark phrase and an inability to know his boundaries. Paul and Paula Paul (Jordan Mahome and Danielle Slavick)  make a charming couple who are just contentious enough to make you understand why the party they’re throwing is to celebrate their divorce, but just amicable enough to make you believe that they’d feel the need to celebrate this moment together rather than apart.  It’s here where Marci bumps into Hunky Dave (Quinlan Corbett) the man she’s been accused of stalking and the base-note that creates the whiff of “why don’t I believe you?” when it comes to Marci’s story about her missing beau.  Marci – so misunderstood by her “friends” – reads as desperate enough to concoct someone rather than live in the tragic wake of the rejection of a (hunky) man.

Ultimately this long evening wraps up with a shift in tempo and tone; Marci escapes the frey of the scene which exists OUT THERE and exchanges it for the one that exists IN HERE.  While the final scene serves as a calming ballast to the hectic frenetics which came before it, and while the conversation between Marci and her (perhaps only true) friend Denise (Maya Lawson) is sweet, endearing, and realer than any moment of the play, it does threaten to stretch out longer than a production of this length can handle and borders on overkill.  But then, just in time, the truly charming last few lines exchanged keep the play from toppling over.

In the end, You Boyfriend May Be Imaginary is a perfect reflection of the missed opportunities an overly social life can create.  It  illustrates the ironic fact that no matter how many people you surround yourself with, if you don’t make that connection on a deep level the person you’re telling everyone you are may as well be imaginary.

~~~

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Related Posts:

• Larry Kunofsky Take 2 … Still Imaginative – Nowhere Near Imaginary
• Larry Kunofsky – Unimaginably Imaginative. But NOT Imaginary – Take 1
• Early Risers / Night Owls … Come With Me – Help Save UNDER St. Marks
• Lickin’ With Bricken – An Interview With Bricken Sparacino
• Women’s History Month: Celebrating Women In The Arts – Spotlight On Heidi Grumelot

You’ve read part one.  You clamored for another round!  What could be more fun that sitting in on a conversation between me and brilliant playwright Larry Kunofsky as we discuss the road that led to his upcoming production of Your Boyfriend May Be Imaginary?

Last time Larry explained how everyone has an imaginary component (in a way) … and he explained how his main character, Marci, spends a Saturday evening running from party to party in New York City looking for the man she’s dating — only to discover she possibly didn’t know him as well as she thought she did.  We also got into what lies at the heart of Larry’s writing. Good stuff!

Today we’re talking about how Larry and The Management came to partner up for Your Boyfriend May Be Imaginary,  Larry references Tolstoy AND Voltaire (in the same answer!) and gives us a little taste of what your dinner conversation will be like after you see his play.  So, grab your drink, settle in, and enjoy … Larry Kunofsky, Part 2:

Let’s talk for a minute about finding the right company to produce your work. Your Boyfriend May Be Imaginary is being produced by The Management. What are some of the great things about having another company produce your work as opposed to doing it through your own company, Purple Rep?

Well don’t get me wrong, I am committed to Purple Rep and have grown to love producing, even though I know that I’m not anywhere near the kind of producer that I want to become just yet. But having someone else produce my play – which is something that hasn’t happened in a while on my own home turf here in NYC – that ROCKS!

I feels so decadent! I can be Just The Playwright! I feel like a Roman Emperor! Where are the slave girls to dangle grapes over my gaping mouth?!

And if you knew The Management’s budget, you’d be laughing at me here, not with me (which you might have been doing already). This is not a decadent company. They are workers, and they have a guerrilla approach to doing more with less (in terms of budget, at least), and this is inspiring to me. When Purple Rep grows up, I want it to be just like The Management. But also different.

I have been Just The Playwright in the room at other times in my career and have felt a weird compulsion to get up and apologize for being there. But not with The Management. They were excited about me and by my work from the beginning, and their sincerity and warmth in making me feel welcome in their “home” has never wavered – just as the rigor of their talents has never seemed to diminish.

Purple Rep is still evolving (and is designed to have an ever-floating repertory of theatre artists on board), and everyone who takes part in a Purple Rep project is in our home because I opened the door and asked them to come in. With The Management, there was already a family in this home, and I’m the guest. But I love this family. I’m very familiar with Josh’s work as a playwright and with Megan Hill’s work as an actor. And to have them involved in the production of my play is deeply meaningful to me.

Working with The Management has allowed me to collaborate with director Meg Sturiano and to get to know her as an artist and human being. This has been among the very most satisfying aspects of this experience for me. Meg is an amazing director. Her process is so active, kinetic, muscular, and her approach and her spirit and her enthusiasm has been so nurturing and empowering.

But the whole family thing means more to me than the relief of not having to produce my play myself. Nicole & Josh Beerman just had a baby boy. And we looked at pictures during rehearsal the other day, and we were kvelling! Maybe I’ve been the curmudgeon-in-residence at other times in my life, but it has been so lovely to get to know this family and to be a guest in their home.

It seems that every off off Broadway production company I know of has some sort of mission statement that goes beyond “we do great plays” and fine tunes it down to: “We do plays centered on promoting XYZ” or “We produce plays that take place in a certain part of the world” or “a certain time in history” or “come from the perspective of X” As both a playwright – who looks to work with other companies – as well as someone who started his own production company, what are your thoughts about that? And did it make finding a company for Your Boyfriend May Be Imaginary easier or more difficult?

Well the second part of this question is easier to answer, so I’ll start there:

The Management was actively looking for new plays by other playwrights. The first show of The Management that I saw was MilkMilk Lemonade by company member Josh Conkel (of whom I’ve already proclaimed my love), but starting last year with Crystal Skillman (if I say I love her, too, does this make me seem like I love everybody? [a little bit ... yes] Because I don’t, but when I do love somebody, and/or their work, I shout it from the rooftops, and I really do love Crystal) [Well then that's just necessary, I would say ...], and her play CUT, The Management was clearly looking beyond Josh and his work.

But I didn’t approach them, they approached me. Actually, they approached me after they approached Adam Szymkowicz.

Well, that’s quite an honor!  Like being the one Brad Pitt chose after he chose Jennifer Aniston …  That makes you Angelina.

Adam Szymkowicz is one of the finest playwrights I know, whose work is always elegant, funny, inventive, and heartbreaking. He also has a blog on which he interviews playwrights – and this blog has become an amazing resource, and a way to validate lots of lesser-known playwrights, as well as a way of informing the public about the inner workings of some better-known playwrights, too.

He also happens to be among my very favorite people in the world. I was the Best Man at his wedding, a fact that I never tire of informing people about.

I think originally, The Management asked Adam if he’d send them one of his own plays, but somehow that didn’t work out (I think the dude has, like, FIVE off-Off Broadway plays lined up, which has got to be a record!), and then I think he suggested his wife, Kristen Palmer’s play The Heart In Your Chest, which I think The Management is strongly interested in, but it might have been too daunting for this season. And so then Adam suggested that they read Your Boyfriend May Be Imaginary.

I don’t think that The Management knew back then what a close friend I am to Adam, and so they figured, wow, this dude Adam’s interviewed hundreds of playwrights, and then he just throws the name Larry Kunofsky out there, so this dude Kunofsky must be the fanciest playwright in town.

I know that’s what I would think!

Which, of course, is hilarious, because I am so not fancy.

Well, a little bit.  Some times you’re a little bit fancy.  But I’m sorry … go on …

And so then, Meg Sturiano, Management company member and director-in-residence emailed me, asking for the script.

Now, I have a personal ethic about rapid response to all communications, both personal and professional. If you contact me, whoever you are, I will get back to you within a day, or I will commit Seppuku or something.

Damn, Larry.  That’s hardcore.

There must be something Calvinist hidden within my Modern Orthodox Jewish upbringing.

Oh, wait … you said “seppuku”.  I thought you said … ah … never-mind.  Keep going …

However, when Meg first wrote to me, I was in rehearsals for The Un-Marrying Project during the first season of Purple Rep. And I was trying to wear all these hats on my one head: playwright, Artistic Director, “Producer,” money-borrower, favor-caller-in-er, plumber, etc., that I actually took a couple days to get back to Meg, whom I hadn’t even met, and, really, this goes against the very core of my belief system, but Meg didn’t know that, so she must have figured, wow, this dude is so fancy that he doesn’t even want me to read his work, which is hilarious because I used to spend way too much time BEGGING for directors and producers to read my work.

So Meg wrote back in this really humble way, apologizing for asking to read my script again, but if the very notion wasn’t too offensive to me, it would be an honor for her just to hear back from me, or something like that. And then I was just too embarrassed about the whole thing to even acknowledge how I violated my own ethics in my rapid-responsibilities. So I just emailed her the play with, I think, no comment. Which probably made me seem even more aloof and remote.

I’m on the edge of my seat  … I can’t wait to hear what happens next!

But then Meg and the company read the script, and they actually liked it, and then they met me in person, and we hung out, and they realized that I wasn’t really a jerk, it just seemed that way via email. And then we started working together.

All of that is not to suggest that one should act like a jerk on purpose, because chances are, you will be successful at coming across as a jerk that way. I was just illustrating how, despite so many conflicting factors at play, it was the right place and the right time for me to collaborate with The Management.

Wow. That was just the answer to the second part. I haven’t even gotten to the first part. I may not be fancy, but I am verbose.

And, a bit hypnotic because at this point I’m not sure I remember my question.  I think it was about how every company has a fine-tuned mission statement and how does that affect you submitting your work to other companies.  But that was just a jumping off point.  Get around to it when it makes sense to.

I’m actually very bad at submitting my work to other companies, because I’ve been writing plays for a long time and it seems that the only way to get your work seen by the right people is when they come looking for you.

The problem with this philosophy is that this particular instance is the ONLY time this has ever worked out for me.

So I’ve got to get better at submitting my work to other companies. Both as an individual playwright with a bunch of unproduced plays, and as the Artistic Director of a (VERY!) small theatre company with a tiny budget (picture me walking around clothed only in a barrel held up by suspenders, because that’s my new look for next year) that is eager to co-produce with other individual artists and producing entities, my need to collaborate more with as many other theatre companies and theatre artists as possible is essential for me to remain even a blip near the radar screen.

The Off-Off Broadway scene is really, really happening right now. There are a lot of companies doing really, really fine work. I love Flux Theatre Ensemble and The Amoralists, and Nosedive, and Packawallop, and Boomerang, and Blue Coyote, and Rising Phoenix Rep, and whatever’s happening at The Brick is always exciting, to name just the companies I didn’t have to spend even one second thinking about.

When I look back at the last sentence I just wrote, I don’t really think about the “sensibility” or the “aesthetics” of these companies, I think about how I love the plays that these people produce, the playwrights, actors, directors, designers who tend to work with these companies, and basically, I like the people who work at these companies. I dig them as people. I grok them, if you will. (I use that word in a lot of my plays. Look it up. Seriously.)

I’ll do you one better:

I think that’s really what it’s about. And yet, these companies do have a very specific sensibility and aesthetic, and my own company, Purple Rep, most emphatically does, too!

But it’s important to remember that when I become interested in a theatre company (and I think this is true for most people), it’s rare that I care first and foremost about their mission statement. If I like the plays that the company produces (and they have to produce, not just develop! Because institutionalized Play Development is the NINTH CIRCLE OF HELL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!), and I like the people involved, then I’m interested. But it’s good when a company has a very clear mission. It makes them look like they know what they’re talking about.

There’s another lovely tension between the idea that everyone working consistently Off-Off Broadway is part of (in a sense) one company, and the fact that, as it appears on the surface, different companies do different things. Another way of saying this is: the Off-Off Broadway community (in which I am deeply honored and proud to participate) is often just a bunch of tiny communities. And other times, it really is one community. And that tension gives us balance; it’s a good thing that both things are true. Sometimes the tiny company- or project-based communities are like ghettos, but their separate-ness brings diversity and richness to what we do. So sometimes I’ll work in my little Purple Rep shtetl or visit the ‘hood around the corner. As an Artistic Director, I aim towards a fidelity to the ideals on which my company was founded, but as a playwright, I have a more promiscuous attitude – I want to crawl into bed with all kinds of companies. Please Note: This last bit is a metaphor. I don’t want theatre companies considering my work to think that sleeping with me is a requirement.

Noted.

Karen, do you think anyone is still reading this at this point?

Well, I am.  You are.  Presumably Adam Szymkowicz stuck around.

I mean, it was a great question, but the answer makes War And Peace look like a novella. But to paraphrase Voltaire, I didn’t have time to give you a short answer, so I only gave you a long answer.

Look at me.

It’s come to this now.

I’m the guy who goes around paraphrasing Voltaire.

Sometimes I worry about myself.

Back to your play. I’m going to give you a scenario. A group of friends go to see your play and then go out to dinner afterwards. What do you think they will find the most interesting part of the play to chew on over dinner? What will be that one point that they all either have varying opinions on, or the one part that (hopefully) gives them the most to think about?

Well I like to personally attend all the performances (or as many as possible) of my plays in production, so since I’ll be there, I think that this group will no doubt speak, to some degree, about my play, at least at first, but then they will no doubt spend the rest of their evening remarking upon how strikingly handsome I am. Sure, the guy’s talented, I can hear them saying, but damn, he’s SO GOOD LOOKING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can we see that picture again?

Oh wait, does this imaginary scenario take place in something similar to reality?  Well, I wasn’t specific, but let’s go with “yes”. If so, I feel that I should revise my answer.  Not necessary, but I won’t be the one to stop you.

Honestly, I think that this is the PERFECT question for this play in particular.  Thank you.

There’s no intermission in this play, so it’s technically a full-length one-act, but there are two very separate parts of the play, both with distinct energies. It starts out pretty manic and antic and frenzied and kooky and almost dreamlike and surreal, and surreal in a way that feels almost hyper-real, and then it gets MORE manic and MORE antic and MORE frenzied and MORE kooky (or kookier) and MORE dreamlike and surreal and hyper-real, but then… after all of that… it shifts gears.

As the play winds down (after it gets to a point where you think it might run off the rails), as the play begins to prepare you to usher yourselves out into the night, the play becomes quieter and slower and softer of tone and spirit and more wistful and more somber, but also still funny, but funny in a whole different way.

And this new and different energy that the play finds in itself becomes almost like a whole second act, or perhaps even a whole other play entirely.

And I think that’s what people will be talking about later that evening. That transformation. And how… transformative…. It was. I really do!

How the play was one thing, and how it reached a fever pitch of that one thing, and how it then became another thing altogether. And how those energies affected them, these imaginary friends of yours, and, one hopes, the actual audience, as well.

Maybe some people won’t dig it, that shift. But I bet some people will. And perhaps some people will greatly prefer one of these two energies to the other. But I bet some people might connect deeply to the way that the energy went one way and then went another way. Maybe this evening of theatre and its shifting energy will remind people of the day they just had. Because some days are like that. And personally, any day when I see a play that has its own distinct energy, it changes the rhythm of my whole day. I know that theatre – really great theatre – can change your life. My simple hope is that my play will just change your day. In a good way, of course. And I want to say one more time that, yes, this is what I truly expect people to be talking about after they’ve seen my play.

But all my plays are about intimacy and tenderness and the need to connect, and how DIFFICULT all these things can be, and so if all I do with my life is to help generate the conversation of strangers towards these themes, then, despite what my teachers predicted, I won’t have been a complete and total screw-up.

Bonus Question! (but mandatory). You can answer this last one any way you want – it’s free form! Leave me with some last thoughts about the play, tell me a joke, give me a recipe, create a haiku, promote your favorite cause … tell me the best purchase you ever made. Really, the sky is the LIMIT! Anything that you feel like sharing - GO!

I’ll just say one more thing:

The last time I saw you, you told me that I was your favorite playwright.

I stopped you, and said, REALLY?! (Because I had to double-check. We had both been drinking.)

And you said, yes, you, Larry Kunofsky, are my favorite playwright.

And I responded to that by saying, I bet you say that to all the playwrights! But I think that was my way of being un-ready to handle the compliment you were giving me.

So I have a follow-up question that I will both ask of you and then answer for you:

Question: Do you know what that means to me?!

Answer: Everything. It means everything to me.

_______________

Well, the conversation doesn’t end there, but the interview does, my lovelies!  So — now that this 2 part interview has stimulated your brain and given you all sorts of breadcrumbs about Your Boyfriend May Be Imaginary don’t forget to mark your calendars and buy your tickets now.  And be sure to stop back and read the review!

~~~

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Related Posts:

• Your Boyfriend May Be Imaginary – A Epic Quest Through Another Hundred People
• Larry Kunofsky – Unimaginably Imaginative. But NOT Imaginary – Take 1
• A Play Takes Flight – The Making Of “Caitlin And The Swan”
• The Myths We Need -Or- How To Begin: The Play You Need To See
• The Un-Marrying Project: Passion Is Easy – Commitment Is Hard

The Happiest Medium review by guest contributor Katelyn Manfre.

Death, It Happens (Photo by Cathryn Lynne) Pictured from left to right; Maureen Van Trease, Lori Kee, Bricken Sparacino and Rebecca Chiappone)

Down at UNDER St. Marks there are four ladies discussing it. The big, black elephant in the room. Death.

Terrifying, heartbreaking and unrelentingly emotional, losing a loved one is a different journey for us all, but it is in the commonality that we find comfort. In Death: It Happens (A Girl’s Guide to Death) (directed by Lori Kee) we meet four real-life women (Maureen Van Trease, Courtenay Harrington-Bailey, Bricken Sparacino and Rebecca Chiappone) who have lost their fathers in the not-too-distant past; all relatively suddenly, all equally as shocking. They range in age, in background, they are different, but they’re hurting just the same.

This is a brutally honest account of what it means to lose your parent; from the awkward euphemisms to the choosing of the coffin, the bills, the wills and everything in between. It’s hard stuff, but it is told with humor and perspective that keeps it from being a 60-minute sob-fest. An element for which I, personally, was all-too grateful.

I don’t like to get personal in my reviews, but I feel as if I have no choice with this one. I am fortunate enough to have my parents, but I lost both of my grandmothers within a year of each other only too recently. They were strong presences in my life, powerful, beautiful matriarchs who held their families together, loving unconditionally, and shaped me into the person I am today. My maternal grandmother got a big Catholic funeral and wake, and much of what these women talked about summed up my experience: the awkward Facebook messages, the relatives you’ve never seen checking in on you every five minutes, the food and the flowers and the strangeness of it all. But it’s necessary. As weird as it is, as the ladies of Death relate, funerals help.

The production is clearly a cathartic experience for these women in their personal struggles, but it touches the audience nonetheless. By the end, the sniffles and tissues abounded, everyone having their own experience of fear, grief, and loss alongside these brave women. And they are brave. The actual process of death is not often talked about openly. We get memories, stories of the last days, but it is the losing and burying and starting to miss – that is the part that is hardest to openly discuss. Yet these four women are doing it.

Relaxed, confident, and with a little bit of sass, they are truly doing their fathers proud.

~~~

Death, it happens: A girl’s guide to death

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The 2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL will run February 22-March 4 at The Kraine Theater & The Red Room (85 East 4th Street between 2nd Ave and Bowery) and UNDER St. Marks (94 St. Marks Place between 1st Ave and Ave A). Tickets to all shows may be purchased online at www.FRIGIDnewyork.info or by calling Smarttix at 212-868-4444.

Related Posts:

• Death, It Happens: A Girl’s Guide To Death – 5 Things To Know About The Show Before You Go (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• The Terrible Manpain Of Umberto MacDougal: The Total Package Of Manpain (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• I’m Not Sure I Like The Way You Licked Me – She Takes A Lickin’ And Keeps On: Bricken
• Lickin’ With Bricken – An Interview With Bricken Sparacino
• Love In The Time Of Chlamydia: Love And War Stories (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)

The Happiest Medium review by guest contributor Katelyn Manfre

It’s tough out there for a single girl. It’s especially tough out there for a single girl with a habit of substance abuse and an absent father. But Nicole Pandolfo bravely lays it on the line for us in Love in the Time of Chlamydia running now at UNDER St. Marks.

This Jersey girl has a lot of hilarious, ridiculous and oftentimes make-your-skin-crawl war stories from her wild single days in New York. There’s a lot of bar (and bed)-hopping, recreational drug use, parties with strangers, chance encounters, unfortunate moments, and one memorable trip to Paris. Despite all of the hardships and heartbreak, Pandolfo tells her story with a smile, a smug F-you to all of the guys who hurt her and let her down, namely her distant father.

Here is where the levity could use a bit of toning down. In her effort to remain sassy and humorous, Pandolfo glosses over the really tough stuff. Her relationship with her father was what pushed her into her habits of self-destructive dating and partying in the first place, and though she acknowledges it, she doesn’t fully flesh out her journey of self-discovery. Her ultimate decision to cut down on the excess and her eventual happy ending come too quickly and easily, without enough explanation.

Overall, Chlamydia is enjoyable, funny, and played without self-pity. Pandolfo’s wit and charm pair well with the bold, boozy subject matter. She’s uncensored and proud of it.

~~~

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The 2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL will run February 22-March 4 at The Kraine Theater & The Red Room (85 East 4th Street between 2nd Ave and Bowery) and UNDER St. Marks (94 St. Marks Place between 1st Ave and Ave A). Tickets to all shows may be purchased online at www.FRIGIDnewyork.info or by calling Smarttix at 212-868-4444.

Related Posts:

• Love In The Time Of Chlamydia: 5 Things To Know About The Show Before You Go (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
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The Happiest Medium Review by guest contributor Linnea Covington

The term “rock musical” can mean a variety of things, most of them not very good. But in Zack Powell and JD Cannady’s Drowning Ophelia, the musical aspect is all part of the story and the story rocks on its own. Cannady, who wrote the book, manages to create a convincing drama surrounding Ophelia, Shakespeare’s forlorn noblewoman who has the bad luck of loving Hamlet. She also drowns herself, which is exactly how she ended up in purgatory, singing away the time with her band the Clowns and waiting for the day Hamlet shows up.

Eliza Morris as Ophelia

Eliza Morris takes the reigns of the title roll and does so with a finesse that makes you believe she could be Ophelia. As she sings her heart out, her powerful voice carries out the emotional impact of the songs while clearly conveying the lyrics. No stranger to the works of the bard, Zack Powell is responsible for writing such catchy tunes as “Dead and Gone,” “My Dear Ophelia,” and “What You Need.” While they do prove a bit kitschy, the tunes communicate not only Ophelia’s passion for Hamlet, but clever lines from the original play dots the lyrics like in the first ditty, “Wash Over Me,” when she belts out, “tell me what to be—or not to be.”

Powell also takes up an instrument as band member Touchstone along with Tommy Malouf as Feste and Patrick Boylan as Puck. All three do an excellent job as Morris’ backup, offering her relationship advice and threatening to beat up a tweaked out Hamlet  (played by Micky O’Sullivan) when he finally makes an appearance. Hamlet, for all he is worth, gets excited to see the charismatic, sexy Ophelia and while she waxes poetically about their past, he ogles her charming figure. Morris plays the part of smoldering temptress with just the right about of cockiness and flirtation to make it believable. The audience, like her band mates, fall in love before the first song even finishes, a pretty good trick for a 400-year-old dead girl.

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The 2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL will run February 22-March 4 at The Kraine Theater & The Red Room (85 East 4th Street between 2nd Ave and Bowery) and UNDER St. Marks (94 St. Marks Place between 1st Ave and Ave A). Tickets to all shows may be purchased online at www.FRIGIDnewyork.info or by calling Smarttix at 212-868-4444.

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To say I was “pleasantly surprised” by Slash Coleman‘s solo show Big Plastic Heroes currently playing at UNDER St. Marks as part of the FRIGID Festival is an understatement.  All signs pointed to this show being a raucous, self-aggrandizing narcissistic sausage-fest devoted to testosterone-ladened cultural touchstones and overblown Americana.  After all, the artwork for the show features Coleman not only as Evel Knievel, but as the Bicentennial edition of Knievel, bedecked in red white and true-blue … superhero cape included.  He’s even clutching a football helmet.  Yes, the show I expected to see was vastly different than the one which actually unfolded before me.  Within the first few minutes “pleasantly surprised” was overtaken by “completely mesmerized”.  From there, it only got better.

Writer and performer Slash Coleman is a born storyteller – he has a way of not only captivating his audience but virtually hypnotizing them as his style and cadence allows his story to spring up around him as if by magic.  Using no props, no sound effects, and only very subtle lighting cues Coleman seems to need nothing more than his chair and his voice to support his tale.

So what about the outfit?  Is this truly a story about Evel Kinevel?  Yes.  Of course it is.  Or rather, Kinevel forms the base-note for a series of events which Coleman relates – a time harking back to his childhood.  During the day 8 year old Coleman lived in a world consumed by the Bicentennial, preparing emotionally for the big jump his hero intends to make.  At night he gives himself over to innocent but romantic dreams where he is really old (13) and his 3rd grade teacher Mrs. Autumnbright is really young (12) and all signs point to him becoming her hero.

The story does not take a straightforward path — there are offshoots and byways; one moment we are with Coleman in his dream, pursuing the errant beach ball of his beloved (There was the breath of a beautiful girl inside that ball!) the next moment we are transported to the Moulin Rouge and it is 1937.  In between these jumps we are given snapshots of the people who populate his world. We meet his French mother who kept her Jewish roots in the closet, his Southern dad who made sculptures which consisted of a mash up of taxidermy and bread, his neighbors who hailed from Israel and kissed everyone on the lips (I counted 163 kisses before we got to the table!).  Coleman embodies them all, speaking their language for us, whether it’s the “intelligent but unintelligible” droning of Mr. Mermelstein or the strange clicks and pops his “circus freak” twin sisters used as they hid behind their idioglossia.

Coleman voices (and embodies) all these characters convincingly and seamlessly – moving effortlessly from deep southern twang when emulating his Virginian Dad to husky French when becoming his maternal grandfather.  He also does an admirable Howard Cosell.

But, good as they are,  it’s not the vocal calisthenics which grab you as you lean forward in your seat, captivated by this story.  It’s the charismatic way that Coleman is simultaneously humble yet self-assured.  He is more of a story-teller than an actor, and the cosy layout of UNDER St. Marks, which lends itself to the solo-show in general, services Coleman’s in particular.  He is a modern day Homer — no doubt had he lived thousands of years ago he would be holding crowds transfixed by firelight in a similar fashion.

Slash Coleman’s story ends not so much with a period or an exclamation point as with a comma – much like the comma-shaped mark that he traces along the surface of his X-Ray, the glowing reminder of his Gladiator moment when he went head to, well, jaw with a dog and received 144 stitches, a permanent tooth mark in his skull, and the opportunity to finally hold hands with Mrs. Autumnbright as she escorts him throughout the days after his accident.  The comma, he tells himself, is there to remind him to keep adding to his dreams … one after the other.  It’s a moment that is pure and honest.

At the end of Big Plastic Heroes I felt like I’d only just settled in, and could have sat through many more stories.   But I treasure that comma, for it means many more stories to come.

I went in expecting one thing – I left with quite another.  A hero.  A big  plastic hero.

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The 2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL will run February 22-March 4 at The Kraine Theater & The Red Room (85 East 4th Street between 2nd Ave and Bowery) and UNDER St. Marks (94 St. Marks Place between 1st Ave and Ave A). Tickets to all shows may be purchased online at www.FRIGIDnewyork.info or by calling Smarttix at 212-868-4444.

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• Love In The Time Of Chlamydia: Love And War Stories (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• I Married A Nun! – And That’s Just The Beginning … (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• Big Plastic Heroes: 5 Things To Know About The Show Before You Go (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• Death: It Happens – Still Daddy’s Girl (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• Drowning Ophelia: She Gets On Swimmingly (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)

The Happiest Medium Review by Guest Contributor Katelyn Manfre

People are always telling D’yan Forest to “act her age.” For her, that is simply unacceptable. At 77 years young, when D’yan has seen, experienced, and gone to bed with so much of the world, she simply hasn’t been able to settle into her age. In I Married a Nun!, running at UNDER St. Marks, she has set out to tell her story, to explain and illustrate just why being a senior is not where she’s at right now.

For the record, she did, in fact, marry a nun. For 25 years D’yan was unofficially wedded to Mary, an ex-lady of the cloth with whom she travelled the world and shared a rather active sex life (don’t worry–she’s got props). While her relationship with Mary is the focus of a large part of her story, D’yan also goes into great detail about her exploits, dalliances, and experiments before and after. She has, it seems, been comfortable in her skin and up for anything since she was a little girl growing up in Boston.

D’yan Forest is charming, witty, and expressive as she moves through her deeply personal journey. She is entertaining and admirable in her brash, unapologetic discussion of the tawdrier bits of her lifestyle. She relishes in it, wishing, it seems, the same euphoria and freedom on her audience that has been granted to her in this life.

It is only at the very end where the performance needs a little bit of sharpening. The overall meaning of the piece is lost somewhere in her final anecdotes. She muses on the solitary place she finds herself in today, but rather than elevating these thoughts for a higher, more universal message, she quickly wraps it up. What was a story of joy and excitement and unbridled experimental risks becoming just another “hello this is me in 90-minutes-or-less” solo performance. And D’yan is far too fascinating and fabulous for that to be the final takeaway.

There is something truly special about seeing a woman who has so embraced herself and her body and her lifestyle with no hesitation. It’s inspiring, even. She’s up there, bearing her soul and telling her story, armed with nothing but a ukulele.  And a light-up dildo.

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The 2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL will run February 22-March 4 at The Kraine Theater & The Red Room (85 East 4th Street between 2nd Ave and Bowery) and UNDER St. Marks (94 St. Marks Place between 1st Ave and Ave A). Tickets to all shows may be purchased online at www.FRIGIDnewyork.info or by calling Smarttix at 212-868-4444.

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• Blind To Happiness: To See Or Not To See (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• I Married A Nun: 5 Things To Know About The Show Before You Go (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• The Rope In Your Hands: Katrina, In Their Own Words (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)

The Happiest Medium Review by Guest Contributor Katelyn Manfre

We live in a difficult world, rife with headaches and hardships. Each day new problems arise, and we are forced to self-diagnose and medicate to calm the stresses, the woes. But what if we didn’t–what if we made the very specific choice to just be happy? Is that even possible?

This is the massive philosophical question that playwright and performer Tim C. Murphy seeks to answer in Blind to Happiness, his solo show currently running at UNDER St. Marks. Using, in his words, the “quirks and quarks” of characters from his past, Murphy muses through three very different characters.

We are first introduced to Couks, a socially awkward, but notably gregarious dishwasher. Life, it seems, has not been especially kind to Couks. His father has recently passed away after a battle with alcoholism and diabetes, he has a hard time going out and making friends, and Steve, the head chef, has it in for him. He is showing signs of following in his father’s footsteps. Through it all, however, Couks seems to be unrelentingly positive.

One of Couks’ greatest admirers is Mike, a co-worker and graduate student getting his Ph.D in positive psychology. Mike tells us of Couks’ troubles, and the scientific theory that happiness is a choice. He uses Couks as an example, how he chooses to see the best in everything, makes an active decision to be happy despite his seemingly unhappy circumstances.

Afraid of the spotlight, but secretly yearning for it, is Bliss, another server at Couks’ restaurant, and an aspiring poet.

Through many one-sided conversations, much is revealed about the lives of these three men, all struggling to find fulfillment and joy in their lives, and it seems that Couks is the key to the others finding happiness. He is at the same time their hero and their charity case.

Murphy plays each man with his own distinct air, but Couks is clearly the most fleshed-out. Based heavily on a former co-worker of Murphy’s, it’s clear that his is the story Murphy wants to tell the most. And while his performance is hilarious and heartbreaking and a brilliant homage to such a character from his past, the thesis statement and the storyline don’t seem to match up entirely. We are left wondering if happiness is indeed a choice for us all. Sure optimism is, and choosing to have a rosy outlook on the world, but the characters in this piece bounce so far back and forth across the happiness spectrum, you’re left wondering if they will ever be able to find a middle ground.

There’s also the question of, what if happiness isn’t a choice to us all? Aren’t some people simply chemically imbalanced? Murphy briefly flirts with this idea, but doesn’t explore it entirely.

Obviously this is a huge question to try and answer in sixty minutes, and Murphy does a wonderful job of illustrating the ideas behind the theory. His characterizations are excellent, and he keeps the audience engaged from start to finish. By the end, there is light and levity and love; all the makings of a happy ending.

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The 2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL will run February 22-March 4 at The Kraine Theater & The Red Room (85 East 4th Street between 2nd Ave and Bowery) and UNDER St. Marks (94 St. Marks Place between 1st Ave and Ave A). Tickets to all shows may be purchased online at www.FRIGIDnewyork.info or by calling Smarttix at 212-868-4444.

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• Death: It Happens – Still Daddy’s Girl (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
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Because Frigid slots are limited to 60 minutes some shows have needed to trim their original running time.  Cutting down some of the material can sometimes break a beautifully crafted piece, as you just can’t fit it all in. Not so for Emleigh Wolf who has been bringing The Terrible Manpain of Umberto MacDougal to various audiences on numerous occasions over the last few years, often in small 5-20 minutes sketches at open mics and other venues.  At its current Frigid run at UNDER St. Marks, Wolf really shines as these short skits are able to be united and lengthened.  While always humorous, putting Umberto in a full narrative with a beginning, a middle, and a triumphant end makes The Terrible Manpain of Umberto MacDougal something that I think we can all identify with by the conclusion of the performance.

The performance starts with an introduction as to what manpain actually is: (click here for a previous look at Umberto explaining this truth here) :

“Well, manpain is the pain that men feel.  Not just any pain but the true emotional depths of a man’s soul. While society may want to frown on it, I assure you, it is one of the more critical topics you will encounter.  I hope tonight, to help all the men here, cast off this idea of their unmentionable sentiments and emnbrace the feelings beneath the harsh exterior they’ve been branded with.”

We are then introduced to Umberto’s guitarist, Mike Hamilton, (played by Mike Ogletree)  and begin the process of hearing one story after another outlining how Umberto has gained the gifts to deal with his manpain so effectively that he can help us with ours.  Besides just being a “melancholy guitarist playing a sorrowful tune”, his accompanying guitarist (Mike Ogletree) really does a great acting job as well.  His character is inserted into different parts of the stories being told and interjects just enough to keep the dramatic tension building, and the plot progressing throughout.

Instead of Umberto simply being a character who is parading his troubles, he has trouble with that parade and it becomes overwhelming to him at times, adding a greater dimension to the work as a whole. Umberto talks of his father abandoning him at birth, of the “rental pony” that died at his one and only birthday party, and of his early rejections in love.  There was also the lack of success at many things along the way – except for his endeavors in chronicling his manpain (carefully excerpted sections of his journal are then read).

All seems to be a downer, one that drips manpain onto us so thoroughly that even as we laugh, we cry.  Then comes the first turning point in the story.  One Christmas Umberto, while staying home for Christmas evening alone (his unfortunate usual lot in life)  heard a singing, and a wailing in the street, and then the sounds of cops shouting, ready to pull a fellow sufferer of manpain off to jail.  This motivates Umberto to dash out to the street, to care for his fellow traveler along life’s dusty and tear-drenched highway, and to help this man fully express his manpain for the first time.  Together they cried and talked until the sun rose the next morning.  This gave him a friend and ally, Mike Hamilton, who encouraged Umberto to share his gift of understanding manpain to all the world.  And so began Umberto’s move away from isolation and toward the present day where we see him now telling his stories, sadly, but sadly in a charismatic way.  We are enthralled and want to hear more.

And the more we hear, the more the interaction between Umberto and Mike becomes intense.  More and more painful moments are brought up and the audience becomes invested and concerned as Umberto turns less serene in his moroseness, more desperate, confronting the truths he has yet to deal with.

Eventually the stories move to a climax, where Umberto looks like he might be willing to put all of his manpain behind him.  It looks like it could all begin to turn around finally, and then…

Well if I told you, I’d spoil the ending for you and rob you of the chance to see the great work that Emleigh Wolf and Mike Ogletree have put together, a capstone on the little journey that Umberto has been making at all the venues in the last few years, which the directing of Bricken Sparacino has helped to move to such a satisfying conclusion.

Well maybe I could give you the end but not the context, because Umberto would want to help us all find some better ways to handle our manpain:

“And now, my new friends, you’ve heard my whole story
The heartache, the torment, and even the glory
For every last man, there’s a pain deep inside
But how you handle that pain is for you to decide
You can allow it to keep you in a prison of woe
Or you can use it to help your inner self grow
Our despair has brought us the ultimate gain
And in that lies the essence of true manpain.
Well, manpain is the pain that men feel.
Not just any pain but the true emotional depths of a man’s soul.”

 

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The 2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL will run February 22-March 4 at The Kraine Theater & The Red Room (85 East 4th Street between 2nd Ave and Bowery) and UNDER St. Marks (94 St. Marks Place between 1st Ave and Ave A). Tickets to all shows may be purchased online at www.FRIGIDnewyork.info or by calling Smarttix at 212-868-4444.

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‘T’il Love Do Us Part is a dark play about love, life, and death, written by Andrew Hall and directed by Cameron J. Marcotte. Part absurd, part realism, and part cautionary tale, the whole of this play centers upon the relationship between John and Virginia Walker. The audience is taken on a journey through their seventy year relationship, which begins and ends with death. After a chance meeting at the same cemetery where John’s father and Virginia’s mother are being buried, the two characters find each other, each alone and lost, desperate to connect with another person. A casket holds the center of the stage as a constant reminder of death, as the two characters try to heal, to love, and to live in the fractured and flawed world between them.

The play begins with another character, an unnamed young girl, unseen by the two main characters. She enters the stage dancing and wide-eyed, and appears to be an angel or a spirit, witness to the couple’s attempts to love as they navigate the broken places inside themselves and between each other. This character, played by Marshall Louise, successfully translates the emotional terrain of their relationship, as she watches the characters fall in love, then fall and break, wanting to see them truly love, helpless to stop them from hurting each other.

John and Virginia Walker are played by Robert Latrenta and Abigail Milnor-Sweetser, who both conveyed a range of depth and emotion while attempting to portray the life-span of these two characters, who literally “love each other to death.” At their first meeting, they are both painfully awkward and shy; they struggle to open up and reveal themselves to another person. As time passes, a lively, antagonistic banter develops between them. Their sexual relationship also speaks to the development of their aggressiveness towards each other; they begin by kissing shyly, tenderly, then progress into a sexual scene which is suggestively rough and forceful, almost violent in the attempt to connect.

After twenty-seven years together, John says, “This wasn’t what I wanted.” He says that he had given up his dreams in order to be with Virginia. To buy a house for her, he took a job he hated; he had become someone he never wanted to be – his father. He resents that they are childless, and feels that he wasted his life trying to save someone who could not be saved. A terrible fight ensues and their hostility and anger, both within and towards each other, spirals into viciousness and violence. This confrontation offers an opportunity to grow closer. Virginia finally talks about her feelings about her mother, and how her mother had damaged her as a child. She did not believe herself capable of being loved until she met John. She says that her mother must have been right. John says that he loves her. He says he does not want to leave her, he can’t leave her. He has nowhere else to go.

Neither of these characters have anywhere else to go, save for the unmistakable casket that takes center stage in each scene and stage of their relationship. One wants these characters to find a path together where love doesn’t mean giving up their dreams or becoming stuck and trapped in a relationship that is broken, a dead-end, a place that doesn’t allow them to expand or grow. One wants these characters to love themselves and each other in ways that can heal instead of hurt. ‘Til Love Do Us Part offers a very interesting look into relationships symbolized by the ever-present coffin. Yes, this is a dark play. It is also a play that provokes thought into how we love, how we live, and how we die, both literally and figuratively; these threads are woven into the play in different ways that intertwine and affect us all.

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Cast (alphabetical):

John Walker: Robert Latrenta
Young Girl: Marshall Louise
Virginia Walker: Abigail Milnor-Sweetser

Creative Team:
Playwright/Composer: Andrew Hall
Director: Cameron J. Marcotte
Dramaturg: Nathan “Nati” Avni-Singer
Choreographer: Jillene Johnson
Costume Designer: Elise VanderKley
Lighting Designer: Nia L. Adams
Sound Designer: Ido Levran
Makeup and Hair: Meg Murphy
Production Stage Manager: Mackenzie Meeks
Assistant Stage Manager: Anne Ciarlone
Creative Consultants: Daniel Talbott and Alex Keegan

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The 2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL will run February 22-March 4 at The Kraine Theater & The Red Room (85 East 4th Street between 2nd Ave and Bowery) and UNDER St. Marks (94 St. Marks Place between 1st Ave and Ave A). Tickets to all shows may be purchased online at www.FRIGIDnewyork.info or by calling Smarttix at 212-868-4444.

Related Posts:

• ‘Til Love Do Us Part: 5 Things To Know About The Show Before You Go (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• Death: It Happens – Still Daddy’s Girl (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• Love In The Time Of Chlamydia: Love And War Stories (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• Drowning Ophelia: She Gets On Swimmingly (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)
• Big Plastic Heroes: Good Things Come In Big Plastic Packages (2012 FRIGID NEW YORK FESTIVAL)