| THEATER TIMES REVIEWS MARCH 2006 |
Boston Marriage
Written and directed by David Mamet
Geffen Playhouse, thru March 19
WITH Rebecca Pidgeon, Alicia Silverstone, Mary Steenburgen PRODUCTION sets Takeshi Kata, costumes
Debra McGuire, lighting Lap-Chi Chu
The double entry that renovation has given the Geffen Playhouse leads to a houseful of
double entendre, through March 19, thanks to David Mamet’s ‘Boston Marriage.’
‘Boston Marriage,’ antique code for a lesbian household, is not set in such a home,
although head of household Anna (Mary Steenburgen) wishes the place settings were
thus.
It is instead a loveless locale where Anna keeps herself in sweetmeats by holding fast the affections of a
wealthy philanderer and keeping tenuous hold on her own sanity by engaging in mental jousting with her
younger friend Claire (Rebecca Pidgeon). The word play in the drawing room is poor substitute for
preferred interplay elsewhere, and grows more heated as it’s clear that Claire is now interested in younger
game. To further rub Anna the wrong way, Claire has come to requisition the home for her play station.
But sexual identity is hardly the point here. Any more than it was in ‘Importance of Being Earnest,’ where
not surprisingly Oscar Wilde fashioned men who seemed more engaged by one another than the women
they fawned over. ‘Boston Marriage,’ is in fact a fun-house inversion of ‘Earnest’s first scene, before the
women arrive. Especially with dialogue like Anna's remark, when after setting up audience empathy for
where her need to now "perform the most unpleasant of tasks" she goes Wildean: “To pack when rushed.”
Like Wilde there, Mamet here engages in a frolicsome mixture of bitchy zingers and some serious woes
about aging. Mixing pathos with pleasure, for instance, when a beleagured Anna opines, “Oh, how the
lesser beasts draw strength by the sight of the lioness beset. . . .[Several beats.] There's confusion at the
water hole.”
Mamet, who has a knack for wonderfully intricate plots, uncoils one of his simpler ones for ‘Boston
Marriage.’ It's no more than what is necessary for him to send his voice through three beautiful women of
varying generation. By jumping to all female characters and scrambling their sexualities, he covers his vocal
tracks.
As the lead, Steenburgen delivers her role with ease. More than one bit of word-salad was chewed as her
motor got purring this Saturday afternoon, but she was soon beautifully walking Mamet’s balance beam
between sarcasm and sentiment.
Silverstone holds her own, saddled with the show's true clown role, complete with sight gags. She earns
her laughs as the simple-minded maid who despite her lack of education rarely misses the meaning of what
the orders hurl at her. In her primative naive state, she's able to attain gratification, whether at the hands of
a rustic in the park across the street, or by entertaining vague overtures from her boss.
And, ah, Ms. Pidgeon. I feel as Stephen Colbert’s neo-persona does about Bush. My head loves her but my
gut says something’s wrong. There’s an ineffable sameness to her performances here and in her films
("Winslow Boy” and “Spanish Prisoner” for two random examples). Her characters always come across
as brainy, independent, compelling and very attractive. But her delivery has a patterned quality, her gaze a
steadiness that feels constricted. It’s obviously a choice, since there's no evidence of this in her singing. A
handful of pop and jazz records reveal her ability to be warm and flexible. Given her closeness to and
casting frequency with this playwright/director, she must be nailing something.
No double entendre intended.
Written and directed by David Mamet
Geffen Playhouse, thru March 19
WITH Rebecca Pidgeon, Alicia Silverstone, Mary Steenburgen PRODUCTION sets Takeshi Kata, costumes
Debra McGuire, lighting Lap-Chi Chu
The double entry that renovation has given the Geffen Playhouse leads to a houseful of
double entendre, through March 19, thanks to David Mamet’s ‘Boston Marriage.’
‘Boston Marriage,’ antique code for a lesbian household, is not set in such a home,
although head of household Anna (Mary Steenburgen) wishes the place settings were
thus.
It is instead a loveless locale where Anna keeps herself in sweetmeats by holding fast the affections of a
wealthy philanderer and keeping tenuous hold on her own sanity by engaging in mental jousting with her
younger friend Claire (Rebecca Pidgeon). The word play in the drawing room is poor substitute for
preferred interplay elsewhere, and grows more heated as it’s clear that Claire is now interested in younger
game. To further rub Anna the wrong way, Claire has come to requisition the home for her play station.
But sexual identity is hardly the point here. Any more than it was in ‘Importance of Being Earnest,’ where
not surprisingly Oscar Wilde fashioned men who seemed more engaged by one another than the women
they fawned over. ‘Boston Marriage,’ is in fact a fun-house inversion of ‘Earnest’s first scene, before the
women arrive. Especially with dialogue like Anna's remark, when after setting up audience empathy for
where her need to now "perform the most unpleasant of tasks" she goes Wildean: “To pack when rushed.”
Like Wilde there, Mamet here engages in a frolicsome mixture of bitchy zingers and some serious woes
about aging. Mixing pathos with pleasure, for instance, when a beleagured Anna opines, “Oh, how the
lesser beasts draw strength by the sight of the lioness beset. . . .[Several beats.] There's confusion at the
water hole.”
Mamet, who has a knack for wonderfully intricate plots, uncoils one of his simpler ones for ‘Boston
Marriage.’ It's no more than what is necessary for him to send his voice through three beautiful women of
varying generation. By jumping to all female characters and scrambling their sexualities, he covers his vocal
tracks.
As the lead, Steenburgen delivers her role with ease. More than one bit of word-salad was chewed as her
motor got purring this Saturday afternoon, but she was soon beautifully walking Mamet’s balance beam
between sarcasm and sentiment.
Silverstone holds her own, saddled with the show's true clown role, complete with sight gags. She earns
her laughs as the simple-minded maid who despite her lack of education rarely misses the meaning of what
the orders hurl at her. In her primative naive state, she's able to attain gratification, whether at the hands of
a rustic in the park across the street, or by entertaining vague overtures from her boss.
And, ah, Ms. Pidgeon. I feel as Stephen Colbert’s neo-persona does about Bush. My head loves her but my
gut says something’s wrong. There’s an ineffable sameness to her performances here and in her films
("Winslow Boy” and “Spanish Prisoner” for two random examples). Her characters always come across
as brainy, independent, compelling and very attractive. But her delivery has a patterned quality, her gaze a
steadiness that feels constricted. It’s obviously a choice, since there's no evidence of this in her singing. A
handful of pop and jazz records reveal her ability to be warm and flexible. Given her closeness to and
casting frequency with this playwright/director, she must be nailing something.
No double entendre intended.
A Body of Water
by Lee Blessing; directed by Ethan McSweeny
Old Globe Theater Carter Stage through March 19, 2006
With: Sandy Duncan, Ned Schmidtke and Samantha Soule Design: set Michael Vaughn Sims, costumes
Charlotte Devaux, lighting York Kennedy, original music Michael Roth
Lee Blessing’s ‘A Body of Water,’ at the Globe’s Cassius Carter through March 19,
sounds the echoless depths of the human mind in a daring work with special
resonance for families with dementia patients. Stark and profound, it will be
endlessly fascinating or endlessly frustrating depending on what audiences bring to
it.
Reminiscent of the computer game Myst, in which players are set among an abandoned island compound
to sort out what happened, ‘Body’ begins with actors and audience equally adrift. Large floating windows
rise along the stage's four sides for a sense that we are all descending through Michael Roth’s
atmospheric music onto Michael Vaugh Sims’ simple game-piece set. An immaculate sixtysomething couple
(Sandy Duncan and Ned Schmidtke) sip morning coffee as they gradually share their utter bewilderment:
they do not know one another or where they are. They do not even know their own names. Despite their
sophistication, they are as helpless as tropical fish.
Blessing and Director Ethan McSweeny spend enough time in this confused state to explore how certain
people might behave when, despite high intelligence, they are stripped of their identity. These two, while
naturally somewhat suspicious and anxious, maintain their poise, humor and concern for each other. After
they search in vain for clues, they are joined by a younger woman named Wren (Samantha Soule). While
she clearly does not suffer their condition, Wren has her own issues and metes out bits of information to
the starving older couple as if chumming for an epiphany or apology. Details of what happens could only
serve to puncture the delicately crafted bubble that the action seeks to suspend.
McSweeny has elicited exciting portrayals of calm at the edge of reason as well as crack creative work
from his designers. Duncan, Schmidtke and Soule are all excellent. Soule – in probably the hardest role –
takes some warming up to, but by Act II her odd Act I behavior is justified. Sims' wonderfully clean platform
set floats in the Cassius Carter, surrounded by pools of water. Sims, McSweeny and Roth team to create
one unforgettable sequence when, between two Act II scenes, the windows lower into the pools instead
of rising. When the panes are pulled up to haunting piano accompaniment, the perforated troughs along the
bottoms create sheets of rain. It's a powerful and ominous image that the entire stage is being lifted out of
the lake.
As the name suggests, “A Body of Water” is constantly shifting and not for those who need a firm
foundation. But it is capable of providing a myriad of brilliant reflection.
by Lee Blessing; directed by Ethan McSweeny
Old Globe Theater Carter Stage through March 19, 2006
With: Sandy Duncan, Ned Schmidtke and Samantha Soule Design: set Michael Vaughn Sims, costumes
Charlotte Devaux, lighting York Kennedy, original music Michael Roth
Lee Blessing’s ‘A Body of Water,’ at the Globe’s Cassius Carter through March 19,
sounds the echoless depths of the human mind in a daring work with special
resonance for families with dementia patients. Stark and profound, it will be
endlessly fascinating or endlessly frustrating depending on what audiences bring to
it.
Reminiscent of the computer game Myst, in which players are set among an abandoned island compound
to sort out what happened, ‘Body’ begins with actors and audience equally adrift. Large floating windows
rise along the stage's four sides for a sense that we are all descending through Michael Roth’s
atmospheric music onto Michael Vaugh Sims’ simple game-piece set. An immaculate sixtysomething couple
(Sandy Duncan and Ned Schmidtke) sip morning coffee as they gradually share their utter bewilderment:
they do not know one another or where they are. They do not even know their own names. Despite their
sophistication, they are as helpless as tropical fish.
Blessing and Director Ethan McSweeny spend enough time in this confused state to explore how certain
people might behave when, despite high intelligence, they are stripped of their identity. These two, while
naturally somewhat suspicious and anxious, maintain their poise, humor and concern for each other. After
they search in vain for clues, they are joined by a younger woman named Wren (Samantha Soule). While
she clearly does not suffer their condition, Wren has her own issues and metes out bits of information to
the starving older couple as if chumming for an epiphany or apology. Details of what happens could only
serve to puncture the delicately crafted bubble that the action seeks to suspend.
McSweeny has elicited exciting portrayals of calm at the edge of reason as well as crack creative work
from his designers. Duncan, Schmidtke and Soule are all excellent. Soule – in probably the hardest role –
takes some warming up to, but by Act II her odd Act I behavior is justified. Sims' wonderfully clean platform
set floats in the Cassius Carter, surrounded by pools of water. Sims, McSweeny and Roth team to create
one unforgettable sequence when, between two Act II scenes, the windows lower into the pools instead
of rising. When the panes are pulled up to haunting piano accompaniment, the perforated troughs along the
bottoms create sheets of rain. It's a powerful and ominous image that the entire stage is being lifted out of
the lake.
As the name suggests, “A Body of Water” is constantly shifting and not for those who need a firm
foundation. But it is capable of providing a myriad of brilliant reflection.
Mary Steenburgen
CRAIG SCHWARTZ
CRAIG SCHWARTZ
Sandy Duncan
Ned Schmidtke
CRAIG SCHWARTZ
Ned Schmidtke
CRAIG SCHWARTZ
The Times They Are A-Changin'
Conceived and directed by Twyla Tharp; Music and lyrics by Bob Dylan
Conceived and directed by Twyla Tharp; Music and lyrics by Bob Dylan
Old Globe Theater January 25-March 19, 2006
WITH Doug Kreeger (usually Michael Arden), Thom Sesma, Jenn Colella, Marty Lawson (usually Charlie
Neshyba-Hodges), Jason McDole, Jonathan Nosan, Justin Bohon, Albert Guerzon, Sean Stewart, Tamara
Levinson PRODUCTION set and costumes Santo Loquasto, lighting Donald Holder, Sound Francois
Bergeron, Music director Henry Aronson
The Globe is engulfed by a brilliant corona. The excitement surrounding 'The Times
They Are A-Changin’,' the new Twyla Tharp musical of Bob Dylan songs, has made the
San Diego complex the current star of the American theater, heating up enough
interest the world over to warrant two extensions prior to opening. But we found, at
least at this stage, its core remains in a gaseous state.
It’s unclear whether 'Times' started to serve the songwriter or the choreographer. But at this point, without
much apparent imagination going into the drama, dance, set or arrangements, it may only serve the cynics
who suggest it seeks to repeat Tharp’s success with 'Movin’ On,' her still-touring Billy Joel dance musical
from a few years ago. Still, the audience seemed sated, and at curtain call generated about a quarter-
house standing ovation.
Less than 90 minutes earlier we had awaited the show by reading a drape that concealed the stage. It
was held in several spots as if by tent poles. Written on it were lyrics and instructional phrases like
“Thinking of a Series of Dreams,” “Thought Dreams Could Be Seen,” “Where the Time and Tempo Fly.” As
the houselights dimmed and the first colors of designer Don Holder’s lighting palette warmed Santo
Loquasto’s set, a young man emerged from behind the drape. He surveyed the older audience and began
to sing a youth's warning: “Don’t criticize what you can’t understand.” He’s a little startled when joined by
a strummed guitar chord, but quickly embraces the accompaniment and forges ahead, his voice growing
stronger as he gains confidence in his thoughts, his words, his performance, and their ability to engage an
audience. It’s a beautiful moment of testimony to the creative process, the spirit of defiance, and the
beauty of a torch carefully passing from one generation to the next.
It unleashes a torrent of emotional applause as we sense we’re on the verge of an experience that takes
us somewhere new while again bringing home the notion that the more things change the more they really
stay the same.
Unfortunately, when the drape then drops, so does the hope for a coherent story. We fall deep into
carnival territory. The young singer, Coyote (Doug Kreeger in for Michael Arden), jockeys for power with
his abusive Ringmaster/Barker father, Captain Arab (Thom Sesma), whose nether-circus features the
midway-brightening midriff of Cleo (Jenn Colella, with more costumes than key changes). For her pain and
understanding, Cleo is promptly drop-kicked off the lot. These three along with a half-dozen amazingly
athletic dancers, all distressed in Mad Max style, explore the shadows of the “Life is a Carnival” concept in
a bookless musical of nearly 30 songs that roughly follows the good son’s overtaking the bad father.
The set is open for dancing, with two stage-wide runs of embedded trampolines and an upstage wall as
dark as night. Stage right is the Captain’s decal-ridden caravan. Stage left is the five-piece band’s
platform, festooned with junkyard items and high enough to allow people to pass beneath. The drape is
occasionally redrawn and some rolling screens break up the space. Perhaps, assuming that the dancing
would provide enough imagery to fill the stage, the designers opted to keep the stage spare. But, since the
main character’s strongest moments are sung sans danse, they may be mistaken. In addition to Coyote’s
opening song, Cleo delivers “Don’t Think Twice” as she leaves the Captain, and he later gives “Desolation
Row” a great rendering. The creators do not use projections, though they may want to rethink that given
that one of the more interesting moments is the appearance of a projected shadow of death on the back of
Mr. Tamborine Man.
What might improve things? Hard to say. Given the real paucity of exciting dance, perhaps they could
move the band onto the stage, dress them in rags and let the musicians add some performance
excitement. Or go halfway and put them behind a scrim that can go opaque when the story doesn't justify
a sideshow band. The whole opportunity to really freak this up seems lost. A Dylan world without the
sideshow freaks -- even if only in illustrations on those traveling screens -- feels pretty tame. Instead, we
have a cuddly “Man Gave Names to the Animals” sequence, which seems a waste unless there's hope to
spin off a PBS Kids show. And while the performers are all very good, one wonders if there aren't three
theatrical rockers of the old Tim Curry stature (like when he recorded his rock albums) with larger-than-life
personae to give these archtypes both playfulness and threat.
Dylan’s poetry always gave his songs a feeling of heft and importance, even when there wasn’t any. And
there’s a point at which, admittedly, we just need let it go: let the music be free to go wherever it might.
Still, a bunch of dancers bouncing around with large black rubber balls across the stage to “Like a Rolling
Stone?” Seems a fatal twist of simplicity for a song as socially significant as this one.
WITH Doug Kreeger (usually Michael Arden), Thom Sesma, Jenn Colella, Marty Lawson (usually Charlie
Neshyba-Hodges), Jason McDole, Jonathan Nosan, Justin Bohon, Albert Guerzon, Sean Stewart, Tamara
Levinson PRODUCTION set and costumes Santo Loquasto, lighting Donald Holder, Sound Francois
Bergeron, Music director Henry Aronson
The Globe is engulfed by a brilliant corona. The excitement surrounding 'The Times
They Are A-Changin’,' the new Twyla Tharp musical of Bob Dylan songs, has made the
San Diego complex the current star of the American theater, heating up enough
interest the world over to warrant two extensions prior to opening. But we found, at
least at this stage, its core remains in a gaseous state.
It’s unclear whether 'Times' started to serve the songwriter or the choreographer. But at this point, without
much apparent imagination going into the drama, dance, set or arrangements, it may only serve the cynics
who suggest it seeks to repeat Tharp’s success with 'Movin’ On,' her still-touring Billy Joel dance musical
from a few years ago. Still, the audience seemed sated, and at curtain call generated about a quarter-
house standing ovation.
Less than 90 minutes earlier we had awaited the show by reading a drape that concealed the stage. It
was held in several spots as if by tent poles. Written on it were lyrics and instructional phrases like
“Thinking of a Series of Dreams,” “Thought Dreams Could Be Seen,” “Where the Time and Tempo Fly.” As
the houselights dimmed and the first colors of designer Don Holder’s lighting palette warmed Santo
Loquasto’s set, a young man emerged from behind the drape. He surveyed the older audience and began
to sing a youth's warning: “Don’t criticize what you can’t understand.” He’s a little startled when joined by
a strummed guitar chord, but quickly embraces the accompaniment and forges ahead, his voice growing
stronger as he gains confidence in his thoughts, his words, his performance, and their ability to engage an
audience. It’s a beautiful moment of testimony to the creative process, the spirit of defiance, and the
beauty of a torch carefully passing from one generation to the next.
It unleashes a torrent of emotional applause as we sense we’re on the verge of an experience that takes
us somewhere new while again bringing home the notion that the more things change the more they really
stay the same.
Unfortunately, when the drape then drops, so does the hope for a coherent story. We fall deep into
carnival territory. The young singer, Coyote (Doug Kreeger in for Michael Arden), jockeys for power with
his abusive Ringmaster/Barker father, Captain Arab (Thom Sesma), whose nether-circus features the
midway-brightening midriff of Cleo (Jenn Colella, with more costumes than key changes). For her pain and
understanding, Cleo is promptly drop-kicked off the lot. These three along with a half-dozen amazingly
athletic dancers, all distressed in Mad Max style, explore the shadows of the “Life is a Carnival” concept in
a bookless musical of nearly 30 songs that roughly follows the good son’s overtaking the bad father.
The set is open for dancing, with two stage-wide runs of embedded trampolines and an upstage wall as
dark as night. Stage right is the Captain’s decal-ridden caravan. Stage left is the five-piece band’s
platform, festooned with junkyard items and high enough to allow people to pass beneath. The drape is
occasionally redrawn and some rolling screens break up the space. Perhaps, assuming that the dancing
would provide enough imagery to fill the stage, the designers opted to keep the stage spare. But, since the
main character’s strongest moments are sung sans danse, they may be mistaken. In addition to Coyote’s
opening song, Cleo delivers “Don’t Think Twice” as she leaves the Captain, and he later gives “Desolation
Row” a great rendering. The creators do not use projections, though they may want to rethink that given
that one of the more interesting moments is the appearance of a projected shadow of death on the back of
Mr. Tamborine Man.
What might improve things? Hard to say. Given the real paucity of exciting dance, perhaps they could
move the band onto the stage, dress them in rags and let the musicians add some performance
excitement. Or go halfway and put them behind a scrim that can go opaque when the story doesn't justify
a sideshow band. The whole opportunity to really freak this up seems lost. A Dylan world without the
sideshow freaks -- even if only in illustrations on those traveling screens -- feels pretty tame. Instead, we
have a cuddly “Man Gave Names to the Animals” sequence, which seems a waste unless there's hope to
spin off a PBS Kids show. And while the performers are all very good, one wonders if there aren't three
theatrical rockers of the old Tim Curry stature (like when he recorded his rock albums) with larger-than-life
personae to give these archtypes both playfulness and threat.
Dylan’s poetry always gave his songs a feeling of heft and importance, even when there wasn’t any. And
there’s a point at which, admittedly, we just need let it go: let the music be free to go wherever it might.
Still, a bunch of dancers bouncing around with large black rubber balls across the stage to “Like a Rolling
Stone?” Seems a fatal twist of simplicity for a song as socially significant as this one.
Thom Sesma
CRAIG SCHWARTZ
CRAIG SCHWARTZ
Man From Nebraska
by Tracy Letts. Directed by William Friedkin.
South Coast Repertory Julianne Argyros Stage through April 2'
WITH Kathy Baker, Susan Dalian, Jane A Johnstone, Brian Kerwin, Hal Landon Jr., Ben Livingston, Laura
Niemi, Susannah Schulman, Julian Stone PRODUCTION sets Chris Barreca, costumes Nephelie
Andonyadis, lighting Lonnie Rafael Alcarez, sound Drew Dalzell
A fog engulfs the man in Tracy Letts’ “Man from Nebraska,” receiving its West Coast
premiere at South Coast Repertory through April 2. Having spent his life comfortably
insulated by Middle American geography and values, at mid-life all that protection
now clouds his thoughts and literally chokes him. It has even drawn a cloak across
an otherwise starry night sky.
Ostensibly writing about a man’s relationship with God, Letts instead invests more storytelling concerns
into this man’s relationship with people. It starts with his wife, in an opening montage of silent, disquieting
scenes, pushed to straining level by the patient pacing of director William Friedkin. As Ken (Brian Kerwin)
and Nancy Carpenter (Kathy Baker) finish a typical day in Lincoln, Nebraska,he acknowledges a sudden
crisis of faith. But this is just a handy wedge to position between them. The split soon comes from a blow
powered by the pent-up anger that has been trapped inside him by that ineffable fog that after shutting him
off from everything and everybody is now shutting him down. At the suggestion of his pastor (Ben
Livingston), Ken embarks on a solo voyage of self-discovery in London, where he was once stationed in
the Air Force. His round-trip is the play's trajectory, and whether he survives re-entry can be left to the
viewer.
Admirably, Letts has given himself the challenge of creating a central character who is not admirable, and
even less articulate. Unfortunately driving with a silent partner like Ken -- so cut off that he is dull and
uncaring -- can seem like a long journey. He easily puts more distance between himself and his wife, his
dying mother (Jane A. Johnstone) and his daughter (Susannah Schulman). He has no friends. It’s a role
that has no flash, no fiery speeches, and only modest rewards. However, the cast is able to express the
pathos and still land the occasional humorous bit. And, thankfully Kerwin is a master of the internalized
tension as he displayed in Warner Shook’s excellent workout of ‘The Goat’ at the Taper last year. Baker,
too, must play most of the show in restraints and manages to show Nancy’s breaking heart without
wearing it on her sleeve.
England seems to be Letts’s cure. But Ken's inclination is to insulate himself here, too. He strays from his
Sheraton hotel room only as far as the hotel lounge, where he can wile away the evenings making friends
with Tamyra (Susan Dalian), a beautiful black butterfly who only stays because she is pinned to the bar by
her job. Friedkin edges the cultural divide in England's favor by underscoring American scenes with
television audio and England with good jazz. In America, people stare at television and have less to say; in
England conversation flourishes. But this doesn't help clarify the script's underlying storytelling divide: Are
we on about man's individual faith or fate? Or, we switched to questions about the fatherland versus
mother England?
In the end, fate forces Ken back to Nebraska. A death in the family is required for him to make a move
home. Without it, he might still be up to his wrists in shapeless clay. Still unassertive, but forced into
action, he is able to make choices. In making the right ones, he gains convictions if not confirmations, and
the fog begins to lift. As it does, the clearing reveals starlight again. But it also reveals the damage Ken
has caused by weeks of crashing around in the dark. Things are broken that may never be repaired.
Whether the people he has hurt and ignored can see things his way is open to debate. Whether Letts has
given his audiences enough hooks upon which to hang some genuine concerns for this son of a Carpenter
is another question.
by Tracy Letts. Directed by William Friedkin.
South Coast Repertory Julianne Argyros Stage through April 2'
WITH Kathy Baker, Susan Dalian, Jane A Johnstone, Brian Kerwin, Hal Landon Jr., Ben Livingston, Laura
Niemi, Susannah Schulman, Julian Stone PRODUCTION sets Chris Barreca, costumes Nephelie
Andonyadis, lighting Lonnie Rafael Alcarez, sound Drew Dalzell
A fog engulfs the man in Tracy Letts’ “Man from Nebraska,” receiving its West Coast
premiere at South Coast Repertory through April 2. Having spent his life comfortably
insulated by Middle American geography and values, at mid-life all that protection
now clouds his thoughts and literally chokes him. It has even drawn a cloak across
an otherwise starry night sky.
Ostensibly writing about a man’s relationship with God, Letts instead invests more storytelling concerns
into this man’s relationship with people. It starts with his wife, in an opening montage of silent, disquieting
scenes, pushed to straining level by the patient pacing of director William Friedkin. As Ken (Brian Kerwin)
and Nancy Carpenter (Kathy Baker) finish a typical day in Lincoln, Nebraska,he acknowledges a sudden
crisis of faith. But this is just a handy wedge to position between them. The split soon comes from a blow
powered by the pent-up anger that has been trapped inside him by that ineffable fog that after shutting him
off from everything and everybody is now shutting him down. At the suggestion of his pastor (Ben
Livingston), Ken embarks on a solo voyage of self-discovery in London, where he was once stationed in
the Air Force. His round-trip is the play's trajectory, and whether he survives re-entry can be left to the
viewer.
Admirably, Letts has given himself the challenge of creating a central character who is not admirable, and
even less articulate. Unfortunately driving with a silent partner like Ken -- so cut off that he is dull and
uncaring -- can seem like a long journey. He easily puts more distance between himself and his wife, his
dying mother (Jane A. Johnstone) and his daughter (Susannah Schulman). He has no friends. It’s a role
that has no flash, no fiery speeches, and only modest rewards. However, the cast is able to express the
pathos and still land the occasional humorous bit. And, thankfully Kerwin is a master of the internalized
tension as he displayed in Warner Shook’s excellent workout of ‘The Goat’ at the Taper last year. Baker,
too, must play most of the show in restraints and manages to show Nancy’s breaking heart without
wearing it on her sleeve.
England seems to be Letts’s cure. But Ken's inclination is to insulate himself here, too. He strays from his
Sheraton hotel room only as far as the hotel lounge, where he can wile away the evenings making friends
with Tamyra (Susan Dalian), a beautiful black butterfly who only stays because she is pinned to the bar by
her job. Friedkin edges the cultural divide in England's favor by underscoring American scenes with
television audio and England with good jazz. In America, people stare at television and have less to say; in
England conversation flourishes. But this doesn't help clarify the script's underlying storytelling divide: Are
we on about man's individual faith or fate? Or, we switched to questions about the fatherland versus
mother England?
In the end, fate forces Ken back to Nebraska. A death in the family is required for him to make a move
home. Without it, he might still be up to his wrists in shapeless clay. Still unassertive, but forced into
action, he is able to make choices. In making the right ones, he gains convictions if not confirmations, and
the fog begins to lift. As it does, the clearing reveals starlight again. But it also reveals the damage Ken
has caused by weeks of crashing around in the dark. Things are broken that may never be repaired.
Whether the people he has hurt and ignored can see things his way is open to debate. Whether Letts has
given his audiences enough hooks upon which to hang some genuine concerns for this son of a Carpenter
is another question.
Brian Kerwin
Kathy Baker
CRISTOFER GROSS
Kathy Baker
CRISTOFER GROSS
As You Like It
Cornerstone Theater /
Pasadena Playhouse
Old Globe Theatre
Geffen Theatre
South Coast Repertory
Old Globe Theatre
Cornerstone Theater /
Pasadena Playhouse
Old Globe Theatre
Geffen Theatre
South Coast Repertory
Old Globe Theatre
As You Like It
Allison Carey adaptation of Shakespeare, directed by Bill Rauch
Pasadena Playhouse, thru April 16
WITH Christian Barillas, Leith Burke, Benajah Cobb, Gregory Cruz, Jonathan del Arco, Gerald Hiken, Peter
Howard, Dorothy James, Page Leong, Christopher Liam Moore, Kate Mulligan, Scott Rodarte, Lisa Tharps,
Bahni Turpin DESIGN: sets Lynn Jeffries, costumes Christopher Acebo, lighting Geoff Korf, sound Benajah
Cobb, music Shishir Kurup
Shakespeare’s ‘As You Like It’ has been taken up by the good folks at the Cornerstone
Theater Company in time to celebrate the talents of departing co-founder Bill Rauch,
who directs, remind of the talents of remaining co-founder Alison Carey, who adapts,
and characterize the state of marriage law to be not as they like it.
The production, at the Pasadena Playhouse through April 16, takes inspiration from Shakespeare’s gender-
disguising plot line and final group marriage and creates a contemporary “California concoction” where people
get to marry the person they fall in love with. End of story.
Carey does this with a cleverly updated script that feels as if Shakespeare wrote it himself last year in San
Marino. Local politics, radio personalities and landmarks help tie down this circus tent of ingenuity and set the
stage for a career-defining performance by Christopher Liam Moore as Rosalind. Moore brings revelatory
heart and intelligence to this role. In the opening scenes, set in Pasadena after the “mayor” has been
displaced by his brother, he weights the man-in-drag site gag with the woman-in-love pathos. When the
action shifts not to Arden but to Lynn Jeffries' playful Mojave desert diorama, Rosalind adopts the persona of
'Loverboy,' a rouged Woody from 'Toy Story.'
Chief among Moore's aides-de-camp are Leith Burke as Orlando, Peter Howard as Jacques and the
chameleonic Kate Mulligan, who gets to show off her singing talents. (Add this to her recent multi-role
performance in 'The Further Adventures of Hedda Gabler,' and the LADCC would be well served to consider a
special award for Best Ensemble Performances by a Single Actor.) The characters are now contemporaries,
decked out in Chris Acebo's couture. Touchstone (Jonathon del Arco) is a comic, Charles (Mulligan) is a Moto-
Cross star, and Jacques is a former TV producer suffering depression. Carey gives him a "televised" seven
stages of man speech, now arcing from cartoons to cancellation, including an old age that is “dependant on
the remote.”
Rauch stakes his claim to the success, too. His actors can flutter around for comic value, then drop anchor
on a dramatic dime. The blocking is easy on the eye and continually forming stage pictures that fill the space
with interesting composition.
Love is manifest as an inalienable right that strikes without concern for civic codes and power grids. Its onset
is a rosy glow that pulses around the smitten couple like neon spill from the red-light district. It is as instant
and insurmountable as Titania’s spell. And, in the end, imbued with this love and aided by a "deus ex Martia,"
Rosalind screws her courage to the sticking place and insists that everybody on stage and off soon be
allowed whatever wedded bliss they like. In the climactic unmasking, Loverboy is not merely revealed as
Rosalind, but Rosalind is revealed as Moore. Rather than returning to the wig et al that made him a convincing
woman, Moore is clearly a man and we have stepped into that rarefied zone where theater and reality meld. It
sets up a Carey-created epilogue that Moore delivers as a personal statement.
It was much to the liking of the industry crowd on opening night. We'd like it even more if the regular
audiences prove to be just as smitten.
Allison Carey adaptation of Shakespeare, directed by Bill Rauch
Pasadena Playhouse, thru April 16
WITH Christian Barillas, Leith Burke, Benajah Cobb, Gregory Cruz, Jonathan del Arco, Gerald Hiken, Peter
Howard, Dorothy James, Page Leong, Christopher Liam Moore, Kate Mulligan, Scott Rodarte, Lisa Tharps,
Bahni Turpin DESIGN: sets Lynn Jeffries, costumes Christopher Acebo, lighting Geoff Korf, sound Benajah
Cobb, music Shishir Kurup
Shakespeare’s ‘As You Like It’ has been taken up by the good folks at the Cornerstone
Theater Company in time to celebrate the talents of departing co-founder Bill Rauch,
who directs, remind of the talents of remaining co-founder Alison Carey, who adapts,
and characterize the state of marriage law to be not as they like it.
The production, at the Pasadena Playhouse through April 16, takes inspiration from Shakespeare’s gender-
disguising plot line and final group marriage and creates a contemporary “California concoction” where people
get to marry the person they fall in love with. End of story.
Carey does this with a cleverly updated script that feels as if Shakespeare wrote it himself last year in San
Marino. Local politics, radio personalities and landmarks help tie down this circus tent of ingenuity and set the
stage for a career-defining performance by Christopher Liam Moore as Rosalind. Moore brings revelatory
heart and intelligence to this role. In the opening scenes, set in Pasadena after the “mayor” has been
displaced by his brother, he weights the man-in-drag site gag with the woman-in-love pathos. When the
action shifts not to Arden but to Lynn Jeffries' playful Mojave desert diorama, Rosalind adopts the persona of
'Loverboy,' a rouged Woody from 'Toy Story.'
Chief among Moore's aides-de-camp are Leith Burke as Orlando, Peter Howard as Jacques and the
chameleonic Kate Mulligan, who gets to show off her singing talents. (Add this to her recent multi-role
performance in 'The Further Adventures of Hedda Gabler,' and the LADCC would be well served to consider a
special award for Best Ensemble Performances by a Single Actor.) The characters are now contemporaries,
decked out in Chris Acebo's couture. Touchstone (Jonathon del Arco) is a comic, Charles (Mulligan) is a Moto-
Cross star, and Jacques is a former TV producer suffering depression. Carey gives him a "televised" seven
stages of man speech, now arcing from cartoons to cancellation, including an old age that is “dependant on
the remote.”
Rauch stakes his claim to the success, too. His actors can flutter around for comic value, then drop anchor
on a dramatic dime. The blocking is easy on the eye and continually forming stage pictures that fill the space
with interesting composition.
Love is manifest as an inalienable right that strikes without concern for civic codes and power grids. Its onset
is a rosy glow that pulses around the smitten couple like neon spill from the red-light district. It is as instant
and insurmountable as Titania’s spell. And, in the end, imbued with this love and aided by a "deus ex Martia,"
Rosalind screws her courage to the sticking place and insists that everybody on stage and off soon be
allowed whatever wedded bliss they like. In the climactic unmasking, Loverboy is not merely revealed as
Rosalind, but Rosalind is revealed as Moore. Rather than returning to the wig et al that made him a convincing
woman, Moore is clearly a man and we have stepped into that rarefied zone where theater and reality meld. It
sets up a Carey-created epilogue that Moore delivers as a personal statement.
It was much to the liking of the industry crowd on opening night. We'd like it even more if the regular
audiences prove to be just as smitten.
Christopher Liam Moore
Page Leong
CRAIG SCHWARTZ
Page Leong
CRAIG SCHWARTZ
