From the Archives: 'Four Strong Women' (1996)

This review of British playwright Alan Bennett's Talking Heads appeared in The Metro Herald (Alexandria, Va.) in March 1996:

Four Strong Women

Rick Sincere

Metro Herald Entertainment Editor

What a study in contrasts! The Studio Theatre has shown its range this year, with two remarkably different yet similarly superior productions mounted since January.

The Studio Theatre's first offering of 1996, Two Trains Running by August Wilson, was an ensemble production, in which various characters existed as parts of a larger whole. No single character stood out, with the result being a portrayal of a community.

Flip this over by 180 degrees and you have the Studio's second major production of the year, Talking Heads by British playwright Alan Bennett. Not a play in the classic sense -- there is no plot, no action as such -- it is instead a series of four monologues, each delivered by a different actress portraying a different character. The absence of plot or action does not, however, mean the play lacks energy. Not at all -- it turns out to be gripping, moving, driving.

The first monologue, "A Lady of Letters," is a lightly comic piece about a neighborhood busybody, Irene Ruddock (played by Nancy Paris), who has an insatiable appetite for writing letters -- complaints, compliments, criticisms. Irene seems not to have any other occupation but a combination of spying on her neighbors and writing -- in elegant longhand -- strange letters to anyone for whom she has a postal address.

The second piece, "Bed Among the Lentils," is a powerful monologue about the wife of the local vicar, Susan (played by Jon Tindle). Of the four monologues in Talking Heads, this is the only one I had seen previously, when Dame Maggie Smith played the part on television. Smith and Tindle have created significantly different interpretations of the same role, yet both are powerful and emotive. Tindle gives us a cynical, boozy Yorkshirewoman who carries on petty jealousies about her priest-husband's "fan club" even as she pursues an affair with a local Asian grocer half her age. Tindle, who despite his age and gender makes a quite convincing middle-aged woman, pulls a star turn here.

A short intermission precedes "Her Big Chance," featuring Vanessa Maroney as small-time actress Lesley, who's biggest claim to fame is appearing as an extra in a TV soap opera. Lesley could be one of Tracey Ullman's Emmy-winning characters. Although created, of course, by Alan Bennett, Lesley has the mix of confidence and naivete that defines much of Ullman's work. This monologue describes Lesley's experience "acting" in a film that everyone but she understands to be a cheap pornographic video. As an actress, poor Lesley may not get the parts she desires, but she does get to see the insides of many producers' bedrooms.

The final piece, "A Cream Cracker Under the Settee," is the most poignant of the four. Elderly, widowed Doris (June Hansen), who insists on living on her own despite offers by the local social worker to give her a place in a pensioners' home, has just injured her leg while cleaning her house. The sun is setting, and no one is scheduled to visit for several days. Dragging herself across the room, Doris yields to the inevitable as she reminisces about her late husband, their inability to have children, and the nosy social workers who intrude on her life.

All four of these women are from Yorkshire, England's moral equivalent to Texas. As such, they each have a special pride that breaks through the darkness of their lives. Bennett wrote Talking Heads during the Thatcher years, a time in recent British history in which the North/South divide was very strong -- Thatcher's policies had the effect of ginning up the economy in the South, in and around London, while the North (places like Liverpool in the west and Leeds in Yorkshire in the northeast) suffered high unemployment and declines in property values. Bennett himself comes from the North and has always had an affinity for the Labour Party's socialist inclinations. While Talking Heads never addresses either politics or economics, its tone is meant to convey a subtle criticism of the establishment (witness Susan's cracks about life in the Church of England) and of attitudes toward the poor (such as Doris' meager life in retirement).

As entertainment, the Studio Theatre's presentation of Talking Heads cannot be faulted. It is a real gift to the Washington community, making concrete Lesley's comment about her own aspiring profession: "Acting is really just giving."

Talking Heads continues through April 7 at the Studio Theatre, 1333 P Street, N.W. Performances are Wednesday and Thursday at 8:00 p.m., Saturday at 2:00 p.m., and Sunday at 2:00 and 7:00 p.m. (tickets $18.50 and $23.50). Friday and Saturday evening performances (8:00 p.m.) are $24.50 and $29.50. For ticket information, call 202-332-3300.

From the Archives: How Can 'Twilight' Be So Bright? (1997)

This review of Anna Deavere Smith's Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992, appeared in The Metro Herald in February 1997:

How Can "Twilight" Be So Bright?

Rick Sincere

Metro Herald Entertainment Editor

Roget's Thesaurus offers the following words as synonyms for "brilliant": luminous, luminiferous, lucid, lucent, light, lit, well-lit, floodlit, flooded with light, bright, gay, shining, nitid, fulgent, resplendent, splendent, splendid, flamboyant, vivid, neon, colorful, radiant, effulgent, refulgent, dazzling, blinding, glaring, incandescent, flaring, flaming, aflame, aglow, afire, ablaze, fiery, glowing, blushing, auroral, rutilant, luminescent, fluorescent, phosphorescent, noctilucent, soft, lambent, playing, beaming, glittery, flashing, glinting, scintillant, scintillating, sparkling, lustrous, chatoyant, shimmering, shiny, sheeny, glossy, polished, reflecting, catoptric.

It is hard to find a word in this list that does not describe Anna Deavere Smith's remarkable performance in her current one-woman show at Ford's Theatre, Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992.

Based upon more than 175 interviews she conducted with participants and observers of the Los Angeles riots of 1992 (those which followed the acquittals of the LAPD officers accused of beating Rodney King), Twilight features more than 200 "characters" who are, in fact, real people. Smith portrays them all, male and female, black and white, immigrant and native, young and old. Her performance ranges from breathtaking to poignant to comic. In every case, Smith is brilliant. She never wavers, never lags, never fails to hit her mark.

Anna Deavere Smith is part anthropologist, part monologist. She has written this play but is no "rugged individualist" -- indeed, she called in four dramaturgs to help her write the piece and relies on the excellent direction of Sharon Ott. She works to be a bridge between people of different backgrounds, different races, different points of view. (Even as she was preparing to mount this production at Ford's Theatre in Washington last week, Smith made a special trip to New York to moderate a debate between Pulitzer-prize winning playwright August Wilson and theatre critic Robert Brustein on the topic of their long-simmering dispute about the future of "black theatre" in America.)

Smith says that the speeches in this play -- technically, there is no "dialogue," because there is only one "speaker" (Anna Deavere Smith) but in fact and in effect, the evening was one continuous dialogue -- are verbatim reproductions of statements made by the people she interviewed in the aftermath of the riots. What she has recreated is, in many cases, "found poetry." She plumbs the actual statements of real people and finds humor, rage, sorrow, arrogance, and incompetence. In short, she explores all the emotions and characteristics of real people in real situations.

At times, Smith had the audience nearly rolling in the aisles with laughter. The comedy was a soft comedy, however, not raucous or slapstick. The humor derived from the characters' apparent incapacity to understand that what they said was funny. An example: Elaine Young, "real estate agent to the stars," who talks about "huddling" at the Beverly Hills Hotel during the riots "because I've eaten lunch there every day for the past 36 years."

At other times, one could hear a pin drop -- the audience literally stopped breathing to better listen to the words from the stage. An example: Elvira Evers, a Panamanian immigrant who was shot during the early stages of the riot, but not until near the end of her monologue does it come out that she was pregnant and that the bullet was stopped by the baby in her womb. (A real tear-jerker, this, particularly when the audience learns that both mother and child survived, healthy.)

An interesting question: How is it that Anna Deavere Smith can recreate these actual personalities on stage without the risk of falling afoul of libel or slander suits? After all, some of these people are not very sympathetic. This problem didn't occur to me until the character of Elaine Young came on stage -- her name was familiar because she has been the real estate agent trying to sell the home of an acquaintance of mine. Should Ms. Young or any of the others disapprove of Smith's characterization of them, wouldn't they be inclined -- in these litigious times -- to sue the pants off the playwright?

That aside, Anna Deavere Smith proves once again that theatre requires little more than a performing space, some light, and an actor. She is able to create some 30 characters merely by putting on a scarf or a tie or a jacket, sitting in different chairs, lighting a cigarette or cigarillo, and adopting a new voice. One soon forgets that this is a "one-woman show." This is a multifaceted, multiple-personality show that happens to be performed by one actress.

It's a real shame that Ford's Theatre has booked Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992 for only 16 performances. This theatre is an excellent venue for this play. It is small enough that no electronic amplification is necessary for the audience to hear and understand the performer. This maintains a sense of intimacy and engagement that enhances the experience. Perhaps we will see a return tour someday soon.

Twilight: Los Angeles, 1992, continues through February 14, 1997, at Ford's Theatre, 511 Tenth Street, N.W., in Washington. Performances are Tuesday through Saturday evenings at 7:30 p.m., Thursday matinees at 1:00 p.m., and Sunday matinees at 3:00 p.m. Tickets are available through ProTix at 703-218-6500 or at the Ford's Theatre Box Office.

From the Archives: 'A Measure of Human Frailty'

The cascade of allegations, accusations, apologies, and resignations that has followed news reports about Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, Al Franken, Charlie Rose, Roy Moore, and many other powerful and celebrated men may suggest to a visitor from Mars that sexual harassment is a concept with its origins in the 21st century. Far from it, as this 20th century review of a 16th century play will show. Whether William Shakespear's Measure for Measure is the first dramatic piece about sexual harassment to be performed may be up for dispute, but it surely is the one with the greatest longevity.

This review of Mask & Bauble's production of Measure for Measure was originally published in The Metro Herald in October 1995.

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A Measure of Human Frailty

(Review of Shakespeare's Measure for Measure at Georgetown University)

Rick Sincere

Metro Herald Entertainment Editor

In the 1960s, before the professional theatre scene in Washington blossomed to the extent we now know it, the Mask & Bauble Dramatic Society at Georgetown University (M&B) was the Capital's premier venue for classical and modern drama. Mask & Bauble members were invited to perform at the White House by First Lady Jacqueline Kennedy. Mask & Bauble alumni of that era include Tony-award winning director Jack Hofsiss (The Elephant Man) and Tony-winning playwright John Guare (The House of the Blue Leaves).

With the opening of the Kennedy Center, Georgetown University Theatre lost some of its lustre relative to the new works available on the banks of the Potomac, and with the Kennedy Center as their furrow, newer and more ambitious theatres sprouted around town. Yet the student actors, directors, and technicians at M&B -- the oldest continuously operating, student-run theatre society in America -- still plow forward.

To open its 143rd season, Mask & Bauble offers William Shakespeare's comedy, Measure for Measure. "Comedy" is used here in a broad technical sense, because despite a few bawdy and funny moments, this is a serious play in which the the threat of death and dishonor hangs over the characters throughout. It is a comedy in that all the protaganists remain alive at the closing curtain and there is, in a sense, a "happy ending." The path to reach that ending is no primrose lane, however. Rather, it forces the audience to consider eternal questions of right and wrong, of tyranny and justice, of mercy and legal precision.

Producer Philip Hammack told the Metro Herald that he and director Jack Shay were drawn to Measure for Measure because of its theme of "human frailty" and its requirement of "self-reflection in the light of self-deception." To convey this theme graphically, the play takes place on an austerely decorated set, which consists largely of blocks of wood, dappled with drab grey and embedded with shards of mirrors. A full-length, two-way mirror predominates upstage, so that surreal actions can take place behind it and explain off-stage elements of the story wordlessly.

The plot, in a nutshell, is this: The Duke of Vienna takes leave of his subjects and places responsibility for government, in his absence, in the hands of Lord Angelo. Angelo begins to enforce some of the stricter moral codes that the lenient Duke has ignored during the previous 14 years of his reign. Caught in this new legalism is Claudio, imprisoned and sentenced to death for fornication. Claudio's sister, Isabella, about to become a nun, pleads with Angelo for clemency for her brother. Angelo refuses to commute Claudio's sentence -- unless Isabella has sex with him. With no witnesses to this callous request, Isabella knows that no one will believe her if she tells them that the upright Angelo has behaved like this. She goes to Claudio in prison and tells him she cannot sin to save his life. At the same time, the Duke, who has disguised himself as an ordinary priest, finds out what has happened. He arranges for Angelo's jilted former fiancée to substitute herself for Isabella. Then he returns without his disguise and tricks Angelo into admitting his calumny. He commutes Claudio's death sentence -- but orders him to marry the woman Claudio had impregnated -- allows Angelo to marry the woman he mistakenly seduced, and asks Isabella to be his wife.

The overriding theme is one of whether and how mercy can temper justice. In this, it is carried over from some of Shakespeare's other works, notably The Merchant of Venice. Superimposed on this is, for modern audiences, a potent political message. It asks: What happens when a liberal government -- one that does not enforce severe and strict laws addressing personal morality -- is replaced by a more puritanical one? Indeed, what role does government have in using its coercive power, even the threat of death, to make its people virtuous?

Virtue, of course, cannot be coerced. Otherwise it is not virtue, because virtue must be freely chosen. Shakespeare surely recognizes this. The evidence is the contrasting characters of the Duke and his deputy, Angelo.

Angelo is a prig who becomes a hypocrite. The Duke is a liberal-minded ruler with a "live and let live" philosophy. He is righteous without being self-righteous. From the very first scene, we know the Duke is modest and lacks ambition for himself. He genuinely cares for his subjects. Angelo, in contrast, cares more for the letter of the law than for its spirit. He cares less for his people than for justice most narrowly defined. He cannot, in the Duke's words, "condemn the fault" without also condemning "the actor of it."

The student actors convey these themes with strength and understanding. Claudio, played by Andrew Owiti, breathes pure desperation as he begs Isabella (Leila Howland) to forsake her own -- and her family's -- honor to save his head from the hangman. Angelo (Patrick McFadden) reeks self-righteousness, but falls short in making us believe he has fallen in love with Isabella; his stolid emotions do not vary from before and after their first meeting; he is indeed a stoical puritan. Jason Heffron as Elbow provides strong comic relief, and Henry S. deGuchi as Claudio's friend, Lucio, presents a convincing "man-about-town" who finds himself participating in a life-and-death dilemma.

The theme of sexual harassment is not something recently discovered by the likes of Michael Crichton (last year's hit movie, Disclosure) or David Mamet (his play, Oleanna). Shakespeare was writing about it 400 years ago. In the bard's own words, there is "nothing new under the sun." And so we continue to wrestle with our own frailties, our own inclination to deceive ourselves and our fellows.

Measure for Measure continues through October 21 at Stage III, Poulton Hall, 37th and P Streets, N.W. Tickets are $5 for students and $8 for general admission. For reservations, call 202-687-6783.

From the Archives - "The Gate of Heaven": Two Lives Examined

This review appeared in The Metro Herald in November 1996:

"The Gate of Heaven": Two Lives Examined

Rick Sincere

Metro Herald Entertainment Editor

Usually, when artists portray the meeting of cultures, they express it as a confrontation, a "culture clash." Seldom do they show the other side -- the meshing of cultures, their ability to complement each other, the capacity of people from different backgrounds to learn from each other and to grow more completely as human beings.

This "other side" is shown with accomplishment by the creators of The Gate of Heaven, which opened at Ford's Theatre in Washington on October 23. Ford's outgoing artistic director (and main engine of growth) Frankie Hewett introduced the play to the audience by saying there is "no better theatre, and no better city in America, to present this play." The Washington premiere was made possible through a financial partnership with General Dynamics, which underwrote much of the costs for transferring the production from San Diego, where it was first produced.

The Gate of Heaven is a collaborative effort in which the two actors -- Lane Nishikawa and Victor Talmadge -- are also the playwrights. They benefited from the dramaturgical contribution of Tony Award-winning playwright David Henry Hwang (M. Butterfly) and director Benny Sato Ambush. It tells the story of two men, Japanese-American soldier Kiyoshi "Sam" Yamamoto (Nishikawa) and Leon Ehrlich (Talmadge), an East European Jew rescued by Yamamoto from the Dachau concentration camp at the end of the Second World War.

Ten years later, after searching far and wide, Ehrlich locates Yamamoto in San Francisco, eager to thank the American for saving his life. In the decade since the end of the war, Yamamoto had become an accountant while Ehrlich had, in turn, moved to Israel, fought in the war for independence there, come to America (where he became a citizen and a psychiatrist working for the Army).

From that point forward, Yamamoto and Ehrlich -- Sam and Leon -- become fast friends. Each teaches the other about his life and culture. Leon, who never marries, is adopted into Sam's family. Despite arguments and personal tragedies, their friendship persists throughout the next 40 years of their lives.

The Gate of Heaven deals with issues that many Americans would like to sweep under the carpet, including racism and the forced relocation of Japanese-American citizens into concentration camps during World War II. Sam's family had been relocated while he volunteered to serve in the 442nd Regiment, the most highly decorated unit in American history -- consisting almost entirely of Japanese-Americans whose families were living in horrid conditions in prison camps in Utah and Arizona. Worse, even while wearing his country's uniform and medals awarded for valor and several Purple Hearts, Sam and his fellows from the 442nd are derided and spat upon when they return home from the war. Restaurants refuse to serve them because they are "Japs."

The issue of racism comes to the surface -- and works dramatically as a means to cause a temporary estrangement between Sam and Leon -- on the occasion of the U.S. Bicentennial, the 4th of July in 1976. A seemingly simple conversation about what restaurant they should patronize -- Sam wants "American food," like steak while Leon wants something exotic, like sushi -- turns into a vivid exposition of racist undercurrents in American society. One example stands out: Earlier in the day, tourists had approached Sam and Leon asking for directions. They spoke only to Leon -- the immigrant with a foreign accent, who happens to have white skin -- while ignoring Sam -- the native-born American with no accent but with a different complexion. The tourists simply assumed that Leon was American and Sam was foreign, even though the opposite was true. This, Sam says, is one of the subtle but constant reminders of America's residual racism.

To Leon, this seems trivial. He had, after all, lived through the Holocaust, when his entire family and 6 million other Jews had been exterminated by "real" racists. He had seen the ethnic conflicts in Palestine after the war, and in contrast America is a paradise.

Voices are raised, leading to a separation of the friends lasting for several years.

The Gate of Heaven is an episodic drama. Many of the plot lines are revealed not linearly, but through flashbacks and asides and allusions. There are twists that do not become clear until late in the play. Nonetheless, the various facets come together seamlessly, creating a luminous gem of the theatre.

Much credit goes to the actors, Nishikawa and Talmadge, who have chosen difficult parts to portray. Not many actors can carry off the aging process of two men over a 50-year period with the same level of excellence as these two do.

Both actors are approximately the same age as their characters are at the beginning of the play. Nishikawa does a marginally better job at aging his character, Sam, in large part because his aging process is more subtle. He does this mostly through changing his voice, making it, over the years, huskier and more gravelly. For his part, Talmadge ages his character more physically -- letting his hairline recede, growing a mustache, slouching at the shoulders -- but he also uses his voice to show the passage of time. As Leon, Talmadge begins the play with a heavy East European accent, but slowly discards it so that by the end of the evening, one can hardly tell Leon's foreign origins. This is a realistic way to portray an immigrant, most of whom lose their accents over time. He easily could have kept the dialect throughout the play, but by choosing this method, he underscored the "Americanness" of Leon, his equal status to Sam.

The first performance of The Gate of Heaven actually took place at the U.S. Holocaust Museum, a quite appropriate venue. The play provides a starting point for discussing the Holocaust and also the culpability of the U.S. government in oppressing its citizens of foreign origin (primarily Japanese-Americans). As a matter of fact, Ford's Theatre has provided a study guide for the play that can be used with high school (or college) history classes ("Backstage View: A Teacher's Guide to The Gate of Heaven," by Davi Walders, available from the Audience Development Director at Ford's Theatre, 202-638-2367 or http://www,fordstheatre.org).

The Gate of Heaven is simultaneously entertaining and instructive. It is poignant as well as hard-hitting. It successfully demonstrates how individuals can adapt to changing circumstances, how we can learn from each other and adopt other people's customs as our own, and how we are all better people when we do so. It accomplishes this without being preachy or didactic, keeping entirely within the dramatic context set by the playwrights, director, dramaturg, and scenic and costume designers.

Because it is a two-character play, The Gate of Heaven will probably gain a great following among community-theatre groups around the country. Props and setting are simple, so even the smallest low-budget company might be able to mount an adequate production. Whether amateur groups can find actors as excellent as Nishikawa and Talmadge remains to be seen, however.

Ford's Theatre deserves commendation for bringing The Gate of Heaven back to Washington for an extended run. Performances are Tuesday through Sunday evenings at 7:30 p.m., Thursday matinees at 1:00 p.m. (perfect for class trips) and Sunday matinees at 3:00 p.m. Signed performances will take place on Wednesday, November 13, at 7:30 p.m. and on Sunday, November 17 at 3:00 p.m. For ticket information, call the Ford's Theatre box office at 202-638-2367 or ProTix at 703-218-6500.

From the Archives: Review of TAP's 1999 'Damn Yankees'

Searching through the archives, I found this article from 17 years ago, the same day that my review of Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace was published.

The following review of a community theatre production in Arlington, Virginia, appeared in The Metro Herald (Alexandria, Va.) on May 21, 1999:

TAP’S DAMN YANKEES HAS A LOT OF HEART

Rick Sincere

Metro Herald Entertainment Editor

One of the great things about community theatre is that, when the cast is having fun on stage, the audience knows it. The sense of delight – and, yes, community – imparted by amateurs having a good time is infectious. While the Washington area is blessed with numerous top-notch professional and semi-professional theatres, there is something refreshing about seeing a group of actors, singers, and dancers putting on a show for the sheer joy of it, without worrying about the next audition, next paycheck, or the next job waiting tables.

Thus it is with the Arlington Players’ current production of Damn Yankees at the Thomas Jefferson Community Theatre. It may be true that not every step is in place, not every not is hit just so, and not every line is delivered with equal panache – but the energy and enthusiasm of the cast and enthusiasm of the cast and crew shines through and overcomes any “amateurism” in the pejorative sense. This sensibility even comes through in the sound of the community theatre (and also the high school theatre) orchestra, which has a certain raw, rough-edged sound that, while never being exactly “off,” still lacks the pristine precision of a professional ensemble. This lack of polish is not a flaw; instead, it is endearing.

It is particularly gratifying that director-choreographer Christopher Dykton has chosen to use the original script of Damn Yankees from the 1950s, rather than the compressed, rewritten book from the 1995 revival (which played the Kennedy Center in late 1996 with Jerry Lewis as Applegate; see The Metro Herald for December 28, 1996). That latter work eliminated some characters and changed others (“Sister,” for instance, is a hometown friend of Meg Boyd in the original, but she becomes Meg’s sister – what else? – in the rewrite.) Although the original script has some lame jokes and some anachronisms, it retains a better exposition than its successor. We learn, for instance, that Meg and Joe Boyd are two members of a colony of transplants from Hannibal, Missouri, in Chevy Chase, Maryland. Who knew? (Two of the puzzling anachronisms: The play is set in 1955, yet Lola is introduced to Joe by Applegate as “Miss West Indies of 1957.” And in the opening number, “Six Months Out of Every Year,” Meg sings that she and Joe met in November of 1938 and married soon thereafter; later in the show, Joe says he got married at age 20. This means that Joe would be about 37 years old in 1955, yet he is played as someone in his mid- to late 50s. A simple change of that lyric to “1928” would solve the problem.)

Perhaps it is this hearkening to a simpler time that allows the cast to relax and enjoy themselves as they recreate the material on stage. All the performers put their all into their roles. You can almost see them licking their lips in satisfaction after a number ends successfully.

Of the principals, perhaps Chuck Dluhy is the most perfectly cast as Mr. Applegate, the devil who comes to Washington. Dluhy’s slinky performance reminds us of Bob Fosse as the snake in The Little Prince, and how appropriate can that be? After all, the original Damn Yankees was choreographed by Fosse, and there are echoes of his style in Dykton’s dances. Unfortunately, despite the enthusiasm of the chorus, the choreography here is much better conceived than it is executed.

Dluhy is well-matched with Kathryn Fuller as Lola, the vamp who used to be “the ugliest woman in Providence, Rhode Island.” Fuller’s height contrasted with Dluhy’s diminutive stature turns them into a Mutt-n-Jeff team that works remarkably well. And the red and black costumes designed for the pair by Susan Chong are delightfully devilish.

If there is any problem in casting, it is, unfortunately, in Darrin J. Friedman’s Joe Hardy. He seems weaker than he should be, and this manifests itself the moment Friedman appears on stage, taking up the song “Goodbye, Old Girl,” where his older alter ego, Joe Boyd (Jim Golterman) leaves off, Friedman turns out to have a lighter voice than Golterman, when the opposite should be true. Boyd should have a voice that sounds worn, while Hardy should be booming. That’s not the case here.

Much of the rest of the show relies on good, strong ensemble work, and Dykton squeezes that out of his cast to good effect. It is difficult to pick out the stand-outs, but special message should be made of Kerry DeMatteis as Rocky, Christopher Smith as Vernon, Matt Steffens as Strane, Steve Gluckman as Mickey, and Wyatt Fenner in multiple supporting roles.

Damn Yankees has a number of wonderful, tuneful songs, including “You’ve Gotta Have Heart,” “Whatever Lola Wants,” “A Man Doesn’t Know What He Has,” and the comic baseball song, “The Game.” It also has what is perhaps the most clearly superfluous song in all of musical theatre, “Who’s Got the Pain,” a mambo number that was obviously designed to give Gwen Verdon (the original Lola) a chance to show off her special talents. It serves no other purpose.

If you want to have a good time and escape into the arms of a strong community of players, then go see Damn Yankees.

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Damn Yankees continues through May 29 at the Thomas Jefferson Community Theatre, 125 South Old Glebe Road in Arlington (near the intersection of Route 50 and Glebe Road). Performances are Friday-Sunday, 8:00 PM, with a matinee this Sunday, May 23, 2:30 PM. Tickets are $12 for adults and $10 for seniors and juniors (18 or younger).

For reservations, call the Arlington Players, 703/549-1063, or visit the TAP Website at http://www.come.to/the_arlington_players.

For the record, the current web site of The Arlington Players is http://www.thearlingtonplayers.org/. Damn Yankees was written by Richard Adler and Jerry Ross (music), Richard Adler and Jerry Ross (lyrics), Douglass Wallop and George Abbott (book; based on Wallop's novel The Year the Yankees Lost the Pennant). The original production was directed by George Abbott.

Signature Theatre to Resurrect Political Musical 'The Fix'

Welcome news arrived in the form of an emailed news release from Arlington's Signature Theatre this week.  To mark the end of its 25th anniversary season, Signature will be reviving The Fix, a musical play about political corruption that was produced there in 1998 in its first American outing.

For someone like me, whose interests in musical theatre and politics rarely overlap, this is a development worth celebrating.

As explained in the press release:

The revival, directed by Signature’s Artistic Director Eric Schaeffer, will round out an anniversary season chock-full of work by some of the Theatre’s brightest collaborators from the past 25 years.

“The Fix paints a picture of American politics that’s part fun-house, part haunted house,” said Schaeffer. “It’s twisted, and it pushes boundaries. It instantly became one of Signature’s favorite projects. And on top of that, it’s one of the shows most requested by our audiences. It’s only fitting that we close the season celebrating our first 25 years by bringing it back in an all-new production.”

With a rock-laced, eclectic score and scandalous lyrics, The Fix skewers the American bureaucratic machine. Reminiscent of Sondheim, with tinges of Kander and Ebb and a voice uniquely its own, it is a darkly brilliant, over-the-top, audaciously fun ride through the shenanigans of political elections.

When a popular presidential candidate dies in his mistress’s bed, his ambitious wife Violet thrusts their lackluster son Cal into the spotlight. With the help of her strategic brother-in-law, Violet transforms Cal into the perfect citizen. Together they create one of the most dysfunctional – and brutally entertaining – almost-first families ever.

(My original review of The Fix from April 1998 can be found here.)

Writing in the Washington Post Style section, Jessica Goldstein reports:

For its 25th anniversary season, Signature is bringing back “The Fix,” a production which, unless the political process somehow gets squeaky clean between press time and when you read this, is as relevant a show today as it ever was. “The Fix” will run in 2015, from May 12 to June 28.

“I say it’s ‘The Manchurian Candidate’ meets ‘Caligula,’ ” said Signature Artistic Director Eric Schaeffer, who directed the 1998 production and will helm 2015’s as well. For the young’uns, that basically means it’s like “Scandal” meets, well, “Scandal.”

The script will be getting some tweaks to allow for changes in “the communication things, sending this picture and that,” Schaeffer said. Even our fictional politicians don’t know that no one wants to catch them with their pants down on Twitter. “John [Dempsey, who wrote the book and lyrics] is looking to make it even more dangerous.”

Signature's current musical production is the classic Gypsy, with a book by Arthur Laurents, music by Jule Styne, and lyrics by Stephen Sondheim.  The show, directed by Joe Calarco, has been extended through January 26 and first reviews should appear early next week.

From the Archives: Review of a 1997 'Sunday in the Park with George'

Having previously thought that all of my theatre reviews from the late 1990s had been posted here for archival access, just this week I uncovered a piece that had been inaccessible because it had somewhat mysteriously been converted into an old WordPerfect format.

Yesterday I found an online resource that will convert text documents from one format to another and -- ta-dah! -- I have a review of the 1997 joint production by Washington's Arena Stage and Arlington's Signature Theatre of Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine's Sunday in the Park with George.

So, for the first time on line, here is my May 1997 review, which appeared in the Metro Herald under the headline, "Sunday Sings!"

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Washington audiences have an embarrassment of riches available this spring. Within a few days, Chicago, The King and I, and Sunday in the Park with George all opened. Together, these three plays offer examples of the best by the giants of American musical theatre: Bob Fosse, Rodgers & Hammerstein, and Stephen Sondheim.

In a historic collaboration, Arlington's Signature Theatre and Washington's Arena Stage have joined forces to present a play that neither could produce on its own: the Pulitzer-prize-winning Sunday in the Park with George, by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine. This production is directed by Signature's Eric D. Schaeffer, whose work at the tiny but innovative Signature Theatre has earned him a national reputation, and produced by Arena's outgoing artistic director, Douglas C. Wager.

Like most Sondheim musicals, Sunday is not for everyone. For Sondheim fans, however, it is bedazzling. The intimate setting of Arena's Kreeger Theater is far superior to the larger auditoriums in which earlier Sunday productions have been staged. Sondheim's sophisticated lyrics and intricate melodies and counterpoints are far more easily heard in such a venue.

Perhaps the most valuable aspect of the smaller auditorium is the ability of the audience to see more closely Patricia Zipprodt's costumes. Because of the foresight of Schaeffer, the costumes used in this production of Sunday are the same ones used originally on Broadway (and since used by the Arlington Players a few years back). Zipprodt has successfully simulated the pointillist style of painting invented by Sunday's protagonist, neo impressionist Georges Seurat, for his masterpiece (now hanging in the Art Institute of Chicago) Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grand Jatte.

Seurat's work and style of work is the focus of the first act. George (played by Sal Viviano) is obsessed by light, color, balance, design. He has discovered that it is possible to create the illusion of mixed colors by setting discrete points or dots of color side by side, in juxtaposition to each other. He is fully absorbed by his work, ignoring and therefore losing his mistress, appropriately named Dot (Viviano's real-life spouse, Liz Larsen). We meet the characters whom we see in the final painting, but whether they are real people or the imaginings of George is hard to say.

The second act focuses on another artist, also named George, who may be the great grandson of the first act's George. At least his grandmother, Marie, insists that this is so. Act II's George also works in a new medium, but his primary challenge is raising the money to pursue his art. Tired of criticism that he has lost his way, that his work is no longer new or creative, he travels to France to visit the island of La Grand Jatte. There, he encounters his (perhaps?) great grandmother, Dot, who counsels him to "move on."

This synopsis cannot do the play justice. Sunday in the Park with George is not a typical musical. This is not a simple boy meets girl, boy loses girl scenario. Indeed, there is no conventional plot at all. Through the integration of music, lyrics, movement, lighting, and costumes, composer and playwright raise important issues about artistic integrity, personal relationships, and the importance of family.

Viviano plays the two Georges in contrast. Act I George is cold, obsessive. At first Viviano's stiffness in the first act is off putting, but soon it becomes apparent that this is what drives Dot away, into the arms of the more caring Louis, the baker who takes her to America. Highly rational and highly intellectual, focused laser-like on his creative endeavors, this George will be all too familiar to Washingtonians, who encounter this type every day. Act II George is more well rounded, though still devoted to his work. He seems more able to connect to his fellow human beings, particularly his grandmother, and has a deeper understanding of his own faults and shortcomings.

As Dot and Marie, Liz Larsen is astonishing. Her voice is as clear as a bell, her emotions sincere and convincing. We know she genuinely loves George, but cannot spend her life with him because he has another love his art. Her warmth contrasts suitably with George's chilliness, and the comparison helps us better understand the central character. Singing "Children and Art" in the second act, we begin to understand what really counts in life. And her rendition of "Move On" to and with George in Act II makes it hard to believe that Sondheim has written anything more, well, moving.

The rest of the cast is uniformly excellent. Drawn from the professional ranks of New York, regional, and Washington theatre, this cast includes a number of Arena and Signature veterans.

Anyone who works in the non profit world or, for that matter, anyone who is engaged in campaign fundraising will be captivated by the action, lyrics, and dialogue of the Act II number, "Putting It Together," which describes the schmoozing and bootlicking that are necessary to keep one's head above water in these situations.

Schaeffer has done well in bringing Sunday in the Park with George up to date. The modern art in Act II is now computer generated graphics and music, rather than the laser light show that was so cutting edge in 1984. One quibble, however, may be necessary as future productions are planned. The script requires that Marie be born in 1885. With the second act set in 1984, this was not hard to believe many people live to be 98 or 99 years old. Now that the second act has been brought forward to 1996, however, it stretches our credulity to have Marie, now 111 years old, as the grandmother of a 32 year old grandson. Will a revival in 2007 have a 122 year old Marie?

The Arena/Signature Sunday in the Park with George is breathtaking. I hope it will have an extended run that will allow multiple visits for those of us who are truly moved by Sondheim's best work.

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As I dig through paper and virtual files, more surprises may turn up.  Please stay tuned!

Ambiguity Reigns in Signature Theatre’s New Play, 'Really Really'

When Haley, the sister of the protagonist in Signature Theatre’s new drama, Really Really, first arrives at the beginning of the second act, it’s as if a window has been opened to allow fresh air to blow across the stage.

No: A more accurate analogy is that a cork has been popped on a bottle of soda that was all shook up, because Haley, plainspoken to the point of being (really, really) offensive, stands in stark contrast to the other characters, who are each tightly wound and waspish, even the ostensible slacker of the group. Haley relieves the pressure that has been building for the first hour.

Even the names of the guys on the rugby team suggest old-moneyed uptightness. Cooper (Evan Casey), Davis (Jake Odmark), and Johnson (Paul James) are either surnames, or last names used as first names, but in any case seem to be WASP-y prep-school holdovers. Only Leigh’s boyfriend, Jimmy (Danny Gavigan), has an unmistakable first name. (Suffice it to say that Grace [Lauren Culpepper] turns out to lack it.)

After Haley (played by Kim Rosen) blows in, we find it hard to believe that she and Leigh (Bethany Anne Lind) are sisters. Despite Haley’s claims to the contrary, the two look nothing alike: Haley dark and buxom, Leigh willowy and flaxen.

Neither, it seems, do they have much in common in terms of character traits. Leigh, we gather, is a diligently studious college student who has distanced herself from a dysfunctional and poor family, while Haley embraces the trailer-trash lifestyle. (She’s living, she says, in a Super 8 motel outside Waterbury, Connecticut, with a guy named “Rico” and all that implies.)

Bethany Anne Lind (Photo: Scott Suchman)

Leigh prefers to keep tight control over her circumstances while sister Haley likes to snoop around and interfere, as long as her own aims can be advanced in the process.

As events unfold, however, we find that the two are not so different as they wish to appear.

Haley’s cubic zirconium entrance into a diamond-studded, ivy-covered world breathes life into the story, which up to that point has been merely a conventional he said/she said exposition of the two sides of a story about what might or might not have been a date rape at an off-campus party.

By coincidence, Really Really, written by first-time playwright and New York University graduate Paul Downs Colaizzo, had its premiere in the same week that New York University law professor Richard Epstein wrote about how the U.S. Department of Education has issued rules that skew the due process rights of college students accused of sexual assault.

Writing in reference to the recent case of Yale University football star Patrick Witt, who seems to have withdrawn from consideration for a Rhodes Scholarship because of anonymous accusations of sexual assault, Epstein notes of recent rules promulgated by the Office of Civil Rights in the Department of Education:

“The entire matter is shrouded in secrecy; the internal investigation cannot be postponed until the criminal charges, if any, are resolved; and the question of proof of guilt or innocence should be decided by the ‘preponderance of evidence’ standard. That standard puts a far lower burden on the complainant than the 'beyond a reasonable doubt' standard used in criminal cases or the 'clear and convincing evidence' standard used in many legal disputes (including defamation cases brought against the press by public officials) where some important constitutional right is at stake.”

Considering that the playwright began the first draft of Really Really in 2007, it is mere coincidence that the world premiere occurred even as the very real topic of sexual assault on campus, and the presence or absence of due process for the accused, was in the headlines. It means that Really Really is not just an entertaining and provocative dramatic work, but also a cultural artifact of contemporary relevance.

Jake Odmark, Evan Casey. Photo: Scott Suchman.

Comparisons of Colaizzo’s new play will be made with John Patrick Shanley’s Doubt, David Mamet’s Oleanna, and Rebecca Gilman’s Spinning Into Butter. Each comparison is apt, though, despite some similarities in subject matter and stylistics, there is no direct parallel for any of them with Really Really.  What they all have in common is an ambiguous answer to the question, Who is guilty?

Colaizzo, 26 years old, has a sharp ear and a knack for writing dialogue. He recognizes, and hence expresses, how 20-somethings in 2012 actually talk. While each of his characters starts off superficially as little more than party boys (and girls) with few distinguishing characteristics, by the final tableau we realize that each of them is siloed into his or her own, distinct personality – for better or for worse.

It’s difficult to describe what happens in Really Really because so much turns on what we learn in the last ten or so minutes of the play. To reveal too many details of the plot would be like telling a friend that Haley Joel Osment sees dead people and that’s why he can see Bruce Willis.

Suffice it to say that, within a running time of two hours, Colaizzo stuffs his play with highly charged accusations of sexual assault (already noted), class warfare, sibling rivalry, manipulative behavior, homophobic banter, unrequited lesbian lust, drunkenness, hangovers, and the potential for McCarthy-like guilt by association. It’s enough to fill a full day of Lifetime movies.

Director Matthew Gardiner keeps the action at a steady pace and he is ably served by a set, designed by Misha Kachman, divided into two living rooms that represent feminine order and masculine chaos.

There is nothing black or white about Really Really. It thrives on shades of grey and is built on uncertainty.

Audiences will find plenty to talk about during the ride home from the theatre, and there is enough disagreement on offer that couples may find themselves not talking about it at the breakfast table the next morning.

Performances of Really Really continue through March 25 in the ARK at Signature Theatre, with show times at 7:30 p.m. on Tuesdays and Wednesdays, 8:00 p.m. on Thursdays and Fridays, and Saturdays at 2:00 and 8:00 p.m. and Sundays at 2:00 and 7:00 p.m. Ticket prices range from $56 to $80 and are available by calling Ticketmaster at 703-573-7328 or visiting www.signature-theatre.org.

Really Really contains strong language and explicit situations and is recommended for mature audiences.

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