‘Theatre’ Category

  1. Tesla’s Tempest: Steampunk Meets Shakespeare

    3 September, 2011 by Alexa Chipman

    THE TEMPEST
    Written by William Shakespeare
    Directed by Jon Tracy
    Marin Shakespeare Company

    RUN: Aug 27 – Sept 25, 2011
    RATING: Don’t miss!

    (September 2, 2011 evening)

    The Tempest is a difficult play to create without it being a bit ridiculous—it almost works better as a radio play than on stage, due to the elements of magic and spirit creatures. Marin Shakespeare expertly avoided the usual fake-looking Harry Potter themes by replacing magic with technology. Think about it—not long ago if you told someone that people could video chat across the world for free any time anywhere with small hand-held devices, they would laugh. Our world was that of Star Trek, not reality. Director Jon Tracy chose an innovative and highly successful treatment of Prospero as a sort of Nikola Tesla character.

    The sets were simplistic, yet spectacular—featuring Steampunk inspired Victorian technology of gears and electricity within a backdrop of ocean patterns. Throughout the play, at specific moments of drama, lights and mechanical devices lit into action at just the right times, but without being distracting to the action. In the penultimate scene at the end when Prospero destroys his “magic” the light and steam effects were well executed and complemented the character’s own feelings.The Costume Design, by Abra Berman, was definitely Steampunk without being overdone. Several members of the audience came in their own costumes, which added to the fun of the live production.

    Tracy’s choice of setting created a Tempest that kept a slightly otherworldly quality without being silly, and the setting of 1901 brought it closer to our own time and made it easier to connect with the characters. Robert Parsons (Prospero) spectacularly acted the journey of his character from a cold bitter dictator bent on revenge to a man ready to forgive his enemies and move on with his life. His tall, dramatic presence was felt throughout the play, whether or not he was onstage. I was especially impressed with Michael Torres (Caliban) for bringing the beast-like creature to life as something other than a one-dimensional clown.

    The two shipwrecked servants—Stephano (Cassidy Brown), and Trincula (Lynne Soffer) were hilarious as they stumbled about the island half-drunk and incorrectly interpreting everything they saw. Their comedic timing was excellent, as was the physical comedy. The only weak point in the casting was Alex Hersler (Ferdinand) who reminded me of an amateur actor I saw in a production of Pirates of Penzance at college—he overacted a bit and was not fully in his character yet. Sarah Gold (Miranda) did a good job, but she was nothing to write home about. The staging of their first meeting was brilliant—similar to the classic Rosie the Riveter poster.

    I would highly recommend this play to Shakespeare enthusiasts for the fresh take on The Tempest, Steampunk fans for a great romp in that genre, and all play-goers for an excellent production.

     

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  2. Travesties – History Unshackled!

    28 July, 2010 by Alexa Chipman

    TRAVESTIES
    Written by Tom Stoppard
    Directed by Robert Currier

    Marin Shakespeare Company

    RUN: July 2 – August 15
    RATING: Don’t miss!

    This play is so entirely packed with intelligent fun that it is difficult to know where to begin. Although anyone can enjoy it, those with a basic knowledge of history, literature and art will reap infinite pleasure from the performance. Travesties is extremely demanding on its actors, but the Marin Shakespeare cast steps up eagerly to the task.

    The setting is in Henry Carr’s memories of 1917 Zurich. It is not a strict historical play— since it is supposed to be an elderly man’s memories of days long ago. As a result there are a few technical inaccuracies from a mere documentation point of view, but who can object to the likes of Tristan Tzara, James Joyce and Lenin all tossed into one place?

    For those not familiar with art history, Tristan Tzara was one of the leading Dada artists— a rather madcap movement during the early twentieth century. It’s sole purpose was mocking the current order, which its proponents believed had lead to World War I. In short, they behaved like petulant children in the eyes of society, but their contribution to the arts is undeniable. Darren Bridgett portrays Tzara in full physicality— he rolls head over heels across the stage, walks backward through doorways and shamelessly avails himself of the audiences food for those daft enough to sit in the front row. (A note: when attending Marin Shakespeare’s comedies for the first time, do not sit in the first row. Think of it like attending Seaworld shows.)

    Also in Zurich at the time was James Joyce, author of Ulysses. He was an Irishman who developed the concept of a modernist novel and was famous for wearing mismatching suits. He struts his way through Travesties thanks to Lucas McClure. Though ultimately one of the more minor characters in the play, he is difficult to forget, due to McClure’s brilliant “straight man” style acting.

    The main narrator of the play is an obscure British Consulate employee, portrayed by the far from obscure William Elsman, whom you might have seen in last year’s Mountain Play and throughout the San Francisco Bay Area. He alternates between an elderly Henry Carr, who can barely remember his own name, let alone what he was trying to talk about, and the Carr of 1917. It is a difficult character, because despite a well-groomed youthful spirit, Carr had only just returned from the horrors of the trenches when the play is set. At times a distant booming is heard, and Carr reverts to an almost childlike state for a few moments— a result of the trauma. He is hardly a tragic character, however, much of the amusement of the play is derived from his scenes.

    There is a running joke throughout Travesties that Carr is obsessed with trousers. He is constantly describing what he wore, what other people wore, what he is thinking of purchasing. This is a result of a mini war betwixt Carr and the author of Travesties. They had put on a production of The Importance of Being Earnest together in Zurich where Carr had been Algernon. Considering the costuming far from adequate, Carr went out and purchased some trousers at his own expense. When he and Stoppard fell out, they ended up in court— Carr demanding the reimbursement for his trousers, and Stoppard demanding the reimbursement for some tickets he had given Carr. This proves that you should never upset a writer— the error will be immortalized!

    Speaking of The Importance of Being Earnest, I would highly recommend reading, watching or listening to it before going to see Travesties. Three of the characters in this play are derived from Earnest, and there are a good many Earnest jokes that can easily be missed without a priori knowledge of the other play. Having been Cecily myself recently, I probably caught a lot more of the references than other members of the audience, and believe me there were quite a few.

    The final duo of historical characters in the play is Lenin and Nadya. They have particularly difficult bits of dialog since they often speak in Russian to each other and have the longest speeches— mostly in the words of Lenin himself. If the rest of the characters in the play were taken out, and the Lenin related bits left in, it would be a very dull play indeed. Mostly they take turns giving his speeches or related letters to the audience straight on in perfect earnestness. It is here that Stoppard shines— in the background he creates absolute chaos. The antics going on during Lenin and Nadya’s speeches reduced at least half the audience to uncontrollable laughter, and yet it was mostly silent physical comedy, leaving Lenin’s words untouched, with occasional Mystery Science Theatre style comments from other characters. I believe that Stoppard could make the dullest most uninteresting historical subjects into absolute hilarity. If you’ve always thought you aught to read more about Lenin but never got around to doing it— now is your chance.

    One of the main differences between Importance of Being Earnest and Travesties is sound design integrated with dialog. From the very opening of the play in the library, there is a rhythm of dialog, movement and even walking that all worked together to produce a sort of instrumentless music. There are several other scenes that are all in couplets, like the Legend of the Seeker episode Princess, and the examples go on. Currier’s staging and use of the sets also adds a great deal to the performance, particularly with the characters of Carr and Tzara who dangle, leap and romp around the stage, all while tossing whip-crack style dialog at each other (among other things).

    In short, you are bound to have a diverting time, and possibly learn a few things about the general time period of the Great War as a result. The cast is excellent, and who can turn down a delightful outdoor picnic surrounded by a grove. The audience itself at Marin Shakespeare performances is enthusiastic and friendly. Buy tickets now, or show up for one of the “Pay What You Will” performances.

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  3. Paper Airplanes and Razor Blades: Tony Amendola in The Pillowman

    21 January, 2007 by Alexa Chipman

    Berkeley Rep The Pillowman
    Saturday Matinee, 20 January 2007

    I make it a policy never to read reviews of anything I am about to read/watch or listen to. I find it colours my experience and hampers my ability to simply take something on its own merit. I unfortunately threw my usual caution to the winds a friend sent me a series of reviews to this particular play. I should not have looked—but I’m at heart a spoiler junkie so I did. What I read made The Pillowman out to be nothing but blood, gore, hard core swearing and what little good was left ending up in mangled vulgarity. I sat down in the theatre expecting something of that nature. But as I waited through the three hours none of the dire predictions of the reviews came to pass. I was not the only one that felt this way, as a chap next to me commented after it was over “I’ve played video games that were gorier”.

    What I came back with was a sincere question about what makes a “happy ending”. This has always been of interest to me as I once wrote an essay on the misconception of what a “Faerie Tale ending” actually constitutes—in other words: spiked barrels, heated oil, etc. McDonagh’s (the playwright) so-called faerie stories that he tells through the character of Katurian (Erik Lochtefeld) were not at all shocking to me. I had been brought up with complete freedom to research by my parents. As a result, instead of reading modern French Court Childrenized fairy stories I went back to the originals—tortured endings and all. A “happy” ending saw the villains in a sea of their own blood—and that was if they were lucky. Katurian’s tales never went near the violence of the original stories that have been passed down through the ages—Cinderella in its original form, even Sleeping Beauty with the limbs ripped off and so forth. On the contrary, I found the stories read out not only refreshing but, as Katurian himself points out, they always have a “twist”. I love being surprised at endings and most of the time I was. I was highly entertained by this play—although I’m not sure if that is more of a tell about my dark sense of humour, morbid fascination with violent fairy stories, or just how well written this play is. I can see why Tony Amendola agreed to be in this work; it is a highly complex play that makes you think and laugh at the same time while being slightly ashamed of laughing. I’m afraid I found some parts funny that no-one else did so I’d be sitting there silently gaffawing and trying to hide the fact since it was so twisted that I found it funny at all. As for swearing in it—I’ve seen worse outbursts on Battlestar Galactica or high schoolers walking down the street.

    The play begins in the pitch black with music that sounds somewhat like knives being sharpened. I’m not sure if that was deliberate or if the original ran out of money for a composer and so sat down in their kitchen with a mike. Katurian is in a chair with a blindfold on along with Arial (Andy Murray) the burly policeman with a vaguely UK accent and Tupolski (Tony Amendola) in a smart looking if slightly antiquated suit. It becomes clear that Katurian doesn’t know why he was in the police station and the two detectives aren’t about to tell him; they’re having too much fun tormenting him. Tupolski goes through a long charade of filling out a form and asking irritating questions, then tears it up in the end and informs Katurian it was a joke. Anyone who’s filled in government forms knows what he feels like. I’ve seen Tony in many different tv shows and movies but never have I seen him do humour. He had me in stitches with the “peripheral vision” speech. He is incredible with body language and how he was twisting about explaining that Katurian could not have possibly seen the paper through peripheral vision to which Katurian responds that perhaps he saw it out of the bottom of his eyes…does that have a name? “No” responds Tupolski as the audience laughs. Finally they start going into Katurian’s stories. At this point Amendola takes off his jacket and reveals a sidearm which he lovingly adjusts and goes to stand over on stage right as Katurian begins to read. I would love to explain all the stories in detail but if you ever see the play it will ruin it for you. Here are a few examples:

    A little boy is poor and mistreated by other children and people. But he is a very kind boy who loves everyone. One day he is sitting by a bridge about to partake of his meager lunch when he sees a stranger drive up in a cart. The little boy holds up his sandwich to offer a portion to the stranger who gets down and happily shares the boy’s meal. Afterwards, the driver tells the little boy he has been so kind that he will give him something—something the boy might not understand at the moment but will thank him for later. As the boy closes his eyes, the driver pulls out an axe and cuts the boys toes off. He flings the toes to a large amount of rats in the cart, then drives on into the town of Hamlin. You see—the driver was the pied piper of Hamlin. Katurian believed it was he who brought the rats in the first place and the ultimate goal was to steal the children. The little boy by the road was the crippled boy who could not catch up and was thus saved.

    I thought it was a very interesting perspective and an almost morbidly sweet story. Tupolski doesn’t agree. He pulls out a box and I instantly knew what was inside. Toes of a little boy. But at that moment, the thug Arial comes bursting in with a fake bandage on. He tries to convince Katurian that his brother Michal was being tortured in the next room. Katurian loses it completely and starts shouting about wanting to see his brother. Tony looks mildly disinterested as Arial and Katurian shout at each other. Eventually things calm down and Tupolski puts the box on the floor and opens it, deliberately placing a series of small toes on top. Throughout this entire act, Tony Amendola amazed me with his subtle yet effective humour. He made ordinary movements and gestures incredibly funny with their emphasis and timing. He also kept making various shrewd remarks, such as when Katurian still had his blindfold on why he didn’t take it off, “it just makes you look stupid”. Amendola did have a little trouble getting the box (tin technically) off the floor, it took several attempts. That was one of the few prop issues I spotted. There were some others but I won’t bore you with them. That is one of the problems of being in theatre myself —I always spot things like that. It isoOne of the things that makes theatre real – human – alive. (If you are a Cylon in disguise my apologies. I feel your pain).

    Tupolski leaves the stage and it goes dark again for a scenery change. This time to the “happy” version of The Writer and the Writer’s Brother. I met Howard Swain (Father) before the performance—very nice man. The scene changes to where Katurian’s brother, Michal is sitting alone trying to remember the story of the Green Pig. Katurian stumbles in all bloody from being tortured. He tells his brother Michal The Pillowman story to cheer him up. Once upon a time there was a very tall man made up entirely of pillows. His arms, his smiling head, even his fingers were little pillows. He was a kind man who wanted to help people. When some miserable human being (again apologies Cylon agents and Jaffa) was about to commit suicide in despair, he would be at their side to comfort them. He would then travel back in time to when that person was a little child. He would tell the child about the horrible life they would lead, full of pain and suffering, and how it would end. In front of the oven, over a bridge, a gun in their mouth. He would lovingly take the child’s hand and suggest they could end it right then and avoid that horrible life. Most children chose to and the Pillowman would help them think of ways to do it so it would look like an accident—where to run out through parked cars and where the pill jars were. Finally the Pillowman could not take this depression any longer. He decided to do one last job. He went back to his own childhood. As his childself died, he disappeared. But he ceased to exist with the horrible realization of the thousands of children who came back to life to live in misery until they finally decided to end it years later.

    It soon comes to light that Katurian’s brother was the one who had killed the boy whose toes had been cut off, a girl and maybe a third missing child. Katurian asks how the third girl had died. His brother replies he acted out the “Little Jesus” story. You don’t need details to know how that one ended. Katurian is horrified. There is an extended scene as he comes to grips with this realization. Eventually, Michal wants to go to sleep and insists his brother tell him a story—the Green Pig story. Once upon a time there was a little green pig. He was a happy pig who was glad he was peculiar, but the other pigs hated it and made fun of him and bothered him. This created such a scuffle in the pig house that the farmers were aggravated (it got on their nerves). They took the little green pig and covered him head to tail in pink paint. This was a special kind of paint. It cannot be washed off and it cannot be painted over. Katurian brushes his hands vertically then horizontally as he says that last phrase. The little formerly green pig was very sad. He liked being peculiar. So he prayed to God asking for His help. And God sent a special storm—a green rainstorm where the rain was so thick it was like paint. The next morning all the other pigs were bright green with paint that cannot be washed off and cannot be painted over. All except the little old green pig, covered in paint that could not be painted over. The only pink pig in the barnyard, he was once more peculiar. Katurian gazes fondly but sadly at his brother—then smothers him to death. He goes to the door and pounds on it, shouting he is ready to confess to his involvement in the murder of six people. End of Act One.

    Act Two opens with a dramatization of the Little Jesus story, then back to Tupolski’s office. It turns out Katurian wants to save his stories and knows the detectives will burn them after he is executed. The play is set in a totalitarian state where no trial is necessary. He makes a deal—full truthful signed confession and they simply file his stories to be taken out fifty years later. Tuploski agrees to it and Katurian begins writing. The confession is hilarious in and of itself, as the detectives can read faster than Katurian writes and he always seems to leave it at a cliffhanger ending each page. Tupolski goes out to tell the forensics where to the search for the third girl’s body. Arial begins to gleefully get out the electrodes to begin torturing Katurian some more. He starts talking about how he hates guys like Katurian—how when he’s old little kids will come up and give him sweets and thank him for making them safe. He goes on so long he doesn’t get to the actual torture before Tupolski returns. He signs and says something about “not the old man and the sweets story…you’ve used that twice today already” or words to that effect. He and Arial get into a bit of an argument as Katurian is kneeling down on the floor looking amazed. What was with that peripheral vision stuff earlier…Arial grumbles and questions Tupolski’s ability to be first in that case and marches out. Tupolski, however, has begun to smell a rat in Katurian’s story and starts to question him more. He gets sidetracked, however, into telling his own story after admitting he was moved by The Pillowman. He had lost his own son to a tragic accident and said it was comforting to think that someone warm and soft and kind was with him and that his son hadn’t died alone. This leads to Tupolski telling his one story—about his worldview—or view of detective work. He tells it very badly in a way that had everyone in the audience laughing almost constantly. I could never do it justice, you’d have to see Amendola’s incredible portrayal of it.

    There is a little deaf Chinese kid walking down some railroad tracks. Actually he’d have to be a mentally retarded deaf kid. I mean who would walk down railroad tracks when they’re deaf—they’d never hear the train coming. So a little Chinese retarded deaf kid is walking down some railroad tracks. Far away behind him a train comes hurtling towards him. But the child can’t hear it coming and the driver couldn’t see him until it was too late. A few miles along the tracks is an old tower with an old Chinese man in it working on his inventions. He sees the little deaf Chinese deaf child…how did he know he was deaf? Uh…he saw his hearing aide in the distance…*right*…so this little deaf kid is walking down the tracks, see, and this old man  in the tower sees him. Now instead of running out and helping the little kid, he starts a calculation. At what spot would the train collide with the little kid walking down the tracks. A few minutes later the old man finishes. 10 yards from the base of the tower the train will plow right through the little deaf kid’s back. Disinterested, the old man folds the paper into an airplane and tosses it out of the window, going back to his work. Eleven yards before the base of the tower, the little deaf boy jumps off the tracks to catch the paper airplane as the train thunders by harmlessly behind him.

    So how is that Tupolski’s view on the world? Well the old man is him, working hard at his detective work and out of touch with humanity. The kid is the people—oblivious to the destruction right behind them. When Katurian asks why the old man didn’t help, Tupolski is horrified. Of course he did! He sent the paper airplane. He then tries to show how the plane wasn’t an accident and goes on and on but it doesn’t help. When Katurian comments the story good but not that good, Tupolski goes ballistic. This is especially effective since he has appeared so calm through most of the play. The detective pulls out a lighter and is about to set fire to some of Katurian’s stories until the frantic writer swears Tupolski’s story is the best ever and better than his own work. They both sit down and there is silence for a little while. Tupolski comments it is too bad they have to shoot him in the head in twenty minutes. In a hilariously morbid way Katurian begins asking questions to which the detective replies, “First we put this hood over your head, then take you into the other room, then shoot you in the head. Wait…that’s not right…we take you into the other room, then put the hood on and then shoot you in the head. If we put the hood on in here you might bump into something on the way to the other room and hurt yourself”. He also tells Katurian he has ten seconds for final prayers after the hood goes on before he’ll shoot him.

    Arial bursts into the room and announces they’ve found the last girl. Everyone in the room and audience braces to hear the news of the mangled corpse. Instead a little girl covered in green paint bounces happily into the room. Katurian is overjoyed as he discovers his brother had not acted out the Little Jesus story but the Green Pig tale. The little girl was unharmed and found with a group of pink piglets. Tupolski, however, does not seem very happy with this news and informs Katurian their deal is now off. As he starts a fire in the garbage can and prepares to burn the stories, Katurian begs, screams and pleads. But Tupolski hangs tough—the deal was for a truthful confession. Katurian had given them a confession of what they wanted to hear—he hadn’t hurt any children, but he had killed his brother and his parents. (His parents had tortured his brother for seven years until he rescued him). Katurian kneels down on stage right as Tupolski cocks his 1930s style snub pistol. The hood is put on, and Tupolski begins to count. I knew he would never wait ten seconds—he was too slippery for that. With every number I expected the gun blast. 10…9…8…7…6…5…4 *BANG* I swear half the audience nearly fell out of their seats or shrieked slightly. How could they not know he’d do that. Granted I wasn’t sure which number he’d “misfire” on but it was what that character would do. He even shot the poor man from behind. There was a thud, then fake blood oozed out from under the hood. Not too much though—I figure they had a pack hidden in the hood so when he fell it split open. Tupolski smiles, then leaves, giving a parting injunction to Arial to burn the stories. But everyone knew he wouldn’t. And indeed he did not.

    I haven’t covered half of what this play was about, or what moved me personally about it. The former because if I went on in detail about a three hour play you’d be reading for six hours, and I doubt you really care how it affected me personally. So for the Tony fangirls out there—further proof of this man’s brilliant acting ability. I am honoured to have been able to see him in this work, and look forward to seeing him in others. Even if Amendola is not in it, I’d recommend seeing The Pillowman—as long as you have a somewhat dark sense of humour and are able to laugh at inappropriate moments.

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