Tag Archives: Washington City Paper

Stop Kiss: Sequence of Sorrows

Rachel Zampelli and Alyssa Wilmoth. (C. Stanley Photography)

My review of No Rules Theatre‘s fine production of Diana Son‘s Stop Kiss is in today’s Washington City Paper. Read it here.

Game of Koans: WSC Avant Bard’s Happy Days, appraised

Delia Taylor in HAPPY DAYS. Photo: Dru Sefton

My Washington City Paper review of the newly, pun-tastically rebranded WSC Avant Bard‘s production of Samuel Beckett‘s Happy Days is here.

Four years ago I reviewed the National Theatre of England‘s Fiona Shaw-starring production when it played the Kennedy Center.

Wherein I Proclaim Studio Theatre’s A History of Kisses: Seaworthy!

And also say other boat things! Boat things ahoy! And/or ho! As appropriate!

Totalitarian Recall: PURGE and I Wish You Love

I Wish You Love, a new, original “drama with music” from St. Paul, MN’s Penumbra Theatre tells the tale of how beloved entertainer Nat “King” Cole chose to end his 1956-7 TV variety show, the first primetime network program hosted by an African-American.

Cole dipped into his own pocket to keep it going, and A-list friends like Peggy Lee, Sammy Davis, Jr. and Tony Bennett appeared for scale, but it was no use: With Montgomery Bus Boycott still in effect, no national sponsor would risk paying to bring a black man into America’s homes. When NBC insisted Cole segregate the players in his band, which didn’t even appear on camera, he finally balked. Ironically, lack of a live band is what keeps this show from living up to its considerable potential. It features 20 songs; far too many given that its Cole, Dennis W. Spears, is singing to prerecorded music. And several songs fail to advance or comment upon the story in any resonant way — not necessarily a problem, if Spears can sing the shit out of them. Continue reading

BOBRAUSCHENBERGAMERICA, considered

Annie Houston, Julie Garner & Cliff Williams III. (Melissa Blackall)

BOBRAUSCHENBERGAMERICA. Another winner from Forum Theatre, whose Last Days of Judas Iscariot was my favorite show of, um… 2008, was it? Reviewed for WCP. Continue reading

S and Empathy: Studio’s Venus in Fur, reviewed, plus Why Torture Is Wrong, and the People Who Love Them

Christian Conn and Erica Sullivan whip it good. (Scott Suchman)

Venus in Fur
by David Ives
Directed by David Muse
At Studio Theatre to July 3

“I hate the audition process,” sighed provocateur-playwright David Mamet in a 2005 Los Angeles Times essay. “As an actor, I found it demeaning. As a writer and director, I find it damn near useless.”

It’s David Ives, not Mamet, whose fertile imagination begat Venus in Fur, a wickedly ingenious dark comedy that premiered in New York last year and has now arrived at the Studio Theatre in a new production that preserves its whip-smarts fully intact. But Mamet’s essay, “The Tyranny of the Audition,” could’ve contributed a perfectly descriptive moniker for Ives’s play had the latter not already borrowed the name of a scandalous 19th century German novella about a man who derives sexual pleasure from being abused. (If you already knew that the novella’s author’s name, Leopold von Sacher-Masoch, is the origin of the term masochism, go to the the head of the class. And continue down the hall the principal’s office; we’re totally calling your parents.)

Ives’s intelligent design is not a straightforward adaptation of the novella. He presents us instead with a youngish, famous-ish, not-yet-rich theater artiste who’s trying to cast his new adaptation thereof. After a long day’s fruitless search for an age-appropriate, articulate and sexy “actress who can actually pronounce the word ‘degradation’ without a tutor,” playwright-director Thomas is surprised when a woman barges into his shabby studio from out of the rain, all self-flagellating apologies for showing up hours late for an audition he can’t even find on the schedule. He tries to blow her off but you know she’s going to read for him anyway, and if any ladies or actors or lady actors or anybody is getting vapors hearing such a brazen male wish-fulfillment scenario recounted, just you wait. As Vanda pries off her rain poncho to reveal her patent leather (or vinyl?) bondage gear — just wait, I said! — the balance of power between omnipotent creator and helpless actor has already begun its hypnotic migration across the stage. Continue reading

SWAMPOODLE’D! Plus reviews of Keri Hilson at the 9:30 Club & The Moscows of Nantucket that I was too busy to link to last week.

Rachel Beauregard does not actually don boxing gloves in SWAMPOODLE that I can recall, but happily she does sing.

So, Swampoodle. A beautiful mess, is what it is. Bring your ear horn.

Also, I saw Keri Hilson play the 930 Club as the headliner of the WPGC Bithday Bash last Thursday night. The bill also included Lloyd and B.o.B., but my hopes for an all-star version of the Eastern Motors song were dashed.

Last Sunday, I saw The Moscows of Nantucket at Theater J. It’s good. More fun that that Fleet Foxes show, certainly. Continue reading

Profiles in Courage: Cyrano and The Apple Cart, review’d

Eric Hissom is emotionally erect. (Carol Pratt/courtesy Folger)

By the power vested in him by nothing more than his wildly protruding ego, Cyrano de Bergerac runs a blowhard actor off the stage at rapier point. So begins the Folger Shakespeare Library’s sparkling and soulful new adaptation of the romantic classic, and of all the outlandish scenarios it demands that leading man Eric Hissom imagine, this might be the most farfetched: As Cyrano, the guardsman of uncommon cheek and uncanny beak, a genius almost as fast with a sword as he is with a quip, Hissom is so effortlessly charming and authoritative it seems impossible he could ever find himself staring down a hostile audience.

He’s so good, in fact, you almost can’t believe that this Cyrano’s inconveniently 3D schnoz would much impede him in romance. But of course, the pickle he finds himself in ultimately has nothing to do with the fleshy cucumber sticking out under his eyes. For Cyrano, the rub is his lack of confidence that he’ll persuade his second cousin Roxane to see beyond her—uh, his—nose, an eloquent and enduring metaphor for the self-doubt that can cripple even the most capable among us. Continue reading

The King’s Speechless: Synetic’s Lear, reviewed

Irakli Kavsadze as King Lear and Ira Koval as Goneril

Now what we’ve got here is a failure to communicate. At least that’s what a smarter-than-me friend of mine says we’ve got in the text. Synetic’s wordless version is an action flick. I like action flicks.

Cold, Cold Ground: Active Cultures’ The Resurrectionist King

Jeremy Lister and Evan Crump

Wherein I appraise the unfortunately-christened Active Cultures Theatre’s world-premiere, based-on-actual-events bodysnatching play, The Resurrectionist King, for the Washington City Paper.

FURTHER READING (RELATED): Here’s Michael Little‘s fine 2005 WCP feature that inspired Stephen Spotswood to write the play. Fascinating stuff.

FURTHER FURTHER READING (UTTERLY IRRELEVANT): I also capsule-reviewed Ounie Lecomte’s very moving film A Brand New Life, which is on the bill for FilmFest DC, in this same issue.

In Praise of Clybourne Park

Woolly’s almost-world-premiere production of Bruce Norris’s now wildly successful race-and-gentrification play, which I fairly raved about at this time last year, is coming back this summer. I muse briefly on why this is a good and welcome thing in the City Paper’s Best of DC issue, on stands this week.

Washington Stage Guild’s Red Herring, reviewed

Washington Stage Guild’s production of Red Herring is in fact so much funnier than this photo would suggest.

Washington Shakespeare’s Juno and the Paycock, reviewed

A slice of 1920s Irish misery from Washington Shakespeare Company, reviewed for the City Paper.

Spectral Analysis: Kegan Theatre’s The Weir and Basra Boy, reviewed

Here’re my reviews of Keegan’s current two-fer of a recent (1997) Irish play and a brand-new one, Conor McPherson’s The Weir and Rosemary Jenkinson’s Basra Boy, respectively. I was pretty hard on their production of Golden Boy a few months back, so I’m glad these were better.

Being John Mellencamp

I live-tweeted last night’s very fine John Mellencamp concert at DAR Constitution Hall, then tried in the cold light of day to organize my tweets into coherent, largely numbers-based recap of the show. Maybe better just to read the tweets, I dunno. But I know the gig was excellent; more generous and more somber than the 85-minute, hits-only set I somehow had it in my head that Mellencamp prefers. More than half the set was stuff released in the 21st century, and while I delighted to hear “Check It Out,” which I thought for the first time sounds like an old Staples Singers jam, and “Cherry Bomb” — all told, four songs from 1987′s The Lonesome Jubilee, wow; plus and “Jackie Brown,” too — I thought the newest stuff was the best. I’m always interested in how old-timers with deep and much-beloved back catalogs balance their desire to perform new material with their fans’ presumed expectation that they rock the hits.

Anyway, go read.

No Time for Fiction, or the Anger of Human Kindness: A Polite Conversation with Henry Rollins

The great raconteur and renaissance man Henry Rollins turned 50 yesterday, and expounded on that milestone from the stage at National Georgraphic’s Grosvenor Auditorium. Actually, he didn’t discuss aging so much as his memories of growing up here in Our Nation’s Capital with future Fugazi frontman Ian MacKaye (who introduced him) and his recent, harrowing visits to Costco in Burbank and Pyongyang, North Korea. More inspiring was his visit to South Africa, a country he praised for its efforts in recent years to get on the right side of history. He even recited from memory the preamble to that country’s constitution. Continue reading

Ford’s The Carpetbagger’s Children and Taffety Punk’s Owl Moon, reviewed

Clockwise from top right: Nancy Robinette, Kimberly Schraf and Holly Twyford

Ford’s Theatre’s The Carpetbagger’s Children features three of Washington’s most revered and accomplished actresses onstage together for the first time, and is exactly as exciting as this publicity photo makes it look. In his review for DCist, my friend Ian found a way of pointing out nicely that nothing happens in this show, at least not that we actually get to see.

I say it less politely in this week’s City Paper, wherein I also take in Taffety Punk Theatre Company’s Owl Moon, which is messier and more fun than the Ford’s show and features a great song by Xiu Xiu that I hadn’t heard before and a talking spirit-owl.

So obviously it wasn’t even a fair fight. Owl Moon of Ga’Hoole, y’all.

The Critic as Artist: Studio’s Tynan and American Century’s Beyond the Horizon

Philip Goodwin as Kenneth Tynan, erudite exponent of spankage.

I reviewed Studio‘s Tynan and American Century‘s take on a problematic but Pulitzer-winning Eugene O’Neill play, Beyond the Horizon, in today’s City Paper. Check ‘em out.

Capes Are a Drag: Suilebhan’s REALS

Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons's landmark 1986-7 series WATCHMEN remains comics' most celebrated interrogation of the super-hero trope.

Gwydion Suilebhan is a playwright here in DC who does good work of which we’ve spoken before. I previewed Taffety Punk’s “bootleg” of his latest, REALS, for the City Paper.

Let’s Get Physical: ADS’s Let Me Down Easy

Anna Deavere Smith's Let Me Down Easy. Photo: Joan Marcus

I reviewed Anna Devere Smith’s Let Me Down Easy in today’s City Paper.