Kurt Norby in "Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812." Karli Cadel Photography Coinciding with the melodramatic love triangle that’s at the heart of “Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812” is the profound and personal search for one’s place in a turbulent world and for meaning in an unfathomable universe. That is the overarching inquiry of the great Russian writers, Tolstoy among them. His prodigious “War and Peace,” published in 1869, is the foundation of Dave Malloy’s operatic musical “Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812.”
Drawing from only a 70-page sequence deep inside “War and Peace,” Malloy, who once entertained on cruise ships yet, created this stunning and immersive show. It spent only a year on Broadway between 2016 and 2017 but rode the star power of co-stars Josh Groban and Denee Benton to 12 Tony Award nominations. (It only won two, of the minor variety, but that is what it is.) Cygnet Theatre’s West Coast premiere of “Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812” is a triumph of magical theater-making. Directed by Sean Murray with musical direction by Patrick Marion and choreography by Katie Banville, this is the sort of uncanny production that you can’t help but become part of, on many levels. There’s the spectacle of period costumes (designed by Shirley Pierson) that transport you to the turn of the 19th century in Moscow. There’s a breathless second-act display of Russian folk dance that cascades over you like a big wave and demands giddy and irresistible participation. There are yearning, questioning numbers sung by the brilliant but morose Pierre (Kurt Norby, in a tour de force) that will swell inside you. The show can also be funny as hell, played as some of it is with tongue planted in cheek. This is best personified by the false suitor Anatole (Michael Louis Cusimano) and the sultry and scheming Helene (Jasmine January). Even protagonist Countess Natasha (Selena Ceja) spoofs her own sweet earnestness in much of the first act. I may be wrong, but I’m imagining that a sizable majority of theatergoers who see this show have not read “War and Peace” or if they have, it was eons ago. In a clever and convenient way, Cygnet has provided for patrons a program that essentially sums up the premise of “Natasha, Pierre …” in six bullet points. More whimsically, that’s followed by a two-page “Family Tree” illustration with caricatures of the story’s principals accompanied by the one-word character descriptions that are heard in the show’s rousing opening “Prologue” which in its countdown is reminiscent of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”: “Natasha is young”; “Andrey (the soldier at war to whom she’s betrothed) isn’t here”; “Helene is a slut”; “Anatole is hot.” And inscrutably “And what about Pierre?” That’s the question that lingers throughout the sung-through show. Pierre is always on stage, though often seated in the background in a chair with one of the books to which he escapes, devotedly). When he does step into the fray, “Pierre, Natasha & the Great Comet of 1812” rises far above its garden-variety, chest-heaving love story. It’s one where Natasha, who has mourned the absence of her fiancée (in the swooning “No One Else”) is inexplicably, at least to me, motivated to forget all about him because of the foppish attentions of dashing though shallow Anatole. Attempting in vain to discourage her transposition of affections is her heady cousin and confidant Sonya (Megan Carmitchel) and her domineering godmother Marya (Linda Libby). How this familiar narrative becomes something far more meaningful speaks to the genius of Tolstoy and the ingenuity and imagination of Malloy, whom we have to thank for “Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812,” and the Cygnet team, whom we must praise. This is among the most ambitious and rewarding productions I’ve seen at the Old Town theater since I began reviewing shows 15 years ago. Once in a blue moon there’s a palpable sense of excitement and anticipation, a vibe, inside a theater in the minutes before a production begins. This was the case at Cygnet on opening night. It’s the kind of energy theater-makers would love to bottle and store in reserve for recurring use. Adding to the interactive nature of the production, a few short rows of seats have been placed on the stage, offering I presume a distinctive viewing experience. You’re much closer to the band, but I wouldn’t think that a bad thing – the skilled seven-piece orchestra conducted by Marion features PJ Bovee on bass, Amy Kalal on oboe and English horn, Dave Rumley on percussion, Erika Boras Tesi on cello, Ariana Warren on clarinet and bass clarinet, and Sean La Perruque on violin and viola. “Natasha, Pierre” enjoys many dazzling moments, including an at-the-opera scene where costuming, masks, lighting (by Amanda Zieve) and music come together in a transformative and even haunting way. I don’t want to give away the ending of the show, but it’s guaranteed to stir you. Norby is the essential presence in this production, though Ceja as Natasha gets far more of the stage time. Recently seen as Wednesday in San Diego Musical Theatre’s “The Addams Family,” she has graduated to a far meatier role at Cygnet, and she does not disappoint. Carmitchel, one of the brightest stars in local theater, has a less prominent role, but she is so reliably gifted that it doesn’t matter. She gets a couple of solos here (on “Sonya Alone” and “Natasha Very Ill”) and makes the most of them. Luke H. Jacobs, Brian Mackey and Tanner Vydos contribute in vivid supporting roles – Mackey’s reward for playing the sober and humorless Andrey is that he gets the broadest comedic turn, too: portraying the crippled and cranky father of Natasha’s intended. On the way out of the theater in misty rain I thought about how many moving parts there are in “Natasha, Pierre & the Great Comet of 1812” and what an achievement this truly is for Sean Murray and Cygnet. Don’t miss this extraordinary show before it closes on May 19.
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Livvy Marcus (left) and Alex Finke in "Ride." Photo by Jim Cox Annie Kopchovsky, who became Annie Londonderry, may not have been an outright fabulist, but she was a fabulous storyteller. That’s the setup for the one-act musical “Ride,” in which having completed an around-the-world trip on a bicycle, Annie embarks on a new quest: convincing newspaper publisher Joseph Pulitzer to make her a regular columnist.
Doing so requires an image projector, which it turns out is broken, so the ever-resourceful, unstoppable Annie does the next best thing: She acts out her circumnavigation-on-wheels, with its keenest adventures and misadventures, right there in Pulitzer’s office and recruits the publisher’s mousey little secretary Martha to abet the re-creations. Did these episodes really happen? We know that this Jewish Latvian immigrant from Boston did indeed become the first woman ever to cycle around the world, between 1894 and 1895. The circumstances of what precipitated that feat and exactly what or who Annie encountered on her trip are debatable. The real-life Annie colorfully told her wondrous tales when she returned, as does the Annie of “Ride” (played with loads of moxie by Alex Finke). As the show makes clear, showmanship – or show-womanship – was this indomitable person’s stock in trade. Created by Freya Catrin Smith and Jack Williams, and directed by Sarah Meadows, “Ride” was a theatrical sensation in London. The Old Globe staging is its U.S. premiere. Here, it’s on a bigger stage and, as Meadows told me in a San Diego Union-Tribune interview, it’s been as such reinvented to a degree. The 90-minute show is duly entertaining with its snappy tunes, delightful stage props and no small exercising of physical comedy. Livvy Marcus as Martha gets to quick-change and multiple-impersonate throughout, portraying as she does the most important acquaintances (and perhaps more than that) that Annie meets along her journey. Finke has remarkable stamina in a production that she practically carries by herself, though the Boston (?) accent in which she speaks with so much stridency throughout comes off like a Streisand knockoff. It’s distracting and, I think, unnecessary. Her singing, on the other hand, is pure and pleasing, whether on a rousing number like the show’s title tune or the lilting lullaby near the end that punctuates Annie’s (and the story’s) true reality check. The construction of “Ride” is curious. Annie’s pitch to Pulitzer and the dramatization of her escapades around the world feel like two different shows, to the point where it’s easy to forget that she’s pitching to Pulitzer in the first place. Furthermore, the almost-relationships she has – with a customs agent and then a married man riding his own bicycle (both played by Marcus) – simply come and go. By the time we get that aforementioned reality-check scene, Annie is already a mass of contradictions. I admit it escapes me why “Ride” was so popular in London that many folks reportedly saw it again and again. It’s a fast-paced if not frantic diversion with a supporting character (Martha) who’s more likable than the protagonist. It’s a case of two actors working admirably hard to divert us. It is, though, a tale of an extraordinary individual who deserves to be more than an historical footnote. With the momentum that productions in America can give it “Ride” may well steer Annie Londonderry toward greater notoriety. “Ride” runs through April 28 at the Old Globe Theatre in Balboa Park. Caleb Foote (left) and Joshua Echebiri in "King James." Photo by Rich Soublet II As you may have read in advance of seeing “King James” at the Old Globe’s White Theatre, Clevelander Rajiv Joseph’s two-handed play is NOT about basketball. It’s about friendship.
That’s true enough. Over the course of two-plus hours and four scenes played out against the backdrop of monumental moments in the career of NBA great LeBron James, Matt (Caleb Foote) and Shawn (Joshua Echebiri) manfully evolve their bromance. They meet, they bond, they break up, they reconcile … sounds like a lot of relationships, doesn’t it? The glue that holds the two Clevelanders together is their devotion to the hometown Cavaliers and, more so, the growing legend that is James, the transcendent athlete who would bring the downtrodden sports city its first championship in more than 50 years. I guess it’s possible to appreciate “King James” if you have little to zero knowledge of or interest in pro basketball or in LeBron James himself. But it would be nowhere near as satisfying. Personally speaking, I remember vividly the LeBron highlights referenced or heard via sound effects throughout the play: the drafting by the Cavaliers in 2003 of the high school phenom out of nearby Akron; 2010’s “The Decision,” in which James went on national television to reveal what team, as a free agent, he was leaving his beloved Cleveland for (it would be the Miami Heat); the announcement in 2014 that James, after his hiatus, would be returning to once again play for the Cavs; and the delivery two years later of his promise to the city – to bring home a championship – with an epic Game 7 victory in Oakland over the supposedly indomitable Golden State Warriors. Still get chills remembering James blocking Andre Igoudala’s layup in the incredibly tense, waning moments of that contest. I didn’t get chills from “King James,” which is not to say I didn’t enjoy the production. Foote and Echebiri are strictly first-string in this show, creating believable and likable characters. Their camaraderie is more interesting than their destinies, but then only Echebiri’s Shawn really has a destiny – to become a television writer (though he wants to be a writer writer). Foote’s Matt, we get the sense, will be a Cleveland bar or shop owner all his life, and he can be impulsive and lunkheaded at times, but we like him anyway. Though directed with spirit throughout by Justin Emecka, “King James” doesn’t really discover much dramatic tension until Act 2 when Matt and Shawn confront, at times explosively, their differences and their disconnects. The first act is a might slow and talky, engaging though the two Ohio fans and their banter is. The magic (not the Lakers’ Earvin or the Orlando Magic) of this play is its evocation of LeBron James’ career without showing even one highlight on a TV screen. The audio is enough, and honestly, hearing Matt and Shawn so vividly reliving the King’s feats would have been enough. I’ve somewhat lost interest in the NBA over the years, but this show made me want to sit down in the den, pop open a cold one and turn on TNT or ESPN. That would, of course, be more fun with a buddy sitting beside me to abet my cheering and amateur analyzing. “King James” runs through April 7 at the Old Globe’s Sheryl and Harvey White Theatre in Balboa Park Bruce Turk (lying down) and Bo Foxworth in "Tartuffe." Photo by Aaron Rumley Moliere’s “Tartuffe” was first performed more than 350 years ago. So why did it feel, as I sat among the opening-nighters at the North Coast Repertory Theatre on Saturday night, as current-day, as urgent as it did?
Couldn’t have been because of the rhyming couplets in which the actors speak. Couldn’t have been the 17th-century costumes and wigs they wore. No. But try this on for size: The titular character whom all the fuss is about in the household of Orgon is a despicable hypocrite feigning religious piety, one who makes predatory moves on the lady of the house and in whose spell both Orgon and his mother are so beguiled that they can’t – and refuse – to see the vileness of the man. Put Orgon and his mum Madame Pernelle in MAGA hats and you’ve got a play for the times. In an election year yet. Possibly because of this creepy relevance, I wasn’t distracted by the rhyming couplets Saturday as I have been in the past at other productions in which the actors speak thus, times when I sat there just listening and waiting for the next rhyming line. But it wasn’t just the currency of “Tartuffe” at work. This production directed by Richard Baird is broad but searing and most of all tremendous fun. Given those costumes designed by Elisa Benzoni, Peter Herman’s wigs and Marty Burnett’s posh-perfect set, this “Tartuffe” is a visual treat, yet that’s only part of this staging’s appeal. An exceptional cast is at work: Bruce Turk in the title role, in the bare feet of Tartuffe as different from his last NC Rep turn as Dr. Jekyll as different can be – it’s delicious odiousness. Bo Foxworth is a sputtering and duped Orgon of great merit, with the estimable Kandis Chappell as Madame Pernelle in a small but crucial role. Then there’s Katie Karel, who damned near walks away with the whole show as Orgon’s sardonic hired maid Dorine. The year is young, but Karel’s performance has to be one of the richest and certainly funniest supporting turns so far. For Moliere neophytes, “Tartuffe’s” story is a straightforward one – The naïve Orgon has brought the destitute character into his home, having succumbed to his feigned religiosity, and is praising and catering to him at the expense of everyone else, including his wife and children. Except for Madame Pernelle, all others in the house of Orgon see through Tartuffe’s posing and rightfully despise him. When Orgon takes his slavish devotion to the next level, insisting that his daughter Mariane (Shante DeLoach) wed Tartuffe instead of her beloved Valere (Jared Van Heel), things come to a head. That’s pretty much it. Well more than two hours is required to resolve this little crisis, but resolved it will be, and in a piece such as this one, you know just desserts will be served after the farcical feast. Its musical language aside, “Tartuffe” is a physical affair, and there’s plenty of that on display, whether it’s Turk stalking Melanie Lora as Orgon’s dignified wife Elmire, Foxworth bounding onto tables or sliding underneath them, Rogella Douglas III waving a sword as Orgon’s irate son Damis, or doors opening and closing with emphasis (a staple it seems of most NCR comedies, regardless of the time period in which they’re set). Both Turk and especially Baird are theater historians and as such conversant with the depths and nuances of Moliere and this play. It shows. There’s an uncanny balance in Solana Beach between respect for the source material and the knack for pleasing an audience that might not be partial to, say, rhyming couplets. There’s also the ability to execute visual comedy without resorting to so-called sight gags. Shakespeare knew how to do this. Moliere knew how to do this. You’re in fine company, Mr. Baird, Mr. Turk and the ensemble. “Tartuffe” runs through April 7 at North Coast Repertory Theatre in Solana Beach. Roman Banks stars as Michael Jackson in "MJ the Musical." Photo by Matthew Murphy Guess who was sitting in the row in front of me at Wednesday night’s performance of “MJ the Musical”?
Who else? Michael Jackson, complete with military jacket and sequined glove. All right. It wasn’t Michael Jackson. He died 15 years ago. This fan was done up to look as much like the King of Pop as possible, right down to each lock of hair. I assume he wasn’t the only would-be lookalike in the Civic Theatre either. “MJ” is a show for MJ fans, and 15 years after his passing, Jackson boasts them by the zillions. This uber-energetic, technically dazzling jukebox musical is touring after opening on Broadway just two years ago. (Its intended opening in 2020 was put off by the pandemic.) It’s packed with well-known songs, from the fledgling Jackson 5 days on through the 1992-‘93 “Dangerous” tour, preparation for which constitutes the plot line of the show’s book by the esteemed playwright Lynn Nottage (“Intimate Apparel,” “Ruined”). Some are, disappointingly, only performed in part, but then with so many in the score complete renditions would require a four-hour audience sit or longer. As it is, “MJ” runs more than two and a half hours. Nottage did not pen a warts-and-all depiction of Michael Jackson, and for a Broadway show catering to America at large, no one could have expected her to. There are references to Jackson’s drug dependency and skin pallor shoehorned into the “MJ” story via the pretext of an MTV reporter (Mary Kate Moore) behind the scenes to get the “one big interview” with the global icon as he prepares to launch the Dangerous World Tour. There is no treading the controversial ground of Jackson’s later life, the stuff of the explosive documentary “Leaving Neverland.” No, “MJ” is 95 percent a celebration of the charisma and musical genius of Jackson. This production presented here by Broadway San Diego features a young superstar of its own – 25-year-old Roman Banks. Far more than the fan sitting in front of me in the theater, Banks becomes Michael Jackson as much as anyone could be, from the look to the super-soft speaking voice to the signature dance moves. The vocals are close enough. Brandon Lee Harris shines as the “Thriller”-era Michael. Two young actors alternate as the boy whose dominating father (Devin Bowles) pushed him to the point of pain, literally. Aside from Banks’, however, the performances are secondary to the breathless choreography by Christopher Wheeldon and the show’s ensemble of young dancers, in toto worthy of a star who moved on stage as distinctively as anyone who’s ever done so in pop. The “Thriller” number in Act 2 is, frankly, thrilling, as are many of the production sequences after intermission. The first act is consumed heavily by the tale of Jackson’s emergence, with the “Soul Train” re-creation being the most memorable. Banks is given a fair amount of time alone onstage for quieter moments and the conveying of introspection. Nottage hints here at the drive for perfection, the love of music and possibly the torments within the inner man. But “MJ” does not echo as a tragi-musical. The furthest it reaches is a what-price-success? story set to unforgettable songs that became and still are parts of so many lives: “Billie Jean,” “Beat It,” “Bad,” “Human Nature,” et al. “MJ” is one of those shows that if you’d paid steeply for tickets to see it on Broadway, you would have walked out afterward telling yourself it was worth the dough. As noted earlier, those who loved Michael Jackson will be likely to love “MJ the Musical.” His spirit inhabits the best of this stage musical. The controversies around him have been chronicled elsewhere. That too is certainly the way his fans want it. “MJ the Musical” runs through March 10 at the Civic Theatre, downtown. Megan Carmitchel and Francis Gercke in "How I Learned to Drive." Photo by Daren Scott Hopefully in the 27 years since it was first produced and in the many performances of it since, Paula Vogel’s brutally candid “How I Learned to Drive” has given victims of sexual predators the courage to speak about their traumas as well as the resolve to survive. But they couldn’t help but be triggered by a play as explicit as this one is.
The graphic nature of Vogel’s story about the relationship between Li’l Bit and her Uncle Peck is portrayed at the Tenth Avenue Arts Center downtown in a Backyard Renaissance production that is, to be quite honest, sometimes hard to watch. As Uncle Peck (Francis Gercke) teases and touches Li’L Bit (Megan Carmitchel), who in some scenes in the time-shifting drama is supposed to be as young as 11 years old, I felt the same sort of discomfort that I felt watching the pedophiliac father preying upon his son’s 11-year-old friend in Todd Solondz’s 1998 film “Happiness.” I don’t remember being that unnerved when I first saw “How I Learned to Drive,” more than 25 years ago when the San Diego Rep produced it. But that was admittedly a long, long time ago. The Backyard production directed by Anthony Methvin is dark and uncompromising with a fearless twosome in Carmitchel and Gercke at the forefront. The play’s Greek Chorus inhabiting multiple roles is Karson St. John (who’s excellent), Emilee Zuniga and William Huffaker. Whatever humor resides in “How I Learned to Drive,” probably intended as much-needed comic relief, comes from the side players, though little if any of it (and especially not the physical comedy) is much relief at all from the almost courtly but predacious Uncle Peck. The 100-minute “How I Learned to Drive” is intentionally non-linear. We don’t, for example, witness Uncle Peck’s first molestation of L’il Bit until near the very end. At times she is 13 years old, at others over 30. Uncle Peck never changes, whether it’s the metaphorical teaching Li’l Bit how to drive a car or taking photos of her (for Playboy, for when you’re older) or simply leering at her around the dinner table. In fact, every character seems to leer at L’il Bit at one point or another during the storytelling, ramping up the “ick” factor all the more. For an actor, playing either the abused Li’l Bit or abusing Uncle Peck has to be an onerous challenge. In Gercke’s case, you’re going to have an audience repelled by your character – I’ve read reviews of this play over the years that expressed some misguided sympathy for Uncle Peck, but I don’t understand why. In Carmitchel’s case, you’re going to have to allow yourself to be touched, even fondled, which has to be incredibly difficult onstage. Mary-Louise Parker and David Morse originated these roles off-Broadway in ’97 and returned to them 25 years later as well. But I feel like one could play the characters years on end and always feel some discomfort even while being true to the play and the craft. Vogel has said that the approach for “How I Learned to Drive” was inspired by Nabokov’s “Lolita,” calling it in a 1997 Playbill interview “so even-handed and so neutral.” It’s tough to be neutral about either one. If L’il Bit is in the end empowered by having survived her uncle’s molestations and can move on with her life, that’s some catharsis for the audience. As for being neutral, that’s something for driving a car but no more. “How I Learned to Drive” runs through March 16 at the Tenth Avenue Arts Center downtown. Zachary Noah Piser and Idina Menzel in "Redwood." Photo by Rich Soublet II Idina Menzel is defying gravity again, this time in a world-premiere musical, “Redwood,” at La Jolla Playhouse.
The Broadway star who once upon a time propelled “Wicked” into the cultural consciousness doesn’t fly in Tina Landau and Katie Diaz’s “Redwood” – she climbs high into the majestic giants of the Northern California forest. It’s an existential quest for a woman, Jesse Myers (Menzel), who is all but incapacitated by grief and is desperate not only for answers but for a reason to live. This is a personal creative project for Menzel, who conceived “Redwood” with Landau, and with that prodigious voice of hers she sings her heart out. The power-ballad- and affirmation-heavy score is just made for a Broadway audience, though “Redwood’s” is a story that inhabits dark places in the soul. A broken protagonist setting out on the road to an unknown destination, as Jesse does in “Redwood,” is not exactly a novel premise. A premise for a lot of novels (and films), true. But we’ve seen a setup like this before. We do learn early on that Jesse has lost a grown son and a year later she remains devastated. (The circumstances of Spence’s death come much later.) In spite of her wife Mel’s (De’Adre Aziza) plea to face life and be strong, to honor his memory rather than to seek to escape from it, Jesse flees. The cross-country drive west (“Place”) is our first opportunity to experience the stunning special effects of this production. The projections by media designer Hana S. Kim capture America on the fly. In time they will make the California redwoods come alive in a way that takes your breath away, as will the scenic design by Jason Ardizzone-West. There are clues along Jesse’s drive to forthcoming revelations about her past – strangers who come and go. When she gets to the end of her journey – the redwoods near Eureka, Calif., she meets Finn (Michael Park) and Becca (Nkeki Obi-Melekwe), who climb the mighty trees, study them and all but worship them. Soon Jesse’s deepest exploration of self will become real – and it will test all her bravery, resolve and intestinal fortitude. The Finn character, folksy and philosophical and the initiator of the over-the-top “A Little Bit Wild” number, feels like an amalgam of “colorful free spirits” from a dozen other shows. Becca, on the other hand, a serious scientist who is not at all receptive to Jesse’s wanting to climb the redwoods herself (or even hang around her and Finn), is genuinely tough, smart and credible. Obi-Melekwe not only brings this out deftly but exhibits some impressive vocal power of her own (“Becca’s Song” in particular). Finn, it is revealed, is sympathetic to Jesse’s plight. He has lost a wife. So he accedes (still rather unbelievably) to Jesse’s ultimate request: to spend a night high in the redwoods by herself. The more practical Becca is dead-set against it. Let me interrupt here to laud the vertical movement and staging by Melecio Estrella and his BANDALOOP company. The climbs Jesse, Finn and Becca make, at least to an amateur like me, look all too believable, aided by the projections that give the impression that the three are going higher and higher and higher. But it’s when Jesse gets her way and is alone in the redwoods heights that the show is at its most pointed and its most poignant. Her initial freakout (Menzel does this so well and so humanly) is temporary. Jesse finds solace and the pathway to peace up in the trees. (She bonds and names the tree in whose branches she resides “Stella.”) It’s there that she confides in Becca, who has softened toward her by this point, the details of her son’s death and the extent of her searing pain over it: This is “Redwood’s” you-can-hear-a-pin-drop moment. The payoff song (“Still”) is rendered not by Menzel at all but by Zachary Noah Piser, appearing as Jesse’s son. Like the star playing his mom, he knows how to belt out a ballad. There’s no question that “Redwood” is a visual spectacle or that its illusion of scaling the towering trees is captivating. For me, the music and lyrics are fine, nothing more, though the musicians behind the scenes conducted by Haley Bennett sublimely heighten the emotional atmosphere of the show. Metaphors are rife and obvious in this script. That being said, the overarching comment about connections is one that can never be made too often or too loudly. Even among the redwoods and the patches of blue sky above them, we are all one when you get right down to it. “Redwood” runs through March 31 at La Jolla Playhouse’s Hughes and Sheila Potiker Theatre. Zachary Noah Piser and Idina Menzel in "Redwood." Photo by Rich Soublet II Idina Menzel is defying gravity again, this time in a world-premiere musical, “Redwood,” at La Jolla Playhouse.
The Broadway star who once upon a time propelled “Wicked” into the cultural consciousness doesn’t fly in Tina Landau and Katie Diaz’s “Redwood” – she climbs high into the majestic giants of the Northern California forest. It’s an existential quest for a woman, Jesse Myers (Menzel), who is all but incapacitated by grief and is desperate not only for answers but for a reason to live. This is a personal creative project for Menzel, who conceived “Redwood” with Landau, and with that prodigious voice of hers she sings her heart out. The power-ballad- and affirmation-heavy score is just made for a Broadway audience, though “Redwood’s” is a story that inhabits dark places in the soul. A broken protagonist setting out on the road to an unknown destination, as Jesse does in “Redwood,” is not exactly a novel premise. A premise for a lot of novels (and films), true. But we’ve seen a setup like this before. We do learn early on that Jesse has lost a grown son and a year later she remains devastated. (The circumstances of Spence’s death come much later.) In spite of her wife Mel’s (De’Adre Aziza) plea to face life and be strong, to honor his memory rather than to seek to escape from it, Jesse flees. The cross-country drive west (“Place”) is our first opportunity to experience the stunning special effects of this production. The projections by media designer Hana S. Kim capture America on the fly. In time they will make the California redwoods come alive in a way that takes your breath away, as will the scenic design by Jason Ardizzone-West. There are clues along Jesse’s drive to forthcoming revelations about her past – strangers who come and go. When she gets to the end of her journey – the redwoods near Eureka, Calif., she meets Finn (Michael Park) and Becca (Nkeki Obi-Melekwe), who climb the mighty trees, study them and all but worship them. Soon Jesse’s deepest exploration of self will become real – and it will test all her bravery, resolve and intestinal fortitude. The Finn character, folksy and philosophical and the initiator of the over-the-top “A Little Bit Wild” number, feels like an amalgam of “colorful free spirits” from a dozen other shows. Becca, on the other hand, a serious scientist who is not at all receptive to Jesse’s wanting to climb the redwoods herself (or even hang around her and Finn), is genuinely tough, smart and credible. Obi-Melekwe not only brings this out deftly but exhibits some impressive vocal power of her own (“Becca’s Song” in particular). Finn, it is revealed, is sympathetic to Jesse’s plight. He has not lost a son as she has, but the relationship he has with his own is strained, distant – and it’s his fault. So he accedes (still rather unbelievably) to Jesse’s ultimate request: to spend a night high in the redwoods by herself. The more practical Becca is dead-set against it. Let me interrupt here to laud the vertical movement and staging by Melecio Estrella and his BANDALOOP company. The climbs Jesse, Finn and Becca make, at least to an amateur like me, look all too believable, aided by the projections that give the impression that the three are going higher and higher and higher. But it’s when Jesse gets her way and is alone in the redwoods heights that the show is at its most pointed and its most poignant. Her initial freakout (Menzel does this so well and so humanly) is temporary. Jesse finds solace and the pathway to peace up in the trees. (She bonds and names the tree in whose branches she resides “Stella.”) It’s there that she confides in Becca, who has softened toward her by this point, the details of her son’s death and the extent of her searing pain over it: This is “Redwood’s” you-can-hear-a-pin-drop moment. The payoff song (“Still”) is rendered not by Menzel at all but by Zachary Noah Piser, appearing as Jesse’s son. Like the star playing his mom, he knows how to belt out a ballad. There’s no question that “Redwood” is a visual spectacle or that its illusion of scaling the towering trees is captivating. For me, the music and lyrics are fine, nothing more, though the musicians behind the scenes conducted by Michael Pearce sublimely heighten the emotional atmosphere of the show. Metaphors are rife and obvious in this script. That being said, the overarching comment about connections is one that can never be made too often or too loudly. Even among the redwoods and the patches of blue sky above them, we are all one when you get right down to it. “Redwood” runs through March 31 at La Jolla Playhouse’s Hughes and Sheila Potiker Theatre. Daniel Patrick Russell in "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time." Karli Cadel Photography “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” sounds like something Sherlock Holmes would say. That’s because he does say it, uttering the revealing clue that the family watchdog did not bark while a prized horse was being stolen from the premises in “The Adventure of Silver Blaze.” (Ergo, the thief was not a stranger to the dog. Crime soon solved.)
Fifteen-year-old Christopher Boone of Swindon, England, plays detective himself in Mark Haddon’s 2003 novel, setting out to learn who killed Wellington, a neighbor’s dog, and also the mystery of more than 40 letters from his dead mother (postmarked after her death) that he discovered hidden in his father’s bedroom. What transcended the “boy detective” mystery genre was the fact that mathematics-minded Christopher has unspecified “behavioral issues” – though neither autism nor Asperger’s syndrome is ever specified. I haven’t read the book, though I’d like to now that I’ve seen the stage adaptation of “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time,” which was adapted by British playwright Simon Stephens (“Birdland,” “Punk Rock”) and is making its San Diego-area debut in a CCA Theatricals production in Escondido. Technically spectacular as it is, that’s exceeded by the performance of neurodivergent Daniel Patrick Russell as Christopher. His energy, spontaneity and sensitivity to character are off the charts. The young veteran of both Broadway’s “Billy Elliot” and “The Music Man” and of Stephen Spielberg’s “West Side Story” has us caring about him, worrying about him and of course rooting for him from the very opening of the story when he discovers Wellington, speared to death on the ground. It’s a shocking, graphic moment projected on the screen above the stage that can only approximate what must be going on in the young Christopher’s frenetic thoughts. Ingeniously conceived for the theater, “Curious” is an immersive experience in which we are inside Christopher’s mind, one that operates on prime numbers, and is literal to the point of having no conception of metaphor or emotional nuance. He is averse to and recoils from human touch. Anxiety becomes shuddering panic in the presence or midst of hyper-stimuli. This is achieved through a constant confluence of technical effects – projections (by Blake McCarty), bursts of sound (by Jon Fredette) and light (Mike Billings), and a multi-tiered, scaffolded set by Matthew Herman. Natalie Iscovich choreographs not only Russell’s motions onstage but the cast members who mime various stimuli and literally lift and carry Christopher when the story calls for him to feel transported. This combination of human and non-human kinetics takes Christopher – and us – on car rides, train trips, into the trembling claustrophobia of London’s Tube, and onto alien streets that Christopher must navigate in his own mathematical way. Little of this can be effectively conveyed in words here. To venture inside Christopher’s head and his world is to sit in the theater and, without even trying to, become one with them. Though every second of the two-and-half-hour “Curious” is Russell’s, he is ably supported by an ensemble that includes Allison Spratt Pearce as Christopher’s teacher/mentor Siobhan, who is also closest to being wired into the young man’s inner thoughts, turmoil and desires. Nathan Madden is Ed, Christopher’s father, and Regina A. Fernandez his mother. I know I should ultimately be more sympathetic to these critically important characters, but it’s difficult understanding how either could physically or emotionally distance themselves from Christopher in spite of how onerous or painful it might be to care for him. I could say even more about either, especially Ed, but at the risk of spoilers I will refrain from doing so. Make up your own mind. Also in the cast and playing multiple roles are some familiar dependables including Berto Fernandez, Melissa Fernandes, Christine Hewitt and Dallas McLaughlin. The Matthew Herman scenic design for “Curious” allows us to see the proscenium’s backstage area – a glimpse behind the scenes that is certainly part of this production’s already dramatic visual appeal. The arc of “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” could be nitpicked – its play-within-a-play idea doesn’t really crystallize, and the tone of the ending feels more convenient than cohesive. But the journey along the way is dauntless and more emotional than you’ll expect. “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” has to be one of the most challenging projects director J. Scott Lapp has ever undertaken, and he is to be lauded for the end result: a production that, guaranteed, will be unlike any you’ve seen before. “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” runs through March 3 at the Center Theater at the California Center for the Arts, Escondido. Daniel Patrick Russell in "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time." Karli Cadel Photography “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” sounds like something Sherlock Holmes would say. That’s because he does say it, uttering the revealing clue that the family watchdog did not bark while a prized horse was being stolen from the premises in “The Adventure of Silver Blaze.” (Ergo, the thief was not a stranger to the dog. Crime soon solved.)
Fifteen-year-old Christopher Boone of Swindon, England, plays detective himself in Mark Haddon’s 2003 novel, setting out to learn who killed Wellington, a neighbor’s dog, and also the mystery of more than 40 letters from his dead mother (postmarked after her death) that he discovered hidden in his father’s bedroom. What transcended the “boy detective” mystery genre was the fact that mathematics-minded Christopher has unspecified “behavioral issues” – though neither autism nor Asperger’s syndrome is ever specified. I haven’t read the book, though I’d like to now that I’ve seen the stage adaptation of “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time,” which was adapted by British playwright Simon Stephens (“Birdland,” “Punk Rock”) and is making its San Diego-area debut in a CCA Theatricals production in Escondido. Technically spectacular as it is, that’s exceeded by the performance of neurodivergent Daniel Patrick Russell as Christopher. His energy, spontaneity and sensitivity to character are off the charts. The young veteran of both Broadway’s “Billy Elliot” and “The Music Man” and of Stephen Spielberg’s “West Side Story” has us caring about him, worrying about him and of course rooting for him from the very opening of the story when he discovers Wellington, speared to death on the ground. It’s a shocking, graphic moment projected on the screen above the stage that can only approximate what must be going on in the young Christopher’s frenetic thoughts. Ingeniously conceived for the theater, “Curious” is an immersive experience in which we are inside Christopher’s mind, one that operates on prime numbers, and is literal to the point of having no conception of metaphor or emotional nuance. He is averse to and recoils from human touch. Anxiety becomes shuddering panic in the presence or midst of hyper-stimuli. This is achieved through a constant confluence of technical effects – projections (by Blake McCarty), bursts of sound (by Jon Fredette) and light (Mike Billings), and a multi-tiered, scaffolded set by Matthew Herman, who has also choreographed at CCA not only Russell’s motions onstage but the cast members who mime various stimuli and literally lift and carry Christopher when the story calls for him to feel transported. This combination of human and non-human kinetics takes Christopher – and us – on car rides, train trips, into the trembling claustrophobia of London’s Tube, and onto alien streets that Christopher must navigate in his own mathematical way. Little of this can be effectively conveyed in words here. To venture inside Christopher’s head and his world is to sit in the theater and, without even trying to, become one with them. Though every second of the two-and-half-hour “Curious” is Russell’s, he is ably supported by an ensemble that includes Allison Spratt Pearce as Christopher’s teacher/mentor Siobhan, who is also closest to being wired into the young man’s inner thoughts, turmoil and desires. Nathan Madden is Ed, Christopher’s father, and Regina A. Fernandez his mother. I know I should ultimately be more sympathetic to these critically important characters, but it’s difficult understanding how either could physically or emotionally distance themselves from Christopher in spite of how onerous or painful it might be to care for him. I could say even more about either, especially Ed, but at the risk of spoilers I will refrain from doing so. Make up your own mind. Also in the cast and playing multiple roles are some familiar dependables including Berto Fernandez, Melissa Fernandes, Christine Hewitt and Dallas McLaughlin. The Matthew Herman scenic design for “Curious” allows us to see the proscenium’s backstage area – a glimpse behind the scenes that is certainly part of this production’s already dramatic visual appeal. The arc of “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” could be nitpicked – its play-within-a-play idea doesn’t really crystallize, and the tone of the ending feels more convenient than cohesive. But the journey along the way is dauntless and more emotional than you’ll expect. “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” has to be one of the most challenging projects director J. Scott Lapp has ever undertaken, and he is to be lauded for the end result: a production that, guaranteed, will be unlike any you’ve seen before. “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time” runs through March 3 at the Center Theater at the California Center for the Arts, Escondido. |
AuthorDavid L. Coddon is a Southern California theater critic. Archives
April 2024
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