Dawn’s Light: The Journey of
Gordan Hirabayashi
by Jeanne Sakata, directed by Jessica Kubzansky
East West Players • November 1-December 2, 2007 (Opened, rev. 11/7) World premiere
WITH Ryun Yu (Martin Yu, u.s.) PRODUCTION Maiko Nezu, set/projections; Soojin Lee, costumes; Jeremy
Pivnick, lights; John Zalewski, sound; Nate Genung, stage management
Gordon Hirabayashi grew up just like millions of first generation Americans. His
parents leaned on the language of their homeland but learned English as they insisted
it be their children’s native tongue. He embraced his country’s freedom of religion and
association, both of which he grounded in the Quaker concept of friendship. He would
pursue both education and romance as a free man, not as some gerrymandered
hyphenate. However, as with all people of color in America, otherness would be forced
back upon him from birth, and his calling card in society would be his genetic code.
Then, with the outbreak of World War II, he and his family, his community and the Japanese American
population, would be further ostracized, distanced from all other immigrant segments and citizens of color.
In response to attacks by the nation of Japan, naturalized and native-born Americans of Japanese descent
were uprooted and boxed away in rough camps hidden in inhospitable areas across the country. Ironically,
Hirabayashi's ingrained reverence for his country -- or at least its stated principles -- only deepened under
the indignities and, after first becoming an obstacle to the incarceration process, he would become an
advocate for the trampled U.S. Constitution, eventually standing for justice before the justices the U.S.
Supreme Court.
In ‘Dawn’s Light: The Journey of Gordan Hirabayashi,’ receiving its world premiere at East West Players
through December 2, first-time playwright Jeanne Sakata turns this extraordinary story into a detailed play
for one actor. A faithful and inventive staging by Jessica Kubzansky sets up a showcase for the
considerable talents of Ryun Yu, who inhabits Hirabayashi as well as the male and female people who
played roles in his life.
‘Dawn’s Light’ is set upon Maiko Nezu’s visual haiku. Simple, textured lines full of resonance set off an
upstage surface where beautiful black and white photography unobtrusively assists the storytelling. Yu
himself does the minimal set adjusting: sliding an angled panel of rough wood from use as a sign to a
position as an internment wall or a court chamber. He frequently rearranges two wooden chairs that recall
the unflinching simplicity of Quaker design and philosophy.
The label that this is “inspired by a true story” seems to be more for legal than literary purposes. As Sakata
explains in a program note, ‘Dawn’s Light’ “is a work blending historical fact with fiction, and certain actual
events have been compressed or altered in terms of chronology or content for dramatic purposes.” While
such disclosure could give detractors a toe-hold on dismissal, there is little indication that the key dramatic
events that stretch this 95-minute one-actor one-act have compromised the scope or importance of what is
being described.
Sakata has set herself a significant challenge and realized it in great measure. However, even at an hour
and a half, and despite the always-engaging work of Yu and Nezu’s and Kubzansky’s images and ideas, it
falls into a midsection slowness that suggests there may be 10 minutes worth of pruning to be found in the
narrative folds. On the other hand it might help to reduce the use of the conversation device, which
requires Yu to engage in dialogues between himself and others, and slows the actor to a peddling pace
when he might be soaring. Where possible, converting those exchanges into longer monologue passages
that reveal plot, ideas, prejudices, etc. through character would break things up. It would also give Yu
deserved breathing room to ripen these other voices into individuals. He already does a lot fleshing out
what he can within the quick-change rhythm of “he said, she said” back-and-forths.
That said, the play and production are a beautifully realized window into a scandalous episode of
hypocrisy. Sakata’s intersecting of Quaker and American ideals juxtaposes two systems that are inherently
about equanimity. The haunting opening, made almost hypnotic by John Zalewski’s sublime sound design is
one of those great coming together moments in theater: Yu’s no-nonsense delivery, softened by the actor’s
easy accessibility, presenting Sakata’s serious exploration of the idea of ‘self-evident’ truths, within a visual
context of art-museum beauty is unforgettable. Not surprisingly, it returns to bookend the show.
These scenes, like the show as a whole, not only encourage us to better see the crime done to the
Japanese-Americans of the mid-20th Century, but also to look past them to the horizon ahead. The framers
of the constitution chose those words ‘self-evident truths’ carefully. In a sense it was a way of exonerating
themselves as revolutionaries: ‘We’re not making this up: everybody knows it.’ Well, everybody knew it was
wrong to intern Japanese Americans 60 years ago, and everybody knows it’s wrong to incarcerate people
without charges today. And, it will always be wrong to engage in systematic torture of prisoners. It’s never
just about the accused. It’s always about the accuser, too. As Sakata’s title allows, collective
consciousness may never proceed past the state of mere dawning. But it’s for the artists like her,
Kubzansky and Yu, to make sure our focus is drawn in the direction of the light.
Gordan Hirabayashi
by Jeanne Sakata, directed by Jessica Kubzansky
East West Players • November 1-December 2, 2007 (Opened, rev. 11/7) World premiere
WITH Ryun Yu (Martin Yu, u.s.) PRODUCTION Maiko Nezu, set/projections; Soojin Lee, costumes; Jeremy
Pivnick, lights; John Zalewski, sound; Nate Genung, stage management
Gordon Hirabayashi grew up just like millions of first generation Americans. His
parents leaned on the language of their homeland but learned English as they insisted
it be their children’s native tongue. He embraced his country’s freedom of religion and
association, both of which he grounded in the Quaker concept of friendship. He would
pursue both education and romance as a free man, not as some gerrymandered
hyphenate. However, as with all people of color in America, otherness would be forced
back upon him from birth, and his calling card in society would be his genetic code.
Then, with the outbreak of World War II, he and his family, his community and the Japanese American
population, would be further ostracized, distanced from all other immigrant segments and citizens of color.
In response to attacks by the nation of Japan, naturalized and native-born Americans of Japanese descent
were uprooted and boxed away in rough camps hidden in inhospitable areas across the country. Ironically,
Hirabayashi's ingrained reverence for his country -- or at least its stated principles -- only deepened under
the indignities and, after first becoming an obstacle to the incarceration process, he would become an
advocate for the trampled U.S. Constitution, eventually standing for justice before the justices the U.S.
Supreme Court.
In ‘Dawn’s Light: The Journey of Gordan Hirabayashi,’ receiving its world premiere at East West Players
through December 2, first-time playwright Jeanne Sakata turns this extraordinary story into a detailed play
for one actor. A faithful and inventive staging by Jessica Kubzansky sets up a showcase for the
considerable talents of Ryun Yu, who inhabits Hirabayashi as well as the male and female people who
played roles in his life.
‘Dawn’s Light’ is set upon Maiko Nezu’s visual haiku. Simple, textured lines full of resonance set off an
upstage surface where beautiful black and white photography unobtrusively assists the storytelling. Yu
himself does the minimal set adjusting: sliding an angled panel of rough wood from use as a sign to a
position as an internment wall or a court chamber. He frequently rearranges two wooden chairs that recall
the unflinching simplicity of Quaker design and philosophy.
The label that this is “inspired by a true story” seems to be more for legal than literary purposes. As Sakata
explains in a program note, ‘Dawn’s Light’ “is a work blending historical fact with fiction, and certain actual
events have been compressed or altered in terms of chronology or content for dramatic purposes.” While
such disclosure could give detractors a toe-hold on dismissal, there is little indication that the key dramatic
events that stretch this 95-minute one-actor one-act have compromised the scope or importance of what is
being described.
Sakata has set herself a significant challenge and realized it in great measure. However, even at an hour
and a half, and despite the always-engaging work of Yu and Nezu’s and Kubzansky’s images and ideas, it
falls into a midsection slowness that suggests there may be 10 minutes worth of pruning to be found in the
narrative folds. On the other hand it might help to reduce the use of the conversation device, which
requires Yu to engage in dialogues between himself and others, and slows the actor to a peddling pace
when he might be soaring. Where possible, converting those exchanges into longer monologue passages
that reveal plot, ideas, prejudices, etc. through character would break things up. It would also give Yu
deserved breathing room to ripen these other voices into individuals. He already does a lot fleshing out
what he can within the quick-change rhythm of “he said, she said” back-and-forths.
That said, the play and production are a beautifully realized window into a scandalous episode of
hypocrisy. Sakata’s intersecting of Quaker and American ideals juxtaposes two systems that are inherently
about equanimity. The haunting opening, made almost hypnotic by John Zalewski’s sublime sound design is
one of those great coming together moments in theater: Yu’s no-nonsense delivery, softened by the actor’s
easy accessibility, presenting Sakata’s serious exploration of the idea of ‘self-evident’ truths, within a visual
context of art-museum beauty is unforgettable. Not surprisingly, it returns to bookend the show.
These scenes, like the show as a whole, not only encourage us to better see the crime done to the
Japanese-Americans of the mid-20th Century, but also to look past them to the horizon ahead. The framers
of the constitution chose those words ‘self-evident truths’ carefully. In a sense it was a way of exonerating
themselves as revolutionaries: ‘We’re not making this up: everybody knows it.’ Well, everybody knew it was
wrong to intern Japanese Americans 60 years ago, and everybody knows it’s wrong to incarcerate people
without charges today. And, it will always be wrong to engage in systematic torture of prisoners. It’s never
just about the accused. It’s always about the accuser, too. As Sakata’s title allows, collective
consciousness may never proceed past the state of mere dawning. But it’s for the artists like her,
Kubzansky and Yu, to make sure our focus is drawn in the direction of the light.
| THEATER TIMES REVIEWS NOVEMBER 2007 |
Ryun Yu
PHOTO MICHAEL LAMONT
PHOTO MICHAEL LAMONT
T H E A T E R T I M E S . O R G
Tonight at 8:30 (Part I - 'If Love Were All')
by Noel Coward, directed by William Ludel, Michael Murray, Stephanie Shroyer
Antaeus Theater Company / Deaf West • October 20-December 23 (Opened, rev'd 10/28e)
WITH Englishmen [reviewed] – Brooke Bloom, Bill Brochtrup, Michael Reilly Burke, Anne Gee Byrd, Emily
Chase, Shannon Holt, Micheal McShane, Nathan Patrick, Philip Proctor, Ray Porter, Kirsten Potter, Ned
Schmidtke, Armin Shimerman, Susan Sullivan, Kitty Swink, Glen Banks (piano), alternating with Mad Dogs
– Steven Brand, Josh Clark, JD Cullum, Nike Doukas, Faye Grant, Jeanie Hackett, Melinda Peterson,
Christina Pickles, Lawrence Pressman, Philip Proctor, Devon Sorvri, Ryan Spahn, Amelia White, Bernard
White, Matthew Goldsby (piano) • PRODUCTION John Iacovelli, set; A Jeffrey Schoenberg, costumes;
Jose Lopez, lights; John Zalewski, sound; Matt Goldsby, musical director; Kay Cole, choreography, Tracy
Winters, dialects; Young Ji/Rita Cofield, stage management
Audience members immediately feel like insiders as they arrive for ‘If Love Were All,’
the first half of the Antaeus Theater Company’s two-part staging of Noel Coward one-
acts (through December 23 at Deaf West Theatre). A ghost light guards the apron of a
stage carefully set with the kind of between-production nonchalance the public seldom
sees. To Glen Banks’ upright accompaniment, company member Philip Proctor
rehearses one of the playwright’s music hall tunes: ‘Please, Mrs. Worthington, don’t
put your daughter on the stage.’ Thankfully, it's a plea that went unheeded by the 44
mothers of the ensemble who make up this great acting company.
‘Tonight at 8:30” consists of eight one-acts divided equally between Part One, ‘If Love Were All’ (reviewed
here) and Part Two, ‘Call of the Wild’ (opening November 10). Coward actually wrote 10 one-acts, and the
remaining two – including a West Coast premiere – will be presented in special events during the run. This
first quartet shows the range of interests, styles and achievement in these lesser-known, short-form
examples of Coward’s writing.
“If Love Were All” opens with a backstage comedy of colliding actor egos (‘Star Chamber,’ directed by
William Ludel) and ends with a drawing room comedy of mistaken identities and misplaced persons (“Hands
Across the Sea,” directed by Michael Murray). In between, the two pieces that straddle the intermission
are, first, a hilariously mannered and warmly forgiving look at the sometimes bad timing of sexual obsession
(‘We Were Dancing,’ Murray again) and then a surprisingly dark look at the same dilemma (‘The Astonished
Heart,’ directed by Stephanie Shroyer).
‘Star Chamber’ is a chamber piece for actors, to be played allegro, without rests or digging for depth. Ludel
obliges with well-modulated spinning of the hamster wheel that takes us on a wild ride before letting us back
off where we got on. There are plenty of high points along the way, however, in this non-story about a
real-time meeting of a theater board easily bored with running a theater -- or even a meeting.
Susan Sullivan displays a natural talent for the style, which she will use to even greater effect in the better-
written final piece. Michael McShane’s unfunny funnyman character offers some minor opportunities for the
bittersweet, but McShane has mixed results shifting Johnny’s weight between delivering and being the
punch line of the jokes. The rest of the ensemble is packed with more tastiness than Mrs. Gump’s chocolate
box, including Anne Gee Byrd, Ned Schmidtke, Bill Brochtrup, Kitty Swink, Ray Porter and Nathan Patrick, all
of whom appear in three of four plays. Brooke Bloom, listed as a member of the Antaeus Academy, is a
stand-out as she delivers an envelop-pushing performance that stays in control and earns her her place
among these veterans. And, a big tummy-rub goes out to the scene-stealing Bravo, who, as Atherton,
performed an acrobatic Iron Cross for his big exit.
'We Were Dancing,’ the most resonant piece of the evening, provides a tongue-in-cheek exploration of the
aftermath of instant infatuation. A bachelor and another man’s wife are head-over-heels in love following a
dreamy dance at an elegant ball. After watching them follow their hearts beyond any propriety or reason,
we get to hear the instigating song. That’s when we see, in a way, that they were merely acting out the
kind of take no prisoners passion that is the backbone of romantic fiction and popular song. Though it has a
cast of eight, ‘We Were Dancing’ focuses on four characters played by Byrd, Schmidtke and Brochtrup in
their second appearances, and Emily Chase in her only outing. Chase’s Louise, younger wife of Schmidtke’s
Hubert, discovers that an innocent dance with the dashing Brochtrup has suddenly turned her world upside
down. With exquisite timing, Chase and Brochtrup surrender to what we simultaneously see as both utter
foolishness and life’s greatest reward. With total conviction they tell Hubert, a wonderfully grounded
Schmidtke, and his sister, Byrd in another spot-on characterization, that they are in love and will spend the
rest of their lives together. Needless to say, the romance does not last a lifetime, but memories of this
delightfully executed bit of comic insight likely will.
The one non-comedy is the adventurous ‘Astonished Heart,’ starring a colorful Shannon Holt as another
longtime wife, Michael Reilly Burke as her doctor husband, and Kirsten Potter. It’s a triangle mildly
reminiscent of ‘Constant Wife,’ except that Potter’s temptress is an intelligent force to be reckoned with. It
doesn’t land with the gravity intended and that may rest with the men: Coward for over-complicating some
of the relationships with a time-travel construction (though Shroyer cleverly minimizes the confusion), and
Burke, who plays the office-bound doctor with a retreating nature in the early going that may not serve the
arc. He does burst forth late in the act but by that time we have missed a lot of the nuance underlying his
duplicity. For her part, Holt drives the story well, creating so much distance between this character and her
minor role in ‘Chamber’ as to create one of the evening’s great chameleonic treats. And Potter, who we
raved about in ‘As You Like It’ last year, shows her range with a completely different characterization.
With the evening’s final piece, ‘Hands Across the Sea,’ Coward is back to his strength with a wonderful
romp that ends the evening on a very high note indeed. Here the versatile Byrd is teamed with Dr, Proctor
(who creates a hilarious sideshow of his own as he interacts with a powerfully seductive martini) as a
couple visiting acquaintances. Swink sinks her teeth into the part of Clare and seems to have as much fun
as she provides. Again, the ensemble is so strong that it’s unfair to single anyone out. Still, Sullivan really
puts on a clinic for stage comedians, getting every laugh without ever having to reach for one. It’s the top
highlight in an evening of highlights.
But then, another equally talented cast is in the wings to perform the same four plays on another night! And,
if that doesn’t drop the collective jaw, two more casts await to alternate in the four plays of ‘Call of the
Wild.’ America will probably never get a national theater, but L.A.'s own theatrical phenomenon offers
audiences 44 dance partners that should have them as smitten by the Antaeus ensemble as Ms. Chase’s
Louise is with Brochtrup's Karl.
Compliments to John Iacovelli for a set as versatile as the folks occupying it, A Jeffrey Schoenberg for
period perfect costumes, and Jose Lopez for his all-manner-of lighting. A special nod to those who gave
that 'Dancing' episode (and the rest) its grace: John Zalewski for sound, Matt Goldsby for musical direction
and Kay Cole for the choreography.
by Noel Coward, directed by William Ludel, Michael Murray, Stephanie Shroyer
Antaeus Theater Company / Deaf West • October 20-December 23 (Opened, rev'd 10/28e)
WITH Englishmen [reviewed] – Brooke Bloom, Bill Brochtrup, Michael Reilly Burke, Anne Gee Byrd, Emily
Chase, Shannon Holt, Micheal McShane, Nathan Patrick, Philip Proctor, Ray Porter, Kirsten Potter, Ned
Schmidtke, Armin Shimerman, Susan Sullivan, Kitty Swink, Glen Banks (piano), alternating with Mad Dogs
– Steven Brand, Josh Clark, JD Cullum, Nike Doukas, Faye Grant, Jeanie Hackett, Melinda Peterson,
Christina Pickles, Lawrence Pressman, Philip Proctor, Devon Sorvri, Ryan Spahn, Amelia White, Bernard
White, Matthew Goldsby (piano) • PRODUCTION John Iacovelli, set; A Jeffrey Schoenberg, costumes;
Jose Lopez, lights; John Zalewski, sound; Matt Goldsby, musical director; Kay Cole, choreography, Tracy
Winters, dialects; Young Ji/Rita Cofield, stage management
Audience members immediately feel like insiders as they arrive for ‘If Love Were All,’
the first half of the Antaeus Theater Company’s two-part staging of Noel Coward one-
acts (through December 23 at Deaf West Theatre). A ghost light guards the apron of a
stage carefully set with the kind of between-production nonchalance the public seldom
sees. To Glen Banks’ upright accompaniment, company member Philip Proctor
rehearses one of the playwright’s music hall tunes: ‘Please, Mrs. Worthington, don’t
put your daughter on the stage.’ Thankfully, it's a plea that went unheeded by the 44
mothers of the ensemble who make up this great acting company.
‘Tonight at 8:30” consists of eight one-acts divided equally between Part One, ‘If Love Were All’ (reviewed
here) and Part Two, ‘Call of the Wild’ (opening November 10). Coward actually wrote 10 one-acts, and the
remaining two – including a West Coast premiere – will be presented in special events during the run. This
first quartet shows the range of interests, styles and achievement in these lesser-known, short-form
examples of Coward’s writing.
“If Love Were All” opens with a backstage comedy of colliding actor egos (‘Star Chamber,’ directed by
William Ludel) and ends with a drawing room comedy of mistaken identities and misplaced persons (“Hands
Across the Sea,” directed by Michael Murray). In between, the two pieces that straddle the intermission
are, first, a hilariously mannered and warmly forgiving look at the sometimes bad timing of sexual obsession
(‘We Were Dancing,’ Murray again) and then a surprisingly dark look at the same dilemma (‘The Astonished
Heart,’ directed by Stephanie Shroyer).
‘Star Chamber’ is a chamber piece for actors, to be played allegro, without rests or digging for depth. Ludel
obliges with well-modulated spinning of the hamster wheel that takes us on a wild ride before letting us back
off where we got on. There are plenty of high points along the way, however, in this non-story about a
real-time meeting of a theater board easily bored with running a theater -- or even a meeting.
Susan Sullivan displays a natural talent for the style, which she will use to even greater effect in the better-
written final piece. Michael McShane’s unfunny funnyman character offers some minor opportunities for the
bittersweet, but McShane has mixed results shifting Johnny’s weight between delivering and being the
punch line of the jokes. The rest of the ensemble is packed with more tastiness than Mrs. Gump’s chocolate
box, including Anne Gee Byrd, Ned Schmidtke, Bill Brochtrup, Kitty Swink, Ray Porter and Nathan Patrick, all
of whom appear in three of four plays. Brooke Bloom, listed as a member of the Antaeus Academy, is a
stand-out as she delivers an envelop-pushing performance that stays in control and earns her her place
among these veterans. And, a big tummy-rub goes out to the scene-stealing Bravo, who, as Atherton,
performed an acrobatic Iron Cross for his big exit.
'We Were Dancing,’ the most resonant piece of the evening, provides a tongue-in-cheek exploration of the
aftermath of instant infatuation. A bachelor and another man’s wife are head-over-heels in love following a
dreamy dance at an elegant ball. After watching them follow their hearts beyond any propriety or reason,
we get to hear the instigating song. That’s when we see, in a way, that they were merely acting out the
kind of take no prisoners passion that is the backbone of romantic fiction and popular song. Though it has a
cast of eight, ‘We Were Dancing’ focuses on four characters played by Byrd, Schmidtke and Brochtrup in
their second appearances, and Emily Chase in her only outing. Chase’s Louise, younger wife of Schmidtke’s
Hubert, discovers that an innocent dance with the dashing Brochtrup has suddenly turned her world upside
down. With exquisite timing, Chase and Brochtrup surrender to what we simultaneously see as both utter
foolishness and life’s greatest reward. With total conviction they tell Hubert, a wonderfully grounded
Schmidtke, and his sister, Byrd in another spot-on characterization, that they are in love and will spend the
rest of their lives together. Needless to say, the romance does not last a lifetime, but memories of this
delightfully executed bit of comic insight likely will.
The one non-comedy is the adventurous ‘Astonished Heart,’ starring a colorful Shannon Holt as another
longtime wife, Michael Reilly Burke as her doctor husband, and Kirsten Potter. It’s a triangle mildly
reminiscent of ‘Constant Wife,’ except that Potter’s temptress is an intelligent force to be reckoned with. It
doesn’t land with the gravity intended and that may rest with the men: Coward for over-complicating some
of the relationships with a time-travel construction (though Shroyer cleverly minimizes the confusion), and
Burke, who plays the office-bound doctor with a retreating nature in the early going that may not serve the
arc. He does burst forth late in the act but by that time we have missed a lot of the nuance underlying his
duplicity. For her part, Holt drives the story well, creating so much distance between this character and her
minor role in ‘Chamber’ as to create one of the evening’s great chameleonic treats. And Potter, who we
raved about in ‘As You Like It’ last year, shows her range with a completely different characterization.
With the evening’s final piece, ‘Hands Across the Sea,’ Coward is back to his strength with a wonderful
romp that ends the evening on a very high note indeed. Here the versatile Byrd is teamed with Dr, Proctor
(who creates a hilarious sideshow of his own as he interacts with a powerfully seductive martini) as a
couple visiting acquaintances. Swink sinks her teeth into the part of Clare and seems to have as much fun
as she provides. Again, the ensemble is so strong that it’s unfair to single anyone out. Still, Sullivan really
puts on a clinic for stage comedians, getting every laugh without ever having to reach for one. It’s the top
highlight in an evening of highlights.
But then, another equally talented cast is in the wings to perform the same four plays on another night! And,
if that doesn’t drop the collective jaw, two more casts await to alternate in the four plays of ‘Call of the
Wild.’ America will probably never get a national theater, but L.A.'s own theatrical phenomenon offers
audiences 44 dance partners that should have them as smitten by the Antaeus ensemble as Ms. Chase’s
Louise is with Brochtrup's Karl.
Compliments to John Iacovelli for a set as versatile as the folks occupying it, A Jeffrey Schoenberg for
period perfect costumes, and Jose Lopez for his all-manner-of lighting. A special nod to those who gave
that 'Dancing' episode (and the rest) its grace: John Zalewski for sound, Matt Goldsby for musical direction
and Kay Cole for the choreography.
Kitty Swink
Ray Porter
Bill Brochtrup
Susan Sullivan
Clockwise from top left
PHOTO MICHELE K. SHORT
Ray Porter
Bill Brochtrup
Susan Sullivan
Clockwise from top left
PHOTO MICHELE K. SHORT
T H E A T E R T I M E S . O R G
Atlanta, the musical
Geffen Playhouse
Unknown Theatre Company
La Jolla Playhouse
East West Players
A Noise Within
Laguna Playhouse
Pasadena Playhouse
Antaeus Theatre Company
Antaeus Theatre Company
Geffen Playhouse
Unknown Theatre Company
La Jolla Playhouse
East West Players
A Noise Within
Laguna Playhouse
Pasadena Playhouse
Antaeus Theatre Company
Antaeus Theatre Company
Dear Brutus
by J.M. Barrie, directed by Julia Rodriguez-Elliott
A Noise Within • November 3-December 16, 2007 (Opened, rev’d 11/10e)
WITH Erin Bennett, Abby Craden, Mitchell Edmonds, Geoff Elliott, Jill Hill, William Dennis Hunt, Sally Smythe,
Deborah Strang, Bruce Turk, with Robert Towers and Jessica Berman PRODUCTION Michael C. Smith,
set; Soojin Lee, costumes; Ken Booth, lights; Rachel Myles, sound; Laura Karpman, music; Monica Lisa
Sabedra, hair/make-up, Nike Doukas, dialects; Rebecca Dove Baillie/Liza Tognazzini, stage management
Allusions to Shakespeare, parlor game plotting, and a flopped-image mirroring of his
famous 1904 ‘Peter Pan’ give a sense of playfulness to J.M. Barrie’s ‘Dear Brutus,’
rounding out A Noise Within’s three-play repertory through December 16. But that
should not obscure the weightier themes that Barrie has buried, like bittersweet
nougat, at the center of the confection.
Co-Artistic Director Julia Rodriguez-Elliott has sensitized a top ANW ensemble of actors and designers to
ring both ends of this emotional scale. They’ve executed things so well, in fact, that houses may slide off
the swing as it arcs from comedy-of-manners silliness at one extreme to half-empty melancholy at the
other. Still, audiences who can take the ride will leave the theater half-filled with escapism and half-filled
with nourishment.
In English letters, Barrie’s creations stand with Lewis Carroll’s as singularly iconic. Like the worlds Alice
found beyond the looking glass and rabbit hole, Barrie’s Neverland continues to provide children with
colorful coordinates for their developing imaginations more than a century later. Thirteen years after Barrie's
timeless fantasy about eternal childhood debuted in London, he returned to the aging theme from another
angle. ‘Dear Brutus’ is set in a childless environment: there are no children in the story, and there are none
even referenced by all the adults. The exception is Lob (Robert Towers, a casting bulls-eye), a tiny man of
indeterminate age.
Before getting into the script’s merits, which predominate, a quick word about its weakness, which may
explain why it is so seldom staged. The boyish Barrie has taken some shortcuts to get to the fun part. To
assemble the properly disparate characters required for the plot, he brings the community’s saddest sorts
together in the house of its oddest. As one character points out: “We have been here a week, and we find
that when Lob invited us he knew us all so little that we begin to wonder why he asked us.” Barrie seems
to have had little interest in justifying his set up. It's unlikely people who are filled with the requisite regret
would willingly oblige such blind-siding.
But with that quibble nibbled, we happily hoist our suspenders of disbelief back to our clavicles, and enjoy
the ride. The view is another triumph from scenic designer Michael C. Smith, who creates a world of lush
mystery and uncertainty. With lighting designer Ken Booth, they conjure up a nice trick with stage smoke to
make it appear a mist has settled above the stage floor. Soojin Lee adds another two racks of detailed
costumes to her impressive Fall Collection (previewed in ANW's ‘Winter’s Tale'). Rachel Myles’ sound and
Laura Karpman’s music provide sonic accompaniment while the actors look and sound natural thanks to
Monica Lisa Sabedra's hair and make-up and Nike Doukas’ guidance with dialects.
Lob, hiding his powers under a chosen name that in British slang means a dimwit, could be an aging Peter
Pan, in the way Barrie, who was 57 when the play premiered, saw himself. But to not appear he was
riding Peter's kite-tails, Barrie instead models Lob after Puck. In fact, one character recalls hearing him
referred to as Robin Goodfellow. Another says villagers “remember him 70 years ago, looking just as he
does today.” Then again, there are possible ties to Peter's world. Lob's valet, Matey (William Dennis Hunt),
could be Captain Hook’s First Mate, Starkey, brought back in servitude (which would explain his compulsive
stealing.)
The play begins at 10 p.m. on Midsummer Night’s eve. Matey has leaked that Lob may suggest a trip to a
mysterious wood, but insists they not go. These house-bound guests, anxious for adventure, are not to be
deprived. They will leave as soon as Barrie introduces us to Mr. and Mrs. Dearth (Geoff Elliott and Deborah
Strang), Mr. and Mrs. Coade (Mitchell Edmonds and Sally Smythe), Mr. and Mrs. Purdie (Bruce Turk and Jill
Hill), and the unattached Joanna Trout (Abby Craden) and Lady Caroline Laney (Erin Bennett).
The Purdies have a lackluster marriage with a hole in its boat-bottom. Squeezed in on the incoming water is
Miss Trout. Barrie shifts the writing pace to light farce for the Purdies' love-triangle scene with Joanna. Like
'Midsummer' mechanicals, they are delightfully dim, and Craden, Turk and especially Hill bring off the
comedy nicely. Though our house wasn’t quite ready to make the stylistic leap so quickly, the actors will
likely learn to trigger them early enough to permit full enjoyment.
We briefly glimpse the other guests' humdrum lives and lack of fulfillment. As intermission nears, the group
starts off for the wood, but Mr. Dearth, who seems to have done this before, eagerly reveals a better way.
A man with a secret life, and looking a little like Barrie under his mustache, Elliott's Dearth opens the lanai and
everyone except Lob and Mrs. Coade trips into the wood. Rodriguez-Elliott and Smith have fashioned the
trees as columns, to remind us that fantasy is a product of human imagination, not the natural world. The
wood represents, literally, what ‘would’ have happened if people had chosen another, presumably harder
but more rewarding path. As Matey explains, “I am not bad naturally. . . . It's touch and go how the poor
turn out in this world; all depends on your taking the right or the wrong turning.”
Timeless plays are as independent of their author’s life stories as moon landers are of the mine fields that
produced their raw materials. And yet, some dimensions of a story are only understood by understanding
the writer’s background. J.M. Barrie, endearingly brought to life by Johnny Depp in 2004’s ‘Finding
Neverland,’ had a dissatisfying personal life. At age 6 his 13-year-old brother David died. While David's
disappearance left him eternally young, it may have intensified Barrie's embrace of his own childhood and
antipathy towards death.
Barrie never had children of his own. And although he gained shared custody of a friends' four boys, one
suspects that the artist Dearth silently suffers an emptiness that Barrie endured. While much of 'Dear
Brutus' is a great parlor game, as we watch the spellbound guests return from the wood and wonder how
many secrets they'll expose before their trances drop, the heart of the play rests heavily in the scene
between the childless painter and his imagined daughter Margaret (Jessica Berman). The scene could seem
unnecessarily long if its connection to Barrie's philosophy and personal life were not understood.
Credit Berman in her brief appearance with helping to draw together the extremes of Barrie's vision. She
and the director let that final parting between never-to-be parent Dearth and his make-believe child be
honestly painful. It gives this cautionary tale its heft. Don't let opportunity pass, said Barrie, who called
Peter Pan's fantasy paradise "Never" land for good reason. Imagination can take you only so far. In reality,
if you have to make it happen, or live with regrets.
by J.M. Barrie, directed by Julia Rodriguez-Elliott
A Noise Within • November 3-December 16, 2007 (Opened, rev’d 11/10e)
WITH Erin Bennett, Abby Craden, Mitchell Edmonds, Geoff Elliott, Jill Hill, William Dennis Hunt, Sally Smythe,
Deborah Strang, Bruce Turk, with Robert Towers and Jessica Berman PRODUCTION Michael C. Smith,
set; Soojin Lee, costumes; Ken Booth, lights; Rachel Myles, sound; Laura Karpman, music; Monica Lisa
Sabedra, hair/make-up, Nike Doukas, dialects; Rebecca Dove Baillie/Liza Tognazzini, stage management
Allusions to Shakespeare, parlor game plotting, and a flopped-image mirroring of his
famous 1904 ‘Peter Pan’ give a sense of playfulness to J.M. Barrie’s ‘Dear Brutus,’
rounding out A Noise Within’s three-play repertory through December 16. But that
should not obscure the weightier themes that Barrie has buried, like bittersweet
nougat, at the center of the confection.
Co-Artistic Director Julia Rodriguez-Elliott has sensitized a top ANW ensemble of actors and designers to
ring both ends of this emotional scale. They’ve executed things so well, in fact, that houses may slide off
the swing as it arcs from comedy-of-manners silliness at one extreme to half-empty melancholy at the
other. Still, audiences who can take the ride will leave the theater half-filled with escapism and half-filled
with nourishment.
In English letters, Barrie’s creations stand with Lewis Carroll’s as singularly iconic. Like the worlds Alice
found beyond the looking glass and rabbit hole, Barrie’s Neverland continues to provide children with
colorful coordinates for their developing imaginations more than a century later. Thirteen years after Barrie's
timeless fantasy about eternal childhood debuted in London, he returned to the aging theme from another
angle. ‘Dear Brutus’ is set in a childless environment: there are no children in the story, and there are none
even referenced by all the adults. The exception is Lob (Robert Towers, a casting bulls-eye), a tiny man of
indeterminate age.
Before getting into the script’s merits, which predominate, a quick word about its weakness, which may
explain why it is so seldom staged. The boyish Barrie has taken some shortcuts to get to the fun part. To
assemble the properly disparate characters required for the plot, he brings the community’s saddest sorts
together in the house of its oddest. As one character points out: “We have been here a week, and we find
that when Lob invited us he knew us all so little that we begin to wonder why he asked us.” Barrie seems
to have had little interest in justifying his set up. It's unlikely people who are filled with the requisite regret
would willingly oblige such blind-siding.
But with that quibble nibbled, we happily hoist our suspenders of disbelief back to our clavicles, and enjoy
the ride. The view is another triumph from scenic designer Michael C. Smith, who creates a world of lush
mystery and uncertainty. With lighting designer Ken Booth, they conjure up a nice trick with stage smoke to
make it appear a mist has settled above the stage floor. Soojin Lee adds another two racks of detailed
costumes to her impressive Fall Collection (previewed in ANW's ‘Winter’s Tale'). Rachel Myles’ sound and
Laura Karpman’s music provide sonic accompaniment while the actors look and sound natural thanks to
Monica Lisa Sabedra's hair and make-up and Nike Doukas’ guidance with dialects.
Lob, hiding his powers under a chosen name that in British slang means a dimwit, could be an aging Peter
Pan, in the way Barrie, who was 57 when the play premiered, saw himself. But to not appear he was
riding Peter's kite-tails, Barrie instead models Lob after Puck. In fact, one character recalls hearing him
referred to as Robin Goodfellow. Another says villagers “remember him 70 years ago, looking just as he
does today.” Then again, there are possible ties to Peter's world. Lob's valet, Matey (William Dennis Hunt),
could be Captain Hook’s First Mate, Starkey, brought back in servitude (which would explain his compulsive
stealing.)
The play begins at 10 p.m. on Midsummer Night’s eve. Matey has leaked that Lob may suggest a trip to a
mysterious wood, but insists they not go. These house-bound guests, anxious for adventure, are not to be
deprived. They will leave as soon as Barrie introduces us to Mr. and Mrs. Dearth (Geoff Elliott and Deborah
Strang), Mr. and Mrs. Coade (Mitchell Edmonds and Sally Smythe), Mr. and Mrs. Purdie (Bruce Turk and Jill
Hill), and the unattached Joanna Trout (Abby Craden) and Lady Caroline Laney (Erin Bennett).
The Purdies have a lackluster marriage with a hole in its boat-bottom. Squeezed in on the incoming water is
Miss Trout. Barrie shifts the writing pace to light farce for the Purdies' love-triangle scene with Joanna. Like
'Midsummer' mechanicals, they are delightfully dim, and Craden, Turk and especially Hill bring off the
comedy nicely. Though our house wasn’t quite ready to make the stylistic leap so quickly, the actors will
likely learn to trigger them early enough to permit full enjoyment.
We briefly glimpse the other guests' humdrum lives and lack of fulfillment. As intermission nears, the group
starts off for the wood, but Mr. Dearth, who seems to have done this before, eagerly reveals a better way.
A man with a secret life, and looking a little like Barrie under his mustache, Elliott's Dearth opens the lanai and
everyone except Lob and Mrs. Coade trips into the wood. Rodriguez-Elliott and Smith have fashioned the
trees as columns, to remind us that fantasy is a product of human imagination, not the natural world. The
wood represents, literally, what ‘would’ have happened if people had chosen another, presumably harder
but more rewarding path. As Matey explains, “I am not bad naturally. . . . It's touch and go how the poor
turn out in this world; all depends on your taking the right or the wrong turning.”
Timeless plays are as independent of their author’s life stories as moon landers are of the mine fields that
produced their raw materials. And yet, some dimensions of a story are only understood by understanding
the writer’s background. J.M. Barrie, endearingly brought to life by Johnny Depp in 2004’s ‘Finding
Neverland,’ had a dissatisfying personal life. At age 6 his 13-year-old brother David died. While David's
disappearance left him eternally young, it may have intensified Barrie's embrace of his own childhood and
antipathy towards death.
Barrie never had children of his own. And although he gained shared custody of a friends' four boys, one
suspects that the artist Dearth silently suffers an emptiness that Barrie endured. While much of 'Dear
Brutus' is a great parlor game, as we watch the spellbound guests return from the wood and wonder how
many secrets they'll expose before their trances drop, the heart of the play rests heavily in the scene
between the childless painter and his imagined daughter Margaret (Jessica Berman). The scene could seem
unnecessarily long if its connection to Barrie's philosophy and personal life were not understood.
Credit Berman in her brief appearance with helping to draw together the extremes of Barrie's vision. She
and the director let that final parting between never-to-be parent Dearth and his make-believe child be
honestly painful. It gives this cautionary tale its heft. Don't let opportunity pass, said Barrie, who called
Peter Pan's fantasy paradise "Never" land for good reason. Imagination can take you only so far. In reality,
if you have to make it happen, or live with regrets.
Jessica Berman
Geoff Elliott
PHOTO CRAIG SCHWARTZ
Geoff Elliott
PHOTO CRAIG SCHWARTZ
T H E A T E R T I M E S . O R G
Ray Charles Live!
book by Suzan-Lori Parks, directed by Sheldon Epps
Rahn Coleman, music supervision and direction, vocal and musical arrangements by; Harold Wheeler,
orchestrations; Eric Butler, conductor; Kenneth L. Roberson, choreography; Zane Mark, dance arrangements
Pasadena Playhouse • October 31– December 9, 2007 (Opened, rev’d. 11/9) World premiere
WITH Brandon Victor Dixon, Nikki Renee Daniels, and NRaca, Phillip Attmore, Matthew Benjamin, Aaron
Brown, Christopher Brown, Yvette Cason, Meloney Collins, Tara Cook, Wilkie Ferguson, Dionne Figgins,
Matthew Koehler, Sylvia MacCalla, Yusuf Nasir, Maceo Oliver, Jeremiah Whitfield-Pearson, Sabrina Sloan,
Leslie Stevens, Daniel Tatar, Angela Teek, Rocklin Thompson, Ricke Vermont, Harrison White •
PRODUCTION Riccardo Hernandez, set; Paul Tazewell, costumes; Donald Holder, lights; Carl Casella and
Domonic Sack, sound; Austin Switzer, video; Charles G. LePointe, hair/wigs; Lurie Horns Pfeffer/Conwell
Worthington III, stage management
With a title straight off a Vegas marquee, the world premiere of Suzan-Lori Parks’ ‘Ray
Charles Live!,’ at the Pasadena Playhouse through December 9, adds theater’s take on
the seminal performer’s life and music to those of non-fiction literature and motion
pictures. Where the best book, Charles’ own ‘Brother Ray,’ let him whisper his story
in our inner ears and the blockbuster film ‘Ray’ mixed a cinematographic documentary
with a sometimes tabloid vibe, ‘Ray Charles Live!’ shows the unique power of theater
to weave a dramatic narrative through a virtual live concert.
Charles’ life was a rags-to-riches success story. He climbed to the top of a music business he helped
redefine, all the while fighting the side-battles of blindness and blackness in America. By breaking the seal
on the sacred sounds of gospel, and letting them walk the street with the blues, he alienated chunks of the
white and black communities. But he helped forge the soul music that did as much as anything in the 1900s
to work the truths within African-American music into the general culture. Appropriately, his two 'Live!"
collaborators have established their own records of reaching wider audiences without sacrificing:
playwright Parks won a Pulitzer for her unflinching yet artful look at racism in ‘Topdog/Underdog,’ and Epps
increasingly offers his Pasadena Playhouse as an institutional launch pad for work socially ambitious works.
The play is set after Charles’ death at the age of 73 in 2004. Consequently, the title has two meanings: it's a
live performance by someone who must return from beyond to make the gig. The deal he struck to get here
isn’t important. He is back in a recording studio to lay tracks for a final 'Greatest Hits' record while setting his
permanent record straight. The famous Atlantic Records’ producer Tom Dowd, who died two years before
Charles, is back at the board, mixing a pit band under the baton of Eric Butler. The musicians have a place
of honor across an upstage platform, and serve as both Charles’ live concert accompaniment and session
players. The live album will be a "life" album: working Charles’ greatest hits into his life story. But the tunes,
when appropriate, will be sequenced to fit key characters and key moments to build the record’s other
component, an oral history.
The tour guide for the show is Charles’ mid-career persona, played by Brandon Victor Dixon. Jeremiah
Whitfield-Pearson plays him as a child in Georgia and Wilkie Ferguson beautifully handles four songs as ‘RC,’
the emerging talent in his late teens, early adult years. The person who shaped him most, his mother Retha,
is given warmth and backbone by Yvette Cason, who delivers her songs powerfully, especially a heart-
breaking version of Henry Glover’s “Drown in My Own Tears” after the drowning death of Ray’s little
brother. We meet Quincy Jones (Phillip Attmore), a life-long friend who met Charles in Seattle, but is little
more than name-dropped here, and David “Fathead” Newman (Ricke Vermont), who has a lot more stage
time as a bandmember. Other musicians, bandleaders and music industry folks are represented, notably
Atlantic founder Ahmet Ertegun (Daniel Tatar, back in Pasadena after ‘The Last Five Years’).
Of equal importance to the music, however, are the women in his life. Charles’ long-suffering wife Della B is
well-rounded and beautifully sung by Nikki Renee Daniels. And, as two of the his ‘road wives’ from the
back-up Raeletts, Angela Teek is a feisty Mary Ann Fisher, while Sabrina Sloan is a sultry, younger Margie
Hendricks.
Before Parks gets into the storytelling, however, she lets the man who would be Ray prove himself. The
curtain rises on a bandstand filled with players. The show-ready Charles is led to the piano and, after
introducing himself, takes his seat, tilts his head, and widens the signature smile-snarl that somehow spoke
his ecstasy and anger at once. As soon as he and the band launch into a thumping rendition of ‘What’d I
Say,’ it’s clear that Dixon knows Charles, vocally and instrumentally. (If he’s not playing the piano, it’s the
best fake job we’ve seen.)
With the popularity of the book and movie, it’s not necessary to trace the “plot” of ‘Ray Charles Live!’ The
usual subjects are covered, and Parks’ narrative conceit permits Charles to indulge in some free-range
storytelling, moving things around for dramatic contour and better effect. She doesn’t sugar-coat anything,
either, portraying Charles’ womanizing, his emotional neglect of Della and their sons, and his 17-year
addiction to heroin, which he kicked decades before he died but never apologized for using.
Still, there is a polished, restained quality to the piece that is inevitable with a Broadway-bound show: a
prettiness to things, an over-articulation to songs. When we feel the kind of roadhouse heat that could cook
this music to the searing point is in the Angela Teek numbers. This is not to sleight any of these fine
performers out there doing their job. Cason in particular is a treasure. So are Daniels and Sloan, especially
when they join Teek for the show-stopping “I Can’t Stop Lovin’ You.” But during those Teek solos, you may
hear a husky voice in the inner ear whisper, “That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”
Still, Dixon is so good that if the show settles in for a Broadway run in 2008 he could own New York. If so,
his key to the city will likely be his version of ‘Georgia.’ For one thing, it’s testament to the ability of Charles’
music and personality to triumph over ignorance, since it was adopted as official song for the same state
that once banned him after he protested its policy of segregated theaters. On the other hand, it’s Dixon
taking the master head on and delivering one of Charles’ most identifiable songs in a way that lets us
appreciate both the actor and the originator.
The company is deep with talent, but a couple of shout-outs go to Maceo Oliver (back after his parts in
‘Cuttin’ Up’) and to Leslie Stevens, a utility player who not only dances to beat the band, but also serves up a
remarkable range of well-toned characters -- from Queen Elizabeth, to a male country singer, to a
backwoods schoolmarm. If she weren’t the only white woman on stage you’d never believe it was the
same person.
Of the stories that make their way into every telling of the Charles’ story, a favorite is about how he sized up
a woman’s physical appeal. While shaking hands, he politely slid his left hand along her right wrist. As
acupuncturists check the human body through points on the ear, Charles’ gauge was all in the wrist. His
long-held inside joke, his personal definition of ‘eyes of the beholder,’ must have given the signature grimace-
grin full flower. But it was the redefinition of music that makes him important. And if ‘Live’ doesn’t redefine
theater as a whole, it is turning at least one theater into L.A.’s hottest club through December 9. And that’s
reason to smile.
book by Suzan-Lori Parks, directed by Sheldon Epps
Rahn Coleman, music supervision and direction, vocal and musical arrangements by; Harold Wheeler,
orchestrations; Eric Butler, conductor; Kenneth L. Roberson, choreography; Zane Mark, dance arrangements
Pasadena Playhouse • October 31– December 9, 2007 (Opened, rev’d. 11/9) World premiere
WITH Brandon Victor Dixon, Nikki Renee Daniels, and NRaca, Phillip Attmore, Matthew Benjamin, Aaron
Brown, Christopher Brown, Yvette Cason, Meloney Collins, Tara Cook, Wilkie Ferguson, Dionne Figgins,
Matthew Koehler, Sylvia MacCalla, Yusuf Nasir, Maceo Oliver, Jeremiah Whitfield-Pearson, Sabrina Sloan,
Leslie Stevens, Daniel Tatar, Angela Teek, Rocklin Thompson, Ricke Vermont, Harrison White •
PRODUCTION Riccardo Hernandez, set; Paul Tazewell, costumes; Donald Holder, lights; Carl Casella and
Domonic Sack, sound; Austin Switzer, video; Charles G. LePointe, hair/wigs; Lurie Horns Pfeffer/Conwell
Worthington III, stage management
With a title straight off a Vegas marquee, the world premiere of Suzan-Lori Parks’ ‘Ray
Charles Live!,’ at the Pasadena Playhouse through December 9, adds theater’s take on
the seminal performer’s life and music to those of non-fiction literature and motion
pictures. Where the best book, Charles’ own ‘Brother Ray,’ let him whisper his story
in our inner ears and the blockbuster film ‘Ray’ mixed a cinematographic documentary
with a sometimes tabloid vibe, ‘Ray Charles Live!’ shows the unique power of theater
to weave a dramatic narrative through a virtual live concert.
Charles’ life was a rags-to-riches success story. He climbed to the top of a music business he helped
redefine, all the while fighting the side-battles of blindness and blackness in America. By breaking the seal
on the sacred sounds of gospel, and letting them walk the street with the blues, he alienated chunks of the
white and black communities. But he helped forge the soul music that did as much as anything in the 1900s
to work the truths within African-American music into the general culture. Appropriately, his two 'Live!"
collaborators have established their own records of reaching wider audiences without sacrificing:
playwright Parks won a Pulitzer for her unflinching yet artful look at racism in ‘Topdog/Underdog,’ and Epps
increasingly offers his Pasadena Playhouse as an institutional launch pad for work socially ambitious works.
The play is set after Charles’ death at the age of 73 in 2004. Consequently, the title has two meanings: it's a
live performance by someone who must return from beyond to make the gig. The deal he struck to get here
isn’t important. He is back in a recording studio to lay tracks for a final 'Greatest Hits' record while setting his
permanent record straight. The famous Atlantic Records’ producer Tom Dowd, who died two years before
Charles, is back at the board, mixing a pit band under the baton of Eric Butler. The musicians have a place
of honor across an upstage platform, and serve as both Charles’ live concert accompaniment and session
players. The live album will be a "life" album: working Charles’ greatest hits into his life story. But the tunes,
when appropriate, will be sequenced to fit key characters and key moments to build the record’s other
component, an oral history.
The tour guide for the show is Charles’ mid-career persona, played by Brandon Victor Dixon. Jeremiah
Whitfield-Pearson plays him as a child in Georgia and Wilkie Ferguson beautifully handles four songs as ‘RC,’
the emerging talent in his late teens, early adult years. The person who shaped him most, his mother Retha,
is given warmth and backbone by Yvette Cason, who delivers her songs powerfully, especially a heart-
breaking version of Henry Glover’s “Drown in My Own Tears” after the drowning death of Ray’s little
brother. We meet Quincy Jones (Phillip Attmore), a life-long friend who met Charles in Seattle, but is little
more than name-dropped here, and David “Fathead” Newman (Ricke Vermont), who has a lot more stage
time as a bandmember. Other musicians, bandleaders and music industry folks are represented, notably
Atlantic founder Ahmet Ertegun (Daniel Tatar, back in Pasadena after ‘The Last Five Years’).
Of equal importance to the music, however, are the women in his life. Charles’ long-suffering wife Della B is
well-rounded and beautifully sung by Nikki Renee Daniels. And, as two of the his ‘road wives’ from the
back-up Raeletts, Angela Teek is a feisty Mary Ann Fisher, while Sabrina Sloan is a sultry, younger Margie
Hendricks.
Before Parks gets into the storytelling, however, she lets the man who would be Ray prove himself. The
curtain rises on a bandstand filled with players. The show-ready Charles is led to the piano and, after
introducing himself, takes his seat, tilts his head, and widens the signature smile-snarl that somehow spoke
his ecstasy and anger at once. As soon as he and the band launch into a thumping rendition of ‘What’d I
Say,’ it’s clear that Dixon knows Charles, vocally and instrumentally. (If he’s not playing the piano, it’s the
best fake job we’ve seen.)
With the popularity of the book and movie, it’s not necessary to trace the “plot” of ‘Ray Charles Live!’ The
usual subjects are covered, and Parks’ narrative conceit permits Charles to indulge in some free-range
storytelling, moving things around for dramatic contour and better effect. She doesn’t sugar-coat anything,
either, portraying Charles’ womanizing, his emotional neglect of Della and their sons, and his 17-year
addiction to heroin, which he kicked decades before he died but never apologized for using.
Still, there is a polished, restained quality to the piece that is inevitable with a Broadway-bound show: a
prettiness to things, an over-articulation to songs. When we feel the kind of roadhouse heat that could cook
this music to the searing point is in the Angela Teek numbers. This is not to sleight any of these fine
performers out there doing their job. Cason in particular is a treasure. So are Daniels and Sloan, especially
when they join Teek for the show-stopping “I Can’t Stop Lovin’ You.” But during those Teek solos, you may
hear a husky voice in the inner ear whisper, “That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”
Still, Dixon is so good that if the show settles in for a Broadway run in 2008 he could own New York. If so,
his key to the city will likely be his version of ‘Georgia.’ For one thing, it’s testament to the ability of Charles’
music and personality to triumph over ignorance, since it was adopted as official song for the same state
that once banned him after he protested its policy of segregated theaters. On the other hand, it’s Dixon
taking the master head on and delivering one of Charles’ most identifiable songs in a way that lets us
appreciate both the actor and the originator.
The company is deep with talent, but a couple of shout-outs go to Maceo Oliver (back after his parts in
‘Cuttin’ Up’) and to Leslie Stevens, a utility player who not only dances to beat the band, but also serves up a
remarkable range of well-toned characters -- from Queen Elizabeth, to a male country singer, to a
backwoods schoolmarm. If she weren’t the only white woman on stage you’d never believe it was the
same person.
Of the stories that make their way into every telling of the Charles’ story, a favorite is about how he sized up
a woman’s physical appeal. While shaking hands, he politely slid his left hand along her right wrist. As
acupuncturists check the human body through points on the ear, Charles’ gauge was all in the wrist. His
long-held inside joke, his personal definition of ‘eyes of the beholder,’ must have given the signature grimace-
grin full flower. But it was the redefinition of music that makes him important. And if ‘Live’ doesn’t redefine
theater as a whole, it is turning at least one theater into L.A.’s hottest club through December 9. And that’s
reason to smile.
Brandon Victor Dixon
PHOTO CRAIG SCHWARTZ
PHOTO CRAIG SCHWARTZ
T H E A T E R T I M E S . O R G
Tonight at 8:30 (Part II - 'Come the Wild')
by Noel Coward, directed by Brendan Fox, Robert Goldsby, Stefan Novinski, Stephanie Shroyer
Antaeus Theater Company / Deaf West • November 4-December 23 (Open'd 11/10, rev'd 11/11)
WITH Svengalis [reviewed] – Rhonda Aldrich, John Apicella, Bill Brochtrup, Anne Gee Byrd, Ramon
DeOcampo, Angela Goethals, Lynn Milgrim, Nathan Patrick, John Prosky, Ned Schmidtke, Kitty Swink, Katy
Tyszkiewicz, Alicia Wollerton alternating with Martinis – Gigi Bermingham, Josh Clark, JD Cullum, Emily
Elden, Shannon Holt, Adam Meyer, Angela Paton, Robert Pine, Lawrence Pressman, Devon Servori, Laura
Wernette, Amelia White, Mirron Willis • PRODUCTION John Iacovelli, set; A Jeffrey Schoenberg, costumes;
Jose Lopez, lights; John Zalewski, sound; Matt Goldsby, musical director; Kay Cole, choreography, Tracy
Winters, dialects; Young Ji/Rita Cofield, stage management
When last we climbed the Deaf West Theatre’s aisle steps it was to watch part of a
healthy percentage of Antaeus Theatre Company’s company perform the first four Noel
Coward one-acts of their current two-part collection, ‘Tonight at 8:30’ (through
December 23). Ten days have brought the opening of Part Two, with two more
ensembles dividing up the roles of four more Coward plays. By luck or design, we see
some favorite actors from Part One scattered among the new faces. While the plays’
themes and styles is narrower here than in Part One, the acting remains full and
satisfying.
Like part one, ‘If Love Were All’ (reviewed here), ‘Come the Wild’ (from Coward’s ‘Come the Wild, Wild
Weather,’ sung to introduce the fourth play), opens with a backstage comedy. But where ‘Star Chamber’s’
elbowing egos made it timeless, the aging husband-and-wife Vaudeville team or George and Lily Pepper
makes ‘Red Peppers’ dangerously archaic. But, try imagining a home without iPods, cell phones, CD players,
televisions or even radio. Back when a home entertainment center was a parlor piano, people flocked to live
theater and Vaudeville. A variety of performers were kings and queens of the stage, passing on their acts
through generations.
John Prosky and Rhonda Aldrich are George and Lily. Director Stefan Novinski introduces them in costume
and make-up that completely hides their ages. Back in the dressing room as the sailor outfits come off, the
years come on, and the wearing on and tearing at each other begins. The Peppers fit the classic take on
the form: harmonious onstage; incompatible off. However, the twist here is that they aren’t even in tune on
stage, where they drop both props and punch lines. But once under attack in the dressing room, they bond
together in a blind, self-sabotaging act of resistance. Of course, the Peppers’ routines are excruciatingly
corny, intentionally stacked with weak jokes. All the more to signal the inevitable end of their era, which will
come in part through officious theater managers like Ned Schmidtke’s nothing-personal Mr. Edwards.
While the comedy is irrepairably dated, these three, along with Philip Proctor and Anne Gee Byrd as the
theater’s musical conductor and a dressing room diva, respectively, provide a bittersweet look at a tradition
losing currency. The other three plays are even darker, with the second and fourth, ‘Fumed Oak’ and
‘Family Album,’ qualifying as black comedies and the third, ‘Still Life,’ serving as the evening’s ode to
inconvenient passion.
For the Svengali cast of ‘Fumed Oak,’ Josh Clark (substituting for co-Artistic Director John Apicella, currently
in ‘History Boys’), joined Katy Tyszkiewicz, Kitty Swink, and Lynn Milgrim. Here Coward takes a page from
the W.C. Fields’ playbook, setting up a put-upon male breadwinner who hides his intentions behind a morning
paper and late night “work.” He supports three generations of women: a useless mother-in-law (the
hilarious Milgrim, with her Ruth Gordon drawl played to great effect), a shrewish wife (Swink in the series’
best showcase for the versatile actress), and a pampered daughter (Tyszkiewicz, a basket of tsks and
pouts). The hook is that Henry’s method for fending off madness has been to hold his tongue and stash his
resentments – and a healthy weekly allowance – in secret accounts. In Scene Two of ‘Fumed Oak,’ he
locks their apartment door from the inside to keep the ladies from their picture show, then lays out the new
world order. His behavior is unconscionable, dastardly, and reason for protective mothers to cover the
eyes of impressionable boys in attendance. But it’s pretty damn funny, and the Egbert Sousés of the world
will undoubtable give it a standing ovation (if their wives aren’t beside them.)
In ‘Still Life,’ the single set is a café inside an Underground station. The station employees – Anne Gee Byrd,
Devon Sovari, Adam Meyer and Clark (again in for Apicella) – flirt in age-appropriate pairs to show how
easy romance is for the unattached who are free to scratch love’s itch. This prepares us for Laura, Alicia
Wollerton in a beautifully detailed performance, a still-attractive middle-aged woman who wears her lengthy
matrimony like a heavy coat. When something becomes embedded in her eye, a nearby doctor, played with
equal care by Prosky, applies an inviting tenderness. Also married, but more determined to experience a
rejuvenating fling, Dr. Alec pushes the agenda for a clandestine affair. They will meet in the café weekly,
with the romance developing in between. Coward doesn’t offer his actors much in the way of specific
dialogue to reveal their progress. Consequently, the play is dramaturgically more mysterious and tedious.
However, the two leads make the most of their nowhere-to-go frustration, which is Coward’s goal. When
the final moments come, with Aldrich showing up as a gossipy shopaholic, the inevitable dampering of their
emotions is forced to begin within sight of each other, and they part in pained silence. It may not be the most
well-crafted bit of playwriting, but like these generally sketchy one-acts, it provides a good showcase for
the actors: Prosky, who displays controlled insistence after his stops-out showing in ‘Peppers;’ and
Wollerton, here as a tightly strung bundle, who will return minutes later as a hilariously tongue-tied dimwit
daughter among ‘Family Album’s’ devious mourning party.
The evening’s largest company is assembled for this final piece: Aldrich, Prosky, Schmidtke, Milgrim, Swink,
Woolerton, Clark and Bill Brochtrup. Proctor returns as the family's hard-of-hearing butler in outrageously
loud slippers. The story has a jolly arc, as the black-clad next of kin work their way from reverence for the
dead to a conspiratorial act of protecting their interests – all to the gurgle of flowing brandy. As the lips
loosen and the stories and true feelings burst forth, Coward reveals his great knack for letting the wicked
be devilishly funny. 'Family Album' arrives at a fitting end for the story's not-so-dearly departed as it signals
a perfect end for the eight-play 'Tonight at 8:30,' from which dear audiences then depart with new
perspective on Coward's gifts, and a few smiles to carry along, too.
by Noel Coward, directed by Brendan Fox, Robert Goldsby, Stefan Novinski, Stephanie Shroyer
Antaeus Theater Company / Deaf West • November 4-December 23 (Open'd 11/10, rev'd 11/11)
WITH Svengalis [reviewed] – Rhonda Aldrich, John Apicella, Bill Brochtrup, Anne Gee Byrd, Ramon
DeOcampo, Angela Goethals, Lynn Milgrim, Nathan Patrick, John Prosky, Ned Schmidtke, Kitty Swink, Katy
Tyszkiewicz, Alicia Wollerton alternating with Martinis – Gigi Bermingham, Josh Clark, JD Cullum, Emily
Elden, Shannon Holt, Adam Meyer, Angela Paton, Robert Pine, Lawrence Pressman, Devon Servori, Laura
Wernette, Amelia White, Mirron Willis • PRODUCTION John Iacovelli, set; A Jeffrey Schoenberg, costumes;
Jose Lopez, lights; John Zalewski, sound; Matt Goldsby, musical director; Kay Cole, choreography, Tracy
Winters, dialects; Young Ji/Rita Cofield, stage management
When last we climbed the Deaf West Theatre’s aisle steps it was to watch part of a
healthy percentage of Antaeus Theatre Company’s company perform the first four Noel
Coward one-acts of their current two-part collection, ‘Tonight at 8:30’ (through
December 23). Ten days have brought the opening of Part Two, with two more
ensembles dividing up the roles of four more Coward plays. By luck or design, we see
some favorite actors from Part One scattered among the new faces. While the plays’
themes and styles is narrower here than in Part One, the acting remains full and
satisfying.
Like part one, ‘If Love Were All’ (reviewed here), ‘Come the Wild’ (from Coward’s ‘Come the Wild, Wild
Weather,’ sung to introduce the fourth play), opens with a backstage comedy. But where ‘Star Chamber’s’
elbowing egos made it timeless, the aging husband-and-wife Vaudeville team or George and Lily Pepper
makes ‘Red Peppers’ dangerously archaic. But, try imagining a home without iPods, cell phones, CD players,
televisions or even radio. Back when a home entertainment center was a parlor piano, people flocked to live
theater and Vaudeville. A variety of performers were kings and queens of the stage, passing on their acts
through generations.
John Prosky and Rhonda Aldrich are George and Lily. Director Stefan Novinski introduces them in costume
and make-up that completely hides their ages. Back in the dressing room as the sailor outfits come off, the
years come on, and the wearing on and tearing at each other begins. The Peppers fit the classic take on
the form: harmonious onstage; incompatible off. However, the twist here is that they aren’t even in tune on
stage, where they drop both props and punch lines. But once under attack in the dressing room, they bond
together in a blind, self-sabotaging act of resistance. Of course, the Peppers’ routines are excruciatingly
corny, intentionally stacked with weak jokes. All the more to signal the inevitable end of their era, which will
come in part through officious theater managers like Ned Schmidtke’s nothing-personal Mr. Edwards.
While the comedy is irrepairably dated, these three, along with Philip Proctor and Anne Gee Byrd as the
theater’s musical conductor and a dressing room diva, respectively, provide a bittersweet look at a tradition
losing currency. The other three plays are even darker, with the second and fourth, ‘Fumed Oak’ and
‘Family Album,’ qualifying as black comedies and the third, ‘Still Life,’ serving as the evening’s ode to
inconvenient passion.
For the Svengali cast of ‘Fumed Oak,’ Josh Clark (substituting for co-Artistic Director John Apicella, currently
in ‘History Boys’), joined Katy Tyszkiewicz, Kitty Swink, and Lynn Milgrim. Here Coward takes a page from
the W.C. Fields’ playbook, setting up a put-upon male breadwinner who hides his intentions behind a morning
paper and late night “work.” He supports three generations of women: a useless mother-in-law (the
hilarious Milgrim, with her Ruth Gordon drawl played to great effect), a shrewish wife (Swink in the series’
best showcase for the versatile actress), and a pampered daughter (Tyszkiewicz, a basket of tsks and
pouts). The hook is that Henry’s method for fending off madness has been to hold his tongue and stash his
resentments – and a healthy weekly allowance – in secret accounts. In Scene Two of ‘Fumed Oak,’ he
locks their apartment door from the inside to keep the ladies from their picture show, then lays out the new
world order. His behavior is unconscionable, dastardly, and reason for protective mothers to cover the
eyes of impressionable boys in attendance. But it’s pretty damn funny, and the Egbert Sousés of the world
will undoubtable give it a standing ovation (if their wives aren’t beside them.)
In ‘Still Life,’ the single set is a café inside an Underground station. The station employees – Anne Gee Byrd,
Devon Sovari, Adam Meyer and Clark (again in for Apicella) – flirt in age-appropriate pairs to show how
easy romance is for the unattached who are free to scratch love’s itch. This prepares us for Laura, Alicia
Wollerton in a beautifully detailed performance, a still-attractive middle-aged woman who wears her lengthy
matrimony like a heavy coat. When something becomes embedded in her eye, a nearby doctor, played with
equal care by Prosky, applies an inviting tenderness. Also married, but more determined to experience a
rejuvenating fling, Dr. Alec pushes the agenda for a clandestine affair. They will meet in the café weekly,
with the romance developing in between. Coward doesn’t offer his actors much in the way of specific
dialogue to reveal their progress. Consequently, the play is dramaturgically more mysterious and tedious.
However, the two leads make the most of their nowhere-to-go frustration, which is Coward’s goal. When
the final moments come, with Aldrich showing up as a gossipy shopaholic, the inevitable dampering of their
emotions is forced to begin within sight of each other, and they part in pained silence. It may not be the most
well-crafted bit of playwriting, but like these generally sketchy one-acts, it provides a good showcase for
the actors: Prosky, who displays controlled insistence after his stops-out showing in ‘Peppers;’ and
Wollerton, here as a tightly strung bundle, who will return minutes later as a hilariously tongue-tied dimwit
daughter among ‘Family Album’s’ devious mourning party.
The evening’s largest company is assembled for this final piece: Aldrich, Prosky, Schmidtke, Milgrim, Swink,
Woolerton, Clark and Bill Brochtrup. Proctor returns as the family's hard-of-hearing butler in outrageously
loud slippers. The story has a jolly arc, as the black-clad next of kin work their way from reverence for the
dead to a conspiratorial act of protecting their interests – all to the gurgle of flowing brandy. As the lips
loosen and the stories and true feelings burst forth, Coward reveals his great knack for letting the wicked
be devilishly funny. 'Family Album' arrives at a fitting end for the story's not-so-dearly departed as it signals
a perfect end for the eight-play 'Tonight at 8:30,' from which dear audiences then depart with new
perspective on Coward's gifts, and a few smiles to carry along, too.
John Prosky
Rhonda Aldrich
PHOTO MICHELE K. SHORT
Rhonda Aldrich
PHOTO MICHELE K. SHORT
T H E A T E R T I M E S . O R G
THEATERTIME OUT
Click HERE when you have
time to just mess around.
Click HERE when you have
time to just mess around.
Attempts on Her Life
by Martin Crimps, directed by Chris Covics and Bart DeLorenzo
Unknown Theatre / Evidence Room • November 10-December 15 (rev’d 11/18)
WITH Lauren Campedelli, Liz Davies, Kathy Bell Denton, Tom Fitzpatrick, Mandy Freund, Craig Johnson,
Kelly Lett, Dylan Kenin, Taras Michael Los, Leo Marks, Uma Nithipalan, Dan Oliverio, Chris Payne, Eve
Sigall, Brittany Slattery, Don Oscar Smith, Diana Wyenn • PRODUCTION Chris Covics, set; Suzanne Scott,
costumes; Tony Mulanix, lights; John Zalewski, sound; John Ballinger, music; Brenda Varda, musical
direction; Diana Wyenn, choreography; Beth Mack, stage management
Stealing syntax from Shakespeare: To tell (of the thing) while being (the thing), that is
the challenge. To explore notions of chaos theory and quantum mechanics while
applying them to a dramatic narrative is to trek into worlds unknown. Fortunately,
there’s an Unknown Theater Company – and its nominal yang, the Evidence Room – to
co-welcome such a play to L.A. After premiering at London’s Royal Court, Martin
Crimp’s ‘Attempts on Her Life’ was ushered into America at SOHO Repertory by its
Artistic Director Daniel Aukin (‘The Adding Machine’). Now through December 15, it's
here and in good companies, co-directed by the two artistic directors: Unknown’s
Chris Covics and ER’s Bart DeLorenzo.
The co-production, in Unknown’s space at Seward and Santa Monica, mixes in-house members with new
blood from ER. It’s a positive match, as the acting is stronger across the board than in ‘Don’t Look Now,’
our only earlier Unknown evening. Performances always engage, whether in the big, symmetrically
positioned musical numbers – a sassy ‘Camera Loves You’ occurs four scenes in while the punky ‘Girl
Next Door’ hits four scenes from curtain – or the intimate one and two-actor scenes. Tom Fitzpatrick and
Kathy Bell Denton ground a flighty ‘Mom and Dad’ while Eve Sigall beautifully renders the centrally placed
fulcrum of ‘Kinda Funny.’
The effect of ‘Attempts’ is to send viewers sifting through 17 scenes spread over 90-plus minutes. Like
investigators looking for threads in a debris field, we find numerous clues and a range of styles by which
to collect them. The core thread is Ann, Annie, Anya, Anny – or perhaps just “an.” She may be a person
who inspires works of art; she may be a work of art; she may be an artist. Or, she may be all of them. It's
not clear if our Anne is the genuine article or the indefinite one. She may have suffered molestation as a
child and entered the sex trade in her teens before proceeded to a life of international terrorism. She may
have picked up a husband and two kids along the way and dreamt it all.
The craquelure lens through which we perceive the events may make us bug-eyed with alternatives, but
that’s the thrill of the ride. An older couple, speaking on behalf of her parents, describes the attempts that
Annie has made on her life. She has been seen carrying a large satchel full of rocks guaranteed to drag
her under. On the other hand, it may be that these “attempts on her life” are the attempts by artists to
create “her” through film, theater and literature. The attempts were no accident, say the surrogate mom and
dad. “Her mind was made up.” Of course, that merely confirms the ambiguity that she could be a person
committed, or a person contrived.
Art is art and life is life, as one character suggests. The closer to the randomness art becomes, the closer
to life it is. To this end, something seethes in Crimp’s play like a monster caught in a rib cage. It seeks to
break the conventions that hold a story back and cover its audience in something authentic – like what’s
found on the back seat of auto Anny. It’s all too complex and in a state of emergence. The collaborative
aspect of theater, as in the script conferences that bookend the show – “Tragedy of Love and Ideology”
and, briefly to kick off the closing, “Previously Frozen” – are hilarious examples of contributed ideas
becoming increasingly meaningless as they add up.
The audience has to work to hear the connecting principles that wind around Crimp’s litter-strewn canvas.
Some scenes are intentionally hard to understand: simultaneous translation interferes, or singers spew
dialogue like chunder, or pre-show loudspeakers play informative tapes that are talked over. But it’s okay.
Folks should not expect to get it all in one pass, or be frustrated when they don’t. Like a piece of music, it
would benefit by repeat plays. And, for those of us who just have to – though it is perfectly acceptable
that the answers be left unknown – the Unknowns are present after the show. They come off the stage
and hang out in the front-of-house lounge, breaking down the final wall in art-life intercourse that mixes the
ambitions of a lofty avant garde with the accessibility of a neighborhood clubhouse.
by Martin Crimps, directed by Chris Covics and Bart DeLorenzo
Unknown Theatre / Evidence Room • November 10-December 15 (rev’d 11/18)
WITH Lauren Campedelli, Liz Davies, Kathy Bell Denton, Tom Fitzpatrick, Mandy Freund, Craig Johnson,
Kelly Lett, Dylan Kenin, Taras Michael Los, Leo Marks, Uma Nithipalan, Dan Oliverio, Chris Payne, Eve
Sigall, Brittany Slattery, Don Oscar Smith, Diana Wyenn • PRODUCTION Chris Covics, set; Suzanne Scott,
costumes; Tony Mulanix, lights; John Zalewski, sound; John Ballinger, music; Brenda Varda, musical
direction; Diana Wyenn, choreography; Beth Mack, stage management
Stealing syntax from Shakespeare: To tell (of the thing) while being (the thing), that is
the challenge. To explore notions of chaos theory and quantum mechanics while
applying them to a dramatic narrative is to trek into worlds unknown. Fortunately,
there’s an Unknown Theater Company – and its nominal yang, the Evidence Room – to
co-welcome such a play to L.A. After premiering at London’s Royal Court, Martin
Crimp’s ‘Attempts on Her Life’ was ushered into America at SOHO Repertory by its
Artistic Director Daniel Aukin (‘The Adding Machine’). Now through December 15, it's
here and in good companies, co-directed by the two artistic directors: Unknown’s
Chris Covics and ER’s Bart DeLorenzo.
The co-production, in Unknown’s space at Seward and Santa Monica, mixes in-house members with new
blood from ER. It’s a positive match, as the acting is stronger across the board than in ‘Don’t Look Now,’
our only earlier Unknown evening. Performances always engage, whether in the big, symmetrically
positioned musical numbers – a sassy ‘Camera Loves You’ occurs four scenes in while the punky ‘Girl
Next Door’ hits four scenes from curtain – or the intimate one and two-actor scenes. Tom Fitzpatrick and
Kathy Bell Denton ground a flighty ‘Mom and Dad’ while Eve Sigall beautifully renders the centrally placed
fulcrum of ‘Kinda Funny.’
The effect of ‘Attempts’ is to send viewers sifting through 17 scenes spread over 90-plus minutes. Like
investigators looking for threads in a debris field, we find numerous clues and a range of styles by which
to collect them. The core thread is Ann, Annie, Anya, Anny – or perhaps just “an.” She may be a person
who inspires works of art; she may be a work of art; she may be an artist. Or, she may be all of them. It's
not clear if our Anne is the genuine article or the indefinite one. She may have suffered molestation as a
child and entered the sex trade in her teens before proceeded to a life of international terrorism. She may
have picked up a husband and two kids along the way and dreamt it all.
The craquelure lens through which we perceive the events may make us bug-eyed with alternatives, but
that’s the thrill of the ride. An older couple, speaking on behalf of her parents, describes the attempts that
Annie has made on her life. She has been seen carrying a large satchel full of rocks guaranteed to drag
her under. On the other hand, it may be that these “attempts on her life” are the attempts by artists to
create “her” through film, theater and literature. The attempts were no accident, say the surrogate mom and
dad. “Her mind was made up.” Of course, that merely confirms the ambiguity that she could be a person
committed, or a person contrived.
Art is art and life is life, as one character suggests. The closer to the randomness art becomes, the closer
to life it is. To this end, something seethes in Crimp’s play like a monster caught in a rib cage. It seeks to
break the conventions that hold a story back and cover its audience in something authentic – like what’s
found on the back seat of auto Anny. It’s all too complex and in a state of emergence. The collaborative
aspect of theater, as in the script conferences that bookend the show – “Tragedy of Love and Ideology”
and, briefly to kick off the closing, “Previously Frozen” – are hilarious examples of contributed ideas
becoming increasingly meaningless as they add up.
The audience has to work to hear the connecting principles that wind around Crimp’s litter-strewn canvas.
Some scenes are intentionally hard to understand: simultaneous translation interferes, or singers spew
dialogue like chunder, or pre-show loudspeakers play informative tapes that are talked over. But it’s okay.
Folks should not expect to get it all in one pass, or be frustrated when they don’t. Like a piece of music, it
would benefit by repeat plays. And, for those of us who just have to – though it is perfectly acceptable
that the answers be left unknown – the Unknowns are present after the show. They come off the stage
and hang out in the front-of-house lounge, breaking down the final wall in art-life intercourse that mixes the
ambitions of a lofty avant garde with the accessibility of a neighborhood clubhouse.
Leo Marks
Uma Nithipalan
PHOTO CHRIS COVICS
Uma Nithipalan
PHOTO CHRIS COVICS
T H E A T E R T I M E S . O R G
Hank Williams: Lost Highway
by Randal Myler and Mark Harelik, directed by Randal Myler
Laguna Playhouse • November 13-December 16, 2007 (Opened, rev’d 11/17)
WITH Stephen G. Anthony, Mark Baczynski, Mississippi Charles Bevel, Margaret Bowman, Stephanie
Cozart, Mike Regan, Regan Southard, Myk Watford, Russ Wever, Van Zeiler • PRODUCTION Vicki M.
Smith, sets; Robert Blackman, costumes; T. Greg Squire, lights; Eric Stahlhammer, sound; Victoria A.
Gathe/Rebecca Michelle Green/Mia D. Osherow, stage management; Dan Wheetman, musical direction
Everything is in place for ‘Hank Williams: Lost Highway,’ the Randall Myler-Mark
Harelik musical biography filling Laguna Playhouse’s Moulton Theatre now through
December 16. Under Myler’s direction, the vehicle seems to have the right parts on
board for an illuminating journey powered by country hits. But, despite a solid actor-
musician core led by the sweet-voiced Van Zeiler as the man behind ‘Your Cheatin’
Heart’ and ‘I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry,’ the ride never seems to stretch its limits.
Perhaps that is because we know so well the gloomy destination ahead.
Country music fans and those fascinated by the Alabama-born legend have plenty of cause to enjoy the
show, as it is distinguished by the expert musicianship and singing which lovingly and faithfully recreates
WIlliams' playlist. Not only is Van Zeiler impressive as the man who squandered his break-through talent
and place in history, so are the cast members playing the men who provided Williams with both musical and
emotional back up. Zeiler is a polished singer who makes Williams’ signature yodel sound easy. His acting
range is sufficient to cover the script, although there may be dimension in the intangibles that lie between
and behind the lines that an actor of originator Harelik’s talents was able to ferret out.
His band, the Drifting Cowboys included his two lifelong sidekicks – guitarist Jimmy, played by Myk Watford,
and bassist Hoss, played by Stephen G. Anthony. Given their duties as actors, musicians, singers and
even cornball comics in the Grand Ol’ Opry scenes, the two are a wonder. The rest of the band is made up
of even more accomplished players. As fiddler/mandolin player Leon, Mark Baczynski has only a few lines
and pedal steel player Russ Weaver has even less. But they give the show a musical quality that should
have audiences – and may still – filling the aisles with foot stomping.
A fifth musician, Mississippi Charles Bevel, plays Tee-Tot, an old blues singer who sits gamely on the
cluttered porch of a country service station and watches time go by, taking his own years one way as it
takes appealing young talents like Williams the other way. Bevel serves as a kind of inspirational life coach
in the show, standing as a testament to survival, turning hardship into art with no more than a $2 guitar.
And, more often than not, forsaking the instrument to perform a cappella. But such a character, and what
he represents, seems underused.
Sadly, the story is less exciting that the music. Part of the fault for the downcast storyline, of course, goes
to Williams, who took a barnstorming career as a ground-breaking country blues innovator, and flew it like a
kamikaze straight into the barn. But the problem also falls to the writers. There is a lot of rendering of
songs without suffering their writing – either in the creating or the living. Snatches of lyrics pop up on
pieces of paper and out of pockets. Suddenly in Williams years of boozing and drugging and womanizing,
he comes up with “Lonesome,” his real landmark. Zeiler delivers it beautifully, but we don’t really hang on
the words, and see the scars that produced them. Consequently it floats in the air like a pretty paper
lantern when it should be out there in the seats breaking our hearts.
As Mama, Margaret Bowman looks and sounds so authentic that one expects to see a dust-covered
Greyhound with Alabama plates in the parking lot. In her flowered dresses and scowl, she is an iron-fisted
disciplinarian who insists the band members toe the line. Can we really buy her son being afraid of
crossing her one minute and then dry-humping his brand-new girlfriend in the passenger seat as she
drives? And when does Papi suddenly start running the band? Somehow Mama silently relinquishes the
reins and then wanders off for the better part of the show? Williams demanding wife, Audrey (Regan
Southward), like Mama, comes off as surprisingly one-note. And a strange sequencing problem happens
with her mentioned referencing a summer 1952 event and then divorcing in January 1952.
It’s a beautiful environment though, on a set imported from a production in Arizona. An inset, Victrola-
arched proscenium creates a window for the various stages, touring scenes and home life, while Tee-Tot’s
service station and a truck stop diner sit like detachable speakers stage right and left. When we get to the
Grand Ol’ Opry scenes, several beautifully painted drops cable in like drapes.
Behind the diner counter, “The Waitress” (Stephanie Cozart) listens to the music on a radio and dreams of
being taken away from all this. When she finally is, it’s by the singer who is so addled by substance abuse
that she must continue imagining what it would be like to meet him, even as he lies at her feet. Giving us the
full dimension of Williams is a bit beyond Zeiler's reach, but he can be forgiven, given the singing.
The show has been a big hit and certainly a major reason is the performances. But for all the sights and
sounds that are provided, a better sense of the artist as writer seems to be missing. In "Lonesome,"
Williams writes, "the midnight train is whining low." The production reminds us that the sound of a distant
train isn't that powerful until you know just how much baggage it's carrying,
by Randal Myler and Mark Harelik, directed by Randal Myler
Laguna Playhouse • November 13-December 16, 2007 (Opened, rev’d 11/17)
WITH Stephen G. Anthony, Mark Baczynski, Mississippi Charles Bevel, Margaret Bowman, Stephanie
Cozart, Mike Regan, Regan Southard, Myk Watford, Russ Wever, Van Zeiler • PRODUCTION Vicki M.
Smith, sets; Robert Blackman, costumes; T. Greg Squire, lights; Eric Stahlhammer, sound; Victoria A.
Gathe/Rebecca Michelle Green/Mia D. Osherow, stage management; Dan Wheetman, musical direction
Everything is in place for ‘Hank Williams: Lost Highway,’ the Randall Myler-Mark
Harelik musical biography filling Laguna Playhouse’s Moulton Theatre now through
December 16. Under Myler’s direction, the vehicle seems to have the right parts on
board for an illuminating journey powered by country hits. But, despite a solid actor-
musician core led by the sweet-voiced Van Zeiler as the man behind ‘Your Cheatin’
Heart’ and ‘I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry,’ the ride never seems to stretch its limits.
Perhaps that is because we know so well the gloomy destination ahead.
Country music fans and those fascinated by the Alabama-born legend have plenty of cause to enjoy the
show, as it is distinguished by the expert musicianship and singing which lovingly and faithfully recreates
WIlliams' playlist. Not only is Van Zeiler impressive as the man who squandered his break-through talent
and place in history, so are the cast members playing the men who provided Williams with both musical and
emotional back up. Zeiler is a polished singer who makes Williams’ signature yodel sound easy. His acting
range is sufficient to cover the script, although there may be dimension in the intangibles that lie between
and behind the lines that an actor of originator Harelik’s talents was able to ferret out.
His band, the Drifting Cowboys included his two lifelong sidekicks – guitarist Jimmy, played by Myk Watford,
and bassist Hoss, played by Stephen G. Anthony. Given their duties as actors, musicians, singers and
even cornball comics in the Grand Ol’ Opry scenes, the two are a wonder. The rest of the band is made up
of even more accomplished players. As fiddler/mandolin player Leon, Mark Baczynski has only a few lines
and pedal steel player Russ Weaver has even less. But they give the show a musical quality that should
have audiences – and may still – filling the aisles with foot stomping.
A fifth musician, Mississippi Charles Bevel, plays Tee-Tot, an old blues singer who sits gamely on the
cluttered porch of a country service station and watches time go by, taking his own years one way as it
takes appealing young talents like Williams the other way. Bevel serves as a kind of inspirational life coach
in the show, standing as a testament to survival, turning hardship into art with no more than a $2 guitar.
And, more often than not, forsaking the instrument to perform a cappella. But such a character, and what
he represents, seems underused.
Sadly, the story is less exciting that the music. Part of the fault for the downcast storyline, of course, goes
to Williams, who took a barnstorming career as a ground-breaking country blues innovator, and flew it like a
kamikaze straight into the barn. But the problem also falls to the writers. There is a lot of rendering of
songs without suffering their writing – either in the creating or the living. Snatches of lyrics pop up on
pieces of paper and out of pockets. Suddenly in Williams years of boozing and drugging and womanizing,
he comes up with “Lonesome,” his real landmark. Zeiler delivers it beautifully, but we don’t really hang on
the words, and see the scars that produced them. Consequently it floats in the air like a pretty paper
lantern when it should be out there in the seats breaking our hearts.
As Mama, Margaret Bowman looks and sounds so authentic that one expects to see a dust-covered
Greyhound with Alabama plates in the parking lot. In her flowered dresses and scowl, she is an iron-fisted
disciplinarian who insists the band members toe the line. Can we really buy her son being afraid of
crossing her one minute and then dry-humping his brand-new girlfriend in the passenger seat as she
drives? And when does Papi suddenly start running the band? Somehow Mama silently relinquishes the
reins and then wanders off for the better part of the show? Williams demanding wife, Audrey (Regan
Southward), like Mama, comes off as surprisingly one-note. And a strange sequencing problem happens
with her mentioned referencing a summer 1952 event and then divorcing in January 1952.
It’s a beautiful environment though, on a set imported from a production in Arizona. An inset, Victrola-
arched proscenium creates a window for the various stages, touring scenes and home life, while Tee-Tot’s
service station and a truck stop diner sit like detachable speakers stage right and left. When we get to the
Grand Ol’ Opry scenes, several beautifully painted drops cable in like drapes.
Behind the diner counter, “The Waitress” (Stephanie Cozart) listens to the music on a radio and dreams of
being taken away from all this. When she finally is, it’s by the singer who is so addled by substance abuse
that she must continue imagining what it would be like to meet him, even as he lies at her feet. Giving us the
full dimension of Williams is a bit beyond Zeiler's reach, but he can be forgiven, given the singing.
The show has been a big hit and certainly a major reason is the performances. But for all the sights and
sounds that are provided, a better sense of the artist as writer seems to be missing. In "Lonesome,"
Williams writes, "the midnight train is whining low." The production reminds us that the sound of a distant
train isn't that powerful until you know just how much baggage it's carrying,
Van Zeiler
PHOTO ED KREIGER
PHOTO ED KREIGER
T H E A T E R T I M E S . O R G
Atlanta, the musical
book by Marcus Hummon and Adrian Pasdar, music and lyrics by Marcus Hummon,
directed by Randall Arney and Adrian Pasdar
Geffen Playhouse • November 20–January 6, 2007 (Opened, rev’d. 11/28)
WITH Ken Barnett, Merle Dandridge, Moe Daniels, John Fleck, Travis Johns, JoNell Kennedy, Leonard
Roberts • Chorus (u/s) – Keith Arthur Bolden, Michael G. Hawkins, Victoria Platt, Tasha Taylor, Quinn
VanAntwerp • Musicians – Andrew Rollins, guitars, keyboards, vocals; Kevin Toney, keyboards; Chris
Ross, percussion; Karen Briggs, violin; Ryan Crossley, cello and bass • PRODUCTION John Arnone, set;
Debra McGuire, costumes; Daniel Ionazzi, lights; Brian Hsieh, sound; Kevin Toney, musical direction; Kay
Cole, musical staging; Amy Levinson Millàn, dramaturg; Jill Gold, stage management
In 1985, Peter Barnes’ ‘Red Noses’ suggested that the acts of a loose confederacy of
14th Century clowns could uplift audiences besieged by the Black Plague. The play
was a testament to the transcendence of theater, many of whose practitioners were
already battling our contemporary plague. Similarly, the fictional band of slave-actors
at the heart of ‘Atlanta, the Musical,’ now through January 6 at the Geffen Playhouse,
provide insight into the disease of racism, while offering both escape and redemption
for those within, as well as watching, the play.
Appropriately, ‘Atlanta’s’ Civil War story, which combines Shakespeare, scripture and American music,
premiered two years ago at Nashville’s Actors Bridge, a theater inside a chapel in the country music
capital. It is the creation of co-librettists Adrian Pasdar and composer-lyricist Marcus Hummon. Following
its modest debut, the script caught the interest of the Geffen Playhouse leadership, who worked with the
writers to develop it for the production that opened November 28, co-directed by Pasdar and Geffen
Artistic Director Randall Arney.
According to Hummon, a Nashville-based songwriter with co-writing credits for Rascal Flatts’ 2005
Grammy Award-winning “Bless the Broken Road” and hits by Wynonna, the Dixie Chicks, Tim McGraw and
others, Pasdar had the original idea of a Union soldier finding love letters on the body of the Confederate
soldier he kills. To this Hummon added the story of slaves groomed as a Shakespeare troupe by a
Confederate Colonel whose troops are in the path of General Sherman’s march through Georgia.
While the various story lines prove too much for the play to satisfactorily explore, and Hummon’s music,
while beautiful, does not thrill or fully probe the issues raised, there is much to commend this work and
reason to hope that such a beautiful production, with consummate performance throughout, will guide the
authors to filter the essential strengths from the elements clouding the view.
Currently, there seem to be two roads into this ‘Atlanta’: on its surface (the plots of soldiers and slaves)
and in allegory that swirl in the air around it. Wisely, the co-directors have devised a physical production
that underscores the allegorical, employing a talented design team led by scenic artist John Arnone.
Through this lens the show nearly rises above its plot contrivances. Arnone’s set is its own act of
reconciliation, at once outdoor theater and battlefield encampment it establishes an environment in which to
explore dramas real and imagined. Behind the stage within the stage, three schooner-size sails of tent-
canvas are held in the dead limbs of blackened trees, and serve as projection screens for period images
and original video. Debra McGuire’s costumes also bridge the gap between representation and realism.
This duality extends to the performances of the eight-person company, who manage to deliver
Shakespeare passages as well as original dialogue. Paul (Ken Barnett) is a Union soldier separated from
his unit who runs into, then runs through, Confederate private Andrew Watkins (Quinn VanAntwerp), in the
woods of north Georgia. It dawns on Paul as he stares at his victim that Andrew's costume could let him
escape immediate death. It is the first invocation of acting as salvation and, if one pursues it, some biblical
allusions by way of a converted Paul and martyred Andrew (note that Andrew dies upon the X-shaped
'Southern Cross' of a Confederate flag embedded in the stage floor).
In Andrew’s tunic, Paul discovers the heady sachet of correspondence from Atlanta. As he reads, we
hear (in a voiceover that hints at her true identity) that she will remain constant and faithful to a secret. Paul
is soon apprehended by Confederate Lieutenant Virgil (Travis Johns) and taken into the inner circle of
Colonel Medraut’s Confederate camp. Medraut (John Fleck) has created a strange bubble of culture to
float above the atrocities. It contains a surviving trio of slaves trained and named in Shakespeare: Hamlet
(Leonard Roberts), Puck (Moe Daniels) and Cleopatra (Merle Dandridge). A fourth, presumably a slave,
named Bottom, has been killed. Paul, now calling himself Andrew, is allowed to fill in that part of the
company within the company.
In Fleck, the directors have cast an idiosyncratic actor with a dossier of quirky comic creations. The
choice works. Not only does Fleck prove himself free from reliance on schtick, he allows just the glimmer
needed to promote the irony that the Colonel, the only major character not living under an assumed name, is
missing his humanity and therefore the most like a fictional character. After the impostor private becomes
an actor, he proceeds to playwriting, as he begins to fabricate Andrew’s relationship with Atlanta by letter.
Now Hummon and Pasdar have the freedom to move the story in pursuit of their (too-numerous) interests:
back and forth between their dialogue and Shakespeare text: the Andrew-Atlanta story, the Medraut-slave
relationships, and a complex matrix of affections between the slaves. At the same time, there is
commentary on war, love and tyranny from the Collected Works, which in Medraut’s references to ‘The
Book,’ take on the importance of Bible passages: ‘Romeo and Juliet’ for mismatched lovers, ‘Lear’ for the
shell-shocked Colonel; sonnets for Andrew and Atlanta.
Hummon, who enjoys turning Shakespeare soliloquies and sonnets into song, as he did with Hamlet’s
famous speech in his 2005 boxing opera, “Surrender Road,” really employs the technique here.
Unfortunately, these efforts are neither fish nor fowl, failing as either engaging music or well delivered
Shakespeare. They might have more impact just delivered over underscoring from the great band
(especially the sweet violin of Karen Briggs). Despite his hit-making credentials, Hummon does not appear
to have built ‘Atlanta’s’ score on popular music hooks. He has employed subtler vernaculars and
orchestrated them simply, for piano, percussion and strings (from violin and cello to guitar, dobro, mandolin
and banjo). The rich on stage band -- sequestered upstage under the direction of keyboardist Kevin Toney
-- fittingly renders the music as something found around American front porches and campfire pits, rather
than Broadway pits.
While ‘Atlanta’ works its big-canvas ideas of art and life, and often succeeds in its microcosmic two-actor
scenes, it loses the middle ground of plot movement. Its strength is as a dreamy vision of an America
recognizing its soul and reconciling its past. Beyond that, it is about being authentic, and the irony that art
can sometime reflect enough understanding to change people. Although it still contains plenty of
undercutting paradox: the man with greatest access to culture remains the most corrupted. Nevertheless,
despite all this, Arney and his army have made ’Atlanta’ a worthy salute to the power of art -- specifically
theater -- as sanctuary and source of education, reconciliation and exploration. One hopes the conflict
between its two states can be worked out down the road.
book by Marcus Hummon and Adrian Pasdar, music and lyrics by Marcus Hummon,
directed by Randall Arney and Adrian Pasdar
Geffen Playhouse • November 20–January 6, 2007 (Opened, rev’d. 11/28)
WITH Ken Barnett, Merle Dandridge, Moe Daniels, John Fleck, Travis Johns, JoNell Kennedy, Leonard
Roberts • Chorus (u/s) – Keith Arthur Bolden, Michael G. Hawkins, Victoria Platt, Tasha Taylor, Quinn
VanAntwerp • Musicians – Andrew Rollins, guitars, keyboards, vocals; Kevin Toney, keyboards; Chris
Ross, percussion; Karen Briggs, violin; Ryan Crossley, cello and bass • PRODUCTION John Arnone, set;
Debra McGuire, costumes; Daniel Ionazzi, lights; Brian Hsieh, sound; Kevin Toney, musical direction; Kay
Cole, musical staging; Amy Levinson Millàn, dramaturg; Jill Gold, stage management
In 1985, Peter Barnes’ ‘Red Noses’ suggested that the acts of a loose confederacy of
14th Century clowns could uplift audiences besieged by the Black Plague. The play
was a testament to the transcendence of theater, many of whose practitioners were
already battling our contemporary plague. Similarly, the fictional band of slave-actors
at the heart of ‘Atlanta, the Musical,’ now through January 6 at the Geffen Playhouse,
provide insight into the disease of racism, while offering both escape and redemption
for those within, as well as watching, the play.
Appropriately, ‘Atlanta’s’ Civil War story, which combines Shakespeare, scripture and American music,
premiered two years ago at Nashville’s Actors Bridge, a theater inside a chapel in the country music
capital. It is the creation of co-librettists Adrian Pasdar and composer-lyricist Marcus Hummon. Following
its modest debut, the script caught the interest of the Geffen Playhouse leadership, who worked with the
writers to develop it for the production that opened November 28, co-directed by Pasdar and Geffen
Artistic Director Randall Arney.
According to Hummon, a Nashville-based songwriter with co-writing credits for Rascal Flatts’ 2005
Grammy Award-winning “Bless the Broken Road” and hits by Wynonna, the Dixie Chicks, Tim McGraw and
others, Pasdar had the original idea of a Union soldier finding love letters on the body of the Confederate
soldier he kills. To this Hummon added the story of slaves groomed as a Shakespeare troupe by a
Confederate Colonel whose troops are in the path of General Sherman’s march through Georgia.
While the various story lines prove too much for the play to satisfactorily explore, and Hummon’s music,
while beautiful, does not thrill or fully probe the issues raised, there is much to commend this work and
reason to hope that such a beautiful production, with consummate performance throughout, will guide the
authors to filter the essential strengths from the elements clouding the view.
Currently, there seem to be two roads into this ‘Atlanta’: on its surface (the plots of soldiers and slaves)
and in allegory that swirl in the air around it. Wisely, the co-directors have devised a physical production
that underscores the allegorical, employing a talented design team led by scenic artist John Arnone.
Through this lens the show nearly rises above its plot contrivances. Arnone’s set is its own act of
reconciliation, at once outdoor theater and battlefield encampment it establishes an environment in which to
explore dramas real and imagined. Behind the stage within the stage, three schooner-size sails of tent-
canvas are held in the dead limbs of blackened trees, and serve as projection screens for period images
and original video. Debra McGuire’s costumes also bridge the gap between representation and realism.
This duality extends to the performances of the eight-person company, who manage to deliver
Shakespeare passages as well as original dialogue. Paul (Ken Barnett) is a Union soldier separated from
his unit who runs into, then runs through, Confederate private Andrew Watkins (Quinn VanAntwerp), in the
woods of north Georgia. It dawns on Paul as he stares at his victim that Andrew's costume could let him
escape immediate death. It is the first invocation of acting as salvation and, if one pursues it, some biblical
allusions by way of a converted Paul and martyred Andrew (note that Andrew dies upon the X-shaped
'Southern Cross' of a Confederate flag embedded in the stage floor).
In Andrew’s tunic, Paul discovers the heady sachet of correspondence from Atlanta. As he reads, we
hear (in a voiceover that hints at her true identity) that she will remain constant and faithful to a secret. Paul
is soon apprehended by Confederate Lieutenant Virgil (Travis Johns) and taken into the inner circle of
Colonel Medraut’s Confederate camp. Medraut (John Fleck) has created a strange bubble of culture to
float above the atrocities. It contains a surviving trio of slaves trained and named in Shakespeare: Hamlet
(Leonard Roberts), Puck (Moe Daniels) and Cleopatra (Merle Dandridge). A fourth, presumably a slave,
named Bottom, has been killed. Paul, now calling himself Andrew, is allowed to fill in that part of the
company within the company.
In Fleck, the directors have cast an idiosyncratic actor with a dossier of quirky comic creations. The
choice works. Not only does Fleck prove himself free from reliance on schtick, he allows just the glimmer
needed to promote the irony that the Colonel, the only major character not living under an assumed name, is
missing his humanity and therefore the most like a fictional character. After the impostor private becomes
an actor, he proceeds to playwriting, as he begins to fabricate Andrew’s relationship with Atlanta by letter.
Now Hummon and Pasdar have the freedom to move the story in pursuit of their (too-numerous) interests:
back and forth between their dialogue and Shakespeare text: the Andrew-Atlanta story, the Medraut-slave
relationships, and a complex matrix of affections between the slaves. At the same time, there is
commentary on war, love and tyranny from the Collected Works, which in Medraut’s references to ‘The
Book,’ take on the importance of Bible passages: ‘Romeo and Juliet’ for mismatched lovers, ‘Lear’ for the
shell-shocked Colonel; sonnets for Andrew and Atlanta.
Hummon, who enjoys turning Shakespeare soliloquies and sonnets into song, as he did with Hamlet’s
famous speech in his 2005 boxing opera, “Surrender Road,” really employs the technique here.
Unfortunately, these efforts are neither fish nor fowl, failing as either engaging music or well delivered
Shakespeare. They might have more impact just delivered over underscoring from the great band
(especially the sweet violin of Karen Briggs). Despite his hit-making credentials, Hummon does not appear
to have built ‘Atlanta’s’ score on popular music hooks. He has employed subtler vernaculars and
orchestrated them simply, for piano, percussion and strings (from violin and cello to guitar, dobro, mandolin
and banjo). The rich on stage band -- sequestered upstage under the direction of keyboardist Kevin Toney
-- fittingly renders the music as something found around American front porches and campfire pits, rather
than Broadway pits.
While ‘Atlanta’ works its big-canvas ideas of art and life, and often succeeds in its microcosmic two-actor
scenes, it loses the middle ground of plot movement. Its strength is as a dreamy vision of an America
recognizing its soul and reconciling its past. Beyond that, it is about being authentic, and the irony that art
can sometime reflect enough understanding to change people. Although it still contains plenty of
undercutting paradox: the man with greatest access to culture remains the most corrupted. Nevertheless,
despite all this, Arney and his army have made ’Atlanta’ a worthy salute to the power of art -- specifically
theater -- as sanctuary and source of education, reconciliation and exploration. One hopes the conflict
between its two states can be worked out down the road.
Merle Dandridge
Leonard Roberts
PHOTO MICHAEL LAMONT
Leonard Roberts
PHOTO MICHAEL LAMONT
| THE ACTING OF THE APOSTLES |
T H E A T E R T I M E S . O R G
Cry-Baby
book by Mark O’Donnell and Thomas Meehan, Songs by David Javerbaum and Adam
Schlesinger, musical direction incidental music and additional arrangements by Lynne Shankel,
choreography by Rob Ashford, Christopher Jahnke, orchestrations; David Chase, dance
arrangements; directed by Mark Brokaw World Premiere
Based upon the Universal Pictures film written and directed by John Waters
La Jolla Playhouse • November 6-December 15, 2007 (Opened 11/18, rev’d 12/2e)
WITH Chester Gregory II, Christopher J. Hanke, Harriet Harris, Carly Jibson, Lacey Kohl, Alli Mauzey,
Cristen Paige, Richard Poe, James Snyder, Elizabeth Stanley ENSEMBLE Cameron Adams, Ashley Amber,
Nick Blaemire, Michael Buchanan, Eric Christian, Colin Cunliffe, Joanna Glushak, Michael D. Jablonski,
Marty Lawson, Spencer Liff, Courtney Laine Mazza, Mayumi Miguel, Tory Ross, Eric Sciotto, Peter Matthew
Smith, Allison Spratt, Charlie Sutton, Stacey Todd Holt PRODUCTION Steven Gold, music co-
producer/arranger; Scott Pask, sets; Catherine Zuber, costumes; Howell Binkley, lights; Peter Hylenski,
sound; Tom Watson, wigs/hair; Rick Sordelet, fights; Mahlon Kruse/Richard Rauscher/Jenny Slattery, stage
management
It requires intelligence to make mindless entertainment entertaining. It takes genius
to turn a one-dimensional ‘Romeo and Juliet go too camp’ into the spirited imagination
fest now receiving its world premiere at the La Jolla Playhouse (through December
16). In a send-up of juveniles – equally poking fun and celebrating – this hugely
entertaining version of John Waters’ ‘Cry-Baby’ follows 'Avenue Q' into the giddily
subversive new genre of ‘musical delinquency.’
The six-person creative team is comprised of librettists Mark O’Donnell and Thomas Meehan, “songwriters”
David Javerbaum and Adam Schlesinger, choreographer Rob Ashford and director Mark Brokaw. Waters,
an American phenomenon for style over substance, created the film version in 1990 to celebrate his own
coming of age in the bifurcated social milieu of Baltimore. There, in the early ‘60s, the division of cool and
clod was clear. The Drapes were the leather-jacketed juvies who thumbed their noses at authority while
inspiring the coolest literature, music and films. The Squares were . . . well, square, inspiring little beyond
the Individual Retirement Account and mild salsa. The film inspired “cult classic” status for those who like
their comedy laid on the broad way. Despite the enormously talented Johnny Depp and more odd cameos
than great-grandma’s jewelry box, the camp and the conflicts never rose above carnival din.
So, how nice that musical theater, which ranks only slightly higher up the cultural scale, would prove such
an exhilarating fit for the story of Wade ‘Cry-Baby’ Walker (James Snyder) and Allison Vernon Williams
(Elizabeth Stanley), two Baltimore youts from opposite sides of the track marks. Credit the creative team
with script and score than never wallow, never preach, and never fail to have fun. 'Cry-Baby' manages to
give truancy true class.
Wade Walker, a water-based name invoking Holy Roamers (while his creator’s name is rough translation for
eau de toilette), is an orphan, rising through hard luck. The most charismatic of a motley crew of outsiders,
falls for Allison at the annual Anti-Polio Picnic (which sets up the opening song as it raises a cleverness high
bar that is maintained for two and half hours and two acts). From there, as Waters admits in wonderful
director’s cut commentary, “it’s the ’Romeo and Juliet’ story.”
Whereas ‘Cry-Baby’s’ antecedent, ‘West Side Story,’ is happy to resonate with social issues of gangs and
ethnic disharmony, ‘Cry-Baby’ is brazenly free of deeper meaning or significance. Even plotlines touching
on capital punishment are immediately undercut. Any moral compass that might once have been inserted
into the show has since stomped beyond recognition by dancing motorcycle boots. (A fine ensemble
exercises Rob Ashford’s choreography, but key kudos to an amazingly energetic trio of male dancers --
Charlie Sutton, Spencer Liff and Eric Sciotto.)
As the leads, Snyder and Stanley are fine, looking and singing the parts with gusto and range. However,
they’re unlikely to inspire idolatry. They’re beautiful and deliver the goods, particularly Snyder. But there’s a
star quality that eludes them. Some of Stanley’s lines in fact blurred somewhat and were hard to glean.
While they admittedly have less to do, it was a bunch of second bananas who threatened to steal the
show. Alli Mauzey is Leonore, a thankless character in the film and the only character who manages to fall
through the cracks between the Drapes and Squares. In a one-song psychotic sampler that out-Catherine’s
Molly Shannon’s famous erotic-neurotic, Mauzey takes a small role and makes it rich. Same thing for
Christopher J. Hanke, the latest glint-toothed Dooright in a long line of blue-bloods from ‘Animal House’ to
‘Wedding Crashers.’ As the Square who misses the boat and loses the girl, Hanke makes a perfunctory role
fun. At our performance, he was pushing his character’s boundaries by show’s end. But at this point in the
run, it’s as excusable as it is irresistible. Mauzey and Hanke show star power without outshining.
Also show-worthy are Chester Gregory II as the conked and pomped Dupree, the black member of the
Drapes who gives ‘Cry-Baby’ it’s shot at soul. But while Gregory likely has the goods, the opportunity to
show the music’s inherent power feels restrained. Harriet Harris offers a nice turn as Mrs. Vernon Williams,
hitting all the notes from wacky grand dame to regretful accessory in ‘Cry-Baby’s’ misfortune.
The visuals, created by Scenic Designer Scott Pask and Costumer Catherine Zuber, keep coming like clowns
out of a Volkswagon. One remembers from ‘Simone Marchard’ how much room there is beyond the upstage
wall. One imagines this show’ nearly filling that space with a Rose Parade of parked set pieces. By the time
we get to the environment for the jewelry-shopping fantasy, we’ve lost count of the environments -- many
for a single scene.
As was mentioned earlier this month in the review of ‘Ray Charles Live!,’ there’s one noticeable drop-out in
these rock ‘n’ roll musicals, and it’s the rock ‘n’ roll music. We don’t need redeeming social signficance, but
shaving the accents off those lamé rockers leaves it pretty lame. Dupree’s singing is prettier than it is
provocative and Cry-Baby’s Elvis op, “Baby, Baby . . . “ is the show’s weakest number, partly because it
fails to shake, rattle or roll. The music behind the Drapes should be louder and more raw.
But then, would it work on Broadway? Considering the generation that made Black Sabbath millionaires has
reached the 60s, I think it would be. Maybe this show could have it both ways: promote a split Saturday
Night Special Schedule of 5 and 9 p.m. performances, with the second show 50% louder, and 100%
rougher. Delinquincy dies hard in us Drapists.
book by Mark O’Donnell and Thomas Meehan, Songs by David Javerbaum and Adam
Schlesinger, musical direction incidental music and additional arrangements by Lynne Shankel,
choreography by Rob Ashford, Christopher Jahnke, orchestrations; David Chase, dance
arrangements; directed by Mark Brokaw World Premiere
Based upon the Universal Pictures film written and directed by John Waters
La Jolla Playhouse • November 6-December 15, 2007 (Opened 11/18, rev’d 12/2e)
WITH Chester Gregory II, Christopher J. Hanke, Harriet Harris, Carly Jibson, Lacey Kohl, Alli Mauzey,
Cristen Paige, Richard Poe, James Snyder, Elizabeth Stanley ENSEMBLE Cameron Adams, Ashley Amber,
Nick Blaemire, Michael Buchanan, Eric Christian, Colin Cunliffe, Joanna Glushak, Michael D. Jablonski,
Marty Lawson, Spencer Liff, Courtney Laine Mazza, Mayumi Miguel, Tory Ross, Eric Sciotto, Peter Matthew
Smith, Allison Spratt, Charlie Sutton, Stacey Todd Holt PRODUCTION Steven Gold, music co-
producer/arranger; Scott Pask, sets; Catherine Zuber, costumes; Howell Binkley, lights; Peter Hylenski,
sound; Tom Watson, wigs/hair; Rick Sordelet, fights; Mahlon Kruse/Richard Rauscher/Jenny Slattery, stage
management
It requires intelligence to make mindless entertainment entertaining. It takes genius
to turn a one-dimensional ‘Romeo and Juliet go too camp’ into the spirited imagination
fest now receiving its world premiere at the La Jolla Playhouse (through December
16). In a send-up of juveniles – equally poking fun and celebrating – this hugely
entertaining version of John Waters’ ‘Cry-Baby’ follows 'Avenue Q' into the giddily
subversive new genre of ‘musical delinquency.’
The six-person creative team is comprised of librettists Mark O’Donnell and Thomas Meehan, “songwriters”
David Javerbaum and Adam Schlesinger, choreographer Rob Ashford and director Mark Brokaw. Waters,
an American phenomenon for style over substance, created the film version in 1990 to celebrate his own
coming of age in the bifurcated social milieu of Baltimore. There, in the early ‘60s, the division of cool and
clod was clear. The Drapes were the leather-jacketed juvies who thumbed their noses at authority while
inspiring the coolest literature, music and films. The Squares were . . . well, square, inspiring little beyond
the Individual Retirement Account and mild salsa. The film inspired “cult classic” status for those who like
their comedy laid on the broad way. Despite the enormously talented Johnny Depp and more odd cameos
than great-grandma’s jewelry box, the camp and the conflicts never rose above carnival din.
So, how nice that musical theater, which ranks only slightly higher up the cultural scale, would prove such
an exhilarating fit for the story of Wade ‘Cry-Baby’ Walker (James Snyder) and Allison Vernon Williams
(Elizabeth Stanley), two Baltimore youts from opposite sides of the track marks. Credit the creative team
with script and score than never wallow, never preach, and never fail to have fun. 'Cry-Baby' manages to
give truancy true class.
Wade Walker, a water-based name invoking Holy Roamers (while his creator’s name is rough translation for
eau de toilette), is an orphan, rising through hard luck. The most charismatic of a motley crew of outsiders,
falls for Allison at the annual Anti-Polio Picnic (which sets up the opening song as it raises a cleverness high
bar that is maintained for two and half hours and two acts). From there, as Waters admits in wonderful
director’s cut commentary, “it’s the ’Romeo and Juliet’ story.”
Whereas ‘Cry-Baby’s’ antecedent, ‘West Side Story,’ is happy to resonate with social issues of gangs and
ethnic disharmony, ‘Cry-Baby’ is brazenly free of deeper meaning or significance. Even plotlines touching
on capital punishment are immediately undercut. Any moral compass that might once have been inserted
into the show has since stomped beyond recognition by dancing motorcycle boots. (A fine ensemble
exercises Rob Ashford’s choreography, but key kudos to an amazingly energetic trio of male dancers --
Charlie Sutton, Spencer Liff and Eric Sciotto.)
As the leads, Snyder and Stanley are fine, looking and singing the parts with gusto and range. However,
they’re unlikely to inspire idolatry. They’re beautiful and deliver the goods, particularly Snyder. But there’s a
star quality that eludes them. Some of Stanley’s lines in fact blurred somewhat and were hard to glean.
While they admittedly have less to do, it was a bunch of second bananas who threatened to steal the
show. Alli Mauzey is Leonore, a thankless character in the film and the only character who manages to fall
through the cracks between the Drapes and Squares. In a one-song psychotic sampler that out-Catherine’s
Molly Shannon’s famous erotic-neurotic, Mauzey takes a small role and makes it rich. Same thing for
Christopher J. Hanke, the latest glint-toothed Dooright in a long line of blue-bloods from ‘Animal House’ to
‘Wedding Crashers.’ As the Square who misses the boat and loses the girl, Hanke makes a perfunctory role
fun. At our performance, he was pushing his character’s boundaries by show’s end. But at this point in the
run, it’s as excusable as it is irresistible. Mauzey and Hanke show star power without outshining.
Also show-worthy are Chester Gregory II as the conked and pomped Dupree, the black member of the
Drapes who gives ‘Cry-Baby’ it’s shot at soul. But while Gregory likely has the goods, the opportunity to
show the music’s inherent power feels restrained. Harriet Harris offers a nice turn as Mrs. Vernon Williams,
hitting all the notes from wacky grand dame to regretful accessory in ‘Cry-Baby’s’ misfortune.
The visuals, created by Scenic Designer Scott Pask and Costumer Catherine Zuber, keep coming like clowns
out of a Volkswagon. One remembers from ‘Simone Marchard’ how much room there is beyond the upstage
wall. One imagines this show’ nearly filling that space with a Rose Parade of parked set pieces. By the time
we get to the environment for the jewelry-shopping fantasy, we’ve lost count of the environments -- many
for a single scene.
As was mentioned earlier this month in the review of ‘Ray Charles Live!,’ there’s one noticeable drop-out in
these rock ‘n’ roll musicals, and it’s the rock ‘n’ roll music. We don’t need redeeming social signficance, but
shaving the accents off those lamé rockers leaves it pretty lame. Dupree’s singing is prettier than it is
provocative and Cry-Baby’s Elvis op, “Baby, Baby . . . “ is the show’s weakest number, partly because it
fails to shake, rattle or roll. The music behind the Drapes should be louder and more raw.
But then, would it work on Broadway? Considering the generation that made Black Sabbath millionaires has
reached the 60s, I think it would be. Maybe this show could have it both ways: promote a split Saturday
Night Special Schedule of 5 and 9 p.m. performances, with the second show 50% louder, and 100%
rougher. Delinquincy dies hard in us Drapists.
James Snyder
Elizabeth Stanley
PHOTO KEVIN BERNE
Elizabeth Stanley
PHOTO KEVIN BERNE
T H E A T E R T I M E S . O R G
