#240512 - May in Review, Part 1.
Brian Eugenio Herrera's #TheatreClique Newsletter for May 12, 2024
WELCOME to #TheatreClique — my irregular newsletter dedicated to encouraging you to click out to some of the most interesting, intriguing & noteworthy writing about drama, theatre & performance (at least, so says me)…
This Week's #TheatreCliquery:
This installment of #TheatreClique brings my latest “in review” roundup, wrapping up an eight show week, which also included one movie and the nine-hour whirlwind that is, was, and will forever be Eurovision 2024. (YAY NEMO!!!) So, to kick off this edition of the newsletter, I lift this illuminating “behind the scenes” piece from The Wall Street Journal that digs into how the production team makes the spectacular marvel that is Eurovision happen live before a global audience of more than 150 million viewers...
In Review : April 28-May 12, 2024.
Capturing brief “capsule” commentaries on my recent theatregoing, with click-worthy links to others writing about the same shows or theatremakers.
THE FRYBREAD QUEEN
Written by Carolyn Dunn • Directed by. Vickie Ramirez • Off-Off Broadway • Amerinda at The Theater for the New City : Community Space • May 2024..
The Frybread Queen is a deeply compelling script about the reverberations of generational trauma and the ways family traditions do (and do not) hold us together. After the gruesome death of Paul Burns, the four women who loved him most deeply convene at the home of his mother Jessie. Jessie is Navajo/Diné and lives on the res with her teen granddaughter (and Paul's daughter) Lily. Annalee and Carlisle — Paul's ex-wife and Paul's sister-in-law (and secret ex-lover) respectively — arrive in from Los Angeles. As the women prepare for the post-funeral family gathering, old resentments and petty bickerings flare. At center is the question of whether Annalee and Carlisle will be able to convince Jessie to allow Lily to return with them for the broader range of opportunities in Los Angeles. Once the women convene, Paul's presence makes itself ever more vividly felt until his spirit begins to consume one or another of the women. As a running motif, each of the women steps forth to recite her recipe for fry bread — ranging from the "authentic" Navajo (Jessie), the urban Indian (Carlisle), the version made in Oklahoma/Arkansa (Annalee) and a critique of the whole "tradition" (Lily). This Amerindia production offers a thoughtful and sincere presentation of Dunn's (fascinating and moving) script, with an all Indigenous cast of actors. I struggled a bit with the performances, mostly because I could hear certain idiomatic rhythms in the script (perhaps most obviously when Jessie says "innit") that I wasn't hearing on stage. The limits of the stage and set also created some hindrance to the clarity and believability of the onstage reality (ie Annalee's oxygen tank seemed not at all right for the character's class position). I was most taken with the performances by Jolie Cloutier as Lily, the utterly familiar character of the goth/metal Navajo kid for whom things could really go either way. Likewise, Ria Nez as Carlisle offered a vivid, engaged and specific performance. Vickie Ramirez's production seemed most intent on amplifying the pan-Indian themes within the story, which makes sense, though I both appreciated and longed for a precise execution of some of the more culturally-specific details cued by the script. By the shocking conclusion, I had become a huge fan of Dunn's script, especially its invocation of the interdimensionality of spirit which allows this play to be both a full-on family trauma play and a straight up ghost/horror story (reminding me in all the best ways of Branden Jacobs Jenkins's The Comeuppance)…
see also…
at Medium, writer/educator Meagan J. Meehan talks to playwright Carolyn Dunn about the history of The Frybread Queen in the context of her other work;
BroadwayWorld shares photos of the Amerinda production of The Frybread Queen at Theater for the New City.
JORDANS
Written by Ife Olujobi • Directed by. Whitney White • Off-Broadway • The Public Theater: LuEsther Hall • May 2024.
A wild, weird, and enthralling rumination on the politics of the creative workplace in the post-woke/EDI-era, refracted through a (possibly) Afro-Pessimist lens with oscillating flourishes of absurdism and surrealism. As Jordans unfurled, I was reminded of a number of the great experimentalist Black dramatic-writers: the scathing inter/intraracial satires of Branden Jacobs Jenkins; the eruptive intimate violations and violences of early Amiri Baraka; the not-as-abstract-as-they-might-first-seem psychological terrors of Adrienne Kennedy; Jordan Peele’s "fallen place" horrors; Spike Lee’s acidic parody of the bamboozlement of working inside the (white) culture industries… That spirit of scathing experiment swirls throughout Ife Olujobi's occasionally confounding but always compelling play. The central conceit of Jordans is that, in an emphatically white creative workplace, Jordan (the only Black person on staff) is the invisible yet essential "front desk girl" whose myriad daily humiliations range from handling the coat/bag of her MirandaPriestley-esque boss to more physical violations should she makes a mistake. When Jordan’s boss decides they need a Director of Culture to keep their emphatically white company "in the lane" of contemporary culture, the Black man she hires turns out to also be named Jordan, which activates — almost talismanically (or talismaniacally) — a doppelganger story where none of the white folks can tell the two Jordans apart, mostly because they're threatened by the new Jordan and barely noticed the existence of the original. This cycle of racist mistakenness implicates the two Jordans with (and in) each other. They very different responses to being mistaken or swapped but, since the Jordans are the only two to even notice, they each must wrangle the other. They flirt, they fight, and they jockey for status as they inexorably succumb to the white logics that make them one. And that’s when the whole thing spirals to an outrageously gruesome conclusion, leaving everyone dead and bloodied in the faux prison cell the studio designed as ambience for the launch a new lifestyle brand. Whitney White directs with her characteristic maximalist verve and, as the original Jordan, Naomi Lorrain anchors the wild ride with vivid, humane precision. Not sure the whole contraption works, but it's a wild adventure of a show, and one that will almost certainly continue stir in my thoughts for some while. There's a LOT going on in Oluboji’s play but every whit of it is worthwhile and suggests the auspicious arrival of a formidable playwrighting talent.
see also…
at The Dramatist, Jordans playwright Ife Olujobi discusses how her advocacy around playwright compensation led to an increase in playwright pay at The Public Theater for the first time in twelve years.
at FastCompany, freelance writer Shalene Gupta talks to Olujobi about how Jordans stages “the painful truths of what it’s like to be marginalized in the workplace.”
STAFF MEAL
Written by Abe Koogler • Directed by.Morgan Green • Off Broadway • Playwights Horizonsr: Peter Jay Sharp Theater • May 2024.
Between this play and Deep Blue Sound, Abe Koogler is quickly becoming the playwright I think of when I ponder which writers are writing (beautifully) about systemic collapse. This play, in its gently (yet somehow defiantly) absurdist post-dramatic inflection, seems to be asking about the collapse of creative economies in late capitalism. The play's three tracks — a meet-cute couple find themselves co-working in a well-heeled coffee shop with terrible coffee; a server takes a job at an exclusive restaurant operated by a restauranteur with a nearly mystical reputation; a frustrated audience member attends a frustrating new play — all seem, in different ways, to be asking what illusions of late-capitalism do we take delight in, which do we tolerate because it's just normal, and which do we see as bullshit don't know whether, how, or why to call it out. I do love how the play seems to be a romantic comedy which then appears to be a workplace satire which collapses into a kind of metatheatrical morass after an audience member interrupts, thereby introduce a third narrative of searching for meaning at the end of life. These are three very familiar genres (romantic comedy, workplace satires, grief dramas) of contemporary middle-brow theatre and Koogler — in his eerie, ruminative, poignant way — cracks these soothing narratives into the epiphanic, underscoring how having an epiphany can be kinda traumatic. Good actors can really inhabit Kooglers language — the extraordinary Stephanie Berry, Hampton Fluker, Susanna Flood, and Greg Keller in particular — to make the weirdly realist poetry of his digressive monologues so beautiful. The play’s many hinges (as when the chef serves bowls of grapes, as in the moment when characters across the three narrative tracks join Berry's private dance of self-affirmation, as with Erin Markey's laptop-snatching vagrant who becomes a chef who becomes the restauranteur because of a job listing she found on the ceiling at central station) all seems to be about the bending of time and the layered of eras of capitalism. There's also Staff Meal’s neo-apocalyptic ending, which clearly evokes the shutdown of March 2020, but which also resonated as the catastrophe of late capitalism. Jian Jung's scenic design cues this layering of time by folding the always moving walls in and around each other, an origami kaleidoscope of eggshell white, and adapted art-deco wallpaper, and high gloss black. But I can’t stop thinking about the play’s the final moment. The stage falls into near darkness except for a bright blush of light illuminating Hampton Fluker’s Waiter, and which creates a blurred reflection of Fluker on the black gloss wall behind him. As he savors his “last” staff meal, he discovers that the wine — so delicious a moment ago — has soured; he also discerns that he is alone. This moment distills Staff Meal’s enigmatic challenge to recognize how we tolerate the passage of time — through art, through food, through conversation, through glancing intimacies — even as the structures of the world as we know it quietly but completely collapse around us.
see also…
New York Times culture writer Rachel Sherman profiles how Staff Meal is an “ode to intense culinary experiences” amidst a landscape in which “the perils of capitalism are on full display”;
at The Yale Review, playwright Nathan Alan Davis talks with Abe Koogler about balancing conviction, ethics, and politics when writing plays for the theater’s (always) uncertain future (from 2021).
LEMPICKA
Book, Lyrics and Original Concept by Carson Kreitzer • Book and Music by Matt Gould • Directed by.Rachel Chavkin • Broadway • Longacre Theatre • May 2024.
I prioritized returning to Lempicka after my first visit because I felt I truly didn't get a full experience of it when I my TDF seats put me at at the left most corner of the front orchestra, thereby completely obscuring my view of the projection screen in the upper house left quadrant of the stage. (This panel happens to be the one offering potent visual counterpoint to the onstage action, often giving visual cues to where things were happening or showing the painting that the onstage action was talking about.) So I opted to buy a seat in the front center of the balcony, ostensibly to get a full bird-seye view of the stage. This turned out to be a stupid (even rookie) mistake, for I completely forgot about how the brass safety rail (the one that runs across the ledge of the balcony) would completely obscure my view of anything happening on the apron or along the curtain line. So for the whole of the show, I was alternately leaning forward to peer over the safety railing, or hunching down to peer between the railing and the ledge, which made for one of the more weirdly physically exhausting theatregoing experiences I've had in recent memory. Not sure whether to blame the Longacre, the Shuberts, or director Rachel Chavkin for the fact that both seats for this show ended up being kinda terrible. But, still, I was glad to more fully experience a more complete "view" of the show from upstairs. As an experimental musical asking questions about form, function, and politics — all while being unapologetically queerly sexy — Lempicka is great. I do wonder whether the musical might over-emphasize the romantic triangle, which is arguably the least interesting aspect of the story. A story of pleasure, passion, and politics — all in the context of being an artist — yes; but as a love story? Not so much. I remain utterly enamored of George Abud's Marinetti as the charismatic but untrustworthy showman whose pivot to fascism (in counterposition to Lempicka's default reliance her privileges) is what most drives the story home. I also enjoyed revisiting the minor moment when the married couple "straightens up" as they leave the queer club — an elegant staging of the danger that remained even within the freedom of Paris. And my favorite moment that I didn't catch before? As Lempicka returns to the erotic fervor of her connection with Amber Iman's Rafaella, the stage "fades” not to black but to the most saturated blue, evoking the blue that Lempicka so reveres in the Italian masters and cuing Lempicka’s discovery of the dimension of erotic passion that also activates her artistic fervor. A gorgeous bit of stagecraft. Lempicka is indeed a tricky musical to love but — somehow — I kinda totally ended up loving it both times. I'll remain very interested to see what kind of afterlife beyond Broadway awaits Lempicka’s emphatically feminist, queer-affirming, and anti-fascist angle on the question of making art.
see also…
at Interview Magazine’s Jake Nevins talks to actor Eden Espinosa about Taylor Swift and about “why she isn’t afraid to play unlikable characters anymore”;
at NorthJersey.com, culture writer Ilana Keller talks to composer/writer Matt Gould about what he’s learned from the deeply divided critical (and audience) response to Lempicka.
OF MOTHERS & MEN
Written by Crystal Roman • Directed by.Crystal Roman • Off Off Broadway • Black Latina Movement: Wild Project • May 2024.
A collection of nine monologues, each performed by a different actor, that take on different aspects of the contemporary experience of being a Black/Latina woman negotiating the expectations of motherhood in contemporary society. Written, directed, and produced by entrepreneurial theatremaker Crystal Shaniece Roman (who also performs one of the monologues), Of Mothers and Men invites its audience to give witness to the experience of these women. Most of the monologues are declamatory, allowing the character to speak her piece without interruption. Occasionally we know that the speaker is addressing a therapist (like in "Mothers Advancement" as performed with alacrity by Blair Tate), or someone from social services (as in "Brother," performed with a resonant empathy by Princess Bey) or their own mother (as in "Mother like No Other" performed with verve by Georgina Morillo). Most of the time, however, the audience is asked to hold space for these very different women as they describe their experiences. In "Mother in Theory," Lupita Asto defiantly expresses the fact of her rage, her grief, and her clarity around her decision to terminate her pregnancy, while in "Mother of Three" Yemie Sonuga affirms her choice to step away from her dream of singing professionally and to instead dedicate her life (and beautiful singing voice) to her children. Liz Chestang's rendition of the evening's final monologue ("7 Months Pregnant and Unsure") deftly and humanely amplifies the humor inside inevitable ambivalences of impending motherhood. Though most of the monologues operate in a vividly declamatory mode, two adopt a slightly more "diegetic" mode, inviting the audience to imagine a dramatic scene unfold. Adwoa Williams's performance "Daddy Summers" flashes back, in ways as terrifying as they are moving, to the speaker's experience of childhood sexual abuse and, in "11/11/11," Crystal Roman vividly animates the heartbreaking cycle of micro-dramas that chart the discovery, evolution, and dissolution of a relationship. Presented on a nearly bare stage, with each performer wearing an elegantly simple all-black ensemble, Of Mothers and Men emphasizes the voices of the women speaking, while also spotlighting the talent and charisma of each member of the gifted cast. As a piece of theatre, Of Mothers and Men might benefit from a clearer directorial conceit to allow the audience to more immediately apprehend why these women are telling these stories to us at this moment; likewise, a set designer might offer a simple, versatile stage setting ready to support each of the nine monologues, while avoiding momentum-deflating scene changes. But, all told, Of Mothers and Men stands as a vividly performed constellation of compelling stories that center Black/Latina women and the intimate complexities of having a mother, becoming a mother, and being a mother in contemporary society.
see also…
at Fierce By Mitú, freelance journalist/editor Yamily Habib digs into how Of Mothers and Men puts a “spotlight on open cultural secrets [about] women, their mothers, and their relationships with men”;
at CaribbeanLife, journalist & disability advocate Milette Millington profiles Black Latina Movement founder Crystal Roman.
I WISH
Created by Le Gateau Chocolat, Rachel Bagshaw, and Seiriol Davies • Directed by. Rachel Bagshaw • Off Broadway • New 42: New Victory Theatre • May 2024.
New Victory's presentation of the Unicorn Theatre production of I Wish was a fascinating encounter with the contemporary landscape of TYA in a UK context. The scenario of this hour-long solo musical (albeit with occasional voiceover intervention from an unseen narrator) is relatively simple. Effie is a fairy — whose "duty is to make you happy" — who finds themself about to grant their "brumbofillionth" wish. This stirs a moment of reflection for Effie, as they reflect on some of their most memorable wishes granted (the girl who wanted to be pretty, the girl who wanted to go the ball, the boy who wanted to never wanted to grow up). Effie is abundantly proud of each of those wishes granted until discovering the unintended consequences: the girl who wanted to be pretty became a vain and tyrannical queen; the girl who wanted to go to the ball uses a wheelchair, which Effie neglected to notice, so she couldn't even get past the palace stairs; and the boy who didn't want to grow up didn't anticipate the grief and loneliness his decision would cause for himself and those he loved. So Effie has an "effipany" and radically reassesses "the power of the fairy" ultimately inviting all assembled to turn the "I wish" into "WE wish”…which of course releases a cascade of glittery confetti throughout the audience. I found much to delight in this not-quite-an-hour long musical, and thought it (if licensed) could be a great piece for staging in a range of amateur and educational contexts (including colleges). I did love the nuances in how Effie addressed "the childrens" and "non-childrens" in the audience and how the production included resonant elements of British panto (ie callouts and callbacks). Plus, though a subtle drag and genderqueer sensibility infuses the proceedings, Effie is simply a fairy — beyond gender, beyond race, beyond age. My only beef was that Laviniere sang to a prerecorded track, which (for me) tends to suck the spirit out of a musical performance. But, in general, the production requirements are simple, with the main obligation being that Effie's main costume be fabulous. (In this production, Jordan Laviniere's Effie wears a sequined bodysuit with matching skullcap underneath a wrap coat comprised of layers of flouncing tulle.) All told, a delightful mini-musical ready and willing to stir the imaginations of childrens and non-childrens alike.
see also…
EverythingTheatreUK’s Mary Pollard reviews I Wish as a “gorgeous, glittery, dazzling delight of a musical that reimagines what theatre for young audiences can be”;
TheStage’s Paul Vale reviews I Wish as an “idiosyncratic but wholly loveable riff on the fairytale construct.”
ORLANDO
Written by Sarah Ruhl • Directed by.Will Davis • Off Broadway • Signature Theatre : Irene Diamond Stage • May 2024.
Sarah Ruhl's adaptation of Virginia Woolf's novel (itself nearly 100 years old) was written by Ruhl almost 25 years ago, with a premiere date 15 years ago…and yet somehow it seems startlingly of the moment in this production. This revisitation, as staged by director/choreographer Will Davis, allows that layering of time to infuse the visual and emotional texture of the meta-theatrical onstage world. The adaptation of Woolf’s faux-biography allows for the simple linearity of a life being lived (and a novel being read) to be the thread — or tightwire — that tethers Orlando amidst the oscillations of identity and history that mark their journey. With the incomparable Taylor Mac in the title role, and with a charismatic ensemble (each a forceful presence and deft comedian) to surround Orlando, the production does offer many theatrical pleasures. The production's constellation of episodes, each differently diverting, did delight, yet I struggled to remain emotionally invested in (or even to discover) the dramatic arc of the piece. Though I delighted in every scene, and adored every performer, I found myself occasionally lapsing into a snooziness of near sleep at times. Which kinda worked with the underlying dreamlike quality of Woolf's narrative, where people and settings shift with unpredictable ease. Yet, as much as I adored and admired this production, I found myself a touch removed from it. Not sure why. Taylor Mac's sometimes startling comedic flourishes were delicious. Nathan Lee Graham's clarion vocality — its texture, timing, timbre — still has me giggling. Jo Lampert's deft shifts between broad slapstick and erudite coolness were gorgeous; it always thrills me to see TL Thompson bring their gentle gravitas to any stage; and Lisa Kron's wry precision is always a welcome wonder. Likewise, the scenic, light and costuming hit a brilliant balance between “period” and “at the klerb” which also allowed this piece (as lushly produced as it was) to retain a whiff of downtown scrappiness. I have only good things to say about this production, which is why I'm so perplexed that I had such a snoozy emotional response. Perhaps being immersed in such an emphatically gender-expansive and enthusiastically meta-theatrical space just relaxes me?
see also…
at The Brooklyn Rail, arts writer Billy McEntee contextualizes Sarah Ruhl’s Orlando within the myriad “theatrical transformations” that define her body of work;
at Edge Media Network, journalist Frank Avella talks to Sarah Ruhl and Taylor Mac about bringing Orlando to “joyful genderfluid life.”
MOTHER PLAY: A PLAY IN FIVE EVICTIONS
Written by Paula Vogel • Directed by.Tina Landau • Broadway • Second Stage: The Hayes Theatre • May 2024.
Following my first encounter with Paula Vogel’s reinvention of the family memory play, this visit underscored just how layered this play (in this genius production) truly is. Where the first audience I saw it with seemed to be holding its breath a bit, this audience was ready to laugh and to to applaud those moments of queer affirmation that dapple the play. Perhaps because of the audience’s giddy embrace of the script, I found that I really tuned into the layers of tenderness that animate it. I was also really able to sit with how the play is, in many ways, about the oscillating roles of parenting. When Phyllis says she never wanted to be a mother, that's true but what becomes even more clear is that Phyllis had no capacity to be a parent. The hinge revelation that comes after Phyllis "evicts" Carl from the family and Martha rebukes her mother's spin on pretty much everything. (I wonder if there’s a way to think through this play by asking “who is the parent” in this or that moment.) Phyllis only really embraces the role of parent when she defies authority (landlords, school dress codes) but she’s incapable to tending anyone, even herself. (The rituals that formulate the stunning “Phyllis ballet” are coordinated by routine, convention, and expectation…not by care.) Indeed, in this more relaxed encounter with the play, I particularly marveled at the deft subtlety of Celia Keenan-Bolger’s work as Martha, especially her careful plotting of Martha’s different ages, with each scene somehow anchored in how Martha had matured since we last saw her. It’s a beautiful play — so richly inhabited yet so spare. It’s also a play that gives me chills of recognition…this time seeing my mother’s mother in Jessica Lange’s Phyllis. Two women from the same era, both fierce survivors, yet childish, superficial, selfish, petty, and unhesitant about weaponizing their survivor's ferocity against their children. Yet in Vogel’s script — and in Lange’s luminous performance — Phyllis is not simply another of the monster mothers populating the canon of American Drama; rather, with Vogel’s Phyllis, we are challenged to forgive as a gesture of tending to and caring for ourselves. A stirring and deeply resonant play, elevated by glorious performances in this deftly conceived (and beautifully executed) production.
see also…
at 3Views, writers Lynn Nottage, Hansol Jung, and Jen Silverman engage a rich and far-reaching conversation about Paula Vogel’s Mother Play;
at NPR’s Weekend Edition, freelance arts reporter/producer Jeff Lunden talks to Paula Vogel, her students, and her Mother Play collaborators about the play’s forty-year gestation period and its intervention into the tradition of mother plays written by men.
SpectrumNews’s On Stage host Frank DiLella engages beautiful, extended interviews with playwright Paula Vogel and actors Celia Keenan-Bolger, Jim Parsons, and Jessica Lange.
DISCOUNT: Wilma’s Good Person Streaming thru 5/19
Streaming tickets $29 with code: GOODFRIEND available through May 19, 2024. (See also my comments on the production, which I found to be quite worthwhile.)