SAN DIEGO THEATRE SCENE
"CURTAIN CALLS"
By Pat Launer
03/10/04
Not too much theater this week (as if!)
From 'Butterfly' to 'Lucky Stiff'
And Pinter's back, with brilliant
flashes,
Turning his 'Lover' into
'Ashes.'
PICK A PAIR OF PINTERS
If ever there was someone born to do Pinter,
it's Ron Choularton. I've seen him do several of the acclaimed English
actor/director/playwright's piquant, oblique creations. Ron has just the right
blend of detached cynicism and sly humor. I've even seen him in one of the
shows currently at 6th @ Penn: "The Lover." A decade ago,
it was with Gayle Feldman, in a double bill with Pinter's "One for the
Road," featuring Bobby Larsen (and whatever happened to him?… Another
perfect Pinterian). Those two plays were thematically linked by brutality. Now,
pairing "The Lover" with "Ashes to Ashes" places the focus
on marital disharmony and miscommunication.
And Choularton is excellently teamed up with the talented Cristina
Soria; it's a lovely, felicitous match. Robert May directs with a knowing hand.
He's got the timing and famous Pinteresque pauses exactly right… and the menace
is always there, lurking in the shadows.
"The Lover," originally
written for British TV in 1963, opens in a suburban English living room, where
a man casually asks his wife, "Is your lover coming today? Will he be
staying long?" And we're off on a wild and, for a while at least, a
shocking ride. But then we come to see exactly what's afoot. It's a tight,
close, claustrophobic piece about fantasy and infidelity; the game these two are
playing is brutal and the cost is high. Each of the actors makes wonderfully
subtle but masterful transitions into another 'self.'
"Ashes to Ashes" is a lot
more opaque. At times, the couple seems more like a shrink and a patient than a
husband and wife. He's so clinical; she's so scattered… and so damaged. Between
reports of quotidian life, she intersperses flashbacks, memories of fierce
sexual encounters and horrific, Holocaust-like atrocities. Pinter has said that
he was inspired to write the 1996 play after reading a biography of Hitler's
architect, Albert Speers -- a very civilized man (like the academic husband,
Devlin) whom he associates with extreme cruelty (an unseen man described by
wife Rebecca, a sadistic lover who's capable of ripping babies out of the arms
of screaming mothers). This is the height of sexual non-communication, stifled
marriage and repressed memory, where the everyday anecdotes tell even more than
the traumatic, tormented recollections. With her tiny, nervous movements and distracted,
unfocused mien, Soria portrays a woman in profound pain who walls off the true
depth of her agony even as she fails to conceal it. Choularton is both dense
and intense, dispassionate and inflammatory. Their emotional pas de deux is
harrowing, and the balance of power shifts momentously but imperceptibly
between them. In both plays, husband and lover blend in disturbing ways. A
seething sexuality underlies both pieces, which are at once cynical, funny,
enigmatic and unsettling. My favorite kind of theater experience -- if it's
yours, don't miss it!
MAY THE FARCE BE WITH YOU…
Perhaps the most striking thing
about "Lucky Stiff" is that it was the first Off-Broadway show
created by composer Stephen Flaherty and lyricist Lynn Ahrens. At times,
it's hard to believe these are the same folks who gave us "Ragtime."
But some people are visionaries. When the show opened in New York in 1988,
then-New York Times theater critic Frank Rich (sometimes known as "The
Butcher of Broadway," who, btw, writes fantastic commentaries in the Times
now; I like him soooo much better than I did when he was a critic. His writings
on all things cultural -- especially Mel Gibson -- are nothing short of
spectacular.. but I digress…) urged readers to "cherish" Ahrens and Flaherty,
"both for their promise and for their willingness to embrace old-style
musical comedy silliness without apologies." Rich speculated that, in
time, the team "might give their generation its own Bells Are Ringing or Pajama Game." Well,
they gave us "Ragtime" (and "Once On This Island," a quirky
Caribbean fantasy) and there's plenty more, one hopes, where those came from.
As for "Lucky Stiff,"
well, it's cute and clever at times, and tuneful. But also enormously silly
(without apology, as Frank said). It was based on a novel, The Man Who Broke The Bank at Monte Carlo, a slight
comic yarn by English writer Michael Butterworth, which was published in 1983
and set in the principality of Monaco in the 1920s,
The light-hearted musical follows the escapades of milquetoast
English shoe salesman Harry Witherspoon, who stands to inherit six million
dollars from his recently deceased uncle if, and only if, he agrees to take the
stuffed corpse to Monte Carlo for the vacation his Uncle Anthony never had. The
wimpy, sad-sack young nephew must follow a strict set of instructions that
include accompanying his preserved, wheelchair-bound Mafioso uncle in
activities such as high-stakes gambling, sky diving, and scuba. Stolen jewels,
secret identities, a love interest, missing objects and persons, slamming doors
and a home for dogs also figure in as plot complications. For me, the musical
is primarily of historical interest. It does produce a few laughs, but mainly,
it shows off the burgeoning talents of these (at the time) upcoming theater
writers. Starlight produced the play in 1999, with a local cast of all-stars:
Leigh Scarritt, Eric Anderson, Tracey Hughes, James Saba and Alexandra
Auckland.
Moonlight's artistic director Kathy Brombacher has assembled her
own up-and-coming stars: the ebullient, energetic chameleon Julie Jacobs,
hilarious as the myopic Brooklyn femme fatale; Spencer Moses as her
nerdy/neurotic optometrist brother; Shirley Giltner as a sexy, feather-bedecked
Josephine Baker-like chanteuse; Don Ward in a bevy of roles, including a
croupier, an Old Texan and a Nun; conductor/pianist Don LeMaster in a
hysterical turn as a lounge lizard ("I learned everything I know from Phil
Johnson," he later confided to me) and, as the clueless ingénues, the
adorably irresistible Tristan Poje and the too-cute and
not-half-geeky-enough-for-her-drippy-role Stacy Goldsmith.
The singing is consistently high caliber, Brombacher keeps the
action aptly hopping frenetically, as the characters (in Roslyn Lehman's cute costumes)
flit in and out of bedrooms and doors in Marty Burnett's whimsical set of
movable boxes that resemble giant dice. It's goofy beyond belief, but perfect
for a mindless evening of sheer, unadulterated theater fun.
Through March 21 at the Avo Playhouse in Vista.
BLACK AND WHITE BUTTERFLY
Internationally acclaimed director/designer Robert Wilson doesn't
work in this country that often, even though he hails from Texas (is that in
this country??). Most of his work is overseas. Only last year, he made his
first foray to Los Angeles, for a stunning production of Georg Büchner's
"Woyzeck." It's a production I think I may never forget. So when I
heard that his take on Puccini's beloved "Madama Butterfly"
was opening at L.A. Opera, I wouldn't dream of missing it.
This is a production Wilson mounted 11 years ago for the Opera
Bastille in Paris. Unlike his brilliantly colorful "Woyzeck," and the
usual opulence of the opera, his conception is practically monochromatic. The
set is bare, the costumes are all black, white or gray. The only color is
subtly changing hues projected on the upstage wall, and a bit of his signature
sharply focused light, provocatively capturing one element or image, just a
hand, in one incomparable case. It's all beautifully stark, and forces the
focus onto the action, emotion and the music.
The movement is highly stylized, as is Wilson's custom, but here,
the ashy faces and slo-mo moves are highly reminiscent of Japanese noh and
kabuki, which is perfectly apt for the Nagasaki setting. All the required
actions -- from the tea-serving to the flower-strewing to the suicide -- are
mimed; there are no props. The body and hands are maintained for long stretches
in ritualized poses which make for some gorgeous stage pictures.
The familiar story, though set in 1900, couldn't keep me from
thinking about our current position in the world. The brash American swaggers
in, takes over, even sets up house. And then he disappears, leaving the
foreigners in his wake to mop up his mess and fend for themselves.
In the L.A.
Opera production, there are three alternating Cio-Cio Sans; we heard the
superb-voiced Xiu Wei Sun, a worldwide veteran of the role. Her delicate
movements and facial expressions, even when she was joyful, were
heart-breaking. Her supple soprano was rich with emotion and range. As
Pinkerton, tenor Valter Borin seemed less comfortable in Wilson's style; he has
a commanding presence, but his moves were less precise and his voice less
powerful. Under the baton of Kent Nagano, the orchestra performed with rich
lyrical grace. Unlike many, more fussy
and opulent opera productions, the emotion here was almost exclusively in the
music. It worked just fine, and made you see the piece in a new light. In this
case, as in many minimalist creations less is intriguingly more.
JURY DUTY?
Just a reminder (it may be self-promotion -- but it's theater!) to
check out the documentary I wrote, co-produced and hosted for City TV, airing
this week on KPBS-TV. If you're a theater-lover, you'll love it!
It's called "Trial by Fire: The Making of a Theater
Professional," and it shines a spotlight on the SDSU Design/Performance
Jury, a 20 year-old program that's unique in the country. Join me as I follow three student groups
through the process of preparing to go before a public audience -- and a jury
of high-power professionals -- to describe and defend their theatrical choices.
Exciting stuff. Really.
Check it out on "Full Focus" -- Thursday, March 11
at 6:30pm on KPBS-TV (channel 15/cable 11).
LOVE, AMERICAN STYLE, part 2
If you're gonna be a theater person, be dramatic! Last Thursday,
after the performance of "The Fantasticks" at North Coast
Repertory Theatre, actor Randall Dodge (who played the dashing El Gallo) asked
the audience to help him give a special birthday greeting to his girlfriend,
Kelly Premo. He called her up onstage and told her he wanted this birthday to
be one she would always Remember. As pianist/musical director Cris O'Bryon
began playing the show's most unforgettable tune, "Try to Remember,"
and the audience gasped, Dodge reached into his pocket, got down on one knee
and said, "Would you be my wife?" The audience cheered and wept;
Kelly was so overcome, the best she could do was nod.
This is getting to be a theatrical trend. If anyone wants to
follow, follow, follow… step right up onstage.
IN MEMORIAM…. A GRAY DAY…
He was the quintessential neurotic, the
eternally self-examining uber-WASP. An award-wining actor, writer and monologist.
And then, one day in January, Spalding Gray disappeared. On March 6, his body
was pulled from the East River. The cause of death wasn't immediately known,
but the 62 year-old Gray had a history of depression and had attempted suicide
before. His mother killed herself when she was 52.
I interviewed him several times, each
time winning a journalism award for the result. He was funny, but not really
that engaging or likable. He always seemed to be doing shtick, even when he was
being brutally honest. Of course, that was his shtick -- navel-watching
that examined every bodily need, function and failure and riffing on his many
medical (as well as international) exploits and escapades. He didn't really
listen in a conversation; he just talked. And he was often great to listen to,
on and off stage, though after several years, I began to tire of his
monologues, and wished he'd look outside himself a bit more. I certainly never
wished him ill. Clearly, he had bad (depressive) genes.
But, despite many well-received forays
into stage and film work (he even started New York's acclaimed Wooster Group in
1977, with Elizabeth Lecompte), he accomplished what few other people could: he
managed to achieve success and garner a following just by sitting at a desk on
a bare stage with nothing but a glass of water, wearing a plaid flannel shirt
and khakis, and reading, in a muted New England accent, his personal musings on
himself and his life. He seemed tailor-made for the Stage Manager in "Our
Town" (the 1989 revival, which won a Tony Award).
When I spoke to him in 1995 (well,
actually, he spoke to me; that, too, was a monologue), he called what he did "the talking
cure." He writes his life, he
said, to understand it, for catharsis, to "rein in the chaos." It worked so well for us; too bad, too sad, that it didn't work
better for him. R.I.P.
THIS
WEEK'S 'DON'T MISS' LIST
"Ashes to Ashes" and
"The Lover" -- dark, cynical, enigmatic,
delicious; wonderful performances by Ron Choularton and Cristina Soria,
directed by Robert May… At 6th @ Penn Theatre, through April 4.
"Macbeth" -- just as dark, spooky, intense and supernatural as you'd expect
from Sledgehammer; it doesn't disappoint. At St. Cecilia's through March 21
Well, I guess I've come full cycle here -- from 'Ashes' to ashes. Be happy, go to the theater -- and stay out of the East River.
©2004
Patté Productions Inc.