Nothing But Filler

In Boston this weekend, while visiting with old friends, one of them asked me jokingly about my blog, "Do you ever begin posts with the line, 'Sorry I haven't posted in a while...'?"

"I have to curb that urge all the time," I told him. "It's like, who am I apologizing to? Who is out there with bated breath, expectantly awaiting regular updates from Leigh's theater blog? Who is so shocked and disappointed to discover that I've missed a week?" It's so silly, really. But the urge is totally there.

So, sorry I haven't pos..... nooooadsfk,xdiueahriesdfoxijkkghresreszd

No. I'll resist.

Though, really, this entire post is a big long "sorry, I haven't posted," because instead of actually writing, I'm just going to talk about all the awesome things I'm GOING to write about.

I haven't written a review in a while because, frankly, reviews are HARD. I don't know if this is true for others (does Ben Brantley have this trouble?) but reviews are by far the longest and most laborious posts I write. I pore over the details; I want to make sure I've communicated the spirit of the show and my interpretation of it absolutely precisely. And since I've been so involved with Captain Moonbeam (which you're going to come see, right?), I've let quite a few shows slip by without comment.

But that's all going to change! I have a TON of shows that I'll be seeing in the next couple of weeks. And then I'm going to write about them. Because it's been too long. And seriously, guys, I'm sorry I haven't posted in -

Just kidding. Among the shows I'm seriously excited about catching soon are:

Nosedive's Blood Brothers Present... Freaks from the Morgue (obviously)

Flux's Ajax in Iraq

Blue Coyote Theater Group's Standards of Decency 3: 300 Vaginas Before Breakfast - because with a name like that, why would I *not* go?

The Shaggs Philosophy of the World at Playwright's Horizons. The premise to this show is utterly fascinating and every review I've read of it so far has been positive. I'm into it.

How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. Because it's my birthday week and I wanna see Harry Potter sing and dance.

I'm sure there's more, but those are the ones I skimmed off the top of my head. Thoughts? Suggestions? Any others I should see during this theater whirlwind?

Ruminations on the Standing O'

Several times in the past few months, I've found myself at the curtain call of a play in the midst of a standing ovation. Some of these, for example. Now, as you can see (or read) I didn't particularly care for these plays. So I didn't participate in the standing o'.

This happens to me a lot. And I hate it. On one hand, nothing makes me feel more curmudgeonly then staying staunchly planted in my seat when everyone - to my front, to my back, and to both my sides - around me is on their feet. It makes me feel Scroogish, uncharitable, as though I refuse to see the effort and dedication that has been put into the production.

Really, nothing could be further from the truth. Really. In almost every production I've ever seen, there's something worth acknowledging. There's an incredible amount of passion and hard work and honorable intentions that goes into every production, and I hate to feel like I haven't properly expressed my gratitude and appreciation for the experience.

Take the People in the Picture, for example. I really disliked this play, was even borderline-offended by its treatment of the subject matter (more on that to come). But almost all of the actors were supremely talented, and every single one of them was working hard. In fact, I've never seen actors work so hard on stage. Donna Murphy in particularly extraordinary. Yet when she took her final bow and most of the audience rose to its feet, I stayed firmly planted, all the while feeling terribly conflicted. I hated to seem as though I was willfully refusing to acknowledge Ms. Murphy's dynamic performance. But, I couldn't force myself to my feet.

I hated the show. What can I say? I hated the show. There have been shows, many many shows, which I have hated much less - shows I've even liked well enough - for which I have not stood. Because when I give a standing ovation, I want it to mean something. When I rise to my feet, I want to communicate that I was transformed by the work I just saw.

Not just, "hey, good job." Not just, "I appreciate the time and effort you took to give me the experience of this performance." Those sentiments are important, but that's what applause is for, that's what the curtain call is for. That's not what a standing o' is for. Not if you ask me.

A standing ovation should say, this work was transcendent. It was above and beyond all my expectations entering this theater. I may walk out these doors and never be the same because of this experience. Every artist involved with the production has my sincere thanks and congratulations.

Standing up on stage, or in the back of the house, that's what I'd want a standing ovation to mean to me as an artist. It's partly out of respect for the artists involved and what I communicate to them with my gesture that I so often stay seated.

And it's partly for me. When I am moved that deeply by a play - and I have been - I want a way to express it. I want to keep that right sacred.

Plays For Which I Have Been Moved To Give Standing Ovations:
(there are others, but these are the ones I remember)
-Fiasco Theater's Cymbeline
-Van Hove's The Little Foxes
-[title of show]

Broadway Shows That Everyone Liked But Me

I keep getting comp tickets to Broadway shows, courtesy of my delightful and generous friend Teresa, and I keep disliking them (either vaguely or acutely). I've left, on all three occasions in question, with such an overwhelming feeling of eh that I haven't even felt compelled to write a review of any of them. But here they are, if anybody is keeping track.

BENGAL TIGER AT THE BAGHDAD ZOO
Of all the three, I disliked this one the least. In fact, I liked much about it and even liked the whole show at certain points, from certain angles. It was a very pretty play - pretty is the only word I can find to describe it. A lot of interesting ideas about God and energy and violence and consequences run through the play like a pretty piece of ribbon that ties up quite nicely at the end. It makes you consider, and consider ideas that are worth considering at that. So what was my trouble? Underdone character development, plain and simple. None of the characters felt like real characters to me - rather, they were devices that pushed forward the play's philosophical musings. I never felt connected to any of them, they had no texture or depth. I couldn't tell you a thing about them other than what they said and did in front of me on stage. A friend of mine told me she loved the character of the young, stupid soldier because he was exactly like every boy she ever knew who became a soldier. Perhaps this was the problem: he was so much every soldier that he was no longer an individual, more a symbol than a fleshed-out person. And while symbolic characters are often fine, important even, do you really need another one in a play with a talking spirit tiger? What's more, the same could be said of all of the characters. All of them made bold and provocative statements about spirituality, morality, and free will. None of them really filled the shoes they stood in.

GOOD PEOPLE
I enjoyed Good People as I watched it, but disliked it so much once it was over I actually became a bit resentful of it. Resentful of how it lectured to me, of how it beat me over the head for two hours with a concept I got in the first two minutes of the play. Unlike Terry Teachout, I disliked this play not because of the "crude deck-stacking" in favor of the maligned underclass, but because it was insufferable even-handed. THIS IS A COMPLICATED ISSUE! WITH NO EASY ANSWERS! It seemed to scream at me at every turn. There were multiple scenes where I could find no earthly reason why the two people on stage were still talking to each other, except that Lindsay-Abaire had more to say about class dynamics.

ANYTHING GOES
I'm more befuddled by the overwhelmingly positive reviews of this baby than any of the others. Really? Really?? Because all I saw was a markedly lackluster theatrical event. Everything about it seemed both static and staid, as if the musical were even bored with itself.

Elegant Simplicity: Fiasco Theater's Cymbeline

Friends, if you missed Fiasco Theater/Theater for a New Audience's production of Cymbeline, which closed at the New Victory Theater last night, you missed something spectacular. Funny, fun, accessible, and engaging, it was nearly pitch-perfect from beginning to end. A joyful example of what theater ought to be.

I knew was in for an oustanding evening from moment Ben Steinfeld took the stage to deliver the play's opening words, a quick prologue bringing us up to speed with the events at rise, and I found myself laughing with the audience - not at what was happening, but in delighted anticipation of what was to come. It is a shrewd director and a capable actor who can wrangle such subtle humor out of the bard's dense text. Steinfeld, it seems is both. He and fellow ensemble member Noah Brody have directed this charming production.

The set was clean and sparse, featuring only two wooden acting blocks and a large trunk, which the actors arranged and rearranged as the scene shifted. It was elegant in its simplicity, a description that could define the spirit of the entire show.

The production is so precise, so expert, so brilliantly executed that it's clear that an incredible amount of effort, love, thought, and skill went into the crafting of the production. Yet its most impressive credit is that that effort was almost entirely invisible. Take, again, the set as an exampe: while the versatility and creativity of the set's three lone pieces is mind-boggling, the loving labors of its creation are reflected only in the program (the particularly inventive trunk by itself has its own designer). On stage, both the set and the graceful transitions between scenes seem as easy and natural as air. It feels almost as though the six actors happened to meet in the park and say to each other, "You know what would be fun? If we put on a play. Here are some boxes - will these do?" The end result was beatifully bare and uncomplicated.

The Fiasco Theater ensemble extended this gorgeous bit of magic beyond the play's stunning production values and on to their own outsanding performances. Each and every one of the cast was charismatic, dynamic, and relatable, engaging with the audience with such aplomb that it seemed as if they were doing absolutely nothing. In the bathroom line during intermission, I heard a snipet of two college-age girls' conversation: one was saying to the other, "You know, when I read the play in school, I thought it was kind of strange. I didn't think the humor would translate to the stage very well, but it really does." No, I thought, it's not the humor that translates, or at least not so easily, it's the actors who are working so hard to make it happen. So hard, it seems, that these two girls did not even realize that they were doing it.

This is as fine a balancing act as any I have seen. The nature of Shakespeare's text creates a curious paradox: on one hand, one of the easiest perils that can befall a performance of Shakespeare is to over-do it. The language is so intricate and poetic, the temptation is to meet it with comparable grandiosity. It is a keen and capable artist who understands that the key to Shakespeare is simplicity: no need to exalt the language, the language will exalt itself. Focus on the narrative, the truth that the story and its characters have to offer, the rest will shine through on its own.

A feat, though, harder to accomplish than it would seem. On the other side of the Shakespearean spectrum, the density of the language certainly makes the story less accessible to modern audiences - much of the subtler nuances are lost and to compensate, it is necessary to draw every character and every situation with particular clarity and precision. But here the pendulum is in danger of swinging back too far in the wrong direction, leading to plays that are, again, over-drawn, relying on caricature and physical shenanigans to communicate the story.

Somehow, though, Cymbeline deftly evaded both this pitfalls, expertly balancing the simultaneous need for simplicity and panache better than any production I have ever seen.

It should also not go without noting that almost every actor played multiple roles and each was so rich and so distinctly defined that never once was I confused as to who was playing whom - and all this without ever lapsing into broadly drawn caricature. The clarity did not even dissolve at the end, when, in a 39 Steps-esque culminating scene, all the characters convened on stage at once, requiring the actors to jump back and forth between their roles with head-spinning speed. The ensemble stepped up to the task with joyful and somewhat cheeky finesse.

Fiasco Theater, with its Cymbeline, has one of the cleverest, funniest, most stylish and engaging productions I have ever seen. This is Shakespeare done right. And they made it look so easy.

Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson

I saw Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson weeks ago at this point and this review of sorts has been rolling around in my head and on scrap sheets of paper ever since. It's been hard for me to articulate exactly my thoughts on it, but here is my best attempt.

I liked it.

But - I didn't realize I liked it until, oh, about 2/3 of the way in. Before that moment, which happened shortly after Jackson's inaguration, my mind shuttled helplessly between appreciation and confusion, searching for some kind of handhold.

Bloody/Jackson is a show about the seventh president of the United States of America and therefore, by nature, a political show. As such, I went in expecting a political message of some kind. I'm acquainted with the Trail of Tears and Jackson's legacy; I suppose I expected some sort of indictment of the politics that enabled such a brutal chapter in United States history. Perhaps even some kind of parallel drawn between Jackson's actions and the political climate today.

And when that message did not immediately present itself, I was confused. (Although, I can say with moderate - if not total - certainty that the fault here was mine for the expectation in the first place, and not the play's.)

Yes, there were references to Jackson's "maverick politics," that smacked of the McCain/Palin campaign of 2008, but the play (and Jackson, its mouthpiece) also speaks of a yearning for change in the political status quo that was the tone of the nation that elected Barack Obama. And still at other times, Jacksons idiotic recklessness mirrors the antics of George W Bush.

All this, though, without judgement: Jackson's actions may be impulsive and ill-considered, but his intentions are always good. He acts always out of a desire to affect change, to move his beloved nation toward something better. That more often than not he does so brashily and angrily does not change the intention. If anything, the stodgy and comically farcical founding fathers who represent traditional American politics (or, as traditional as a 25 year old nation can claim to be) make Jackson's impassioned style noble by contrast. Whiny, temperamental and volatile, Jackson is no real hero, but he's certainly no anti-hero either.

Hmm. What to make of that, then?

The answer eluded and frustrated me for most of the play. But still, I appreciated it. In productions so broadly farcical, so heavily stylized as Bloody/Jackson, it's an easy error to allow stylistic elemnts to stray from one another, creating a sort of artistic mismatch. A melodramatic flare here, a drop in rhythm there is all it takes to give the impression that one is watching a sum of disparate parts, each belonging in a different play. It's a bit like matching denim on denim: the parts can be similar, almost identical, even, but unless they are cut from the exact same cloth, the effect is ruined.

Bloody/Jackson never strayed from the cloth from which it began. Truly no easy feat. It knew exactly what it wanted to be, and it was that, from begining to end.

And it was enjoyable.

There was a point when I thought the play was over (it wasn't, not hardly) when I thought to myself, "Well, I don't know if I liked that, but I definitely enjoyed it.

As the show went on, though, I did decide I liked it. It was smart, sharp and well-executed. What's not to like? I does lack a degree of emotional resonance that would compell me to love it: the best example of this is the love duet sung between Jackson and his future wife. "This blood is not a metaphor," they croon cutely as she literally bleeds him for medical treatment. Clever, but without emotional power. But while it somehow misses the depth of that ecstatic moment when one connects intellectually, emotionally, physically to the piece, I still find I have very little bad I can say of Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson.

Oh, and I did eventually get the point. And it was a good point. As the hapless historian-narrator finally points out, "You can't shoot history in the neck." Jackson, for all his good intentions and fiery deeds is no savior; he cannot fix, as he so brashly believed, all that's broken in his country. He cannot even stop history from remembering him as "an American Hitler." Time and history marched on, and continues to march on, even today. The play's echoes of contemporary politics underscores that. And we do what we can to bend its path in a favorable direction. But to believe, as Jackson did, that you can control the tide, is merely hubris.