Men, women, even a goose: all part of New Village Arts' "The Ferryman." Photo by Daren Scott Please. Don’t give me that “Theater’s dying” talk. As more than one purveyor of the craft has told me this past year when I float that doomsday scenario, theater’s been “dying” for years, yet here we are. If you want to reduce this noblest of performing arts to mere ticket sales, dollars and cents, and butts in the seats, go ahead and make your case.
I’m not going there. If 2023, arguably the first full post-pandemic year of live theater, is any indication, there is life … and bursting creativity … and inspiration … and, hovering over even the darkest of dramatic productions, joy onstage. That goes for behind the scenes and in the stalwart hearts of theater makers everywhere. This means you too, San Diego. Especially you. Selecting the top 10 productions of any year is daunting. So it is with 2023. For what it’s worth, I don’t pretend to be all seeing or all knowing. I do know what moved me, what entertained me, what stirred my imagination and rattled my conscience the most, and these are reflected on this list. Theater is alive. Here is proof. 1. “The Ferryman,” New Village Arts Theatre. When I reviewed this incredibly ambitious production way back in January I wrote that it was practically Shakespearean in scope: Multiple intertwining plot lines. A cast of 21 including those portraying the 14 members of the Carney family of County Armagh (one of them a baby). Live animals. But “The Ferryman,” written by Jez Butterworth and directed by NVA’s Kristianne Kurner, was more than about scope. Its deep dive into the Irish troubles and family dynamics, and how they intersected in time, was captivating. Yeah, it was over three hours’ long with two intermissions. So what? 2. “August: Osage County,” Backyard Renaissance Theatre Company. Start with a deservedly Pulitzer-winning drama by Tracy Letts. Add as close to an all-star cast as any local production this year has enjoyed. Top it off with one of the supreme performances of ’23 – Deborah Gilmour Smyth as drug-addled family matriarch Violet Weston. Backyard Renaissance delivered a stellar season with this collective tour de force, the acidic comedy “Gods of Carnage” before it and the thoughtful “Proof” a month ago. Its “August” compared favorably to the production the Old Globe did back in 2011. Edge-of-your-seat theater in intimate confines. 3. “The Outsiders,” La Jolla Playhouse. I was not a fan of the 1981 Francis Ford Coppola film, and I hadn’t read the original novel by S.E. Hinton from the ‘60s, so I didn’t quite know what to expect when the Playhouse world-premiered this show with a book by Adam Rapp and music by the rootsy Jamestown Revival. What a wonderful surprise. “The Outsiders’” coming-of-age tale set in a dusty, bygone Tulsa was beautifully conceived, musically affecting and acted with no pretense at all by a young and talented cast. “The Outsiders” is set to open on Broadway in April. It earned that opportunity, no matter what happens in the Big Apple. 4. “Public Enemy,” New Fortune Theatre Company. This is the only production on this list that I saw twice. Even when I knew what was coming the second time around, I felt the anxious tension in my neck and shoulders that only a fiery adaptation (by David Harrower) of Ibsen’s “Enemy of the People” could elicit. Most of the credit for that goes to New Fortune Artistic Director Richard Baird, who starred as the well-meaning then betrayed Dr. Thomas Stockmann. Like Gilmour Smyth’s in “August: Osage County,” Baird’s performance was physically and emotionally, no-holds barred astounding. 5. “Birds of North America,” Moxie Theatre. Were I to name a Director of the Year it would be Lisa Berger, who was at the helm of this gentle and thoughtful production as well as Diversionary Theatre’s “The Glass Menagerie,” which I’ll discuss a bit later. Anna Ouyang Moench’s “Birds of North America” found a disconnected father and daughter (Mike Sears and Farah Dinga, both first rate) working out their issues about each other while birding. The wooded scenery backdrop by Robin Sanford Roberts and Matt Lescault-Wood’s extraordinary sound design transported audiences to a special, private place in nature and in the heart. 6. “El Huracan”, Cygnet Theatre. Performed in both English and Spanish, Cuban-American Charise Castro Smith’s metaphorical play articulated the desperation of loss: of a woman’s memory and, in the bigger picture, of hope. Hurricane Andrew in 1992 in Miami (to this day still the most destructive storm to ever hit Florida) was the backdrop for a family tale that was frequently heartbreaking even as it found joyous escapism in moments like a flashback of dancing to Sinatra at the Tropicana Club in Havana. Cygnet’s marvelous cast included Catalina Maynard, Sandra Ruiz, Amalia Alarcon Morris and Carla Navarro. 7. “Sunday in the Park with George,” CCAE Theatricals. At the California Center for the Arts, Escondido’s 400-seat Center Theater Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine’s daring bio-musical about pointillist painter Georges Seurat unfolded as it was intended to, with his painting “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of Grande Jatte” coming alive before your very eyes. Broadway veteran Will Blum was sublime as Seurat in the superior Act I, complemented by the versatile Emily Lopez. The technical wonderwork: from scenic designer George Gonzalez, costumer Janet Pitcher, projectionist Patrick Gates and lighting designer Michelle Miles. 8. “La Lucha,” La Jolla Playhouse. The year’s most immersive theater experience had to be this production created for rooms inside the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego Downtown by designer David Israel Reynoso and Optika Moderna. Inspired by the culture of lucha libre masked wrestlers, the hourlong “La Lucha” walking experience challenged the senses --and both cultural and gender expectations-- in startling ways. The luchadores masks worn by the actors and the meticulous rooms’ set pieces enhanced the dreamlike atmosphere inside the MCA building on Kettner as well as a palpable sense of love, death and magic. 9. “The Glass Menagerie,” Diversionary Theatre. Still playing (through Dec. 23) at the University Heights LGBTQIA+ theater, Tennessee Williams’ devastatingly sad family tale, much of it purported to be autobiographical, is a master class in inhabiting a character from Shana Wride, portraying the domineering, self-deceived matriarch Amanda Wingfield. Luke Harvey Jacobs is tortured Tom, the story’s narrator. According to director Lisa Berger, Diversionary’s is a collaborative interpretation of “Menagerie” in which Tom is closeted and daughter Laura (Julia Belanova) othered. If so, it seems very, very subtly executed. 10. “Lonely Planet,” OnStage Playhouse. If the future of Chula Vista’s OnStage Playhouse is unclear at this writing, it can be nonetheless duly proud of this sensitive staging of Steven Dietz’s AIDS-era play. Onetime OnStage artistic director Teri Brown directed her successor, James P. Darvas, and Salomon Maya as friends navigating the fear and loss of the epidemic in very different but intertwined fashion. In the small OnStage space, the raw emotions loosened inside what’s supposed to be a scarcely patronized map store (designed to fine detail by Patrick Mason) are all the more chilling. Honorable mention: “Sumo,” La Jolla Playhouse, “Normal Heights,” Loud Fridge Theatre Group, “Gods of Carnage,” Backyard Renaissance Theatre Company, “Sharon,” Cygnet Theatre, “Head Over Heels,” Diversionary Theatre. FOOTLIGHTS FOOTNOTES • A highlight of my theater year was attending a production at the famed Steppenwolf in Chicago. While “Another Marriage” by Kate Arrington was neither as funny nor as tender as it aspired to be, the Lincoln Heights theater itself boasts energy and a definite hipness quotient. • Fond adieus and good jobs well done to Matt Morrow and Jennifer Eve Thorn who departed the theaters for which they were artistic director, Diversionary and Moxie respectively, this year. • This year marked the debut of the San Diego Theatre Critics Circle’s first podcast, “Downstage,” which I co-hosted with colleague Alejandra Enciso-Dardashti. We had a lot of fun over the course of 12 episodes and enjoyed the presence of many enlightening guests. Looking forward to more “Downstage” in 2024, beginning early in the year with a preview of the SDCCC’s Craig Noel Awards (to be handed out on Feb. 12). • The boorish behavior of Rep. Lauren Boebert at a Denver theater in September exemplified the ever-increasing audience misbehavior at live performances. While the congresswoman’s vaping and groping was an extreme manifestation of this, I witnessed in theaters many times this year audience members talking, looking at or lighting up their phones, wearing big floppy hats to block others’ views and in one case drunkenly babbling while a serious drama was unfolding onstage. Call me a scold if you will, but enough is enough. • To end on a positive note, a salute to a couple of fledgling San Diego companies that distinguished themselves in ’23 and demonstrate promise for the years ahead: Loud Fridge Theatre Group and Blindspot Collective. That’s it, everybody. Curtain.
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Sean Murray stars as Ebenezer Scrooge in "A Christmas Carol." Karli Cadel Photography I’d pretty much made up my mind that I was going to skip all the holiday-related shows going on at San Diego theaters this season. But because I’m a sucker for Dickens and for Old Town at the yuletide I made it once again to Cygnet Theatre for its annual production of “A Christmas Carol.”
Sean Murray, who directs, is back for the second year as Ebenezer Scrooge. He looks more comfortable and less inhibited than he did in the role last year – very nice angels in the snow moment, Sean! As every year, the standout in the Cygnet “Christmas Carol” cast is David McBean whose Marley’s Ghost and Ghost of Christmas Present never get old. I really credit McBean for annually putting so much into these portrayals and not skating through them. The ’23 ensemble includes Megan Carmitchel (she of multi-talent), Jasmine January, Allen Lucky Weaver, Patrick McBride (a reliable Bob Cratchit among his other fine turns) and this year Eileen Bowman, though the night I attended understudy Julia Miranda Smith was playing parts including Mrs. Cratchit, Scrooge’s housekeeper and Mrs. Fezziwig. I’ve seen this show so many times that the Billy Thompson musical score is as familiar to me as my December carols playlist. Not every song is a stocking stuffer, but Cygnet’s ensemble is a vocally gifted one and anyway it’s all in good fun. Those of you who’ve seen this production before know that it’s preceded by caroling and corny jokes from the costume-clad cast members, which adds to the merrymaking. The cast is as always very well supported by those behind the scenes at Cygnet: music director/accompanist Patrick Marion, costume designer Jeanne Reith and choreographer Katie Banville to name just three. Everyone who brings off this production is in the spirit in Old Town, making this “Christmas Carol” a reliable and cheery break from shopping, gift-wrapping or putting up with those wearing-out-their-welcome relatives. “A Christmas Carol” runs through Dec. 30 at Cygnet Theatre in Old Town. Francis Gercke and Liliana Talwatte in "Proof." Photo by Daren Scott Mathematics, we’re told in David Auburn’s “Proof,” are elegant.
Human beings are messy -- really messy in the case of one Chicago family in which a brilliant mathematician, Robert, descended into mental illness, leaving his mathematically prodigious younger daughter Catherine feeling on the razor’s edge of the same fate. Backyard Renaissance Theatre Company is winding up an impressive Season 8 that has included a howling production of Yamina Reza’s “God of Carnage” and a superb “August: Osage County” by Tracy Letts with Auburn’s insular play which garnered both a Pulitzer Prize for Drama and a Tony Award more than 20 years ago. Interestingly, when “Proof” made its San Diego debut in 2003 at the San Diego Repertory Theatre with Danica McKellar starring, the part of Hal, a smart but awkward former student of Catherine’s father, was played by Francis Gercke. Now an older Gercke, a co-founder of Backyard Renaissance (with Jessica John and Anthony Methvin, who directs this current production of “Proof”), is portraying Robert. Under Methvin’s direction, Gercke delivers one of the richest performances I’ve seen from him. More on this soon. This is the first time I’ve ever seen “Proof.” For me, the plum is that I couldn’t care less about anything mathematical, nor do I understand the math bandied about in the story, yet the play’s nervous energy is consistent, and I definitely cared about the destiny of its protagonist, Catherine (Liliana Talwatte). All families are complicated – that’s a universal truth, or have you already forgotten your Thanksgiving weekend? Catherine not only confronts in both flashbacks and real time her relationship with her father, but the "well meaning" pushiness of her older sister Claire (a stalwart Wendy Maples) and the exasperating presence of young Hal (William Huffaker). Talwatte, who at times in designer Curtis Mueller’s lighting resembles Audrey Hepburn, conveys with mere glances or lingering stares so much of the inner conflict Catherine is suffering. And when she erupts, something else that seems to be a family characteristic, the pain or resolve behind it can be deeply felt on the elevated backyard patio stage by Yi-Chien Lee. “Proof’s” narrative flashpoint is the discovery by Hal – one directed to him by a furtive Catherine – of a mathematical proof about prime numbers that could revolutionize the field. But was it written by Robert in between manic episodes or by, as she claims, Catherine herself, who everyone BUT her father underestimated? “Proof” could have been titled “Doubt.” That title wouldn’t be taken until 2004, for John Patrick Shanley’s own Pulitzer-winning play. Besides Talwatte’s magnetic turn as Catherine, there is that aforementioned performance from Gercke. It’s challenging to believably portray mental illness onstage without venturing over the top. In his two flashback sequences Gercke allows the anxiety, the disorientation and eventually the manic deterioration to build. Yet it’s one gentle, lucid monologue in which Robert reflects upon the cloistered comfort of academia’s world of contemplation and self-discovery, that stands out even more. Huffaker’s admittedly nerdy Hal clambers around the stage and seems ever about to topple over from either nervous exuberance or desperation. It’s tough to imagine why even a loner like Catherine would be remotely drawn to him on more than a superficial level. But there it is. The comparative quiet of the first act gives way to timely blow-ups in the second; somehow the two parts of the whole coalesce. Director Methvin to his credit has given his cast room to explore and indulge Auburn’s complex characters. Ultimately, prime numbers mean nothing to me. Family dynamics, fraught with turmoil as they can be, indeed do. That should prove true for anyone who gives this play time to sink in and ferment. “Proof” runs through Dec. 9 at the Tenth Avenue Arts Center downtown. George F. Babbitt (Matthew Broderick) finds himself among young free thinkers. Photo courtesy of La Jolla Playhouse It’s one of those seminal American novels that high school students are assigned to read – or used to be assigned to read: Sinclair Lewis’ satirical “Babbitt” published in 1922. It viewed middle-class America as a society of benumbed conformists, a collective idling engine not to be pushed past the limits of convention. American drones (before there were drones) dreaming the American Dream. This was the Roaring Twenties, and those who did dare to venture beyond the prescribed norms were regarded as deviates, insurgents, socialists, liberals. It would take another world war a decade later to rally the troops, so to speak.
Lewis’ eponymous protagonist, George F. Babbitt of the metropolis of Zenith, is a man for whom the same blue necktie, starched white shirt and gray suit are part of the daily normal order of things. His is the requisite American pursuit – real estate! – and he boasts the requisite wife-and-two-kids family. He reserves the exhortation “Zowie!” for anything even the least remarkable. Looming over this flaccid inertia, however, is the impulse in George to become upwardly mobile. After all, Babbitt ruefully believes that his very nice, unperturbed life has amounted to nothing. Foreshadowing break: As Lewis wrote in the novel of the restless George F., “His march to greatness was not without disastrous stumbling.” A shared notion long in the making, “Babbitt” is now a play, written by Joe DiPietro, starring a subtly convincing Matthew Broderick and directed at a leisurely pace by La Jolla Playhouse’s Christopher Ashley. It’s an adaptation with a more likable and sympathetic George than Sinclair Lewis’ protagonist, more humor than in the novel and, strikingly, a telling that’s more urgent today than it was 101 years ago. The more things change, the more they … well, you know how that goes. In translating the novel to the stage, a certain amount of exposition was expected. It’s delivered on a spectacular multi-story library set by Walt Spangler by members of the ensemble cast who speak for and about Babbitt from the outset of the production. This is not my favorite theatrical device by any means -- when actors have to clue in the audience -- but it does save time, and remember: the source-material novel is more than 400 pages’ long. We first meet Babbitt emerging from the covers of his bed, looking more rumpled than the bed itself – world-weary, beaten down by routine, mechanical in getting dressed in his familiar real estate office suit and hat. Broderick is at 61 portraying a character who’s supposed to be in his late 40s, but he’s got just enough Ferris Bueller boyishness still in his face to bring this off. Mrs. Babbitt, aka Myra (Ann Harada) cooks, cleans and takes care of George and the kids: precocious daughter Tinka (Anna Chlumsky) who is the apple of her father’s eye and, it is emphasized, source of the only joy he has in his day-to-day; and older son Ted (Chris Myers), petulant and rebellious, the latter a trait old George cannot conceive of. Things are just as perfunctory at the office. The only difference is that bland as Babbitt may be, he’s not above pulling a few fast ones on prospective renters, like not disclosing water damage. Zowie! When Babbitt meets one of those prospectives, however, the attractive young widow Tanis Judique (Genevieve Angelson), he changes his tune for her. She brings to mind the beautiful fairy he’s been dreaming about in that rumpled bed. Tanis will play a much more significant role in George’s fate before long. (Aside: Can some Sinclair Lewis scholar out there kindly explain to me where the hell the author came up with a name like Tanis Judique?) The tipping point in the temporary transformation of humdrum, unfulfilled George F. Babbitt coincides with the candidacy and rising popularity of a socialist former classmate who’s running for mayor. To tamp down the populist enthusiasm for this Seneca Doane (played by Chlumsky in the least believable of her multiple portrayals), Babbitt is recruited by the very upper-crust figure he and Myra have been trying to cultivate – the blustering Charles McKelvey (Matt McGrath), another former classmate. Before long Babbitt is out of the shadows and into the spotlight, speechifying with what today would be considered Trumpian right-wing talking points about the threat of unions, the danger of free-thinking (and reading) in the schools, and the loyalty that any upstanding worker should rightly feel for his generous employer. He’s a sensation, with crowds chanting his name in unison. In a twist that didn’t make much sense to me in the novel and doesn’t here either, Babbitt switches allegiances. His best friend Paul (Francis Jue) has shot his wife, and George figures he can persuade the influential Seneca Doane to intervene on Paul’s behalf. That entails parroting Doane’s liberal stands in speeches to the same folks he’d won over when stumping for McKelvey. Sure enough … Babbitt’s a sensation again. He’s no great speaker, but he’s the Everyman – regardless of philosophy. But changing political positions is just the beginning. When Myra walks out on him, a (sort of) rebellious George turns to Tanis Judique, showing up after midnight at her flat for “dancing lessons.” Yeah. Right. Tanis sees through this in a hot minute. Here’s where “Babbitt” inevitably gets a bit goofy, with the “loosened up” George hanging out with Tanis’ young free-thinking bohemians while never shedding his gray suit and tie. It should be noted that through much of this rigamarole, “Babbitt” is played for laughs. Whether it’s a drunken poet at a dinner party gone wrong at George and Myra’s or a guru type who waves independence in Myra’s face when she goes out looking for it, the tenor of the play is satirical but rather silly. “Babbitt” has more humor than heart. There is of course, the underlying tragedy of George F. Babbitt’s life: He is indeed a man who wants to amount to something and ultimately he does whatever he feels he must do to matter, if not to other people then to himself. His allegiances may waver back and forth, though he always puts his family first and for that, he’ll matter to audiences at this production. Broderick’s Babbitt seems like a misguided guy who just needs the right hug to set him straight. Even when spouting McKelvey’s terrible screed or dully trying to justify Paul’s shooting his wife, he never comes off as mean-spirited. He never raises his voice either. This Playhouse world premiere enjoys a versatile and very game ensemble that enriches “Babbitt’s” supporting characters. Jue stands out as both Paul and McKelvey cohort Dr. Littlefield, completely opposite types. Chlumsky’s snide and superior Mrs. McKelvey at the Babbitts’ bad dinner party is a keeper, and her reaction to the dipsomaniacal poet there (Julie Halston) priceless. This is a truly collaborative undertaking from DiPietro, Ashley and Broderick, and “Babbitt” is appealing entertainment with thoughtful overtones. It’s less a tale of hero politics and more a portrait of a man torn between wanting to please everybody and wanting to please no one but himself. Somewhere in there resides the American Dream. “Babbitt” runs through Dec. 10 at La Jolla Playhouse’s Mandell Weiss Theatre. George F. Babbitt (Matthew Broderick) lounging with the young bohemians. Photo courtesy of La Jolla Playhouse It’s one of those seminal American novels that high school students are assigned to read – or used to be assigned to read: Sinclair Lewis’ satirical “Babbitt” published in 1922. It viewed middle-class America as a society of benumbed conformists, a collective idling engine not to be pushed past the limits of convention. American drones (before there were drones) dreaming the American Dream. This was the Roaring Twenties, and those who did dare to venture beyond the prescribed norms were regarded as deviates, insurgents, socialists, liberals. It would take another world war a decade later to rally the troops, so to speak.
Lewis’ eponymous protagonist, George F. Babbitt of the metropolis of Zenith, is a man for whom the same blue necktie, starched white shirt and gray suit are part of the daily normal order of things. His is the requisite American pursuit – real estate! – and he boasts the requisite wife-and-two-kids family. He reserves the exhortation “Zowie!” for anything even the least remarkable. Looming over this flaccid inertia, however, is the impulse in George to become upwardly mobile. After all, Babbitt ruefully believes that his very nice, unperturbed life has amounted to nothing. Foreshadowing break: As Lewis wrote in the novel of the restless George F., “His march to greatness was not without disastrous stumbling.” A shared notion long in the making, “Babbitt” is now a play, written by Joe DiPietro, starring a subtly convincing Matthew Broderick and directed at a leisurely pace by La Jolla Playhouse’s Christopher Ashley. It’s an adaptation with a more likable and sympathetic George than Sinclair Lewis’ protagonist, more humor than in the novel and, strikingly, a telling that’s more urgent today than it was 101 years ago. The more things change, the more they … well, you know how that goes. In translating the novel to the stage, a certain amount of exposition was expected. It’s delivered on a spectacular multi-story library set by Walt Spangler by members of the ensemble cast who speak for and about Babbitt from the outset of the production. This is not my favorite theatrical device by any means -- when actors have to clue in the audience -- but it does save time, and remember: the source-material novel is more than 400 pages’ long. We first meet Babbitt emerging from the covers of his bed, looking more rumpled than the bed itself – world-weary, beaten down by routine, mechanical in getting dressed in his familiar real estate office suit and hat. Broderick is at 61 portraying a character who’s supposed to be in his late 40s, but he’s got just enough Ferris Bueller boyishness still in his face to bring this off. Mrs. Babbitt, aka Myra (Ann Harada) cooks, cleans and takes care of George and the kids: precocious daughter Tinka (Anna Chlumsky) who is the apple of her father’s eye and, it is emphasized, source of the only joy he has in his day-to-day; and older son Ted (Jalen Davidson), petulant and rebellious, the latter a trait old George cannot conceive of. Things are just as perfunctory at the office. The only difference is that bland as Babbitt may be, he’s not above pulling a few fast ones on prospective renters, like not disclosing water damage. Zowie! When Babbitt meets one of those prospectives, however, the attractive young widow Tanis Judique (Genevieve Angelson), he changes his tune for her. She brings to mind the beautiful fairy he’s been dreaming about in that rumpled bed. Tanis will play a much more significant role in George’s fate before long. (Aside: Can some Sinclair Lewis scholar out there kindly explain to me where the hell the author came up with a name like Tanis Judique?) The tipping point in the temporary transformation of humdrum, unfulfilled George F. Babbitt coincides with the candidacy and rising popularity of a socialist former classmate who’s running for mayor. To tamp down the populist enthusiasm for this Seneca Doane (played by Chlumsky in the least believable of her multiple portrayals), Babbitt is recruited by the very upper-crust figure he and Myra have been trying to cultivate – the blustering Charles McKelvey (Matt McGrath), another former classmate. Before long Babbitt is out of the shadows and into the spotlight, speechifying with what today would be considered Trumpian right-wing talking points about the threat of unions, the danger of free-thinking (and reading) in the schools, and the loyalty that any upstanding worker should rightly feel for his generous employer. He’s a sensation, with crowds chanting his name in unison. In a twist that didn’t make much sense to me in the novel and doesn’t here either, Babbitt switches allegiances. His best friend Paul (Victor Flores) has shot his wife, and George figures he can persuade the influential Seneca Doane to intervene on Paul’s behalf. That entails parroting Doane’s liberal stands in speeches to the same folks he’d won over when stumping for McKelvey. Sure enough … Babbitt’s a sensation again. He’s no great speaker, but he’s the admired Everyman – regardless of philosophy. But changing political positions is just the beginning. When Myra walks out on him, a (sort of) rebellious George turns to Tanis Judique, showing up after midnight at her flat for “dancing lessons.” Yeah. Right. Tanis sees through this in a hot minute. Here’s where “Babbitt” inevitably gets a bit goofy, with the “loosened up” George hanging out with Tanis’ young free-thinking bohemians while never shedding his gray suit and tie. It should be noted that through much of this rigamarole, “Babbitt” is played for laughs. Whether it’s a drunken poet at a dinner party gone wrong at George and Myra’s or a guru type who waves independence in Myra’s face when she goes out looking for it, the tenor of the play is satirical but rather silly. “Babbitt” has more humor than heart. There is of course, the underlying tragedy of George F. Babbitt’s life: He is indeed a man who wants to amount to something and ultimately he does whatever he feels he must do to matter, if not to other people then to himself. His allegiances may waver back and forth, though he always puts his family first and for that, he’ll matter to audiences at this production. Broderick’s Babbitt seems like a misguided guy who just needs the right hug to set him straight. Even when spouting McKelvey’s terrible screed or dully trying to justify Paul’s shooting his wife, he never comes off as mean-spirited. He never raises his voice either. This Playhouse world premiere enjoys a versatile and very game ensemble that enriches “Babbitt’s” supporting characters. Flores stands out as both Paul and McKelvey cohort Dr. Littlefield, completely opposite types. Chlumsky’s snide and superior Mrs. McKelvey at the Babbitts’ bad dinner party is a keeper, and her reaction to the dipsomaniacal poet there (Julie Halston) priceless. This is a truly collaborative undertaking from DiPietro, Ashley and Broderick, and “Babbitt” is appealing entertainment with thoughtful overtones. It’s less a tale of hero politics and more a portrait of a man torn between wanting to please everybody and wanting to please no one but himself. Somewhere in there resides the American Dream. “Babbitt” runs through Dec. 10 at La Jolla Playhouse’s Mandell Weiss Theatre. Tirzah (left) and MG Green in "Man and Moon." Photo by Daren Scott It’s tempting when there seems to be no answers to the daunting questions that infiltrate our lives, to surrender to the ambiguity of “I don’t know.” Or, when the questions stem from sickness, hardship or tragedy, to search for someone or something to blame. For the fortunate, however, comfort or perspective -- or both -- reside in the heavens, in all their wonder and mystery.
That’s where 12-year-old Luna (Tirzah) turns in Siena Marilyn Ledger’s “Man and Moon,” onstage at Moxie Theatre with Desiree Clarke Miller directing. Luna is a preteen astronomy whiz. In the oncology unit of a sterile hospital somewhere she immerses herself in a textbook on the subject while her cancer-ridden mother lies in a bed beyond the walls of the grim waiting room. Luna isn’t alone for long. The transitioning Aaron (MG Green) arrives and takes a seat. They are there for breast-cancer treatment. What begins with stilted conversation, at least on Aaron’s part, very soon morphs into a friendship that deepens affectingly over the course of an hour and a half’s stage time. Luna and Aaron, who’s 28, have more in common than the realities of the oncology unit: Each is dealing with significant changes in their bodies. They may be brought together by circumstance, but they come together through a mutual desire to survive and to become the selves they long to be. Impassioned and intelligent as Miller’s script is, it indulges the space-and-heavenly-bodies metaphor almost to the point of obvious, and Luna is presented as so precocious and intellectually prodigious beyond her years that it does strain believability. Tirzah must have two or even three times the lines that Green has, and there are moments in “Man and Moon” when you wish she’d just chill and keep her head buried in that astronomy book. Green’s performance is touching and restrained and, when called for, terrifying. They convey without working at it the numb fear of one looking down the barrel of mortality while at the same time determined to embrace an identity and a new life, no matter what. The emotional atmosphere of “Man and Moon” is greatly enhanced by the shifting and evocative lighting by Annelise Salazar. Elisa Vedar’s sound design never intrudes; rather, it matches the characters’ highs, lows, distances and intimacies. Musically, while The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” and Radiohead’s “Black Star” might seem conspicuous choices, they’re welcome soundscapes. Two … maybe three times the play feels like it’s about to end, then it doesn’t. When it does, with Aaron and Luna gazing skyward in the beautifully lit theater, there’s a sense that some things are unanswerable but that the trying is always easier when one is not alone. “Man and Moon” runs through Dec. 3 at Moxie Theatre in Rolando. Bruce Turk as a deceptively calm Henry Jekyll in "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." Photo by Aaron Rumley With a minimalist set, few props and four actors playing one character, there had to be an even chance that North Coast Repertory Theatre’s production of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” would be more talky than terrifying.
Phew. Sigh of relief. Owing to a clever script by Jeffrey Hatcher and inspired direction by Shana Wride, this dramatization of Robert Louis Stevenson’s “Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” proves that a cracking good tale can be told any number of ways and that a lavish Victorian backdrop and visceral special effects are by no means necessary to do so. The first act, which establishes characters as first acts do, runs long and indeed relies on an expository narrative. But once the physicality of the piece takes hold as it does with a vengeance in the second act, this “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” is very much in the spirit of the Halloween season and even gruesome in a PG-13 sort of way. This is the kind of show that North Coast Rep customarily produces very well, and it relies on talents familiar to its audiences. Wride is directing here for the first time, but has been a frequent performer in Solana Beach. Of the six-person cast, only Conner Marx, whose extensive television credits include the NBC doctor series “New Amsterdam,” is new to North Coast. Bruce Turk, playing the tortured Henry Jekyll, carries the load here as he should, but Marx is a deliciously villainous counterpart as the Mr. Hyde that comes out when the doctor downs his terrible potion. Having two actors in this schizophrenic character avoids the logistical challenge of one performer having to shape-shift and disguise himself over and over. Hatcher’s adaptation goes a step further: four actors get to variously play Mr. Hyde during the storytelling: Besides Marx, Jacob Bruce, Katie MacNichol and Christopher M. Williams. They’re even “choreographed” together here and there, heightening the anxiety that Dr. Jekyll’s murderous alter-ego is closing in on him. The beguiling Ciarra Stroud completes the cast as hotel chambermaid Elizabeth Jelkes, a character not in Stevenson’s novella, who inexplicably falls for Mr. Hyde. Why, Elizabeth? Why? Director Wride ensures – once again, especially in Act Two – that the melodrama keeps moving, while both the stage lighting (by Matthew Novotny and Erik Montierth) and sound design (Melanie Chen Cole) facilitate a grim, spooky and desperate atmosphere. It may not seem like a big deal to audiences, but I’m picky about American actors essaying British accents. Bravo to dialect coach Emmelyn Thayer and to the cast for bringing this off without distraction. While this is a bloodless “Jekyll and Hyde” it’s not without frights -- the bludgeoning in silhouette of one of Mr. Hyde’s victims, to name one; the fierce strangling of another, to name two. Like any effective horror story, what you don’t see is what’s often the scariest. A final laurel is due Turk, whose mentally deteriorating Henry Jekyll never completely loses sympathy even though we know the awful depths of which his “other side” is capable. It’s a chilling and tragic performance. “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” runs through Nov. 12 at North Coast Repertory Theatre in Solana Beach. Kendall Stallworth and Sergio Morejon in "Zach." Photo by Brittany Carillo Echoes of “Saved By The Bell” aside, there’s very little in Christian St. Croix’s ‘90s-set “Zach” that looks, sounds or feels purely synonymous with that decade, now 30 years gone. What happens to a couple of teenage fast friends when they succumb to the bad influence of a charismatic new classmate could just as easily occur today -- minus smartphones and social media. Talk about your bad influences.
In Loud Fridge Theatre Group’s two-hander at OnStage Playhouse in Chula Vista, a pair of fun-loving teens -- African-American Gina (Kendall Stallworth) and Mexican-American P.J. (Sergio Morejon) -- are practically bullied by White, preppy, preening Zach (played back and forth by the two actors) into forming an elite clique with him. This coterie also includes P.J.’s heartthrob Stacy and an awkward class outsider (both also portrayed by Stallworth and Morejon). Before long, Zach has them participating in or cowering from activities that go way beyond the bounds of simple adolescent mischief. That would seem enough fodder for 80 minutes of teen angst, but St. Croix’s side plots, interwoven to some extent with the Zach narrative, include cisgender Gina’s infatuation with another girl in school and P.J.’s encounter with Stacy’s racist father. The upshot is a frantically paced change-of-characters exercise for Stallworth and Morejon, both of them students in San Diego State’s Department of Theatre, Television, and Film. That “Zach” is written for just two actors also necessitates a lot of out-loud exposition from them to move the story forward. There’s a sense of Stallworth and Morejon making it up as they along, which doesn’t necessarily serve the message-y material very well. “Zach” does have much to say about the tribulations of high school in the ‘90s and otherwise. You know, that everything’s potentially fun (a laugh track accompanies some of the action in this play) but practically nothing is easy. Especially relationships, friendships, peer pressure and the critical exploration of self-identity. San Diegan St. Croix is a thoughtful playwright who knows how to convey the psyches and emotions of young people, as in his “Monsters of the American Cinema” at Diversionary Theatre earlier this year. Tonally, the often-comedic “Zach” is more akin to his “Normal Heights” seen at the San Diego Fringe back in May. In either case, he demonstrated his talent for writing for youthful actors exploring their craft. Of the two in the Loud Fridge show, Morejon more believably inhabits all the characters entrusted to him and it’s his Zach, sunglasses. swagger and ‘tude in full bloom, that we best are able to see on the stage designed by Duane McGregor. Expressive and energetic, Morejon demonstrates much promise as a future pro. “Zach” director Amira Temple worked with both Morejon and Stallworth this past spring in an SDSU production of Stephen Adly Guirgis’ “The Mother------ with the Hat.” So this Loud Fridge staging had to be a natural transition for all three of them. It is heartening for the evolution of San Diego theater to see students getting a chance to grow on a professional stage and for directors like Temple, a recent graduate of SDSU, to be working with them. The OnStage Playhouse audience was dominated by young people the night I went to see “Zach,” and their response was enthusiastic. I wasn’t in high school in the 1990s nor did I watch sitcoms like “Saved By the Bell,” “Clueless” or “Parker Lewis Can’t Lose.” But there were Zachs in my high school days before then and I had my own generation of silly TV with underlying “meaning.” I could sit in the audience in Chula Vista and laugh and even relate. You never forget your high school years, even if much of the time you’d like to. “Zach” runs through Oct. 28 at OnStage Playhouse in Chula Vista. Natasha Harris and Manny Fernandes in "Jane." Photo courtesy of Lamb's Players Theatre It’s been Day 2 on my Governesses-in-Distress tour. First it was Chalk Circle Collective’s production of Henry James’, by way of adapter Jeffrey Hatcher, “The Turn of the Screw,” wherein a governess at an English estate battles ghosts.
Now it’s Lamb’s Players Theatre’s production of David McFadzean’s adaptation of Charlotte Bronte’s “Jane Eyre,” subtitled “A Ghost Story,” wherein a governess at an English estate fights an ardent war between head and heart. Though “Jane” calls itself a ghost story, it really isn’t. In spite of winnowing down a massive Gothic novel into a two-hour play with music, McFadzean’s adaptation isn’t really spooky at all. Yeah, there are some masked gargoyles that effectively appear and reappear from the rafters and make ghoulish noises; and yes, a burly madwoman resides on the third floor of Bronte’s Thornfield Hall. But the world premiere at Lamb’s is pretty non-ghostly and in the main faithful to the original novel, pared down though the script is. The focus is on heroine Jane (Natasha Harris): shunned as deceitful (with absolutely no reason why) by her snooty aunt, Lady Reed (Cynthia Gerber); banished to the Lowood Institution for orphaned girls where her first friendship, with the sweetly diffident Helen Burns (Lizzie Morse) ends tragically; and becoming governess to the precious Francophile ward (Morse again) of the unseen Mr. Rochester (Manny Fernandes) at Thornfield Hall. Devotees of “Jane Eyre” the novel know this long and winding tale all too well, how Jane’s disdain for Mr. Rochester turns to love, how their planned marriage is undone by his admission that his insane living wife resides on the third floor of the estate, how after departing destitute she is taken in by a cleric (Sam Ashdown) and his family when all seems lost. And then there’s the dramatic ending and denouement, which I won’t give away here. You Bronte disciples know it well. Lamb’s’ production directed by Robert Smyth is stylish and absolutely enhanced by the wide variety of vocal music, a staple of productions by this company, gifted as it is with so many fine singers in its rotating repertory. These interludes add beauty and poignancy to many moments during the storytelling. The setting for this McFadzean adaptation is the 1920s, a significant departure from the original novel’s unspecified time frame, though presumably Bronte intended it to be the mid- to late 1800s. In “Jane’s” world, a convenient phonograph plays standards of the ‘20s like Irving Berlin’s “Always.” Characters communicate on a telephone. But this doesn’t feel like a 1920s story; rather, it has all the grim and proper Gothic trappings of its source material. There are some fine performances on display at Lamb’s. The dependably professional Sandy Campbell plays two roles, including the estate housekeeper Mrs. Fairfax. Lamb’s regulars Caitie Grady, Jordan Miller and Gerber are equally at home in this production. As the domineering but tortured Rochester, Fernandes is much more convincing in the second act than in the first. Even so, he never achieves very believable chemistry with Harris. Re: Harris, she’s a strong, independent and credible Jane Eyre throughout. The only problem is the heavy accent Harris adopts during the production, one that waffles between near-Cockney and near-Scottish. It wouldn’t be so mitigating were ANY of the other actors using an accent this noticeable. As such, Harris seems to be performing in an altogether different play part of the time. I took a true “Jane Eyre” fan with me to the show, and she had mostly praise for the production. I’m not a fan, but I can with confidence say the same: Lamb’s’ “Jane” is diverting and, in spurts, touching. The live musical interludes, an inspired idea to begin with, make it more than just another adaptation that might otherwise somewhat disappoint purists. “Jane” runs through Nov. 12 at Lamb’s Players Theatre in Coronado. Michael Cusimano and Megan Carmitchel in "The Turn of the Screw." Photo courtesy of Chalk Circle Collective “The Turn of the Screw” is only Chalk Circle Collective’s first production, but right off the bat the brand-new company in town deserves an award: for the most inventive use of atmospheric sound of the year.
Chalk Circle co-founders (with Frankie Errington, who directs this production) Megan Carmitchel and Michael Cusimano have created a soundscape of original music and effects that for an hour and a half turn Diversionary Theatre’s upstairs BlackBox space into a haunted house. For Henry James’ brooding ghost story, adapted into a two-character play by Jeffrey Hatcher, haunted is a prerequisite. I’d liked to have been a fly on the wall when Carmitchel and Cusimano, who co-star in this production, brainstormed, experimented and worked out their aural devices. Both are musicians as well as actors, so it’s not surprising that they share an intuitive gift for employing sound to shape a story. What is special within the telling of “The Turn of the Screw” is how heavy breathing into a microphone, tapping that same mic against the chest to simulate heartbeats, strafing the strings of a violin or plucking those of an electric guitar laying flat can produce such haunts and oscillations in mood. Awash in these sound effects, the dramatizing of James’ tale about a governess in a spooky house with spooks on the loose unfolds like the creaking open of an above-ground tomb. As said governess (Carmitchel) discovers that her charges Flora and Miles are no mere precocious Essex kids in need of caretaking, the tension rises at the same time. The novella leaves room for some doubt about the governess’ sanity and whether what she’s experiencing might be in her head, but Hatcher’s roiling adaptation does not. There is every indication that the country estate Bly is under ghostly siege. In Chalk Circle’s auspicious debut, Cusimano portrays the children’s uncle at the outset of the play, a stern mystery wrapped in an enigma. From then on he shifts between fluttering Mrs. Grose, the housekeeper at Bly, and the mysterious young Miles, who harbors secrets and something inhuman inside him. “The Turn of the Screw” has been a project long dreamed of by Carmitchel and Cusimano. Their commitment to its eerie depths, fractured psychology and Gothic horror is clear. Each relishes in not only their performance but in the trappings of that horror. The chilling disquiet of the first half of this production gives way to near-hysteria in the second half, with the actors wrestling on the floor and the confines of Diversionary’s Blackbox resounding with exhortations and even screams. Excessive? Perhaps. But this is a ghost story and it is Halloween season. Carmitchel’s governess is nervous energy personified, becoming practically possessed herself by the time she realizes that she must be the one to figuratively if not literally exorcise the spirits of Bly. She must try to save the children. Cusimano’s controlling and inscrutable lord of the estate is missed after his brief appearance. Nephew Miles, however, is just as inscrutable and Cusimano does well by that character’s more than practically possessed demeanor in the showdown with the governess. There are built-in limitations to performing in a blackbox, but with only two characters onstage Hatcher’s “The Turn of the Screw” is designed to function in small confines. If claustrophobia sets in, all the better for an unsettling tale like this one. “The Turn of the Screw” runs through Oct. 29 in Diversionary Theatre’s Blackbox space in University Heights. |
AuthorDavid L. Coddon is a Southern California theater critic. Archives
May 2024
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