Month: April 2015

23 Hours (July 2, 2009)

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As the fourth book in David Wellington’s vampire series, 23 Hours is hereby excused from being considered a “hanger on” to the dominating pop culture sensations that all things bloodsucker have been in recent years.

Although it may be tempting to view the novel through the lens of HBO’s current hit show True Blood, or the wildly popular Twilight young adult book series that has turned young Robert Pattinson into a bonafide teen sensation, the obvious comparisons are simply too easy.

Yes, the book is about vampire hunting. Yes, it hits stores right smack in the middle of a veritable Dracula renaissance. However, 23 Hours is both more, and in some cases less, than its contemporaries in creating a modern vampiric mythology.

The heroine, semi-famous lesbian vampire hunter Laura Caxton, finds herself behind bars in maximum security Pennsylvania women’s prison, Marcy State Correctional Institution, at the inception of the novel.

In case the reader has not read any of the previous books in the series, Wellington quite charitably fills you in on how Caxton came to find herself incarcerated: in short, she kidnapped and tortured a suspect with ties to the vampire community.

Her willingness to cross over to the wrong side of the law, even with the noble intent to save lives, proves too much for her by-the numbers boss, Deputy Marshal Fetlock, and he throws the book at Caxton.

Structurally, the novel is divided into three sections, entitled, respectively: Bellows, Guilty Jen and Malvern. Though it is the latter two sections where the vampire bloodlust and chase ultimately plays out, it is the first part, Bellows, which proves to be the most riveting.

This 42 page section offers a bleak account of warrior Caxton’s dehumanizing conversion to inmate. The repetitiveness, hopelessness and loneliness of life inside a maximum security prison is much less Bridget Jones: Edge of Reason, and much more Oz.

The ability to identify with the humiliating pain of Caxton’s animalistic jail rituals is so complete that I felt the need to put the book down a time or two to wipe a tear from my eye. Large credit goes to the vivid internal dialogue Wellington creates for his protagonist.

That said, delving into section two, Guilty Jen, is quite jarring, and I am not sure the book ever recovers.

Basically, we are transported from Dead Woman Walking right into Terminator skull cracking territory, as Caxton begins her 23 hour quest to eliminate her vampiric nemesis, Justinia Malvern, once and for all.

The novel suffers from this clumsy transition. The suspense thriller is written at an 8th grade reading level, with such gratuitous gore and objectification of the female body, I often felt at times as though I were reading a Christopher Pike young adult novel, rather than mature adult fiction.

The objectification and repeated mutilation of the female form is the more incongruous, as each and every major character is a woman: heroine Laura Caxton and her girlfriend, Clara Hsu; Caxton’s “celly” and dubious moral consideration Gert Stimson: the villanous Justinia Malvern and her partner in crime, Warden Bellows.

Where male characters do exist in the novel, they serve as glorified extras, one-dimensional foils such as Fetlock, or vampire chum like the many Correctional Officers at Marcy State. I am conflicted about this.

On the one hand, the novel is nothing if not a message of female empowerment. Yet at the same time, this women-centric world is a touch unrealistic and ultimately frustrating. I realize it’s a lot to ask for realism of any kind from a vampire action novel, but it would have been nice to see one fully formed man in the cast of characters.

It is easy to appreciate the little touches, the slight differences that Wellington’s own brand of vampire mythology brings to the canon.

For example, the vampires in 23 Hours are not sexy. The author goes out of his way to make clear that Justinia Malvern is not the compliment to Anne Rice’s Lestat.

On page 70 of the novel, she is described as follows:

“Her head was completely hairless. She didn’t even have eyelashes. She had long triangular ears, one of which looked like it had been chewed on by animals…Her mouth was full of broken fangs.”

In Wellington’s world, garlic is powerless against creatures of the night, and older vampires need much more blood to stay “healthy” than their young counterparts.

These bits are fun, but not enough to mask the work’s overall shortcomings, such as the endless action scenes that don’t often do much to move the plot.

Most disappointingly, the “gotcha!” ending of the novel is one that anyone over the age of 13 would have seen coming from a mile way.

23 Hours might serve as a must-read for fans of Wellington, and those who just can’t get enough of vampires in general. However, there are certainly better examples of parasitic action literature than this unchallenging and ultimately lumbering work.

Travesties (April 3, 2015)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment
Meg Warner, Greg Matthew Anderson and Jeff Cummings
Meg Warner, Greg Matthew Anderson and Jeff Cummings

Oh boy. Ok. Here we go.

Anyone who’s read my reviews of Remy Bummpo productions over the years understands I am a major fan. In an April 2014 critique of the company’s “Our Class,” I referred to Remy as “doing some of the finest work in mid-budget Chicago theater.” Without exception, I have found the work to be by turns entertaining, meaningful, boisterous and intelligent.

I suppose the streak had to end, and indeed it has with Remy Bummpo’s final production of its 18th season, “Travesties.” Directed by the company’s Producing Artistic Director Nick Sandys, this confused and rambling construction’s deficiencies are rooted in the source material.

In the production’s press pieces, Sandys describes “Travesties” as such: “Stoppard out-Wildes Wilde, out-Joyces Joyce and builds a surrealist comedy from the wreckage… You may want to familiarize yourself with ‘The Importance of Being Earnest.’ If you enjoy that play, you’ll enjoy this one.”

This critic begs to differ. For while I delight in the celebration of absurdity, the ironic superficiality and the lampoon of late 19th Century drawing room manners that is “Earnest,” my companion for the evening and I found “Travesties” to be the navel gazing work of a playwright in love with his own intellectualism. It’s a wink-wink, nod to the post-modern cultural elite, without the self-awareness that makes Wilde’s accessible language play so universally appealing.

From Sandys’ fundamental misread of the similarities between Stoppard and Wilde, it stands to reason that further misunderstandings fall across the Greenhouse Theater Center upstairs stage like so many dominoes. The press release observes, “Sandys believes that the everyman, in this case a British civil servant named Henry Carr, is where audiences will most see themselves in this play.”

Apparently Sandys is counting on audiences to be comprised of upper middle class, senile dandys with a penchant for stretching the truth. Because I know I couldn’t relate to the story of WWI-era intellectual expatriates flopping around Switzerland arguing, and I didn’t want to. In fact, though I heard other critics exiting the theater breathlessly wondering at the production’s “brilliance,” I challenge them to tell me what happened during the first 15 minutes of the performance. Because for all my education, admiration of Wilde and love of absurdist work, I can’t say. If I haven’t been clear, this is a major flaw smacking of the alienating modernist aesthetics of T.S. Eliot and Ezra Pound, rather than Oscar Wilde.

The plot, such as can be followed, goes like this: “Toss together James Joyce, Vladimir Lenin and Dadist poet Tristan Tzara in Zurich in 1917… throw in limericks and lyrics and ‘The Importance of Being Earnest,’ then shred the whole mélange through the mind of an aging British civil servant.”

There are too many ideas here, and despite the really fine work of the talented cast combined with terrific Scenic Design by Joe Schermoly, the overstuffing is obvious and disorienting. Greg Matthew Anderson (Tzara) with his chiseled features, mastery of European accents and deft comedic timing, continues to be one the most delightful performers on the Chicago theater scene. He deserves higher quality material.

I’m sorry but I really can’t let Sandys off the hook here. As an Artistic Director, he has put his stamp of approval on so many wonderful Remy Bumppo offerings. I’ve also enjoyed him as a stage performer in work such as late December 2013’s “An Inspector Calls.” I am a genuine admirer and thus feel both bound and disappointed to pronounce “Travesties,” …well a travesty. It’s a haughty DOA stinker. Remy Bummpo is much better than this. I look forward to a 19th season redemption next fall.

Angry Fags (March 9, 2015)

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Since its debut in 2010, the Steppenwolf Theatre Garage Rep series has offered a high profile platform for storefront theater companies to introduce themselves to new audiences. This is one of the many features to admire about the vaunted Chicago cultural institution that is Steppenwolf. It uses its considerable clout to lift other worthwhile voices in the Windy City community that may not otherwise be heard. There are usually hits and misses, but it’s such a wonderful democratic celebration of our town’s theatric diversity.

As part of the 2015 Garage series, Pride Films and Plays presents “Angry Fags,” a stunner of a work by Topher Payne. Directed by Derek Van Barham, this powder keg of a production is a conflict of emotions that hurts in all the right ways. It’s laugh out loud funny, horribly cynical, infuriated, hopeful and full of love. Yes — all of that. Audience members will be uncomfortable, elated, amused and saddened in almost perfectly balanced amounts. Strap in people. It’s a ride worth taking.

In this story of postmodern vigilanteism in Atlanta, best friends and roommates Cooper (James Nedrud) and Bennett (Kevin Webb), according to press materials, “feel helpless and frightened when one of their friends is the victim of an assault at a local bar. Then they feel something new: pure, unfiltered rage.”

Okay, but let’s back up for a second. Before things turn serious, the production begins as a piece of performance art requiring audience participation. A flawless lounge-style singer warms up the crowd with classic standards, and modern tunes with a crooner slant. Even if one doesn’t have time or interest in the play, the price of a ticket is worthwhile just to hear this gentleman perform “Georgia on My Mind.” Seriously. It’s amazingly smooth. When the set concludes, the actual play begins with Senator Allison Haines (Kelli Walker) working the room, shaking attendee hands to welcome them to the venue. And then we’re off, already fully invested.

Bennett is the speechwriter for Senator Haines, the only uncloseted lesbian elected official (emphasis on uncloseted) in the state. Bennett is also smarting from a recent breakup with longtime love Sammy, another Haines campaign volunteer. When a never-seen Sammy becomes the victim of a hate crime, Haines’s self-interested, cautious public response sends Bennett and his Boy Friday Cooper on an empowered quest to destroy the hypocritical, hateful forces that threaten “the tribe.” Bennett and Cooper even develop a slogan. In their minds, “It Gets Better” is too weak, too dependent. Instead they argue, a kinder, safer world is the product of those brave enough to “Make It Better.”

Here’s the thing. Bennett and Cooper do terrible things for noble reasons. Wrongheaded, illegal and dangerous as they are, they’re not at all unlikeable. Quite the contrary. They are loyal, loving, outrageously funny and smart humans who are tired of society’s view of gay men as weak and ineffectual, ripe for bullying and terrorism.

Senator Haines is drawn equally complex. She frames her moral challenges honestly in a scene where she laments the loss of her activism in an effort to retain a job that “pays $17,000 a year,” requires her to wear heels and consistently beg every four years for the privilege. Even Bennett’s new lover Adam, an ambitious Haines strategist from a pistachio farm in California who proves himself to be more predator than bumpkin, is comprehensible. No character’s motivation comes from a place of absurdity.

A whip-smart, relevant and incendiary script from Payne is complemented by savvy media work from Scenic and Media Director G Max Maxin IV and Videographer Alex Thompson. The team integrates the loud, colorful, harassing 24/7 news cycle into the production’s political themes, turning it into an important virtual character. This character is nearly as compelling as the human ones who traverse the stage, inhabited by a group of actors whose compelling, nuanced acting is to be uniformly celebrated.

It’s hard to distill the complicated and worthy Pride Film and Plays’ staging of “Angry Fags” at the Steppenwolf Garage Rep 2015 into an accessible soundbite. But perhaps the company itself gets closest in writing, “[It’s] an Oscar Wilde-meets-Tarantino fever dream about how good ideas go bad, with fascinating forays into American politics, bomb building and pistachios.” If that description doesn’t grab you, how about the promise of layered “ALF” jokes?”

See it.

A Kid Like Jake (February 17, 2015)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment
(Source:Michael Brosilow)

A blizzardy Sunday afternoon is a tough time to get pumped for traveling via public transportation to a play opening. This is the situation in which I found myself last weekend en route to About Face Theatre’s Chicago premiere of “A Kid Like Jake” at the Greenhouse Theater Center. Despite six years of reviewing Windy City productions for EDGE Media Network, somehow I’d never been exposed to the work of About Face. The promise of novelty was enough to get me to bundle up, trudge outside and hope for the best.

My goodness. “A Kid Like Jake” is worth braving the elements and then some. And now that I’ve popped my About Face cherry, I can’t wait to see what the company has in store next.

About Face is committed to an ambitious mission: “to create exceptional, innovative and adventurous plays to advance the national dialogue on gender and sexual identity, and to challenge and entertain audiences in Chicago, across the country and around the world.” For many artistic companies, the tension between fomenting sociopolitical change and developing quality material often leads to compromise at one end of the spectrum. The result is often preachy but dull, or energetic but vacuous.

The About Face team knew what it was doing when it selected “A Kid Like Jake,” playwright Daniel Pearle’s “contemporary dramedy about parenting, gender and fitting in (per press materials).” Directed with a patient, even hand by Keira Fromm, “Jake” is a painfully riveting experience in which there are no villains. Everyone means well and yet there’s plenty of hurt to go around. It’s transfixing reality brought to life by a cast that understands the gravity of the material and its goal.

What’s so interesting about the script — involving a never seen but omnipresent four-year-old Jake, a precocious boy with a passion for the Disney Princesses and skirts – is its intended audience. Pearle appears to be speaking to the presumably converted: the well-heeled, moneyed, liberal arts educated parents who believe they’ve opened all vistas to their precious ones. There is nothing he or she can’t study, experiment with or become — with no judgment. Right?

Well maybe. Harried stay-at-home mom Alex (Katherine Keberlein) gave up a meandering law career to be young Jake’s everything. As Alex and her psychologist husband Greg (Michael Aaron Lindner) struggle to expand their family, Alex’s commitment turns into an obsession with getting Jake into one of Manhattan’s top, competitive kindergarten programs.

On the advice of family friend and education expert Judy (Cindy Gold), Alex seeks to highlight that what makes Jake special. But how comfortable is she really with the idea that her intelligent, emotional son is showing early signs of gender identity anxiety? Is Alex enlightened enough to answer the question, “Why can’t a boy be a princess?” without experiencing identity threats of her own?

Keberlein, who wowed audiences including this critic, in Goodman Theatre’s recent “Smokefall,” knows from playing conflicted, guilt-ridden, stressed mothers. She is a master at using her face to add unspoken torment to already emotional dialogue. While her Alex frequently comes off as spoiled and unlikeable, it’s a testament to Keberlein’s work in the last scene that the audience is left with the impression that we, like she with Jake, may have never understood at all.

Lindner plays Greg as a patient, loving semi-doormat on the surface. But once again, all is not as it seems. Greg is more than capable of breaking a damaging silence and reversing Alex’s spin when needed. Linder weaves this nuance with fluidity. He never sacrifices the character’s steadiness even as he lets Alex know with certainty that they have collectively taken a wrong turn.

Gold rounds out the big three of “A Kid Like Jake,” as Judy, a compassionate child advocate and family friend who eventually bears the brunt of Alex’s unraveling. The role could easily function as a supporting character with not much story of her own. However owing to Gold’s terrific, measured delivery, we receive intriguing hints into Judy’s particular connection with the child. Remarkable work.

At one hour and 45 minutes with no intermission, the production is a long stretch without a break. But to experience the voyeuristic work of family implosion is to lose oneself completely in its emotional, uncertain denouement. The work offers no easy answers. Because there aren’t any one-size-fits-all solutions to raising a happy, healthy human being in the 21st Century. Why can’t a boy be princess indeed?

 

First Date (February 16, 2015)

Becky SarwateLeave a comment
(Source:www.broadwayworld.com)

In the 21st Century, the prototypical “meet cute” dating story tends to experience its genesis online. Where singles bars, church gatherings and personal ads used to serve as the launch pad for connecting with members of the opposite (or same) sex, today we have OKCupid!, Match.com, eHarmony, Tinder, Grindr and many other niche sites targeting specific demographics (seniors, Jews, etc).

From that perspective, “First Date,” the fabulous romantic musical comedy featuring a book by Austin Winsburg (“Gossip Girl”), with music and lyrics by Alan Zachary and Michael Weiner, feels right on time. With a nod to several knowing artistic devices (the inner monologue, the breaking of the third wall), the work offers highly entertaining development of a thesis well accepted by most single adults: with so much baggage, differing agendas and misunderstandings, it’s a wonder couples bond at all. Who has the time? And when that connection is miraculously made, we must grapple with the eternal tension between fear and hope before we can move forward.

Per press materials, the plot is as follows: “When blind date newbie Aaron (Charlie Lubeck) is set up with serial-dater Casey (Dana Parker), a casual drink at a busy restaurant turns into a hilarious high-stakes dinner… In a delightful and unexpected twist, Casey and Aaron’s inner critics take on a life of their own when restaurant patrons transform into supportive best friends, manipulative exes and prospective parents who sing and dance them” through the evening.

That description, while accessibly simple, obscures “First Date’s” profound and prescient awareness, a consciousness often lacking in the rom-com genre. For example, what does it say that Casey’s best friend Reggie (Adam Fane) and the Waiter (John Keating) meet, become smitten and run offstage to explore their burgeoning relationship in the span of less than three minutes? Is author Winsburg telling us something about the layers of complication that many hetero couples pile onto a first meeting, versus the streamlined, cut to the chase dynamic of homosexuals who can’t afford the bullshit?

I certainly didn’t expect to wonder. And I’m almost glad I don’t know the answer. Nearly 100 percent of the time, nothing is left open-ended in this genre. There’s not much to take home with you after the show. “First Date” bucks a predictable trend.

Across the board, the performances are winning. The players are gifted with good material, comic timing and serious singing/acting chops. That said, I feel a need to highlight the work of Shea Coffman. In the quadruple role of Aaron’s best friend Gabe, Jewish Chorus, YouTube and Edgy British Guy, he kills it. Absolutely hilarious. I could say more about the singular cast of characters he is asked to inhabit, but don’t think I could do it justice in print. It must be seen.

Other standouts include Cassie Slater, who sings her tail off in vocal deliveries that strike the right alternating notes (literally) between hilarity and poignancy. And I am fairly certain that Fane serves up the most bizarre and delicious rap performance to grace the stage in 2015. I’m calling it now.

With a running time of 90 minutes and no intermission, “First Date” gives the deceptive impression of an easily digestible lark. It can certainly fill that need — a fun, airy night out for groups of friends, couples and lovers of musical comedy. But there’s more — much more. More layers of pop cultural scrutiny and human reflection than one might expect from the show’s marketing campaign. If you’ve got room on your theatergoing calendar, “First Date” is a worthy entry.