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All The Young Dudes: The Burnt Part Boys and Oliver Parker!

The Burnt Part Boys

"I'm one of many boys, and I'm ready to explode!" sings young Pete (Al Calderon) in the new musical The Burnt Part Boys, and the sentiment is one many teenagers can relate to. However, this lad means it metaphorically, and the antihero at the center of Elizabeth Meriwether's Oliver Parker! means it quite literally. There's an ocean separating the intents of these two works, but the wants of young boys that are not quite men is quite popular these days (e.g. American Idiot), it merely depends on whether you like your theater salty or sweet.

The Burnt Part Boys, certainly in the latter camp, has been kicking around for a bit, and it's all too apparent that some things have been shorn since its earliest development. Telling the story of a group of guys (and one girl) who travel to a distant mine to soul-search their way back to losing their fathers there 10 years prior, it seems to have an everlasting build-up only to arrive at a too-rushed wrap-up. The country-flavored score by Chris Miller and Nathan Tysen is of the unhummable variety that confounds many crowds but has some flavorful tunes, though the music doesn't conjoin harmoniously with Mariana Elder's book, which even throws out some decidedly un-'60s lingo ("nut sac"?). Director Joe Calarco attempts to outdo Susan Stroman's recent, brilliant staging of The Scottsboro Boys with its spare set of chairs and ladders to create natural surroundings. But this work, creaky as the floorboards on which the cast steps, never reaches that kind of apex. Despite strong work from its wide-eyed young performers (the adults get much shorter shrift here), it rarely takes the viewer out of familiar woods. Continue Reading »




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One Year Revisited: Hair on Broadway

Hair

Just to dispel the myth that all critics are stick-up-the-ass prigs, I boogied my ass on stage at the finale of Hair with the rest of the patrons. But after making my unofficial Broadway debut on the Al Hirschfeld Theatre stage, it was firmly decided that being in the audience is the best way to experience director Diane Paulus's celebrated revival. So on to the burning question: How's it holding up? Well, one certainly misses its original leads (the charismatic, golden-voiced duo of Gavin Creel and Will Swenson), and I don't remember it being so insanely over-miked as to swallow up the performers' vocal acrobatics, but Paulus's unshakable, moving vision of hippiedom as a holding pattern for the young characters' slow ascent (or descent?) into adulthood is so pristinely omnipresent, watching it unfold remains quite a journey.

Still buoyed by Kevin Adams's thrilling light trips and the smashing Gerome Ragni/James Rado/Galt MacDermot score, Hair is an awfully hard show to completely muck up. Yes, the hobbling book remains a bit of an issue, and its central characters—including randy fuck-up Berger (Ace Young), cautious, angelic Claude (Kyle Riabko), and politically active, headstrong Sheila (Diana DeGarmo)—sometimes come off as archetypes of an era versus lived-in people. But when a new cast takes over, sometimes you get the benefit of seeing some of its inhabitants anew, and this cast has some choice supporting players. I never thought the moony, pregnant Jeanie was much of a presence before, but Annaleigh Ashford's sweet, self-aware take on her is surprisingly weighty, and the bit in which the Tribe encounters a hokey older couple can be too arch, but not now with Josh Lamon's engagingly funny turn as the female half, and he's equally as impressive as Claude's dad—a role usually played as an uptight dolt, but now with a layer of attitude that makes it pop. And DeGarmo, while shaky as a dramatic actress, absolutely nails it vocally on her two big numbers ("Easy to Be Hard" and "Good Morning Starshine"). Continue Reading »




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Sarah Ruhl's Passion Play at the Irondale Center

Passion Play

You can walk out of Sarah Ruhl's Passion Play with the feeling of having been fed at a play that isn't, like Tony 'n Tina's Wedding, also a test of one's endurance. A stirringly ambitious triptych of plays centering on three different decades' stagings of The Passion amid their respective cultural climates, this one richly feeds your mind as well—and the bread (well, bagels) and wine (and even pizza on Sunday performances) being passed around are no match for what you'll take home with you.

Ruhl, a Pulitzer finalist this year for her sensitive period drama In the Next Room, or the Vibrator Play, sometimes twists a viewer's brain into a vice to illustrate her writing, something her detractors seem to loathe. But for those on her wavelength, which to my mind recalls playwrights such as Tony Kushner and Tom Stoppard who share her frisky observational style wrapped in playful historical context, her works have a delirious rhythm all their own, and there's no playwright around who takes the kind of risks she does. They may not always pay off in conventional ways, but the execution is never less than thorough. Continue Reading »




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The Forest at Classic Stage Company

The Forest

"I think I'll fall in love until I'm 70," gushes Raisa, the rich, greedy, delusional grande dame presiding over a Russian estate that everyone wants in on in The Forest, and only an actress like Dianne Wiest could put over a line like that without inviting a smirk. The trouble with Brian Kulick's herky-jerky production of Alexander Ostrovsky's Russian comic drama (dutifully translated by Kathleen Tolan) is that it's never quite sure what to do with this great actress. Alternately fidgety and dead-serious, Wiest is literally all over the place—wringing her hands while pacing CSC's three-fourth circle environs, laying flat on a dining table, descending Santo Loquasto's Tim Burton-like movable wooden staircase —and that is the major problem here. Everything is always funnier, and conversely more dramatic, when one simply stands still. Continue Reading »




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Family Week at the Lucille Lortel Theatre

Family Week

You know something is awry when you open your Playbill to find two actors listed, playing characters that are mentioned more than once throughout a 75-minute running time, only to realize, post-curtain call, that they never once physically materialized. Somehow a fully-cast sextet sloppily became a quartet in Beth Henley's logy, often risible play Family Week, which marks a depressing first-time-out theater effort from master filmmaker Jonathan Demme, whose unmatched concert films showed his remarkable stage chops. And furthermore, as demonstrated in his searing, compassionate 2008 picture Rachel Getting Married, skewed family dysfunction would seem to cling to him like bees to a honeycomb. But this hive is unfortunately all hollowed-out. Continue Reading »




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Fences at the Cort Theatre

Fences

Sometimes an actor just has to come home to roost to rediscover just what they were put out there for in the first place. After churning out a score of lackluster thrillers in the last decade, Denzel Washington has turned his sights back to the stage, which is where he was originally discovered and promptly landed a lucrative gig on TV's St. Elsewhere. After a hugely successful but critically slammed 2005 Broadway version of Julius Caesar, Washington has now turned his sights to one of the great 20th-century black male roles, that of Troy Maxson, the ex-Negro League sanitation worker/back-porch prophet from August Wilson's galvanizing 1987 drama Fences. The first thought that came to mind when this casting was announced was that Washington was too handsome, too presentable to disappear into Troy's baseball metaphor-ridden weariness, a not-charmless blowhard who has quickly become a gust of constant hot air sucking the oxygen right out of his own backyard. Well, turns out I was very wrong. Continue Reading »




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Master Class: Sondheim on Sondheim and The Aliens

Sondheim on Sondheim

Signal the thunderclaps: Stephen Sondheim turned 80 this year, and everyone is partyin' like it's 1999 for the man. As well they should. His work still speaks for itself and is utterly relevant after so many years, and just two weeks ago he still had four shows (including this one) on the boards that he contributed to in some way. Frequent collaborator James Lapine's Sondheim on Sondheim is sort of a blue-chip-cast, high-tech version of the revue Putting It Together, though this time firmly attuned to the iPad age. It seems an odd fit for a man who writes his scores on yellow legal pads, back flat on a sofa, but the treat is hearing him speak for himself on everything from his rocky childhood (with a particularly unloving mother) to his pretty straightforward writing approaches to finally finding love at age 60. The biggest surprise of the evening is that the man doesn't really seem the least bit tortured. Could it be that a musical genius is really just a pretty adjusted, prolific fellow? To be honest, it's a bit of a relief, and removes the portent from an admittedly longish barrage of songs from the Sondheim catalogue. Continue Reading »




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Am I Too Old for This Shit?: Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson at the Public Theater

Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson

Having just had a birthday, and with each subsequent one, I often wonder when I'll cross the line from cheerful youth abandon to "get off my lawn!" crankiness. Well, it may have just happened, or quite possibly I have finally become tired of high-concept hipster larks, which sadly, much of Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson absolutely reeks of. The comic emo rock musical, tracing the seventh president's rocky reign from obscurity to displacing Native American tribes to expanding the U.S. populace and creating the Democratic Party, is historical revisionism for the late-term SNL era. And yet, despite a pedigree including director Alex Timbers (artistic director of famed company Les Freres Corbusier) and composer Michael Friedman (This Beautiful City), it rarely ever becomes much more than an overextended 12:48 a.m. skit you might see on SNL, except one in which the cast can curse to their hearts' content and wink so ruthlessly at the audience you begin to wonder if the Public Theater will begin offering special compensation for eye strain. Continue Reading »




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Silly Boys and Girls (and Puppets): Lend Me a Tenor and Stuffed and Unstrung

Lend Me a Tenor

If you're ready to have a gay old time (the old-timey way the word is meant anyway; plenty of opportunity this season for the modern one), the funny flurries are showering New York these days. And Stanley Tucci apparently had the fever for a farce, as he decided—at last—to helm his first Broadway play, and chose something that fans of his would see as kismet right off the bat: Ken Ludwig's jolly, raucous 1989 door-slammer that is just ripe for hams of all varieties. Tucci is no stranger to pratfalls and mistaken identity (his 1998 film The Impostors now seems like warm-up for this moment in the sun), and despite his recent plaudits for more dramatic endeavors, he forever seems a commedia dell'arte kinda guy at heart. His sharp, often riotously funny Tenor is basically this season's Boeing Boeing, even sharing a towel-opening bit and a scene involving females stuffed in various rooms at one point, and years ago that would have been dull praise until Boeing Boeing's director, Matthew Warchus, took a once-sloppy flop and polished it to a bright sheen. Continue Reading »




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Strangers in a Strange Land: A Cool Dip in the Barren Saharan Crick and In the Heat of the Night

A Cool Dip in the Barren Saharan Crick

At first, it seems as if Abebe (William Jackson Harper), the Ethiopian hero of Kia Corthron's A Cool Dip in the Barren Saharan Crick (try saying that five times fast), may never fully merge his ideas about God, the impoverished, and the world's water supply into a palatable presentation to his grieving, uprooted American caretakers (Myra Lucretia Taylor and Kianne Muschett). But then you realize that Corthron (Breath, Boom) will never pull off the same feat either, as her supremely unfocused, recklessly overstuffed new work makes quite clear pretty early on. Those three subjects could each make their own neat little play, but this one also crams in Hurricane Katrina, corporate commerce, foster kids, hallucinations, droughts, rekindled romance, and a peculiar pair of talking kitchen cabinets, resulting in a hodgepodge of styles, intents, and tones—a runaway train of a play that just keeps on jumping off track after track. Continue Reading »




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Sex and Violence in Downtown NYC: Caligula Maximus and Alice in Slasherland

Caligula Maximus

A naked girl hula hoops and asks unsuspecting audience members if they will buy her some candy. There's a naked male roller skater. A man gets lowered on stage by a great big giant gold dong. A live band performs Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" while patrons imbibe free beer from the lobby. And that's just in the first 10 minutes of Caligula Maximus, a rowdy, rude, loud, and eventually wearying retelling of the legend, only this time with female bodybuilders, acrobats, and full-on dance numbers with a cast that is seemingly endless.

Playing the titular, self-created deity Caligula with a cheeky, pervy, party-boy hauteur not unlike Cabaret's furtive emcee, the brave, highly attention-catching Ryan Knowles lords over a most unruly evening, and your enjoyment of the show is probably most dependent on how anarchic your sensibilities are. This is down-and-dirty downtown theater of the crudest kind, which is highly commendable in this era of prefab junk-food theater and would be even more so if the whole enterprise (envisioned by Classical Theatre of Harlem's Alfred Preisser and nightspot impresario Randy Weiner) didn't feel so slickly disjointed. Continue Reading »




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One Year Revisited: God of Carnage on Broadway

God of Carnage

In Woody Allen's great film Crimes and Misdemeanors, Alan Alda has a whole bit about the secret of comedy ("It's...tragedy...plus time"), but does such a rule apply to the theater as well? In the case of Yasmina Reza's Tony-winning God of Carnage, the playwright would agree that her play is a tragedy (reportedly, she is often puzzled by how American audiences find it so funny). But the third cast to inhabit this play's ensemble has finally nailed the tricky challenge of playing the drama of the piece which, in effect, unearths Reza's work as a bit more than a Brooklyn elite gab-a-thon. I'll freely admit: I wasn't much of a fan of Carnage at this time last year. Despite the stellar cast and Matthew Warchus's expert direction, it seemed to me a Möbius strip of a concoction with too much contrivance at its center. (Why do the Raleighs keep heading to the door only to constantly wind up back on the Novacks' couch?) People laughed their heads off, sometimes at just the right intervals, but I had hoped for a deeper, more resonant experience that sadly never came.

Well, tonight I'm going to dine on some crow, because not only was I one of the people chuckling heartily this time, but Reza's play had sharper focus than it had ever revealed previously. Sometimes all it takes is just the right cast to modify something into fully operational machinery. And while the play still has those pesky contrivances that gnaw at you, the new quartet (Dylan Baker, Jeff Daniels, Lucy Liu, Janet McTeer) fully realize the power of words, and instead of going straight for the gut laughs, bring a more organic fluidity to the (literal) table. The tone is more contemplative this time, less manic, though startlingly, the play seems to move at an even steadier clip. Continue Reading »




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The Book of Grace at the Public Theater

The Book of Grace

"They see the creases, they know they're done for!" carps Vet (John Doman), a belligerent South Texas border cop pontificating on the mindset of illegals when they see the sharp indents of his pants in Suzan-Lori Parks's newest, The Book of Grace. It's an astute analogy, given that Parks—never one to give audiences an easy route through the swirling, often bizarre complexities of her characters—absolutely lets you see the creases here, and certain audiences not on her wavelength are most certainly done for. However, her blackly comic Southern gothic, despite its longueurs and occasional overreaches, is sprinkled with poetic assertions on postwar distress and home-life abuses, and in James Macdonald's first-rate production at the Public, it occasionally even manages to cast a sinister spell. Continue Reading »




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Gay Old Times, Part Deux: Next Fall and The Pride

Next Fall

Okay, so Geoffrey Nauffts's Next Fall isn't about "old" times per se, but its content seems firmly rooted in the seriocomic patterns of seasoned old pros. Take the homosexual preference out of this setup and see if it doesn't hold to a sort of Doc Simon programme: Two men—nebbishy, inquisitive Adam (Patrick Breen) and the much-younger, devoutly Christian actor Luke (Patrick Heusinger)—embark on a rocky relationship that spans over four years, while dodging the latter's unaware, intolerant parents (now divorced) and relying on their best friends (one is a woman, natch) for moral support. Add some zesty one-liners, some juicy albeit palatable deliberations on faith, an unfortunate car accident, and a big, sloppy heart and you've got Next Fall.

And through the play's sturdy, funny, confident first act, you feel as if this type of patter comedy with some deeper meaning just might be the ticket to a rebirth, only this time with same-sex participants. Told in flashbacks as Luke is comatose in the aforementioned accident, the play backracks their relationship as their friends and family wait currently for good news, while Adam, wracked with guilt and frustrated by not being able to tell Luke's parents who he truly is, confides in best pal Holly (Maddie Corman), the fluttery-adorable boss of the candle shop where both men have worked. Luke also has a mysterious best friend, Brandon (Sean Dugan), who has always been adversarial toward Adam, and whose true nature is just as mysterious to us through most of the play. And then there are the parents: saucy, genial but somewhat dim Arlene (Connie Ray) and super alpha-male, deliberate, rock-solid Butch (Cotter Smith). Continue Reading »




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Great Performances: The Temperamentals and Venus in Fur

The Temperamentals

The Temperamentals could have easily been the title for The Boys in the Band, given that the latter's party guests fit that description to a T, and it's interesting that both works are sharing the same season. Both are about a group of men who, despite their differences, try to make sense of what it is to be gay in their society. Except that this play, sensitively written by Jon Marans (Old Wicked Songs), goes back all the way to the early '50s, when gay wasn't even a state of mind yet. Cue the advent of the Mattachine Society, a politically based platform begun by married, somewhat conservative Harry Hay (Thomas Jay Ryan), slowly embracing his homosexuality, and his Jewish émigré lover Rudi Gernreich (Ugly Betty's Michael Urie), and their difficult efforts trying to get a group together to create a faction for men who felt disenfranchised (calling themselves "temperamental"), much like black Americans did in the same time period. Continue Reading »




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