Please Make It Stop

By the way, has anyone seen this cable commercial for one of those CDs-you-can-only-buy-as-seen-on-TV, the one where there are a bunch of little kids singing the top hits of right-this-moment? I mean, when I was a kid, we could only get kiddie records that had "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," so when I saw these 5-year-olds singing and bopping to Bowling for Soup's "1985," I did a double take. A 5-year-old singing, "since Bruce Springsteen, Madonna, way before Nirvana, there was U2 and Blondie and music still on MTV"?
What did they do when they got to the lyric, "she was gonna shake her ass on the hood of Whitesnake's car"?

Wednesday Is for the Dogs

Amazing what you can get done in an evening when you don't go to the theatre. I'm getting a little tired of sending over text and images to Black Box Theatre's web designer--mostly because it's a bit monotonous. But I can't wait to have our new site up! I'll tell more when it actually launches.
It's Wednesday, and that means the weeklies are out. Darn, where are the theatre reviews? Uhhh.... (Oh, wait, wait! My "conscience" is going to slam me again if I forget to say that I didn't check the East Bay Express. OK, so I was SF-centric today.) Well, at least SF Weekly's Chloe Veltman wrote about the impending departure of ACT heartthrob Marco Barricelli--but I didn't know that qualified as a Dog Bite. Can someone please decipher the editorial voice of Dog Bites and then prove it to me with three consecutive weeks of articles? I double dog dare you.
Anyway, our friend turned Ein Berliner Michael Scott Moore apparently asks who Rene Augesen is going to flirt with when Marco leaves. Who cares about Rene? What about us girls (and guys), who are soon to be deprived of some of the best theatre eye candy? And he can act. And I haven't yet been able to interview him in person. (OK, my fault, I gave that assignment to my associate editor--she spent a nice hour at Cafe de la Presse with him and I could only beg for details. Like, did he ride his motorcycle? A BMW, is it not?)
An item on SFist also caught my eye--the one on Pamela Z and The Lab, which "is going to be showcasing some cutting-edge audio performance equipment" on April 8. Looks prety cool, but I'm personally looking forward to checking out Palindrome Inter-Media Performance Group in May as part of the SF Intl Arts Festival. Palindrome's EyeCon technology's "main use has been to facilitate interactive performances and installations in which the motion of human bodies is used to trigger or control various other media (music, sounds, photos, films, lighting changes, etc.)." Check out the samples on its site. This is too cool, and leaves me wondering why dance and other non-theatre performance genres are so much further along in utilizing this technology than theatre is? Oh, I don't want to hear about dramatic arc and character development and linear bullshit. Is theatre, as a form, too constrictive? Hmm, that's one I'll be wrestling with for a while. Where's the codeine?

Still Here

By all means, try to avoid this respiratory viral infection that's going around. It'll knock you on your ass for about two weeks. Well, that's what happened to Trevor, but as soon as I got it I dipped into his codeine, which, I have to say, blows Nyquil out of the water. The upshot is we missed The Voysey Inheritance at ACT, which, by the way, marks Barbara Oliver's first go on the Geary stage. We also missed Impact Theatre's Othello, which totally sucks becuase it was the last weekend, unless it gets picked up for another run. We did drag our asses to Marin for The National Black Light Theatre of Prague and only because we actually bought those nonrefundable tickets in healthier times. (Nothing like paying for theatre to remind you what being a real audience member feels like.) Well, the Black Light Theatre was...fun. They did Gulliver's Travels and Alice in Wonderland, a loose version of each. Hardly any text (all the better to tour the world), and they used front- and rear-projection and of course, black lights. The technology is about 10 years ago, but it was still rather fun, more geared toward kids.
So what about last weekend? Ah, One Big Lie. Well, let me just say, hoooray that Mellie Katakalos is back in town after finishing her MFA at San Diego (in fact, she was graduting on opening night). Hey, you know, stage designers don't get enough credit, so I'm going to mention her first, even if it was a world premiere. A proscenium in the Exit Theatre!! Amazing. And she solved the problem so many Exit directors have with blocking by building a multi-platformed set, so we finally saw some dimension on that stage. The theatre was packed (the proscenium and the small band added to the crowd) and it was definitely the show to be at. So, here's what the play is about (taken from Crowded Fire's website), so I don't have to go through the problem of giving you plot: a musical fable that pits gods against mortals in a search for ultimate truth that takes us from the ancient world to a future that seems all too familiar. OK, there. That's all you need to know. Go see it. The gods are fabulously flawed, and all of them have blond-white hair. Cassie Beck totally rocks and appears born with those orange go-go boots on, and Paul Lancour looks ready to belt out "Rebel Yell" at any moment. Playwright Liz Duffy Adams has a great ear for language, to say the least, and turns one great one-liner after another that will keep you amused. However, I think her script falters, delving too much into the didactic, which she managed to avoid quite poetically in Dog Act. That's a little quibble. But here's my peeve: Will Alan Quismorio go take some diction classes? He was in 49 Miles in 2001, and couldn't enunciate then, and he can't enunciate now. When you have to strain to hear his lines, there's a problem.
Blood Relative was also a great opening, though of course had a completely different vibe. A friend and I stopped at Atlas Cafe before for a little dinner, where I spotted Andrew Chaikin, who rocked in Bright River. Blood Relative gets off to a deliberate start, but soon gets into dense territory, at times leaving the audience in audible tears. Corey Fisher had a compelling turn as the deadbeat uncle--worth seeing for his performance alone. And, to backtrack on my earlier comment about coverage of this show, Sam Hurwitt's piece about Blood Realtive came out in that morning's Pink Pages. (Sam and Rob Hurwitt were both at One Big Lie to prove, Sam told me, that they were indeed two different people.)
Blood Relative opened on Palm Sunday. I commented to my friend, who is not Catholic at all, that, at least at my day job, we usually try not to schedule anything on a Jewish holiday (not that I have a problem with the fact they opened on Palm Sunday) and this show opened on Palm Sunday. "What is Palm Sunday?" she asked me. "Well..."
What is Palm Sunday? Ugh, I can't remember! All I remember was bringing palm leaves to church and getting so bored that I shredded them into hundreds of little strings. I guess that makes me a recovered Catholic? I dunno, I slept through Easter Sunday yesterday.

Just Call Me Hilary Swank

So, I'm still at One Big Lie, this time at the post-show reception, when Magic artistic director Chris Smith comes up to me and says, "So, I'll be seeing you Monday night."
Now, this happens to me a lot, being in crowds and having people reference a future event. At this point my mind usually turns into a slot machine and I'm hoping I come up with three cherries. No such luck.
"Uhhh, yeah." I've learned to just say yes, but he doesn't buy it.
"For Trevor's reading?"
"Oh, yeah, my husband's reading...at your theatre."
So, Trevor's having a reading, the Magic's Raw Script in Hand series at the Commonwealth Club, Monday March 21 (today for most of us). The play is called The Nutshell, and it's inspired by Hamlet on the Holodeck. Doug, an agorophobic computer programmer, creates a virus that allows game characters to come to life. There's a lot of integrated multimedia, and at the last reading some awesome techs wired a Teddy Ruxpin they found on eBay. Poor Paul Silverman, who plays Doug, had to act opposite Teddy Ruxpin, who had his own lines, and his mouth and eyes even moved. It was creepy, but the audience loved it and even gave him applause. Man, upstaged by a teddy bear.
So, the reading is at 7 p.m. at the Commonwealth Club, at Second and Market Sts.

Caught!

So, I'm at One Big Lie, hanging in the Exit's lobby, when Kent Nicholson comes up to me.
"Hey, I found your blog," he says.
"Oh," I say sheepishly. "Uhhhhhh...how did you find it?"
"I just Googled Vincent in Brixton because I was looking for reviews."
"And my blog popped up?"
Ah, Kent's a good sport. I don't know why I didn't think that people would find my blog; I thought the only people reading it were the, oh, five or six people who I sent the link to.
So I thought, maybe I should just take this down. I mean, half the time I can't figure out who the heck I'm writing for (oh, and I hate saying that; it's soooo creative writing department speak, and whiny to boot), if it's theatre people who know the people and shows I'm writing about (like my fellow bloggers) or if it's, like, the Chronicle readers. Yeah right.
Kent says he likes the bloggers because they write without filters. I'm like, yeah, and some of the filters I'm missing are basic fact checking and a halfway interesting vocabulary. Which, I should say, are always in place when I get paid to do this sort of thing.
Well, let me flounder around for a few more weeks and see where I end up.

Weekend Preview

Instead of, or at least in addition to, reviewing shows, I’d thought I’d preview them. Just in case you want to hunt me down.
But first, I heard from a fairly reliable source that James Carpenter has been tapped to play infamous Jim Jones in The People’s Temple at Berkeley Rep, opening on April 20 (previews start April 15).
Which reminds me that I forgot to give kudos to Cassandra Carpenter for her excellent costuming in Lilies. She told me that she had to create all of the costumes from items found in a prison, and in some cases, pants became skirts and such. Not everyone can make drab gray intriguing.
So, this Saturday One Big Lie opens, a world premiere by Liz Duffy Adams coproduced by Crowded Fire and Playwrights Foundation. (A note to all journalists: This is a coproduction. Trust me, you want to list both companies.) What else can be said about this play? It’s been covered in Theatre Bay Area magazine and the Sunday Datebook, so I don’t think I can really add anything here. Liz Duffy Adams won the Glickman Award (an annual award given to the best new play premiered in the Bay Area, but not necessarily to a Bay Area playwright) for Dog Act, produced by Shotgun Players (and Playwrights Foundation, depending on which press release you read) last year. At the Glickman Award cocktail party, Adams had the distinct honor of not only receiving an award and $4,000, but also listening to all the A-list critics praise the play in front of her. It’s fun to see which critics are more articulate in print versus in person. Not that I should talk, so to speak.
Traveling Jewish Theatre’s Blood Relative opens on Sunday. That’s also received a bit of coverage in Theatre Bay Area magazine, but not as much coverage in the local papers as I would have expected, given the scope of the project. Maybe journalists are finding the subject tired? Well, I’d have to disagree. TJT has been working on Blood Relative for several years, and the collaboration between the Palestinian and Israeli artists has been profound. I was invited to a workshop a year or so ago, and the material was so raw it had some of the audience visibly emotional during the post-performance discussion. And one or two of them were not shy to show their anger at some of the material, though all believed in the power of the project. I love attending opening nights when you feel the charge in the air, where you know you’re going to witness something that transcends the action on the stage. I’ve been to a ton of openings, so I’m usually a bit cynical about this “it’s so exciting to be the first to see a brand new work blah blah blah,” But I’ll take a risk here. I’ll let you know if it was worth it.

Two-Play Weekend

It was a two-play weekend.

Up first was Lilies, an ACT Conservatory (I always thought that was redundant) MFA Program and Theatre Rhinoceros coproduction. The note in the program indicated that the men of the 2005 MFA class had fallen in love with this play, and their committed and earnest performances certainly reflected this. Lilies, a play within a play (within a play), takes place in 1952 Quebec, in a prison. Inmate Simon Doucet directs the other prisoners to perform a play (for a bishop he summoned) depicting the events that landed him behind bars, wrongfully accused. The play (within a play) flashes back to 1912, when Simon has an affair with a young count.
Lilies premiered in Montreal in 1987, and its themes of homosexuality and the corrupt church were probably quite shocking then. I’m afraid it’s lost its edge over the years, and playing in San Francisco certainly hasn’t helped. Some of the elements are clichéd, but overall it’s a subtle, poetic work with such fantasy that transcends the prison walls.
But it was Gregory Wallace’s performance that attracted most of my attention. I’ve been longing to see him break out of his usual habits, and though we see overtones of his Godot and Blithe Spirit, he was able to get to a deeper, darker place here, playing a crazed countess, mother of the previously mentioned count. I hope we’ll be seeing more of this on the ACT mainstage.
Lilies plays through April 2 at Zeum.

Up next was Vincent in Brixton at TheatreWorks. Vincent won the 2003 Olivier Award for Best New Play and was also nominated for a Tony in the same category. An art dealer but not yet a painter, 20-year-old Vincent Van Gogh was transferred from Holland to London, and lodged in the Loyer household. The play imagines Van Gogh’s life there based on his sketches and letters. The Vincent we see on stage is socially retarded and profoundly arrogant. The play is supposed to explore love and loss, where inspiration and art comes from, and wants to illuminate Vincent’s psyche of the artist-not-quite-artist and the effects of coming from a repressed family. I imagine the actors will settle into this exploration as the run continues, but on opening night Jacob Blumer as Vincent seemed out of touch with his character, playing more a caricature than a complex man. Director Kent Nicholson as usual found some beautiful moments to frame, and so I trust that Vincent in Brixton will be much more vibrant as it continues running through April 3.

What Is This Showcase of Which You Speak?

Boy I love getting my local theatre news from a national publication. A full page ad in the March American Theatre tells of the “National Showcase of New Plays 2005” to be held in June at Stanford University.

The event is presented by “The National Center for New Plays at Stanford University and Magic Theatre, in cooperation with The Bay Area League of New Play Theatres and the National New Play Network.” So, what are these organizations?

I mean, Stanford has a National Center for New Plays? Wow, I’m a really bad theatre editor/writer if I didn’t know that. So, let me spend my leisurely Sunday afternoon doing some research. A Google search yields nothing but a press release of sorts on Stanford’s site about some readings that happened last month. A search on Stanford’s site itself yields a broken link to a page in continuing education. A look at Stanford’s drama department comes up with nada. So, apparently this National Center for New Plays doesn’t have a site at all. Or exists in name only.

Ah, but the ad directs us to the National New Play Network. That’s a bit better. On this site we find a letter from Magic (the Magic is the only local company that’s a member of the network, at least according to the site) artistic director Chris Smith about this June event. Great! So, how can playwrights tell the Network about their work? They can’t: “The National New Play Network does not accept play submissions directly. Please visit member theatres' websites for specific submission guidelines for each theatre.” The Network doesn’t even have a database of playwrights…yet. They’re working on it.

So, what is this Bay Area League of New Play Theatres? A Google search only yields a link to Theatre Bay Area, because executive director Brad Erickson mentioned it in an article. Other than that, nothing, not even a mention that I could find on the Magic’s site.

OK, I shouldn’t be so harsh. Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a total new play champion, especially a champion of new playwrights, and not to mention a champion of Bay Area theatre as a hotbed of new plays. So, this National Showcase is great news, and of course it should be advertised nationally because we want the nation to know that new plays are alive and well in the Bay Area. I only wish that the local press (OK, me) was also notified enough in advance that (I) could do something about it. I wonder if people think that Bay Area publications get less notice nationally than new plays in the Bay Area do.

Also, the Bay Area League of New Play Theatres was formed only about a year ago as a result of the great energy and vision of Chris Smith, and includes Playwrights Foundation (Bay Area Playwrights Festival) (great new site, by the way), Crowded Fire, Encore Theatre, FoolsFURY, Shotgun Players and Z Space Studio (who are working on the June festival). So I’m sure we’ll only be hearing more about the League in the future.

By the way, a short piece I wrote on Traveling Jewish Theatre’s Blood Relative also appears in that same issue of American Theatre. (Though some of the plot points have changed since the writing of the piece, I understand. To be expected with a world premiere.) So, here’s appreciating AT for its Bay Area coverage.

Trumbo

I was so prepared not to like this play. I had already seen Brian Dennehy in A Long Day’s Journey into Night in New York, and I’m not a fan of political theatre, especially when it’s based on real people. Then to discover that the actors used microphones! In a theatre as small as Post Street! Then, that they appeared to be reading the script from black binders. It’s amazing that I was soon completely engrossed in the play.

Written by Christopher Trumbo, Trumbo: Red, White & Blacklisted is the story of the blacklisted screenwriter Dalton Trumbo told through the eyes of his son (played by William Zielinski). The play starts out unremarkably, using a lot of footage of the McCarthy hearings, which doesn’t make for interesting theatre. But Christopher Trumbo was wise to use his father’s letters to illuminate every aspect of his life. Through these letters we see Dalton Trumbo as an incredibly complex man, contentious and loving, fiercely protective and wickedly humorous. (The letters also, incidentally, remind me what a lost art letter writing has become. No one writes letters as remarkable as those anymore.) One moment he’ll have you near tears when he writes to the mother of his dead friend who helped him sell a script under a false name, and later he’ll have you in hysterics over a lesson in masturbation and guilt. Then, he’ll grip you with a study of informers and enforcers who say “This is just the way our country is now.”

Dennehy is the master actor you’d expect him to be, and I fully enjoyed his performance, even after seeing Long Day’s Journey.

The problem I have with political theatre, especially based on “real life,” is that it’s presented as a history book. It says, Study this and remember that we must never let this happen again. We have never learned from history, and I think it’s because that while history repeats itself, it never does in the same way. We’ve experienced other holocausts, but we haven’t seen the Nazi party again looking the same way they did in our textbooks and movies. So while Trumbo is very timely, and we can see how another blacklist is completely feasible in this political climate, what will it look like when it comes again? It won’t be about communism, will it? Will it look black and white, and will it sound like banging gavels?

But somehow Trumbo transcends this argument for me. Maybe it’s because I found the letters so damned entertaining, so well written that you could fall under the spell of language masterfully crafted. Maybe because in the end it was about a man struggling with himself.

Well, you won’t find an answer in the end of the play. That’s partly because Christopher Trumbo cops out by ending on a speech about how everyone was a victim of the blacklist. But maybe this is more true than I give it credit for. Only a couple of years ago Kazan was honored by the Academy some industry professionals refused to clap; the divisions the blacklist created are still here. Maybe we will recognize the next blacklist when it comes, if only because the first never really left.

Trumbo plays through March 20. Call (415) 771-6900, or visit www.poststreettheatre-sf.com.

Boo Comcast

I would have posted the following, like, three items yesterday, but Comcast likes to go down Sunday evenings. Every Sunday evening. Boo!

New Mag & Disney

Apparently there’s a new magazine set to hit the stands at the end of May. Radar. The editorial and contributor list looks like a who’s who of Manhattan magazines. Anyway, a reporter who’s writing a Disney piece (I surmise) tracked down Trevor. It seems if you Google “Disney bashing” or some such, Trev’s name and show, Working for the Mouse, comes up quite a bit.

Welcome Back Polly Ann's Ice Cream

Welcome back Polly Ann’s Ice Cream! Ah, life in the Outer Sunset is back to normal. When its building up on Noriega was closed for remodeling a year or so ago, Polly Ann’s either closed or moved—I think it moved but I never tracked it down. I remember way back when, I used to frequent the Laundromat right next door (which meant driving by two or three other Laundromats along the way) only so I could get chocolate-covered bananas as my reward. Back then Polly Ann’s was a hole in the wall, with really dorky signs in the windows that displayed little bits of wisdom usually reserved for needlepoint pillows. Of course, it was best known for its giant wheel of flavors that had a few “free” spots for the gamblers among us. And you had to take whatever flavor it landed on, even if it was Red Bean or Lychee. I always imagined some little third grader having the employee spin the wheel over and over because it never landed on a good flavor. But then it all went away, and I had to get Polly Ann’s green tea ice cream at Albertson’s.

But wait, yesterday (Saturday) I drove by the old place and Polly Ann’s was back! It’s on the corner now (where the Laundromat was) and it’s much more modern, which takes away some of the charm. Today (Sunday), with welcome warm weather after all the rain, there was a line out the door. Alas, no needlepoint-worthy signs in the window (some moved inside), but the wheel and the weird flavors (with their original placards) are back, along with most of the original menu.

I had chocolate on a sugar cone. Seriously. Trev had two scoops in a waffle cone: mango/strawberry and rainbow. I have to admit, I never spun the wheel.

Dinner Theatre I

Friday night was Foley’s pub and Fassbinder at Last Planet Theatre. Hmm, Irish pubs and German plays.

Mostly what I dig about Foley’s, besides Boddington’s, is their music: ‘80s with Irish overtones. Best cut of the night was “Life in a Northern Town.”

Not up for fish and chips or even a salad, I went for the boring hamburger and a pint of Harp.

Last Planet’s new space is in the difficult neighborhood of Turk and Leavenworth—even the more seasoned Exit patron would have to think about negotiating this one. Leave the car in the garage and walk, or park the car near the theatre on the street? We left the car in the garage and walked most of the way on Market.

Ah, what would I do without Last Planet Theatre? Its inaugural production was the Wallace Shawn Festival, which people still talk about today. With its own space it can now bring even more difficult and/or unknown (or underproduced) plays to SF, something we desperately need.

The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant just closed Sunday. Kathryn Wood rocked as Petra, but it was Heidi Wolff as Petra’s mute assistant that made this otherwise frankly not-too-interesting script worth paying attention to. “She’s like the German consciousness frowning on the philosophy of the new generation,” said (I’m paraphrasing a bit) some ultrapretentious audience member behind me. OK, she was probably at least partly right. Wolff’s stoic expression with her red, downturned mouth could make the audience snicker with a pointed shift of her eyes, but her best scene was a “dance number” in which she struck various poses to the music on her headphones while stuck in the approximately 5-foot-square kitchen. I think director John Wilkins added some business to the script, especially the sleight-of-hand antics between Petra and Marlene, which added to the overall sense of displacement in time and reality.

Saturday night was No Exit at, appropriately, Exit Stage Left. Tired of the usual fare—Hana Zen, Foley’s—we headed to the Metreon’s glorified food court. Mistake. Between the tourists and the crazed mothers with strollers…. We headed up to LJ’s, which is overpriced but quiet. I have to admit I went for the cheeseburger, if only to be able to compare hamburgers and theatre here. LJ’s uses organic beef “because it just tastes better,” but it had to be one of the driest burgers I’ve eaten. Foley’s wins there, and really, Foley’s burgers aren’t very good either. But what do I expect ordering hamburgers?

Rob Melrose got permission from the Sartre estate to create a new translation for the stage, which is excellent, very contemporary and a welcome change from the dry-as-the-hamburger translations we usually see. The production, with its high-charged acting, is worth seeing. It closes next weekend. Go.

Afterward, we headed over to OJ’s with Rob and Adriana where we gossiped about stuff that I won’t repeat here. OJ’s is the after-show spot for regular Exit Theatre companies, and I wonder what the dive’s regulars think of that. You can always pick up on something intriguing if you just watch carefully—the regulars are intriguing too. I come from a line of Capponi’s. That’s Capponi, with an “i.” An “i.”

I'm Too Cerebral for My Mother

I love my mother. How my parents managed to have two fairly artistic kids in a non-artistic household is a mystery, but bless her, she grew to love theatre. However, you can’t take the suburb out of the woman, especially if she still lives in one.
Over the holidays, the subject of the HBO production of Angels in America came up. I said it was a beautiful piece, but warned her that she may find the length and aesthetic difficult. (Hey, she loves Rivers & Tides, so I thought she could get into a process.)
Apparently last week she rented Angels in America. She e-mailed me at work.

My mom: OK, so I rented Angels in America…title is a tad bit deceiving. About an hour into it I decided that I'd seen enough. Is the whole thing about homosexuality? Does anything happen? Does Mary Louise Parker and her husband split? Why is it titled Angels in America?

Me: (a short version) Well, to know why it’s titled Angels in America you’d have to watch the whole thing….The Angel doesn’t show up until the end of the first DVD (and I warned you about that). Yes, it is about homosexuality in that it was written in the late 1980s (and set there obviously), but I think it transcends that subject to consider the larger themes of humanity and politics and even the environment and how we move from a time as turbulent as the 80s into the new millennium….Angels is a very difficult text, very cerebral….

In the meantime, so amused by Mom’s, uh, reaction (I think would be the politic word), I passed her e-mail along to a friend, who wrote more appropriate replies:

1) Is the whole thing about homosexuality?
Yeah, it’s based on a Tony Kushner play.

2) Does anything happen?
Um, not really…they talk about a lot of stuff but…it’s based on a Tony Kushner play.

3) Does Mary Louise Parker and her husband split?
I didn’t know she was married. Oh, her character. Um YES…but that’s a GOOD thing because he’s a gay, Mormon and…it’s based on a Tony Kushner play.

4) Why is it titled Angels in America?
Cuz…there’s Angels in it…and it takes place in America. Go figure.

Well, that puts it into perspective. I forwarded that to my mother, who probably found it more useful than my explanation:

Mom: I don't like difficult and what the hell does cerebral mean?

I give up. I'm going to see Fassbinder's Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant at Last Planet Theatre now.