Anne Frank: The Musical

There's a pretty common structure you'll see in musicals: zippy/lovely. The songs tend to alternate between uptempo numbers and ballads or laments. It's not a hard and fast rule, but is pretty common.

So my question is, what are the zippy songs in a musical about Anne Frank? Is there a big showstopper at the end of Act I? A big dance number, perhaps?

This sounds like a better idea for a Family Guy bit than for an actual play.

Note: I was going to attempt to write some lyrics for an uptempo number that might work in this show, but even as a snarky blogger I found that reprehensible. I can only imagine the sorts of cretins that actually wrote the songs.

(Bet you thought I was kidding with the post title, too.)

Theater review: Dog Sees God

The theater again. Two weeks running. Scary.

I was going to just list the good and bad, but it started to get unruly early on as I started to gush about one of the actors; instead, I'll try for a more traditional post/review.

First, I'd say the Times review I linked to in my earlier post was pretty spot on about the play itself. Here's that link again. Obviously, we didn't have the benefit of the B-list young cast, but I doubt they were able to smooth over the weaknesses in story, characterization, and dialog that are glaring in the script any better than this PHX cast. There are some cute moments, and some schmaltzy, melodramatic moments, but only one or two scenes of real emotion. The parody is cute, that's all.

Quick notes to Bert V. Royal on how to improve the play:

• Marcy should be the hotter Heather, Tricia the sidekick. Once you've made the decision to change characters' personalities both subtly and broadly for effect, you might as well take it to its logical extent.
• Great line you've given Beethoven re: how great heaven is. You pretty obviously originally wrote it for Van but realized you had to move it. Well, it doesn't fit Beethoven anymore than it fits your pothead Van. I know you want it. Tough. Toss it.
• More goddamn Lucy.
  

I noted earlier that this production wouldn't have Eliza Dushku for eye candy. It didn't. Playing "Van's sister" (Lucy Van Pelt) was Amber Gildersleeve. Hotter and more talented than Eliza. No joke. We'll get back to Gildersleeve in a moment. First, let me go off on a short tangent and bitch some more.

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I acted in three plays while I was in college. Well, I did three plays at UConn and one community theater production. Not bad for a physics major who was on the three-year plan. Anyway, I was in two productions on the main stage for the same director - as a spearcarrier/chorus member in Man of La Mancha and as Rowley in The School for Scandal. In the latter, I got the only bad review of the cast which...well let me tell you this: don't ever read a bad review right before pulling on your tights and stippling up your face. You won't be calm come curtain time. Holy crap, I was much worse that day than on normal, bland days.

Why do I bring this up? To point out that I'm a mediocre actor? No. To point out that I know what it's like to work with a set-oriented director. We had a *ton* of set moves in both those plays, many of them part of our blocking. So much time was spent choreographing the moves that the director didn't focus much on performance. For the MFA candidates comprising the majority of the cast, and the undergrad acting majors the rest, this wasn't a huge problem. For me it proved to be. Restoration Comedy requires a certain light touch and frothiness that I never found on my own.

* * *

There were a lot of set moves in tonight's performance.

Director Marcos D. Voss blocked the play beautifully. The sets were minimalist but clever. The lighting was better than I'd expected considering the little auditorium had utilized some exposed plumbing for part of its light rigging.

He didn't seem to do much with the actors, however.

No one was terrible, though I was pretty disappointed by Eric Zaklukiewicz as CB (Charlie Brown). I don't know if there was a jammin' after-party, or if he'd downed a Big Gulp before the show and needed to pee, but he blew through his lines way too fast. There were a few places where it was appropriate and a few places where he did manage to slow down, but for the most part he rushed.

Beyond that, the biggest problem was that the actors were performing at different levels. Joel Dauten as Van (Linus) was good, but he was way more energetic than everyone else. It was as though he'd dropped in from another play. Similarly, Jannese Davidson and Emily Pelzer as Marcy and Tricia (Peppermint Patty, natch) were in a higher energy orbit than, say, Sam Wilkes as Beethoven (Schroeder).

Part of the problem lies in Royal's sloppy script - exposition-rich and too concerned with cheap laughs and cheap tears than actual characterizations. Most of the problem lies with Voss's direction. It's a director's responsibility to get all his actors performing compatibly. If you're going to let Dauten play the pothead *big* (he reminded me a small bit of Matthew Lillard) you've got to get everyone else over the top as well. Conversely, give him some actual weed to smoke on stage to get really mellow.

To be clear, my problem was with the (lack of) direction and not the actors. It's a very special actor how can modulate her performance appropriate to her co-stars.

A special actress like Amber Gildersleeve.

Here are some highlights from her CV:

• West Side Story, Maria.
  
• Beauty and the Beast, Belle.
  
• My Fair Lady, Eliza.
• Gypsy, Gypsy Rose Lee
• Proof, Catherine

Do you see the trend? If there's a production in the valley, Gildersleeve gets the lead. Unfortunately I didn't get to hear her sing tonight, but we'll be looking for her plays going forward. This girl's got talent with a capital "T" that rhymes with "G" that stands for "Get out of Phoenix while you can."

The play is running Thursdays through Sundays until November 17. I...recommend it, if only for Amber Gildersleeve.

Another weekend, another play in PHX

I must be a masochist. Going to a play^* here in PHX again tonight. I'll let y'all know how bad it is later.

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^* This production won't even have Eliza Dushku for eye candy.

PHX: Where dreams go to die

We went to the "theater" last night. A small theater group really stretching to the utmost of their meager abilities.

Space 55 Theatre Ensemble is dedicated to producing new, unpublished and rarely seen works. We are committed to concentrating on the process of improvisation through ensemble, creation of new work, and the ongoing investigation of the process of creating theatre. We aim to develop a new "writer’s theatre" in Phoenix by nurturing new playwrights and continuing the crosspollination of artists from different genres. It is extremely important to us to build new audiences for the modern stage by creating a comfortable, affordable and open atmosphere in order to make the theatre experience accessible to all.^*

Used to be I thought just people came to PHX to die. Now I know it's art and hope and dreams.

What the fuck? They're "nurturing new playwrights"? Let me tell you about the absolute SHIT that is the PHX "art" scene.

First off, there was nowhere to park. This is neither the fault of this little theater, nor directly related to their suckitude, but I bring it up to comment on the overall "art" scene in PHX. It was First Friday. Which in this town means a lot of posers smoking clove cigarettes, hemp clothing impregnated with patchouli, and people hawking bad art. No matter. We're going to see an interesting show so we can put up with that, right?

The show in question sounds promising: a "10 Minute Play Showcase, a one-of-a-kind theatrical event for the Valley. That’s six new plays, each ten minutes in duration, written by Phoenix-based playwrights". I expect there will be some chaff in the mix, but surely at least one lovely kernel.

The first piece is high-school existentialism at its most base. See, there's a dead guy talking to the man who helped him off himself. The dead guy's angry. The dead guy's seen everything, knows everything. He's seen God's grave. He's taken notes. The only thing truly notable was the crappy blocking. The aide-de-kill is upstage almost the entire piece forcing dead-guy to turn his head too much.

Then there's the promise of some humor...a message is projected and read aloud. Two-weeks after the deadline for submissions had passed, somebody sent a message to the theater's MySpace page suggesting 10 minutes of...a purple dragon, a man comes in, no one talks, and maybe there's a cat. I wish I could do it justice. My description might be more lucid than the very short idea sent in and that's the problem. Imagine what I wrote, but slowed down and dragged out by excessive pot use. So the theater's going to have some fun with this and do four variations on the theme. Here comes part the first: doesn't live up to the setup.

I hate to pick too hard on the next piece which felt very personal, so we'll leave it at saying I'm sure someone gave a shit about the story of the schizophrenic mother with breast cancer and her daughter (who might have inherited the disease) becoming a mother herself at 27. Someone really might have cared. Not the theater-goers, but someone.

Purple dragon variation #2. Makes the first look like genius. In this one, they eschew any attempt at comedy and go for drama. Yah. It doesn't fuckin' work.

Now, the meat of the evening. This is the play people will be talking about for years to come. This is the play Hollywood will be turning into a movie soon, I guarantee that. As long at the WGA strikes, this play is gold. "How to Count to 1000". Two men - the playwright Bob Fisher, who puts the ham in a Hormel factory farm, and his co-star - settle on stage. They clean up a bit, bring out two chairs and a Coleman, and...

Y'all know the story about Helena Modjeska, the Polish-born actress? At dinners, she'd sometimes do short dramatic scenes in Polish. Her performances were heart-wrenching. One time, it is said, she recited the Polish alphabet. Brought the crowd to tears. It is most likely apocryphal, but believable due to her immense talent.

Bob Fisher is not immensely talented. Yet he and his unfortunate co-star spent 10 minutes strutting, pouting, yelling, and weeping their way in fits and starts from one to 1000. "Time constraints" thrust upon them by the stage manager required them to break out of their strict incremental performance and there were a few out-of-sequence values. All part of the brilliant play Bob wrote. Remember above, the description of Space 55? It's a "writer's theater". (I was going to leave it be, but...it's only a theater for one writer? It's not a writers' theater?)

Hollywood should take heed of Bob's masterful plan. When the scripts have all dried up, I expect to see phonebooks read by Charlie Sheen and Jon Cryer, encyclopedias by the cast of The Office, and take-out menus printed on late-night cue cards (actually, that might be funnier than Leno's monologue.)

Another purple dragon variation that *could* have been mildly amusing. A large girl in a purple dress is the "dragon". She readjusts her ample bosom. A silly English ka-nig-it with drawn broadsword enters. There is a protracted battle. Music rises. They tango. And if it had been that fast or if the fight had been choreographed it would have amused.

Our final "real" play. "Salt". It seemed pretty decent, but you'll have to remember what came before. Having a Capri Sun straw shoved in my eye would have seemed decent in comparison. Some talking heads. A passionate, sad wail about the death of dreams and the conformity of life. Whatevs.

The final purple dragon variation was a bit of interpretive "dance". I'm no fan of dance, but I don't think that's why I disliked this. This looked a bit more like Madonna voguing in slow-motion.

This was a bad, bad night at the "theater". Then I got home. And heard some really good news for an acquaintance. Good news for her which indicated bad news for me. So here in the desert I stay, my hopes and dreams slowly dessicating in the sun. Fuck. I couldn't even be a PHX playwright. I try to use actual words to actually entertain. I don't write juvenile pastiches of Beckett or sequences of numbers. I have no hope, here.

But that's okay. I can remain a software engineer, right? I mean, when you think high-tech Mecca, you think PHX, right?

Fuck. I'm going to see if someone will help me kill myself so I can piss on God's grave.

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^* Huh. Didn't notice the first time. They use the British-English spelling of "theatre". So not only are they untalented clods who'd better spend their time painting desert sunsets and making kitschy cactus souvenirs, they're über-pretentious.

Theater of the Dead

Great post from Jim Henshaw about genius, perception, and the too-short life of Andre Bernard Bergé.

Bergé was a French Post-Existentialist writer obsessed with American cinema. He longed to write tawdry detective movies and taut thrillers in a post-war culture obsessed with Buňel, Goddard and Truffault. Unable to find producers for his screenwriting, Bergé crafted a play entitled "The Theatre of the Film Noir" which became a critical sensation when it opened in Paris in the late 1950’s.

Unfortunately, Bergé did not live to enjoy his newfound fame. The morning after his theatrical triumph, he was crushed by a Citroën, while peddling his bicycle home from retrieving his morning baguette.

Be sure to read about the critically acclaimed performance of "The Theatre of the Film Noir" at the '82 World Theatre Festival in Toronto. It's a great story for aspiring writers and directors.

Whoa! Cue cards!

Reason #37 to live in a real city^* as opposed to this waystation in the frackin' desert: Point Break LIVE!

The Brechtian blockbuster, which garnered a "Seattle P-I Best of Seattle 2004" award during its run in the Northwest, features armed robbery, big-wave surfing, car chases, explosions, and no less than two extended skydiving sequences. Best of all, you could be the next Johnny Utah... the starring role of Keanu will be selected at random from the audience each night, and will read their entire script off of cue-cards.

It's playing in LA starting 12 October.
via Deadspin, of all places.

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^* I know. I'm stretching the concept "real city" by including LA, but it does have an awful lot of cultural advantages to the senior citizen sandbox.