Tag: Marsha Harman
Struggling to save the corporate soul
|New Leaf Theatre presents|
|Written by Bilal Dardai
Directed by Jessica Hutchinson
at Rocco Ranalli’s Pizzeria, 1925 N. Lincoln (map)
through Dec 19 | tickets: $15 | more info
Reviewed by Paige Listerud
A distinctly Eighties vibe pervades New Leaf Theatre’s production, Redeemers — and it’s not just that Pat King, who plays Nick, resembles a young James Spader both in looks and acting style. Directed by Jessica Hutchinson and set in the warm, casual and seasonally festooned environs of Rocco Ranallli’s back dining room, Redeemers revisits class warfare in the same way Eighties Brat Pack films explored them—as if some black and white lesson in morality could be drawn from the conflict.
Nick, Mercy (Marsha Harman) and Abel (Joel Ewing) all work for Charles Edwin of Edwin Financial, then meet at their favorite watering hole each evening to rehash their existence under Mr. Edwin’s rule. Playwright Bilal Dardai gives these characters a sharp, witty and convincingly incestuous rapport while King, Harman and Ewing mark their territory at Ranalli’s with their tight, responsive and slightly sinister threesome. One never questions that they have known each other for years and can map each other’s moods by the stalling tactics they engage in or from the drinks they order. Over time, one silently asks what draws these three together besides shared history or a mutual workplace.
But never mind about that now. Charles Edwin dominates all their thoughts. His role in their lives infects even happy hour, when they might truly desire a break from the boss. Fine enough that they should grouse about Mr. Edwin when he was a tyrant, but a sudden change of heart—literally a double-bypass surgery—transforms him into the noble, fair and generous employer of Charles Dicken’s dreams. All of which strikes the threesome with incredulity and is simply too much for Nick, for one, to take. He masterminds with Mercy and Abel a series of relentless pranks meant to test Mr. Edwin just to see how far his personal reformation endures.
Sadly, the play suffers from the very thing it is founded upon—storytelling style theater. The most significant events have already occurred and must be related to the audience through the obviously suspect threesome. The cast is smart, charming and play their roles to second-skin perfection but the storytelling style inevitably dampens emotional immediacy. Even Nick’s obsession with Mr. Edwin loses tension because he must always be spoken of in the past tense. Even the jokes scripted to make fun of the style cannot relieve its subtly annoying impact. The only segment that doesn’t suffer is Abel’s tragic childhood account regarding his father.
New Leaf has engaged Dardai’s script with thoroughly professional talent to make it present; its crackling dialogue alone indicates the emergence of a promising new playwright that should be watched. However Redeemer’s wrap-up is as paper thin, implausible and morally simplistic as the Eighties films mentioned above. Tyrant or reformed saint, one has the boss one has and acquiesces to that arrangement as part of the cost of accepting the hierarchy of corporate life. Or one joins a commune or a co-operatively owned business—a choice that these cynical three, no doubt, would mercilessly ridicule over a scotch and soda.
Assistant Director: Josh Sobel
Production Manager: Marni Keenan
Stage Manager: Tara Malpass
Dramaturg: Emily Dendinger
Environment Design: Michelle Lilly
Sound & Projections Design: Nick Keenan
Costume Design: Rachel Sypniewski
Cannibal Fare for Cannibal Times
|The Plagiarists present:|
|The Wreck of the Medusa|
|created by Ian Miller and Gregory Peters
directed by Jack Tamburrie
at Angel Island Theatre, 731 W. Sheridan (map)
through May 9th | tickets: $15-$20 | more info
reviewed by Paige Listerud
There are plays that you admire; since their productions are also admirable, you recommend them. There are plays that you carry with you long after you leave the theater; these you recommend highly. Then, there are plays that you wish would spread like wildfire around the world and this play is one of them. The Wreck of the Medusa, created by Ian Miller and Gregory Peters, is now enjoying its world-premiere at Angel Island Theatre (home of Mary-Arrchie Theatre). The Plagiarists, who produce only original works, have been workshopping the play for at least two years, unveiling its fledgling prototype in the DCA Incubator Series in January 2009.
Such meticulous care in development was more than worth the effort. Based on the worst maritime disaster of the 19th-century, The Wreck of the Medusa relies upon multiple narratives, medias and styles to relay the horror of the event and its attempted cover-up by the French government. But the play also challenges the notion of ever really knowing what its survivors went through, especially through the vehicle of art. It’s a decidedly self-conscious play that never becomes precious about its ability to tell the truth. Rather, it generates layer upon layer of ambiguous meaning, made manifest through the disparities that crop up in narrative and perception.
In 1816, the French Naval Minister Dubouchage (Marsha Harman), under the Bourbon monarch Louis XVIII (Kasia Januszewski), appointed Viscount Hugues Duroy de Chaumareys (Andrew Marchetti) as captain of the frigate Medusa. His mission, with three other ships, was to deliver Colonel Julien-Desire Schmaltz (Christopher Marcum) as the new governor of Senegal in a peaceful handover of the colony from the British to the French. The crown chose Chaumareys based on his pedigree and Royalist loyalties—quite understandable, since Napoleon’s 100 days had embroiled France the summer before. However, they completely overlooked Chaumareys’ extreme lack of naval experience and personal knack for gross incompetence.
What was supposed to be a standard voyage turned into mind-numbing disaster. On July 2, the Medusa ran aground off the coast of Senegal. 150 passengers were abandoned on a cobbled-together raft while the captain, the governor and high-ranking officers made it to shore in two days in lifeboats. Stranded without sails, navigational equipment, or decent provisions, the passengers quickly turned on each other, to the point of murder and cannibalism. After 12 days at sea, only 15 survived from the original 150 and 5 of those died soon after rescue by the Argus, a companion ship they’d lost sight of before the wreck.
The disaster resulted in absolute scandal for the newly established Bourbon monarchy. Especially when, against all government efforts to discredit them, two survivors, ship’s surgeon J.B. Henry de Sevigny (Kevin V. Smith) and geographical engineer Alexander Correard (Greg Hess) collaborated on a tell-all book about the shipwreck that spread like wildfire across Europe.
Peters and Miller’s genius employs many different points of view leading up to the abandonment of the passengers on the raft, then intricately explores the wreck’s political and cultural aftermath once its survivors have been rescued. But the horror of the raft itself they leave to the dark pit of the imagination. Indeed, all narratives surrounding those fatal twelve days, as well as all attempts by artists to graphically depict it, seem more like the human mind struggling to comprehend unimaginably dangerous depths within the human psyche.
But for ignorant Americans, like myself, who know nothing about the Bourbon Restoration, this is fine storytelling theater–the narratives themselves contain full acknowledgement of their frailties and incompleteness. Furthermore, the absurdity of the storytelling becomes heightened by the exuberantly melodramatic rendition of the wreck that bookend the play’s straightforward sections. Here, the dark, macabre tale of The Wreck of the Medusa receives some Monty Python treatment. I have no idea whether Peters and Miller are quoting directly from W. T. Moncrieff’s The Fatal Raft, but these scenes certainly do read like a 19th-century melodrama “based on true events!” While the cast is brilliantly even and superlative in their multiple roles, Steve Wilson’s versatility stands out both as Jack Gallant, the plucky British sailor with the ridiculously pregnant pause, and as the disturbingly creepy Richefort, a stranger to whom Captain de Chaumareys inexplicably gives over command of the ship.
Other roles also stand out. Christopher Marcum’s insidiously evil Governor Schmaltz looks like the Bourbon version of the Bush/Cheney administration. His aide Griffon Du Bellay (Griffin Sharps) creates with him the perfect match made in hell. Kevin Smith so convincingly portrays the psychology of the ship’s doctor, one fears for the actor’s own sanity. Sevigny’s ratiocinated dissection of events and their effects on the minds of the survivors, including his own, cannot spare him the hallucinatory horrors of PTSD. Marsha Harmon conveys a kind of androgynous polish in her roles as Dubouchage and as the Herald for the Lord of the Tropic (Kasia Januszewski). Through it all, even on trial, Marchetti’s Chaumareys remains perfectly proper, slightly aloof, and totally clueless.
Greg Hess’s engineer, Correard, comes across as the play’s one regular guy. But even his ambiguities over our capacity to relay what really happened get teased out through his partnership with Theodore Gericault (James Dunn), the artist willing go to extremes to paint the truth about the raft. Gericault’s work hangs in the Louvre, now regarded as a seminal work for the Romantic Movement in painting. Several characters explore its meaning during the play. Their responses are generally ours, to any catastrophic event we get to see up close and in person.
Surely, the story of the wreck of the Medusa isn’t worse than the economic and war-as-foreign-policy wrecks into which we have so blithely and incompetently sailed. This Plagiarists production reflects our own country’s monstrous wreck—told in miniature, told in fragments, told in horror, told in farce. Perfect for a broken world, perfect for a world we have pushed to the breaking point.
Though a brilliant concept, this project lacks dramatic arc
WNEP Theater presents:
The (edward) Hopper Project
Reviewed by Catey Sullivan
There’s no doubt but that there are narrative riches embedded in the paintings of Edward Hopper. Gaze at them even momentarily and the stories take shape, treasures of the mind’s eye that form with the organic spontaneity only the most gifted artists can inspire. Hopper seems like a natural for translation from canvas to the stage; capture the silent depths within the deceptively simple angles and colors of “Early Sunday Morning,” “Room in New York,” “Office at Night” or “Nighthawks,” and you’ve got a piece of wonderful theater.
With The (edward) Hopper Project, WNEP Theater tries to do just that with a production conceived by Jen Ellison as a writing exercise several years ago. The collaborative piece directed by Don Hall follows in the footsteps of similar endeavors – John Musto ’s 2007 opera, “Later the Same Evening,” used five Hopper paintings as his foundation. Donna McRae ’s 2005 film “The Usherette” spun a story from Hopper’s “New York Movie.”
WNEP puts a jazz score behind the paintings-brought-to-life, which reach a visual peak in the money shot that ends the piece by replicating one of Hopper’s most iconic images. That closer sends the audience out on a high note. Would that the roughly two hours leading up to it were as compelling.
The Hopper Project was written by Mary Jo Bolduc, Jen Ellison, Bob Fisher, Tom Flanigan, Don Hall, Merrie Greenfield, Joe Janes, Cholley Kuhaneck, and Rebecca Langguth; perhaps therein lies the core trouble. Playwriting by committee rarely results in a well-written play and for all its visual prowess, The Hopper Project is simply not well written. At the crux of the difficulty? A lack in both character development and connective tissue or dramatic arc among the characters. Watching the piece is akin to flicking through two hours of Network television, never stopping on the same channel for more than a few minutes. People and conversational fragments flit by in fits and starts, rattling about the surface without root or depth – and therefore without substance.
Where The Hopper Project differs from the mostly black hole of TV in its brilliant concept. But for all the gorgeous, provocative potential, that concept is done in by execution that’s far more meh than marvelous.
You’ll get no argument here that true wonders can come of making an audience wrestle with tantalizing loose ends and challenging ambiguity. Few things annoy us more than theater of the stupid – shows that condescend to hand-feed the audience every last detail while telegraphing precisely what the one should be feeling at any given moment. But The Hopper Project goes too far in the other direction. The stories play like unfinished two-dimensional sketches rather than textured, fully realized paintings. Context – both specific and universal – is minimal, and the result is something scattered and superficial rather than a united, meaningful whole.
Overheard conversations one expects to take on deeper resonance never do, words and actions unfold more in vacuums than in fully realized world. And some things just don’t make any sense at all. As a movie theater audience slouches over popcorn (“New York Movie”), an usherette delivers a monologue to – the projector? Her sister? Herself? Why does the slapsticky, mugging business man (“Office at Night”) threaten to kill himself every day? What in the world is the deal with the man whose face burned off and why does he surface, face swathed in bandages, only during intermission? As a Phillip Marlowe wannabe rambles on about a pair of green shoes and (hello noir cliché) a jilted horn player, as a husband and wife bicker abrasively over the connotations of the word “clever,” as a pair of brunettes converse in fraught tones about a family drama, it becomes harder and harder to engage. It is indeed clever that the scenes copy paintings by Edward Hopper in a secular sort of Living Nativity pageant. But minus all-important context and characters, that cleverness takes on the feel of a gimmick.
Also troubling are the problematic sightlines presented by Heath Hays’ wide, shallow set. The construction is terrific in its boxy, two-story evocation of Hopper’s lines and shades. But if the view is obstructed, the artistry is wasted. From dead center in one of the best seats in the house, I couldn’t see any of the scenes that played on the far sides of the thing.
All that said, there are some winning performances in The Hopper Project. Dennis Frymire creates a largely silent cop whose workaday, shoe-leather weariness hasn’t extinguished an optimistic, romantic heart. Amanda Rountree is radiantly endearing as flirt whose winning smile is laced with the eminently relatable motivation of big city loneliness. If only they had more to work with.
“The (edward) Hopper Project” continues through Feb. 21 at the Chicago Department of Cultural Affairs’ Storefront Theater, 66 E. Randolph St. Tickets are $20, $15 students and seniors. For more information, go to www.dcatheater.org
The (edward) Hopper Project features Scott T. Barsotti, Mary Jo Bolduc, Regan Davis, Lauren Fisher, Dennis Frymire, Kevin Gladish, Lori Goss, Merrie Greenfield, Marsha Harman, Joe Janes, Andrew Jordan, Ian Knox. Patrick Kelly, Vinnie Lacey, Erin Orr, Amanda Rountree and Jacob A. Ware.