Left to right: Cree, Nico Greetham, Benito Martinez and Angelique Cabral in "One of the Good Ones." Photo by Rich Soublet II Its impressive cast of Oscar winners (Katharine Hepburn, Spencer Tracy and Sidney Poitier) wasn’t enough to prevent 1967’s “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?” from being a grim, even turgid 108 minutes on screen. So props to television writer Gloria Calderon Kellett (“One Day at a Time”) for taking essentially the same premise – a pampered, only-child daughter brings home a surprise paramour to meet the parents – and wringing loads of laughter from it.
Calderon Kellett’s “One of the Good Ones” requires only 86 minutes of our attention, but every minute of her first full-length play counts. In fact, there so many twists, turns and shocks in this onstage affair that it’s like Calderon Kellett compressed a six-episode sitcom into just one. This expands the bounds of believability to a certain extent as one surprise is quickly trumped by another. Naturally the primary surprise in this comedy at the Old Globe is self-proclaimed Latine daughter Yoli (Cree) introducing her “serious boyfriend" Marcos to her folks (Benito Martinez as Enrique and Angelique Cabral as Ilana, both of them slow- and sometimes fast-burn hilarious). The name Marcos is deceptive. Though born in Mexico and fully fluent in Spanish, the America-raised young man (Nico Greetham) looks very white. If that sounds uncomfortable to read or say, it’s very much in line with what identity and racial dynamics Calderon Kellett is exploring within the play’s comic situations. Just to recap (that’s a line that Enrique uses several times during the action when he’s trying to get a grasp on whatever revelation has shaken the proceedings): He is of Cuban heritage, born in America. Spanish speaking. Wife Ilana is of Mexican and Puerto Rican heritage, born in America. Speaks no Spanish to speak of. (Opening fun is had with her over-trying to communicate with the man delivering flowers for the festive evening, awkwardly offering him “agua,” for example.) Daughter Yoli is a recent college grad, born in America, not only Spanish speaking but righteously championing every enlightened plank in the book and challenging her parents to get with it. Then there’s Marcos, who arrives at the Pasadena house (gorgeous set by Takeshi Kata, by the by) with a bottle of wine and … a pinata. That gives you an idea of his earnest if wildly misguided strategy for winning over his true love’s folks. The pinata will become the show’s sixth “cast member,” but you’ll learn how for yourself in an audience. (The production runs for three more weeks.) Calderon Kellett’s characters are overdrawn to suit high comedy, though both Martinez’s Enrique and Cabral’s Ilana have enough real-world relatability and humanity for us to enjoy them, to sympathize with them, to recognize and understand their flaws as well as their good parental intentions. Greetham’s Marcos is all over the place and difficult to get a handle on – at some points, he’s insufferably buzzwordy and clueless, at others sincerely, almost likably attempting to please everyone. No dis to the single-named Cree as an actor, but her Yoli may be the most grating character I’ve seen onstage so far this year. Her preachiness is one thing. Her self-absorption, to the extent of even hanging her beloved Marcos out to dry, makes her nearly impossible to care about. Calderon Kellett is an experienced pro with snappy comedy dialogue (besides “One Day at a Time,” “How I Met Your Mother,” “Jane the Virgin,” “Dead to Me,” et al) and as a colleague of the late, great Norman Lear she’s well attuned to writing the sort of story “One of the Good Ones” strives to tell. Combine that with an excellent director, Kimberly Senior (La Jolla Playhouse’s notable “The Who and the What” in 2014), and this production bounces along with nary a dead spot as one “I-can’t-believe-he(she)-said that!” moment follows on another. The presence of Martinez and Cabral gifts Calderon Kellett’s play with the charm and comic timing required of parents characters who are navigating (that’s one of Yoli’s words – sorry) generational, cultural and racial identity issues at the same time that they’re trying to support the daughter they truly love. Like Marcos, Enrique and Ilana can mis-speak, and like most parents do, they tend to over-react, but they’re two of the good ones. So are Martinez and Cabral. “One of the good Ones” runs through June 22 at the Old Globe in Balboa Park.
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Nick Fradiani in "The Neil Diamond Musical A Beautiful Noise." Photo by Jeremy Daniel I can’t help it. Every time I think of Neil Diamond I remember the sight of him in sunglasses, a wide-lapel sport jacket and a bright red shirt standing onstage at San Francisco’s Winterland among rock-culture luminaries Joni Mitchell, Neil Young and members of The Band. Diamond looks, in Martin Scorsese’s 1978 concert documentary “The Last Waltz,” as out of place as a lounge singer at Woodstock.
So I’ve always thought of Neil Diamond, as prolific a songwriter as he is, and as undeniably popular as he was for decades, as a square. The “Last Waltz” incongruity is not Diamond’s fault. Having put out a record, titled “Beautiful Noise” produced by Robbie Robertson of The Band, Diamond was there at Robertson’s invitation, though anecdotally some others in the storied group, like drummer Levon Helm, weren’t happy about it. I know I’m in the minority among pop music lovers, but for me too many of Diamond’s songs are lightweight, easy-listening “hits,” and I often find his mannered vocalizing annoying. Here’s where true irony has crept in: The Broadway-vetted jukebox musical now on national tour draws its name from Diamond’s 1976 “Beautiful Noise” album, and when that was released I, for the first time, found myself really appreciating the guy’s songwriting. The record included the celebratory title song, as well as the estimable “If You Know What I Mean,” “Lady-Oh” and “Dry Your Eyes,” which Diamond performed in his “Last Waltz” cameo. “The Neil Diamond Musical A Beautiful Noise” begins with that aforementioned title track but boasts none of those others. Predictably, it’s populated with the big hits from earlier in Diamond’s career that have made him a pop-music icon. They’re all here: “Holly Holy,” “Cracklin’ Rosie,” “America,” “Song Sung Blue,” “I Am … I Said,” “Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show,” the inevitable sing-along “Sweet Caroline” and more. So this show is a treasure chest for diehard Neil Diamond fans who’ll get everything they wanted … except the real, live Neil Diamond onstage. (He’s 84 now, with Parkinson’s disease, and no longer performing.) However, and this is a big however, the musical stars former “American Idol” winner Nick Fradiani, and he’s just about perfect. His vocals not only sound like Neil Diamond’s but so does his phrasing, yet he soars beyond some tribute-show impersonation. If you close your eyes that could be Neil Diamond up there. In Anthony McCarten’s book for this show, there are two Neil Diamonds. The narrative arc is framed by a shrink session between the older, retired Neil (played with some measure of ornery weariness by Robert Westenberg) and the psychotherapist he’s reluctantly sharing with Lisa Renee Pitts). By way of a useful prop – a hefty volume containing all of Diamond’s musical compositions – the therapy device facilitates a trip through the pop-star-patient’s past. It begins with the Brooklyn-born novice with a guitar and a pregnant wife (Tiffany Tatreau) dreaming of getting into the music business. His first big break is a solo gig at the storied Bitter End coffeehouse. It’s here that Fradiani, playing his own acoustic ax, performs my all-time-favorite Neil Diamond song, “Solitary Man.” Before long, the young Neil has earned his way into the Brill Building stable of pop songwriters and, like so many of them at the time, found himself writing eventual hits for others, like “I’m A Believer,” a smash for the Monkees. As the story goes on, young Neil also forsakes Wife No. 1 for the sexy Marcia Murphey (Hannah Jewel Kohn), who becomes Wife No. 2. I knew of Diamond’s Brill Building hits and frustrations and his earliest solo breakthroughs, such as “Kentucky Woman.” I didn’t know about his making a deal with the mob to back him, dramatized in this show by Bang Records’ shady Bert Berns (Michael Accardo) and Tommy O’Rourke (Tuck Mulligan). Diamond is challenged by these two: If he wants to escape his contract (which limits his writing deeper, more personal songs), he must make a multi-hit album that will line their pockets further. After an introspective sequence set in Memphis, Diamond comes up with what will be the most memorable hit of his career – “Sweet Caroline.” Act One climaxes with Fradiani joyously belting it out and the approving Civic Theatre audience practically in a frenzy. On the subject of frenzy, I’ve got to say that the choreography (by Steven Hoggett) that accompanies Fradiani’s performances of Neil Diamond songs is among the most shuddering I’ve seen in a long while. An ensemble of dancers, usually clad in ridiculous ‘60s-looking outfits, are employed to frug behind him in number after number, bringing to mind an old episode of “Shindig” or “Hullabaloo.” I understand that without a live band onstage behind Fradiani he otherwise would be awkwardly by his lonesome during the show’s rousing numbers, but these frugging people are distracting and add nothing but period silliness to the performances. The costumes Fradiani dons throughout his Neil Diamond career (designed by Emilio Sosa), on the other hand, are terrific, as are Kohn’s many, many outfits. Act 2 brings the sort of complications that typically emerge in bio-musicals like this one, prominent among them the consequences of Diamond’s heavy touring schedule on his marriage to Wife No. 2. Just as the deteriorating of his union with Wife No. 1 enabled the inclusion of “Love on the Rocks,” the second failing marriage culminated with Fradiani and Kohn duetting on “You Don’t Bring Me Flowers.” The strength of Act 2, which outshines the exposition-heavy first act, is the presence of a live band situated above the stage. Besides providing more of a concert feel to the proceedings, the musicians are entertaining to watch – especially drummer Morgan Parker, her arms flailing and blonde hair flying. She’s like a female Dave Grohl from that famous “Smells Like Teen Spirit” video. There is, though, a definite dud in the second act: To portray that Marsha desires her touring husband’s presence more than the trinkets he gives her, Kohn is tasked with performing a “Forever in Blue Jeans” that is cringe-worthy. This is where the show’s choreography is at its most ludicrous, and fact is, the sequence is completely at odds with the tone and presentation of the production. “The Neil Diamond Musical” recovers. A revealing one-on-one between the “now Neil” and his therapist precipitates a life-affirming “I Am … I Said” that is quite touching. It also could be representative of the real Neil Diamond who, love him or take-him-or-leave-him, seems to have been always true to himself. That’s worthy of respect. Including mine. “The Neil Diamond Musical A Beautiful Noise” runs through June 1 at the Civic Theatre, downtown. Note: Make sure to read the “Letter from Neil” in your Playbill program. He’s candid and grateful and enlightening. Michael Amira Temple in "Merry Me." Photo by Talon Reed Cooper From the very first moments of “Merry Me,” when its beguiling narrator (Michael Amira Temple) introduces the characters, it’s clear that everyone involved knows that they’re putting on a show and that its interludes of commentary aside, it shouldn’t be taken too seriously.
That’s the attitude audiences should adopt with this Hansol Jung romp, now onstage at Diversionary Theatre in University Heights. Though it’s been referred to, and often advertised in the two years it’s been around, as a “lesbian sex comedy,” that’s pretty reductive. It’s true Jung is anything but subtle with the one-act play’s foreplay, fiveplay and sixplay, but her “Merry Me” script is informed by a slew of literary, historical and pop-culture references. For starters, just as Restoration playwright William Wycherley’s “The Country Wife” imagined a man, Harry Horner, who feigned impotence in order to have sex with married women, Jung’s lesbian Lt. Shane Horne (Winnie Beasley) enlists the help of her psychiatrist (Andrea Agosto) in letting everyone at the wartime island Navy base on which they’re stationed believe that she has undergone conversion therapy. This as a means of getting her “merries” – the play’s code word for orgasms. Jung has also borrowed from Greek mythology, assigning supporting characters on the basecamp thusly: commanding officer Gen. Aga Memnon (Troy Tinker-Elliot), his wife Clytemnestra Memnon (Jacquelyn Ritz), their son Willy Memnon (Coleman Ray Clark) and his wife Sappho Memnon (Mak Shealy). That’s not all. Horne uses a volume of Shakespeare in an attempt to, well, get off. The omniscient narrator turns into The Angel from Tony Kushner’s “Angels in America.” Even the Marvel “Avengers” movies find their way into the storytelling. Full disclosure: I knew about all of these references before I saw “Merry Me” on opening night at Diversionary, but you know what? The Kushner Angel aside, I was never thinking about the Greek mythology nods and very little of the other Easter eggs. Maybe the script’s too clever for its own good; as a very sexy, pretty graphic 90-minute farce where practically anything goes, “Merry Me” doesn’t need Greek mythology or The Bard at all. Director Vanessa Stalling lets her actors play, and do they ever. They’re all going full throttle most of the time, though only Clark’s nerdy (glasses – dead giveaway!) Willy Memnon comes off like a cartoon character. Tinker-Elliot’s general is close, but he has less to do. There are interweaving narratives in the midst of all the physical comedy – there’s a war going on; the basecamp is blacked out; Shane can’t keep up her ruse after she meets Sappho in drag, which leaves Willy and Mrs. Memnon (who had a thing with Shane) in both turmoil and frustration; meanwhile, shrink Jess O’Nope has been merried (47 times we’re told) by the Angel and is afterward given the task of wiping out “half the population” with an ax. That would be the “cis-gendered male species of European descent.” Uh, starting with axing Willy Memnon. The talented Agosto manages to make this complication seem somehow grounded in reality. Hers is the most human portrayal in the show. But it’s Temple who gets the last bow afterward, and for excellent reason. She’s not only the heart of “Merry Me” but owns every scene she’s in, and that’s most of the play. It’s a nuanced performance that is the height of fun to watch. It’s easy to get lost in the “Merry Me” tale, but I don’t know that it matters. Certainly the play has some weightier points to make, though they’re swamped by the madcap goings-on. This production to some extent brings to mind Diversionary’s zany “TL;DR: Thelma Louise; Dyke Remix” from last year, at least in spirit. “Merry Me” is a more satisfying show and more creative. “Merry Me” runs through June 8 at Diversionary Theatre in University Heights. • Important coda: In a story I did last year for the San Diego Union-Tribune about then-newly installed Diversionary Artistic Director Sherri Eden Barber, I wrote that Barber was the theater’s first female artistic director. She is not. Gail Feldman was the first. I apologize to her for the error. Tiffany Renee Johnson (foreground) and Claudia Logan (to her left) in "Jaja's African Hair Braiding." Photo by Rich Soublet II With its warmth, wit and wonderful characters, Ghanaian American playwright Jocelyn Bioh’s “Jaja’s African Hair Braiding” would make a promising, perhaps even enduring series on a streaming network like Hulu or Apple TV.
But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. For now, Bioh’s comedic play about West African immigrants working at a Harlem hair salon is in the midst of a co-production regional tour following its limited but well received run on Broadway in 2023. (“Jaja’s” earned six Tony nominations and won two.) Already staged at Berkeley Rep, Chicago Shakespeare Theatre and D.C.’s Arena Stage, “Jaja’s African Hair Braiding” opened Thursday night at La Jolla Playhouse and will bow in the fall from L.A.’s Center Theatre Group at the Mark Taper Forum. “Jaja’s” is the opening production of the Playhouse’s 42nd season. Considering both the collective need to laugh during the frightening climate forged by the current administration and the urgency of countering its anti-immigrant machinations, this play couldn’t arrive at a better time. It’s celebratory of those willing to sacrifice all to be in America but also cautionary about the consequences forced upon so many of them. The 90-minute play covers a day in the life of the titular Jaja’s African Hair Braiding, though it’s not just any day. Senegalese owner/boss Jaja (Victoire Charles) is away from the salon, for a good reason -- though her daughter and the shop’s employees don’t think so: She’s getting married that day to Steven, a white man, and in doing so will win her green card. (Jaja doesn’t appear onstage until later in the going, but when she does, dressed to the nines for the wedding, what an entrance!) In charge of Jaja’s for the day is her daughter Marie (Jordan Rice), a recent high school graduate who dreams of being a writer. Her mother’s dream is for her to go to a prestigious university and become something like a doctor. Young though she may be, Marie is tending to the braiding salon with calm and common sense. That’s not always easy. She’s surrounded by big personalities, the Jaja’s braiders who keep the business humming. Bea (Claudia Logan), from Ghana, had counted on being Jaja’s partner in the biz, if not operator of her own salon. As such, she’s testy and can be fiery too, like when she discovers that the shop newbie, Nigerian Ndidi (Aisha Sougou), has, in Bea’s suspicious mind, pilfered one of her regular customers. Bea’s ever on the verge of a blow-up. She also tangles at one point with Aminata (Tiffany Renee Johnson), from Senegal, who’s just as passionate and who doesn’t appreciate being judged out loud for her marriage to a charming no-good (Onye Eme-Akwari, in one of four roles). The “quiet one,” Miriam (Bisserat Tseggai) , turns out to be the most forthcoming, demonstrated in the ardent telling of a story to a journalist client (Mia Ellis) about her forbidden romance back home in Sierra Leone … and where it led. The back-and-forths with each other and with the eccentric parade of clients and vendors who pass in and out of Jaja’s during the day is lively paced by director Whitney White and super-charged by these top-performing actors. It’s just so much fun to watch and listen to them sparring, bantering and sharing. Bioh has said that she was inspired by her own visits over the years to New York braiding shops. It was in them that she picked up on conversations, got to know persons and personalities, and appreciated in them the hard work, devotion to craft and embrace of the so-called American Dream. Almost immediately after Jaja’s brief appearance and departure for the green card wedding, the story is rocked, as is Marie’s world, by what happens offstage and away from the salon. Will these remarkable women put their minor differences aside, come together, support each other? What do you think? Bioh has drawn with richness and forethought characters distinctive enough to stand out even in the brevity of a one-act play; their individualities are expressed and made fully believable by this ensemble cast. The braiding, too, is just as believable, with the women at their stations, clients in chairs, seeming to produce beautiful cornrows or micro braids and box braids before our eyes. David Zinn’s scenic design with its splashes of bold colors, shelves of hair products, overhanging TV sets and reminders of Jaja’s multicultural identity is as much playground as workplace, and for all these women a second home. Plaudits too for Dede Ayite’s costume design, Nikiya Mathis’ wigs and hair design, and Jiyoun Chang’s just-right lighting. Both Zinn and Ayite took home Tonys for their work on the “Jaja’s” Broadway production. Now. Back to the future. Is there enough in “Jaja’s African Hair Braiding,” the play’s climactic drama notwithstanding, to sustain an ongoing series in another medium? Who knows? But weekly or binge-worthy visits with these women, their clients and their friends would be a welcome addition to streaming world and a long-overdue showcase for the deeply rooted cultural identity of West African nations and their people. “Jaja’s African Hair Braiding” runs through June 15 at La Jolla Playhouse’s Mandell Weiss Theatre, UCSD campus. Kate Rose Reynolds in "The Counter." Photo courtesy of Moxie Theatre Meghan Kennedy’s “The Counter” is a little play – 75 minutes’ long, a cast of 2 … well, 2.5 – that serves up a big question: What makes life worth living?
For Paul, the first customer every morning at the Main Street Diner located somewhere in a nothing-ever-happens town in Upstate New York, the question is moot. A retired firefighter beaten down by loss and grief and mired in ennui, life for him is without surprises and, though he's healthy and affable enough, he’s ready to die. The problem for Katie, who presides at the diner, robotically brewing and pouring coffee each day, is that Paul wants her to help him end it all. This would seem at once too much and not enough conflict for a play of this brevity, but somehow the timing’s just right. Credit for that goes to Kennedy of course but also to Moxie Theatre, which is staging “The Counter” (and doing so after having late in the game postponed producing Mara Nelson-Greenberg’s “Do You Feel Anger?”) A primarily two-hander with one character seated 90 percent of the time can for audiences feel like slow going. But director Desiree Clarke Miller clearly appreciates the rhythm of this story, a narrative that should feel at its basics like a quiet morning routine re-enacted time after time. Clarke Miller also has two pro’s to work with: Kate Rose Reynolds plays Katie, the woman behind the counter, with all the world weariness and disillusionment (and more, as we learn later) requisite of someone going through the motions at a nowhere diner; and Mark Stevens playing customer Paul, so seemingly normal that his fatalistic request feels as casual as asking for a refill. Kara Tuckfield arrives late in the going as Dr. Peg Bradley, a married local with whom Paul surprisingly has had a fling, but – no fault of the actor – this cameo could have been confined to exposition. It’s as if playwright Kennedy decided “Hmm. Maybe I need to bring in one more character.” There’s also an unseen “character” in “The Counter”: the recorded voice of Gil (provided by Alex Guzman), a “friend” of Katie’s from the town she fled who’s left a whopping 27 voicemails on her phone. Talk about somebody carrying a torch. The fact of those unlistened-to voice messages is revealed once Paul takes his and Katie’s strictly-business relationship to the next level: He suggests they trade secrets, something friends might do. His is a corker: He desires to die and wants her to poison him by dropping something lethal, on any given morning that she chooses to do so, into his cuppa joe. This is where “The Counter” premise-wise ventures into “Twilight Zone” territory, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. What grounds it in genuine human interaction moving forward is Reynolds’ thoughtful performance. In her hands, Katie becomes more and more a wholly complex woman, a lonely soul who has been secreting regrets and what-if’s as well as the emotional scars of something far more personally intrusive than a busted relationship with the unseen Gil. The scene where after a quarrel one morning Paul doesn’t show up as usual and Katie is left to wonder, even fear whether he is still alive is as wrenching as anything in the play. Without a word Reynolds shows Katie’s dread, anxiety and despair. Her hunching over the counter seemingly unable to move conveys it all. Stevens’ role does not call for as much layering, though he’s certainly believable as Paul, a good man who’s kind of given up. When it looks as though Katie and Paul have finally agreed that they’re actual friends – you knew a hug was coming – that’s believable enough as well. The poison-me device, though, is more credible to me than is Katie’s ultimate decision re: the Gil we don’t even know (and I’m not sure if she truly knows him either). But people do funny things, whether they’re in love, in like, or something in between. The Main Street Diner crafted by scenic designer Julie Lorenz is just as cozy and corny as you’d expect in a little town on freezing mornings. There’s much attention to detail: the chalkboard scribble touting the breakfast special; the storefronts of the quaint town street visible through the window; the old coat rack where Paul hangs his jacket each morn. The appeal of the neighborhood diner isn’t so much lost on me as foreign to me. I’m a big-city boy so I don’t have a lot of experience with such places. But in spite of the interpersonal drama going on at the one in “The Counter,” I could see myself popping in if it was chilly out and I craved a hot cup and a donut. Make mine with milk, please, and hold the sugar. “The Counter” runs through June 1 at Moxie Theatre in Rolando. Left to right: Supriya Ganesh (seated), Tommy Bo, Mahira Kakkar and Deven Kolluri in "House of India." Photo by Jim Cox Whenever I observe that a family restaurant has closed, I feel a tinge of sadness, an empathy for someone’s blood, sweat and tears dissolved. It’s worse if it’s a place I’d frequented.
From such circumstances came San Diego playwright Deepak Kumar’s “House of India,” and for him it was even more personal. House of India was a restaurant he and his family frequented when he was growing up in Michigan. It was a place, he has said, to connect with his community, his culture and with the cuisine of his heritage. In writing the one-act “House of India,” which is making its world premiere at the Old Globe in the round, Kumar moved that Michigan restaurant south to Ohio, integrated dishes and recipes taught to him by his mother, and imagined an Indian family bravely holding on while their business falters. Directed by Zi Alikhan, “House of India” is an endearing, well-crafted dramedy heightened by a sincere, star performance from Mahira Kakkar as the estimable family matriarch. Situated in a strip mall in Akron, Ohio (until this play familiar to me only for Firestone Tires and the quirky band DEVO), little House of India is enjoying fewer and fewer customers. The dream of an Indian immigrant who has passed away, the restaurant is now in the hands of his widow, Ananya (Kakkar), who remains steadfast in her love for the spouse she’s lost and in her iron will to keep the doors open. From the very outset of the story Ananya resists the unflagging enthusiasm and determination of Jacob (Tommy Bo), her young Thai-American cook who is much more than that: He’s been part of the family from childhood and calls her “Auntie.” Seeing the writing on the wall, Jacob is pushing hard for a reinvention of the menu and the restaurant, convinced that a fast-paced, modernized fusion eatery will not only save House of India but, dream of dreams, could become a money-making franchise. Ananya wants no part of Indian tacos or quesadillas, to say nothing of a restaurant completely unlike what her American dream-seeking husband had founded. Her steel-willed daughter Vaidehi (Supriya Ganesh) is in complete agreement. Her response to Jacob’s high-energy pitches is more like contempt than like her mother’s exasperation. Then entering the picture is Ananya’s wayward son Vikram (Deven Kolluri), who has been in New York for three years ostensibly trying to meet a book-writing deadline. He’s there “to do research,” he informs everyone, though his story feels dubious from the start. The ensuing sparring over House of India’s future proceeds beningly and amusingly enough until with everyone gone, the lights low and the restaurant closed a hooded figure breaks in, overturns chairs and spray-paints a hate-crime message on one of the woven carpets. In spite of his business fervor, it strains believability a little when almost immediately Jacob suggests that Ananya exploit the hate-crime incursion for publicity. He seems to genuinely love his “auntie” and had to know the idea would upset her, which it does. So it equally stretches the imagination a little when not long after Ananya agrees, and before we know it the transformation of House of India is under way. This is physically achieved in a remarkable sequence in which before audience eyes all of the traditional Indian restaurant furnishings, including the intricate carpets, are removed and then replaced with the neo-modern trappings of every trendy fast-food-fusion joint you’ve ever patronized. There’s even a hip-hop soundtrack. The new restaurant is now called Toor, and much fun is had with the otherwise savvy Jacob’s hapless inability to pronounce that properly. There’s more to “House of India” than this transformation. Both Vai and Vik harbor secrets from their mother, later revealed. Vik also confesses a resentment to Jacob, less of him than of Vik’s own father. The interpersonal workings of “House of India” are when the play functions at its highest stakes and most affecting. What these have in common is the presence of Kakkar as Ananya, whether it’s her tender reminiscing with Jacob about her friendship with his mother or his childhood involvement with the family, or the stern passion in her confrontations with her children. Playwright Kumar’s narrative decision as to Ananya’s ultimate destiny may surprise some but will gratify most, as it did me. Aside from Kakkar and earnest supporting performances from Bo, Ganesh and Kolluri, this production is enhanced by Chika Shimizu’s scenic design of the two restaurant settings with the connecting outside doorway into both, and Cha See’s alternately bright and moodier lighting. The White Theatre’s in-the-round environs comes with its viewing challenges depending on where one is seated, but then the size is just right for what House of India/Toor is supposed to be. The chief contribution of “House of India” is its honoring of deeply rooted Indian traditions, embrace of family and of course cooking. Your heart may be full afterward, but you’ll hunger for a dosa or a spoonful of sambar stew. “House of India” runs through June 8 in the Old Globe’s Sheryl and Harvey White Theatre in Balboa Park. Erica Marie Weisz in "I Can Cook, Too!" Photo courtesy of New Village Arts Theatre Erica Marie Weisz’s one-woman cabaret show “I Can Cook, Too!” is a come on/get happy excuse to get out of the house on Sunday or Monday night – at least through May 26. A 90-minute mashup of Broadway and jazz standards and comedy schtick with a culinary flavor, it’s pure, breezy entertainment.
Actor Weisz wrote, is directing and is starring in this show that grew out of her pandemic-era streaming videos “Quarantine Cooking with Erica Marie.” She doesn’t do any actual cooking on the stage at New Village Arts in Carlsbad, but she does cook when she’s singing – especially on torchy numbers like “Fever,” “Black Coffee” or “I’m a Fool to Want You,” the latter a visual spoof that I won’t spoil. “I Can Cook, Too!” is a reinvention of the cabaret show Weisz performed twice at Broadway Vista. It’s lengthier and has a few nods to NVA’s Carlsbad home, which was Weisz’s stamping ground for a bit last year when she performed in the theater’s “Thanksgiving Play” and “The 39 Steps.” Backing Weisz onstage are keyboardist/musical director Patrick Marion (who also breaks out the accordion for her lush rendition of “Le Vie En Rose”), Martin Martiarena on bass and Jon Berghouse, mostly shushing on a drum kit. For Weisz’s part, she changes in the wings from slinky gown to slinky gown numerous times, often donning an apron over one of them, moves props around when called for, and at one point even steals behind the stage to toss “fish” into the midst. (You’ll have to be there.) Weisz is a fearless and talented comedienne, and though she takes it past the limit a couple of times, she’s best when the musical repertoire calls for laughter. Her “Mambo Italiano” would make Rosemary Clooney smile (maybe Dean Martin too). Even better is her “Adelaide’s Lament” from “Guys and Dolls,” aka “A Person Could Develop A Cold.” There’s a what-the-heck, anything goes approach to the comedy in this cabaret, from punny jokes to crossed eyes to a kazoo. Truth is, 15 minutes, maybe 20 could have come out of “I Can Cook, Too!” and nothing would be lost. But has there ever been a one-person show that couldn’t have stood a trimming? Demonstrating that she’s much more than funny, Weisz beautifully delivers toward the end of the evening the exquisite “As If We Never Said Goodbye” from “Sunset Boulevard.” Get out your hanky. All this and you’ll actually get some useful cooking tips. “I Can Cook, Too” runs Sunday and Monday night at 7 at New Village Arts Theatre in Carlsbad through May 26. Erica Marie Weisz in "I Can Cook, Too!" Photo courtesy of New Village Arts Theatre Erica Marie Weisz’s one-woman cabaret show “I Can Cook, Too!” is a come on/get happy excuse to get out of the house on Sunday or Monday night – at least through May 26. A 90-minute mashup of Broadway and jazz standards and comedy schtick with a culinary flavor, it’s pure, breezy entertainment.
Actor Weisz wrote, is directing and is starring in this show that grew out of her pandemic-era streaming videos “Quarantine Cooking with Erica Marie.” She doesn’t do any actual cooking on the stage at New Village Arts in Carlsbad, but she does cook when she’s singing – especially on torchy numbers like “Fever,” “Black Coffee” or “I’m a Fool to Want You,” the latter a visual spoof that I won’t spoil. “I Can Cook, Too!” is a reinvention of the cabaret show Weisz performed twice at Broadway Vista. It’s lengthier and has a few nods to NVA’s Carlsbad home, which was Weisz’s stamping ground for a bit last year when she performed in the theater’s “Thanksgiving Play” and “The 39 Steps.” Backing Weisz onstage are keyboardist/musical director Patrick Marion (who also breaks out the accordion for her lush rendition of “Le Vie En Rose”), Martin Martiarena on bass and Jon Berghouse, mostly shushing on a drum kit. For Weisz’s part, she changes in the wings from slinky gown to slinky gown numerous times, often donning an apron over one of them, moves props around when called for, and at one point even steals behind the stage to toss “fish” into the midst. (You’ll have to be there.) Weisz is a fearless and talented comedienne, and though she takes it past the limit a couple of times, she’s best when the musical repertoire calls for laughter. Her “Mambo Italiano” would make Rosemary Clooney smile (maybe Dean Martin too). Even better is her “Adelaide’s Lament” from “Guys and Dolls,” aka “A Person Could Develop A Cold.” There’s a what-the-heck, anything goes approach to the comedy in this cabaret, from punny jokes to crossed eyes to a kazoo. Truth is, 15 minutes, maybe 20 could have come out of “I Can Cook, Too!” and nothing would be lost. But has there ever been a one-person show that couldn’t have stood a trimming? Demonstrating that she’s much more than funny, Weisz beautifully delivers toward the end of the evening the exquisite “As If We Never Said Goodbye” from “Sunset Boulevard.” Get out your hanky. All this and you’ll actually get some useful cooking tips. “I Can Cook, Too” runs Sunday and Monday night at 7 at New Village Arts Theatre in Carlsbad through May 26. For the third time, a national touring production of "Hamilton" hits San Diego. Photo by Joan Marcus This year marks a decade since Lin-Manuel Miranda brought “Hamilton” to Broadway and to the world. Hard to believe.
That’s not so long that we’ve forgotten how its arrival shook up musical theater at the time, but it’s long ago enough that many people have seen “Hamilton” numerous times. Wednesday night marked my third. I could tell that it wasn’t the first go-round for others crowded into the Civic Theatre. They cheered, for example, at the very arrival of “Hamilton’s” most over-the-top characters, King George III and Thomas Jefferson. Some rapped along to “My Shot.” At times it was like your favorite legacy band had begun to play the first few bars of one of their biggest and most familiar hits. As for me, I was curious before the show started how I would react to seeing and hearing “Hamilton” again. The first time a national tour of the show came through San Diego, back in 2018, I was fairly blown away even if my sky-high expectations had primed me for the littlest disappointment. By the second time, in the fall of 2022, I was jaded – the novelty of “Hamilton” having dissipated, and I probably nitpicked the show afterward. But the third time charmed me all over again. True, I still left the theater believing that Act One, with its deep-seated fire and American Revolution ferocity, is far superior to “Hamilton’s” more personal, ballad-endowed Act Two. And believing that one funny King George ditty is good … two all right … OK, but three! – played. Yet this time around I appreciated aspects of this groundbreaking musical that perhaps I’d overlooked in the past. Like how sophisticated and athletic the choreography (conceived by Andy Blankenbuehler) is. How clever and precise and, when necessary, biting are the rapped lyrics written by Miranda, and how challenging it has to be for the performers doing them. All of this I’d taken for granted because it was, well, “Hamilton.” The great, revolutionary, everyone’s-talking-about-it “Hamilton.” This current touring production brought many of these realizations home. Was it my imagination or did even the acoustics in the often-troubled Civic Theater confines seem a non-issue, permitting me and others to hear most every word (except for a couple of occasions on opening night where an actor’s mic had cut out)? It may be recency bias but for me Blaine Alden Krauss is the best of the Alexander Hamiltons I’ve seen come through San Diego. His first-act Hamilton is stalwart without mere swagger and he possesses all the sensitivity of voice and movement required of that more personal second act. I also admired Deon’te Goodman’s Aaron Burr, played as adversary rather than villain, though this was how Miranda fashioned the role of the condescending rival who ultimately kills Hamilton in a duel. Kameron Richardson is commanding (yes, a lazy adjective) as George Washington. As with every production of “Hamilton” I’ve seen, Washington’s exit from political life (“One Last Time”) is in my book the most genuinely emotional note in the heavily emotional Act Two. The sweet-voiced Kendyl Sayuri Yokoyama is this tour’s Eliza Hamilton and, again as Miranda envisioned the character, more prominent in the second act. Her closing moments in the story, after her husband has been killed, remind audiences of Eliza Hamilton’s considerable contributions to American history. In retrospect the character is a bit underwritten – maybe someday an “Eliza Hamilton” musical will see the light of day. I’ll tell you one thing that occurred to me, more than once, as I experienced “Hamilton” for the third time: There are times when human beings of any gender or ethnicity or creed are devalued and pushed too far and oppressed too severely, times when they must rise up. The Founding Fathers have whispered in my ear. “Hamilton” runs through May 18 at the San Diego Civic Theatre, downtown. |
AuthorDavid L. Coddon is a Southern California theater critic. Archives
June 2025
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